The God I Knew Is Dead
A sprinkle of conversion therapy here, a dash of fundamentalism, a heap of total depravity, mix it all together and I was a depressed, repressed gay man living in the closet in Oklahoma, thinking that there was no light at the end of the tunnel.
When I couldn’t see a way forward, I took a closer look at the compass I’d been carrying since childhood.
When Christians warn to stop pulling at that thread, stop asking those questions—they aren’t lying. Because eventually, the tapestry will unravel.
I think my first confrontation with Christianity (and the Bible) came when I heard about predestination. I knew in my gut that it was wrong. And if it was right, I didn’t want a part of it.
Then I looked at women in the church. Why couldn’t a woman preach? Women were some (most) of the wisest people I knew, especially my mom.
Then came my confrontation with homosexuality. Obviously the more personal and difficult battle for me. In some ways, it’s easier to argue on someone else’s behalf because you think that you can be unbiased. But when it’s yourself on the judgment stand, any change in belief can be pointed to as twisting scripture or looking for what you want to hear.
In conversion therapy, I was told that I was “searching for what I wanted to hear” because I thought it would be a good idea to meet a gay Christian couple and see what they were like for myself.
The church had a monopoly on Truth. That’s a little bit easier to accept when the Truth doesn’t come at an unrealistically high cost.
“Truth will set the captive free.”
Then why do I feel like I’ve been dealt a death sentence? Freedom at the cost of my life. That is what is required. -December 2, 2018
From an outsider’s perspective, this entry probably seems more troubling than I would have viewed it at the time. Losing your life, giving your life up, and making sacrifices are the bread and butter of evangelical Christianity. The martyrdom of life is worn as a badge of pride.
This can present itself in beautiful, authentic, self-sacrificial living.
It can also be twisted into self-hate wearing the mask of humility.
When you’ve had it drilled into your head that “the heart is deceitful above all” it makes it difficult to trust yourself. And that’s dangerous because you then leave yourself open to everyone else’s opinions. (When they’re not the ones that will have to live with the consequences of said opinion.)
Anyone that tells you that they in no way bring their own interpretations, experiences, and biases to the table when they read the Bible is lying. Bold-faced lying.
They can claim to simply be the message bearers of Truth, but that’s awfully convenient when the Truth aligns with your worldview and culture.
I don’t think it’s unwise to seek counsel and ask for advice rather than rely solely upon your own understanding. However, I do think it’s unwise to leave your life up to others—to have your faith and your convictions dictated to you.
There are people who accept the Bible at face value. No questions asked. If the church, denomination, or pastor said it, then it’s true.
When people aren't faced with something in the Bible that truly affects their lives, they take a plain reading and run with it.
When I first started asking questions, I had a conversation with a friend about what it means to say the Bible is inerrant or infallible.
She said, "Well, the Bible says that it's God-breathed."
"What does that mean?"
"The Bible says that it's inspired."
"What does that mean?"
"Well...I guess I haven't thought about that."
To her credit, I hadn't thought about it either until I realized I liked guys. This ran in contradiction to the "plain reading" that I had done previously. There are many things that Christians believe are literal when they could very well have alternative meanings.
I was terrified by the idea of Hell from a very young age. I was saved and baptized at the age of five or six. When I was 11, I ran into my parents’ room crying after tossing and turning in bed for hours: “Mom, I’m not sure if I’m saved.” I rededicated my life at 12. I walked down to countless altar calls. Sometimes from a lack of absolute certainty in my faith and others from an incredible amount of guilt over my attraction to men.
When you’ve already been told Original Sin has tainted your soul and death is what you deserve, it’s not a leap for a gay kid to think their sexuality is a death sentence. Hell had become the ultimate boogeyman. I was constantly worried about my standing with God.
My parents like to kid that I perfected the guilt trip because I’d always make them feel bad if my older brother got something I didn’t.
But you’ve really never experienced a guilt trip like a Baptist altar call. They’ll have you repenting of sins you didn’t know you committed. I once went to Falls Creek (the world’s largest Christian youth camp) with a Methodist church. These kids had no idea what they were walking into.
On the first night of service, all 30+ kids went to the front during the altar call.
