Abandoning my religion

It was the summer of 2013. Dad and I were standing in the kitchen, taking a respite from the hot Memphis sun and reflecting on life. Within a month, I’d be on a plane to Central America, my first stop on a year long journey, with 50 people that I had only recently met. The last two years had been trying ones for me and my family, as I struggled through depression, lost a job, and briefly dropped out of college- all side effects of losing my Christian faith and the emotional toll that it took on me.

Now, on the back end of the two years that seemed more like a lifetime, I was leaving for an 11 month long mission trip. Dad was understandably perplexed. Most of my issues had seemingly been a result of a tough life in ministry. “Why are you doing this?”, he asked.

“Dad, I’ve got to go and find God. I know that there’s got to be more than what I’ve seen here, and I’ve got to find it.”

I grew up in a religious tradition that is as faithful to the word of God as it knows how to be, and passes that faith down to it’s sons and daughters. Neatly wrapped up in a box with a nice bow on top of it.

“Say this sinner’s prayer for God’s forgiveness so that you can go to heaven.”

“Act like this and God will bless you.”

“This is what we believe and how we believe it. Sign off on this and you can be part of our community.”

We all had lots of certainty about our doctrines and traditions, mostly looked and acted the same, and were safe from the scary beliefs and things that went on in “the world”. Religion was packaged and handed to me in a way that gave my world definition and put everything in categories of black and white, good and bad, secular and sacred. Life is easier when it’s in black and white. This religion worked really well for me.

Until it didn’t.

It stopped working when I had a friend in college reveal to me that he was homosexual and asked if I was going to stop being his friend because I was a Christian. It stopped working when I spent months passing out tracts and pouring into the urban community around me, and no one got “saved”. It stopped working when my university biology teacher asked how anybody could be stupid enough to believe the Bible because evolution was obviously true and the earth was obviously not created in 7 days. And it stopped working when I would fast and pray for days and nights on end begging for God to show up, only to hear nothing in response.

And when my faith stopped working, when my religion broke down, when the God I had in the box wouldn’t come out and answer me when I called on Him to, everything else fell apart.

Because my religion was everything.

And for most of you reading this, your religion is everything.

Your religion defines who your tribe is. What job you work at. What you do with at least a 1/3 of your week. What you think about yourself and how you relate to the world around you.

Your religion is your everything.

Abandoning it can be unthinkable. Questioning it terrifying.

For me, abandoning my religion led me into one of the darkest seasons of my life. Depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts. Complete loss of purpose and meaning. Shame.

Until, somehow in the darkness, a sliver of light began to break through the blackness. Faint. Dim. But there nonetheless.

And it came when I started being honest with God.

When I finally told him that I didn’t believe in Him, but that I wanted to. When I finally told Him that I was mad at Him for not showing up, that I felt abandoned. When I told Him that evolution looked like it was true and I wasn’t sure about the Bible. When I told Him I wanted to believe in Jesus but I needed help.

At the end of the terrifying road of abandonment, true hope started to peak in, and I realized the road of abandonment wasn’t a dead end road.

It was like going down into the grave only to be surprised that what seemed like finality was actually just a transition.

Somewhere in that season, mixed with all kinds of hope and fear, I started hearing God speak to me. Just little words here and there, and almost always through other people. But words, nonetheless.

The first came when I asked Him about the Jesus story being a conspiracy of the church. I had been reading online bloggers that had leveled the charge, and I had no recourse but to be real with Him. And then I opened my Bible and the first words I saw were, “don’t listen when men cry conspiracy..”

Another word came when I met with a pastor at a local bar (an act of rebellion for a good Baptist kid) and started asking him all these questions about Christianity and the age of the earth and evolution. Finally, he stopped me and said, “Man, I don’t know the answers to some of these questions, and the answers I do know aren’t particularly satisfying sometimes. But I do know that I’ve met Jesus. And that’s enough for me”.

Tears. Literally. My spirit man about leaped out of me.

Some time later (the timeline gets a little fuzzy now), I was walking on my college campus, and this love that I had never felt before washed over my heart like a soothing rain on thirsty ground. And a song burst forth for the first time in ages.

Abandoning my religion led to me finding a Person. Abandoning certitude led me into true faith.

And a year later, standing in that kitchen with my dad, I committed to staying on that journey.

It’s been 5 years since then, and I know way less about God than I did before my crisis of faith (awakening). But I call Him “Dad” now more than I do “God”.

I don’t know what I believe about a multitude of Christian doctrines, but I know that I have a Father that wraps His arms around me when I come to Him with all of my beauty and ugliness. I don’t know what I believe about lots of Bible stories, but I know that I have a Father that’s told me that He isn’t a tyrant like I thought He was, He’s a good Dad.

I abandoned my religion and in exchange I got a real relationship. I’ve had to examine lots of things over the years, holding on to some, and having the courage to let go of others, but through it all i’ve had a good Father to hold my hand through it.

Abandonment led me through death and into life.

I hope you can find the trust it takes to die.

Yours for the journey,

Andrew