When someone starts therapy, they tell their story over and over in a myriad of creative ways until they feel they are heard. When someone deconverts, they do the same thing. These phases of deconversion are another way to tell my story. (Go here for a complete description of the stages.)
Pre-deconversion – I do not remember a time when I wasn’t a Christian. For all the emphasis in evangelical Christianity on the individual decision (ie, saying the magic prayer), there was no difference between my pre-Christian and post-magic prayer life. Instead, being a Christian was more of an on-again, off-again experience that at the time I would have called ‘falling away.’ The difference between those times and now is that when the falling away happened, I believed that I’d moved away from God and that he was displeased with me. Now I don’t believe that God exists in the way I knew him, or even if he exists at all, so it’s inconsequential how close he is to me or whether I’ve hurt his feelings. This is my decision for my mental, emotional and spiritual health, and God has nothing to do with it. NB: I capitalize God not out of reverence for a divine being but because I knew him/her/it as a divine being at this stage in my life.
Even when I was a Christian, my faith wasn’t ”characterized by the complete lack of questioning about my faith”. This part of the description doesn’t fit for me because since I can remember I’ve been asking what pastors called ‘good questions’. Apparently it is admirable to critically examine your faith until you get too determined to finding an answer. There are just no answers for questions about the schizophrenic God who emerges from the tyranny of the Old Testament into the gentle meekness of the New.
Curiosity Killed the Cat – This is the questioning phase, “when the walls around your faith that protected it from introspection yield”. It’s hard to know when this started. Abusive church experiences and a soul-killing 4 years at Bible college definitely planted seeds, so that when I re-connected with God and church about 10 years ago, I had more questions than ever, which church leaders still couldn’t answer. Then further discrimination (not involving my family this time, but a good friend who was kicked out of the church), a therapy supervisor who taught me how to ask questions about all my most cherished beliefs (not just about God, but about gender, illness, institutions, etc), and further Bible school education added to the toxicity I was coming to associate with Christianity. I went from a conservative evangelical church, to a ‘church for the unchurched’, to a liberal Anglican congregation, to nothing. I didn’t know I was on the way out, but now the progression makes sense to me.
The quest for answers – I stopped reading the Bible 5 years ago, but still called myself a Christian. The time for seeking was over. Cracking the spine made me feel like I was at the bottom of a pile of boulders. I started looking for God outside of Christianity – in nature, in people’s interactions, in media, in anything beautiful. I was content to not know because the freedom just felt so good.
Do I believe? – I didn’t realize the answer was no until someone asked me 9 months ago. My answer then and now is, “I don’t believe in the Christian God.” And I don’t know enough about any other gods to believe in them. I was swept away by the goddess religion described in The Mists of Avalon, but the goddess is a being I can’t believe in because there’s no way to know her, and I have had enough of making gods out of my head.
There are more stages, but this is getting lengthy and I want to comment on Ronna Detrick’s heart-rending post about homesickness. It is hard for non-believers to understand how completely a dedication to religion consumes your life. It is hard to distinguish between myself and Christianity, between my thoughts and god’s. Missing the sense of belonging, trust, safety, purpose and common understanding that I lived with for 30 years is something I’ve kept quiet about, so I’m thankful to know I’m not alone:
“This wilderness experience sets up a real dilemma for some of us, since we know how much we owe to the traditions that shaped us. We would not be who we are without them, and we continue to draw real sustenance from them, but insofar as those same traditions discourage us from being with one another, we cannot go home again.”
Amy:
First, thank you for your kind words about, and hyperlink to my post.
Second, as I read your phases of deconversion (a term I’d never heard), I saw myself. Not step for step, but certainly similar roads, experiences, aches, and excruciating rendings.
I’m grateful for your telling here; for your concise and uncompromising words; for your implicit curiosity and for your hope…in between the lines of hurt and harm, for sure but there, nevertheless.
For me, hope has been inescapable – regardless of its context. And somehow, I have to believe that it is tied to the Divine (in ways I don’t understand…nor even need to). I’ve traveled to emotional/relational/spiritual places I would have never imagined. I anticipate more is yet to come.
As the journey continues, I’m grateful for companions along the way. Thank you.
Hi Ronna, Thanks for visiting, and for your post, and for being willing to spend time in the in between, neither here nor there places, when the rest of the world just wants to put people in boxes. It gives those of us who still haven’t landed some company. All the best, Amy
Hi, Amy, I connected here from Zoe’s blog.
Oh, I loved the Mists of Avalon. Read it years ago.
I’m very much drawn to Celtic Christianity because of this deep connection with the natural world.
It’s also interesting to explore the feminine aspect of God. Some scholars believe that the term used to describe the Holy Spirit of God is feminine.
Hi Grace, Thanks for visiting, and writing. It was such a revelation to me to read Mists of Avalon, along with a book called The Women’s History of the World, and learn that for 2500 years before Christ, god was predominantly female. I have not looked seriously into Goddess worship for fear that my experience of her would be one of my own making, as it was with the Christian God, but I wholeheartedly wish it was possible to know her.