This post isn’t intended as an attack on Christianity, but there are elements of the church and the culture surrounding it that deserve to be critiqued. When you love someone, you should rebuke them, no?
I have so many fond memories of church. It was a second home and my constant community. It’s sad that these good things have been overshadowed by other, more unsavory, elements of the faith.
The way the church handles people they consider sinners is right up at the top of the list.
“Love the sinner, hate the sin.”
It has been trotted out so many times. The trite phrase is used to tell gay people that while we refuse to accept your very existence, are vocally disgusted by any physical display of affection, and actively try to take away your rights to marry the one you love and your ability to create a family—while all that is going on let me pat you on the back and say, “I love you.” I get warm fuzzies hearing it.
It’s like saying Love the Christian, Hate the Beliefs and Practices. I’ll actively try to take away your right to freely worship, teach your child what I believe is true, and publicly spit vitriol about your idiocy and then swing by Sunday brunch and say, “I love you, Christians.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard “love the sinner, hate the sin.” If you hate my sexuality, which is a core part of my identity—a part that is fully integrated and non-divisible from the rest of me—you don’t love me.
It may feel nice to say, but it does not feel good to hear.
While I do not ask for affirmation, it is unrealistic to believe that I can have as close of a relationship with those who don’t. People that are important and already established in my life are the ones I make an effort with.
But going forward? No, I won’t pursue a relationship with someone who believes that being gay is sinful.
I have yet to see “love the sinner, hate the sin” function in real life. If you hate my sexuality, you hate how I exist in the world. You will hate my marriage. You will hate me being a parent if I have kids. You will hate every reminder of my gayness. It cannot be separated from my everyday life. There will be a constant reminder and I refuse to cater my life to Christians’ sensibilities.
It makes my blood boil to hear how people talk about someone who left their church, denomination, or faith completely. “Well, they must not have been saved anyway.” “It must have been fake.” “If they were saved, they’ll come back. If not, they were never really saved in the first place.”
I don’t know many people more devout, earnest, or self-sacrificial than the gay Christian. Don’t let anyone tell you that your faith wasn’t or isn’t genuine.
The audacity to claim to know the internal workings of someone’s heart and thought process is staggering. It only takes an ounce of humility to realize that maybe you don’t know how everything is going to work out. Self-righteousness and complete certainty are a nasty combination.
It’s repeated time and time again. Drilled into your head until it becomes a foundational fact bound to your forehead: I am not reliable. I cannot trust myself. I cannot lean on my own understanding.
Your body will lie to you. Your mind will lie to you. Society will lie to you.
The church has the Truth though. You don’t need to question it. But if you do, that’s okay. Be ready to accept our apologetic response or admit that God’s ways are higher than your own and trust that he’s right.
And by he, I mean the pastor, not God Himself. Or if not the pastor, the denomination. And you can trust them because they’ve historically never been wrong about anything. *cough* Southern Baptists *cough* Slavery *cough* Women’s Rights.
Sowing distrust of the self and building total reliance on the church for knowledge is a dangerous combination. It not only lays you wide open for exploitation but also creates a division of self.
There is your sinful flesh fighting against your godly spirit. I find it hard to believe that God gave us bodies only for us to disregard their needs, intuition, and general functions.
Figuring out what I believe has been a tricky process. I have leaned on a lot of people who have gone before me: Rachel Held Evans, Rob Bell, Michael Gungor, “Science Mike,” and Peter Enns.
Everyone’s journey is different. We’re all coming from different places and headed in a variety of directions. My deconstruction doesn’t look like my best friend’s even though we grew up with nearly identical beliefs.
Your deconstruction is your process. You are accountable for whatever you decide. You have to live the life you think is right for you. You must own your faith.
Don’t live for someone else’s idea of right. Don’t live out someone else’s faith.
Inevitably you’ll crash and burn or get to the end of your life with a bundle of regrets.
Faith can be a beautiful, personal, life-giving thing. Do not accept less than that.
Deconstructing your faith feels dark and scary, but when the moment comes that you begin reconstructing? That’s when the light comes in.
The God you knew may be dead, but I think you may find that God has been the same all along. Your old idea of God has passed away, but a clearer picture filled with light and love and joy is coming through.
