My past life as an evangelical Christian was defined by periods of doubt, disgust, and a specific kind of exhaustion that seemed baked into the worldview. Sometimes I’d give up—we called it “backsliding”—and try to simply live my life, all while carrying the burdensome thought that I was “living in sin” and “outside the will of God.”
Many of my doubts were less about God and the Bible than they were about human interpretations of them. In my thirties, I decided to ditch the fundamentalism, though not Christianity entirely. I visited other denominations (a tiny Lutheran church I attended once was a favorite), but as I examined the various “flavors” of faith, I was still left wondering: who, if anyone, is actually right?
I decided to figure it out for myself, as I had with so many other things in my life. I committed to an in-depth study of the Bible, but since I didn’t read Greek, Hebrew, or Aramaic, I turned to reputable scholars. The first was Bart D. Ehrman; I read his book Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why. I found it compelling, but it left me feeling as though the very foundation of Christian belief—the Bible itself—was questionable.
Then I found Dan Barker. Like me, he had been an evangelical Christian. He had been a preacher and a composer; while I never reached his level, I too had preached and written a few Christian songs. He was someone I could relate to—we came from the same place, and he had found answers that worked for him. In June of 2006, a few days before my 42nd birthday, I bought his autobiography, Losing Faith in Faith: From Preacher to Atheist. That did it for me. Somewhere between the cover and the final page, I ceased to believe any part of the Christian story.
If you’re “deconstructing,” you know the range of emotions that accompany it. It can cost you relationships with friends and even family. It can bring a profound sense of loss—not just for the belief system that once anchored your life, but for the years you feel were wasted. In my case, I felt a great deal of anger. I had been lied to since childhood, terrorized with threats of “hell” and “demons,” and kept from the simple experiences other kids enjoyed: listening to Kiss – Alive!, playing games with dice (Monopoly was forbidden; the dice themselves were considered sinful), or seeing a movie in a theater regardless of the rating, simply because the theater supported the showing of R-rated films.
So, I went on the offensive. I read Dawkins and Hitchens and started a blog dedicated to no-holds-barred takedowns of Bible stories and Christian dogma. Whenever I found a religious tract lying around, I’d pick it up, destroy it, and toss it in the nearest bin. For a while, I honestly believed I was doing my part to eliminate Christianity before it could ruin more lives.
Eventually, I realized something: the system I felt had stolen my youth was now claiming my middle age. Even though I had moved from believer to atheist, I was still making Christianity the center of my existence. I was like a person consumed by a pursuit of revenge.
I closed down the blog and moved on.
There is certainly nothing wrong with continuing to educate yourself or supporting your new position with evidence. Like I learned as a Christian, I still believe in being “ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason.” I re-read The God Delusion not too long ago simply because I enjoy the book; I just didn’t let it get me as worked up this time.
In the current climate—with the rise of Christian Nationalism and the instability of the White House—it is easier than ever to justify fighting back. We should resist those who would restrict our thoughts, while acknowledging that others are allowed to think as they wish, provided they do not attempt to enforce those thoughts by law.
Just remember: you’re free now. Give yourself the chance to be happy, optimistic, and at peace.
You’ve earned it.
