Click Save, Don't Print

Last Thursday I was going through all our old backed-up files from Scotland on mine and Scott's shared drive, looking for "Throwback Thursday" photos to post on Facebook. I found some really old and fun pictures!

I also found a lot of old graphic design projects and documents. (Some of my designs I still think were good; some I was like "WHAT?!")

Then I ran across a letter I thought I'd long since deleted. But nope. It was still there. For some reason I kept it. I don't know why, because I was embarrassed about it right after I penned it.

It was a very old letter addressed to a friend. I am so humiliated by it that I will never ever admit anything about who it was addressed to. It was a friend. A long time ago. That's all I'm saying.

(Don't ask me if it was you. I won't admit a thing.)

I had written this letter out of conviction. A friend at church (someone I still love and adore and respect) had recommended writing this kind of letter to our non-Christian friends. I felt convicted after that to do so. I typed the letter up. I saved it. But I never had the guts to print it. I wanted to have the guts; I distinctly remembering praying for the courage to mail it. But I just couldn't. Maybe that's why it was still in My Docs. Maybe I had left it there until God had given me the courage to mail it. But I never did. And very soon after writing it, I was beyond embarrassed for ever even considering mailing it. I was SO FREAKING THANKFUL that I hadn't.

I had not forgotten this letter, by the way. I just thought it had been deleted. But no, it was anything but forgotten. I have thought about this letter a lot, so many times since writing it. I have thanked my embarrassment a gazillion times for keeping me from mailing it. It is terrible.

When I saw it in my old documents folder, a little bit of repulsion rose into my throat. No way I'm reading that again. I CANNOT face reading what I wrote.

But tonight, curiosity, and a little hubris (I finished my book! Feeling pretty chuffed!) enticed me to open up the letter and read it.

UGH. OH MY UGH.

I cannot share all of it. (Identifying details. I'm not telling you or anyone ever who it was addressed to so don't ask. It might have been you, but it probably wasn't.)

I will share some of it though. This, folks, is who I used to be. After finishing the book about my life as a Christian, I wondered if I had made myself sound too religious, more religious than I actually had been. Did I come across as a totally self-righteous prig?

Well if I did, it's because I WAS a totally self-righteous prig.

Here's the proof:

This is kind of a strange thing to do, but it’s been on my mind for ages now, so I guess I’ll just get on with it. For a while, I’ve felt like I should share with you how important my faith is to me. I suppose because you are my friend, and you’ve become one of my good friends, and it feels weird to me that I’ve never really talked about it much...

To sum it up, being a Christian is the biggest thing in my life. It is what makes me what I am. It enters into all parts of my life. I am easily able to talk about Jesus and prayer and what God has been doing in my life with friends from church, but it’s not as easy to do with friends outside church. Yet, because it really is so important to me, I want to be able to talk about it with anyone I’m close to.

Being a Christian for me isn’t just about going to church on Sundays and praying. It isn’t just something I do; it’s something I am. My beliefs enter into everything I do and think. The way I raise my children comes from my faith. The way I talk (though not always perfect) comes from my faith. The way I try to live my life, everything, comes from my faith. Often in conversations with my friends, I feel I can’t say certain things because it’ll sound odd because it sounds ‘religious’. But really, that is who I am. I don’t know why I can be so ashamed of it sometimes.

I also feel like it’s something I ought to share with my friends in another way, because I believe it is so important. I believe that only a life-changing experience with Jesus Christ can save us. I believe in heaven and hell, and I want the people I care about to know Jesus the way I do. This is the hard part, because I don’t like the idea of shoving my beliefs down anyone’s throat. I don’t like telling people what they should or shouldn’t think or believe. But I also feel that if I don’t at least tell them this is what I believe to the be the truth, then how can I really say I believe it that much? If I knew a certain drug or something was dangerous and could kill a person, or if there was a miracle drug that could save a person, wouldn’t I tell you? It’s the same with being a Christian. I believe that we must be saved by the grace of God to have eternal life (and not by any good we do ourselves), to spend it in heaven, so it only follows that I ought to tell my friends that too. Because I genuinely do believe it with all my heart. Would I be able to forgive myself if one of my friends died without me ever at least stating that? After that, it’s up to my friends to want to know more or not, but I should at least say it. So that’s what I’m doing here.

