At the age of five, I was diagnosed with serious asthma and my parents were advised by the medical authorities to send me away from smoky Manchester to what was then called an open-air school to give my lungs a chance to breathe freely. The advice, given in 1951, was accepted by my parents, and, between the ages of five and ten, I lived far away from my family, first in Conway, then in Styal, Cheshire, and then in Congleton.

The decision to send me away for the good of my health was accepted by my parents because they were of that generation that tended to accept the advice of doctors, even though they had misgivings.

Visiting was every Saturday afternoon, but the end of the visits made me feel traumatised, and, even though I had respite during school holidays, after sustained periods of separation I never again felt at home with my family. I have strained relationships with two of my siblings to this day, and I very clearly underachieved educationally, since education was not regarded very seriously at the three schools I attended.

Worse was to come. At about the age of eight or nine, I was targeted for “conversion” by a Christian member of staff of one of the homes where I lived. She was a nurse and she was constantly browbeating me about being a follower of Jesus and giving my life for him, using language that I didn’t understand at the time. Her presence in my life became a deep threat.

I really hated her being near me and tried without success to avoid her attention. I remember one day on which she finally cornered me physically and emotionally and got me to write my name on a page of a New Testament, marking my conversion to Christianity, and dating it precisely. All this was totally incomprehensible to me, both in terms of the language she used and also because I had been brought up as part of a church for the five years of my life prior to being sent away.

This individual abused me and used her power to influence me in a manner that would now bring instant dismissal, but, as far as I know, then went unnoticed, or certainly unremarked, at the time.

It is ridiculous to oversimplify something as complex as religion, but I have often observed two distinct approaches. Both purport to offer something to people, from community life, to fellowship, to soup kitchens, to education, to salvation, and so on. One approach is a genuine act of service, inspired by faith, requiring no response. The other has an ulterior motive, which is to change the person being offered the service, and change them in particular ways, including bringing them to the point of accepting tenets of faith and toeing a line of behaviour and morality. Is this the heart of evangelical religion, perhaps whatever the faith?

It is here, deep in the motivation for service, that the threshold of abuse is crossed. If the ulterior or overt motive in serving the needs of others is to make them into disciples, then the offer of service is tainted or even without integrity. Service of other people is its own reward and nothing should be expected as payback. If the example offered provides inspiration, then all well and good.

Why do people feel the need to use their service to convert? Perhaps it is all part of the theological superstructure that holds up the evangelical system. In this understanding of the world, God is determined to condemn to hell those with views that are not in accordance with their particular interpretation of the Bible. Hence, offers of service are really attempts to impress and then sell salvation. Evangelicals may argue that they have the deepest needs of people at heart because, without this salvation, they will end up in eternal punishment, and we don’t want that! But one can’t help noting that, entwined with this seemingly selfless sentiment, there is often a boastful numbers game being played about size of membership.

In effect, I believe that abusive religion follows on naturally from false claims to understand the mind of God, to the exclusion of other interpretations, and the desperate need to build a membership of following that will shelter and sustain their own interpretation and maintain a purity of doctrine.

Another example of abusive religion came to my notice during 2008. I found myself suddenly receiving a series of emails about a child who had been injured and was in hospital in London requiring possible brain surgery. The emails came in torrents asking for everyone to pray for this individual child; then more came asking us to pray for specific parts on the child’s brain, using very technical terms, and seeking God’s specific support in remedying the injuries sustained.

What sort of theology of God did this convey?

The picture this paints is of God as a dispassionate armchair lounger, snoozing away as humanity suffers, and aroused to action only if the volume of prayer is turned up to maximum. So, what about the other sick children in this hospital? And what about the millions of other children around the world suffering from a variety of ailments, and even dying? Does this mean that God can’t be bothered to take action unless goaded by human prayers?

This is, in fact, religious infantilism, a failure to accept that we live in an adult world of danger and threat and that sometimes, tragically, people suffer or die innocently. There is no god who can plunge in and rescue an individual sick child, or prevent a bomb being detonated, or stop an act of violence in the street. God is not Superman or any sort of fictional superhero, and it is a shock to find that people still think that way today.

The reality of human violence has been created by us, and it is we and only we who have the responsibility and the power to change it for the better. Religion may offer a way to a vision of a peaceful and cooperative humanity, but we still have to do the work.

Well, I still cringe at the language of some of my co-religionists, especially when they sound like that nurse who pursued me back in the 1950s. Obviously, I did recover from that bit of religious abuse, but I am very wary of those exhibiting the same approach today, and I think that society is right to demand protection from them.