So really, this letter, hard as it is to write, has two purposes. One is to kind of ‘get it out in the open’ how real and important my faith is to me, so I don’t have to feel awkward when I want to say something, however casual , about it, and two is to just let you know that I really believe it’s important for everyone else too. Because you’ve been a good friend for a while now, it’s just been on my mind and my heart a lot to share it.

One reason I’ve put this off for so long is I’ve worried it’ll make our friendship awkward. I hope it doesn’t do that. I hope instead it makes our friendship more real, more honest. Don’t think I’m going to start shoving religion down your throat – that’s the last thing that will happen. I really don’t think that’s the right thing to do ever. I just hope our friendship can be more like the ones I have with people in my church, where I’m able to just say anything I’m thinking without worrying I sound like a weird religious freak... I’d only ever really get into deeper things if the conversation naturally went there. I hope that makes sense.

Okay. So now that I’ve written this, I’m going to go back through it, edit it and then decide what to do with it! My friend recently did this same thing; she had a friend she’d felt drawn to share the same things with, put it off for years actually (for the same reason – worrying it would ruin the friendship), but now that she’s done it, she says their friendship is better than ever – much more real and open and deep. I hope that’s the outcome with us.

I can sympathize with myself for writing this. I meant it so sincerely and so humbly.

But I know for certain it would have been SO SO WRONG to send it.

On the other side of the faith spectrum now, I can assure you this kind of letter would completely undermine a friendship. As sincerely and humbly as it was intended to be, it would have been a giant "DANGER" sign to the reader. With a smaller "THIS PERSON THINKS YOU ARE GOING TO HELL AND HAS ULTERIOR MOTIVES FOR THE FRIENDSHIP" disclaimer underneath.

Please, friends, don't ever do this. Christians, pray for your friends to be saved, as often as you like. But please never send them this letter.

Screen Doors

Just over a year ago, I came out as an atheist. It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I still remember how my heart pounded, how I kept the post in my drafts folder for days, trying to decide if I should publish or not. How I asked my husband repeatedly if he was okay with  me outing us.  How I worried about all the people who would be upset, all the doors that would slam in my face.

I ended up posting it, though, with shaking hands but an enormous sense of relief. The truth was out. I could finally be honest. Now I just wait for the reaction.

And the reaction was more positive than I ever could have hoped. A few people Facebook-unfriended me. A few people stopped talking to me. But the overwhelming majority of people offered me either words of encouragement, words of solidarity, or words of love. Some people offered their own faith and prayers, which I appreciated. Some people confided that my story resonated with them deeply and mirrored their own feelings and experiences. Very few doors slammed.

I was still fairly new in Arkansas at the time, only back a year. I was still making friends. I joined a book club around that time, the best book club in the universe, by the way. They made me feel safe, accepted, unjudged.  I made friends at the gym. They treated me as someone they trusted, cared about, someone worthy of their friendship.

These people around me - they kept the doors wide open and welcomed me freely into their lives, because of who I am, not what I believe (or don't). Most of them are Christians. They believe in living out the kind of life Jesus asked them to in the Bible, one of love, compassion, and acceptance. These people around me - they succeed in their quest to be like Jesus. I waited for the judgment to eventually fall, but it never did. They just loved.

I thought maybe coming out as an atheist wasn't nearly as terrible as everyone said it would be. After all, very few people shut the door in my face, which was far cry from what I'd braced myself for. Those who did were never close enough friends to begin with.

Now a year has gone by. But as I look back over the past year, I see something else that I never expected.

As time wore on, I noticed that some other people seemed to shy away from me, put up their guard. They hadn't shut me out, but they made some distance. This was to be expected. I imagined many people around here knew nothing of atheists beyond the loud, outspoken, and frankly not very nice Richard Dawkins types. They probably had reason enough to be concerned, a little fearful, a little unsure how I was to change. I noticed people who didn't shut the door in my face had at least taken a step back. A curious step, perhaps, or maybe a suspicious one. There was a distance there that hadn't been there before.

A screen door.

Like one who didn't want to give a salesperson too much encouragement, I realized people were standing behind their screen doors to talk to me.  They weren't shutting me out completely, but I was no longer invited in. There was an unbreakable politeness and a general kindness, but the warmth had cooled. At first, I passed it off as my imagination. A year later, though, I'm not sure it's my imagination after all. There are still screen doors making sure I don't get past the threshold.

I guess keeping the screen door closed to me is less cruel than slamming the front door entirely, but it's only slightly less hurtful. It keeps me on the defensive, paranoid, constantly over-analyzing. Is this really happening? Do they really feel this way? Was that me they were referring to? Publishing my memoir has made it even more complicated. It's one thing to be out on a blog with a small readership. It's another to be featured on the popular FriendlyAtheist.com.

I have been so lucky to have so many friends - every version of Christian even, from evangelical to liberal to Mormon - keep their doors wide open. People who can look at who I am and still believe I'm the same trustworthy, good person I've always tried my best to be. I doubt every atheist in the Bible Belt is so fortunate. I'm also lucky to know who not to bother with anymore too - the door slammers.  Good riddance to them. That kind of rejection simply makes my life easier.

But the screen doors?  Where do I go with them? Where do we stand? Will I ever prove to them that I'm not an awful human being simply because I don't believe what I used to? Are these doors locked forever or just temporarily? Is there even any point in worrying about it?

Is Christianity a Cult?

Mormons, JWs and Christians

Christians love referring to Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and several other break-away sects as "cults". Labeling them as such separates them from mainstream Christianity and orthodoxy (lest anyone confuse them with one another) and signifies to all would-be seekers that these are NOT acceptable organizations to involve oneself with. Needless to say, members of these religious groups do not appreciate being referred to as cults.

Whether or not they fit the above criteria isn't actually what I'm interested in. If pressed, I'd say they do. I'd also say so does Christianity. To the same extent Christians call Mormonism a cult, I could call Christianity a cult. Before going around labeling extremely large, well-organized religious groups "cults", Christians might want to pull the plank out of their own eyes first.

I'll use Mormonism, or the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, as my parallel example, since I know a lot more about them than I do JWs. As a damn good Christian once, I spent a lot of time researching the LDS so I could argue intelligently with them anytime they knocked on my door. I never once had a Jehovah's Witness at my doorstep, or I'd probably have researched them too.

Alongside Mormonism, I'm going to use two examples from my own Christian church experiences to compare and contrast with. I could upset a lot of people with my examples though, so out of sensitivity for people I know and love, I'll use the generic denominational descriptions - the New Apostolic Movement and the Closed Brethren. Then to be even fairer to "normal" Western Christianity, I'll pull examples from my childhood churches, which were technically non-denominational but conservative and very mainstream.

My intention here is really not to say all religion is bad (though sometimes I feel that way). It's to examine, from the outside, how there is cultish facets to all religion. While thankfully, one's life is not normally in danger after leaving the Judeo-Christian religion, and in general, physical and sexual abuse are not the "norm" in mainstream religion (as they can be in some of the smaller, more sinister cults one often thinks of when they hear the word), one still finds after leaving religion that indeed they had been brainwashed, had been controlled, and had been oppressed. I will try to show this by going through Robert J. Lifton, MD's 8 Criteria for Thought Reform. I will never be able to go into all the depth I could for each bullet point without writing a novel, so I will briefly give examples for each. If it appears I have been too generic or hand-wavey, it's for the sake of brevity. If it seems my Christian examples are weak, compare them to my Mormon examples, to determine if they are "weak" too. Perhaps a novel one day isn't a crazy notion, but for now, I'll just give enough basic examples to illustrate why I feel that in many ways, I too have escaped a cult.

I will use the following initials for each: LDS (Mormon), NAM (New Apostolic Movement), CB (Closed Brethren) and MC (mainstream Christianity.)

1. Milieu Control.This involves the control of information and communication both within the environment and, ultimately, within the individual, resulting in a significant degree of isolation from society at large.

This can be said to some degree of all my four examples, though on this point alone none would be considered cultish. On the most basic level, they are all expected to learn from their own scriptures, which is declared God's Word. Other non-sacred writings from within the group are encouraged, while outside material is viewed with suspicion.

MC, along with all the following, advocates "being in the world but not of the world", not being "unequally yoked with unbelievers" and "not forsaking the gathering together of believers", creating a sense of isolation (more on this in Point 5).

As far as I know, the same goes for LDS. They are not encouraged to shun non-believers, as far as I understand. But again, see Point 5 later.

The same goes for NAM. Though they were a little more leary of getting too involved in this world. While getting out into the world to share the Gospel was a must, there was also to be a strong separation intimately. Both MC, NAM and CB are against "being unequally yoked with unbelievers", whether in romantic relationships, close friendships or even business.

Not too long ago, CB were discouraged from going to movies or watching TV. Today, the CB believe that the Leading Brethren are infallible on matters of faith, and therefore their publications are to be read as absolute truth (the name of their newsletter is "Needed Truth" incidentally). They were very much supposed to stick together and shun the outside. Nowadays they don't do that so much, but they still refuse to work with other churches in community projects or allow their leaders to preach at other churches. Members are not to take communion at any other church but theirs. Really, they aren't technically supposed to even attend a different church.

Is this different from being completely isolated from the world, from outside communication, and unbelieving family members like the cults we imagine? Yes. Is it still a degree of isolation from outside influences? Yes.

2. Mystical Manipulation.There is manipulation of experiences that appear spontaneous but in fact were planned and orchestrated by the group or its leaders in order to demonstrate divine authority or spiritual advancement or some special gift or talent that will then allow the leader to reinterpret events, scripture and experiences as he or she wishes.

This is less true for all four examples, at least overtly. Is there proof of this in most churches, LDS or otherwise? Christians love to point out the Temple rituals of the LDS as mystical manipulation, and having never experienced the Temple Endowment, I can't speak authoritatively on it. From the outside, yes, a lot of it looks manipulative and staged. Hours of trance-like prayers, bizarre group reenactments, practicing secret handshakes and passwords to bypass the angel guards in the Celestial Kingdom, ceremonial washings and anointings. The environment is very psychological. (However, keep in mind that not every Mormon is a Temple Mormon.)

What, then, of MC? In most churches, including NAM churches, the lights are turned down low, the music swells, the songs repeat the same line over and over again until the congregation is in a trance-like spiritual state, emotions are played upon, requiring attendees to search their souls and root out all sin, bringing many to tears. There is emotional and psychological manipulation going on in most MC churches. (Not to mention some of their outreach programs.) Depictions of the cross with an emaciated Jesus hanging, oral descriptions of the pain he suffered for us, admonishments for the sins in our own hearts that nailed him to the cross. Sermons that remind congregants of their inherent wickedness as the piano starts to softly play and the altar call is made.

In the NAM and other charismatic churches, people begin speaking in strange tongues, shake, fall out, wail, prophesy, and dance. In some, demons appear to be cast out of people. People claim to have visions from heaven. (I've even heard personal testimonies of having been teleported or of having a glowing aura while prophesying.) Is this mystical manipulation too? Once the congregation is in this repentant, submissive, broken state, the preacher then tells them what to do - be saved, be baptized, give money, join the church, repent, come forward.

The CB to its credit is not into mystical anything. There are never any charismatic acts of healing, tongues or prophecy. They do not use instruments in official church meetings. They do not set any moods. The only manipulation of this sense was intellectual. You believe what they said because the leaders are infallible on matters of faith. They don't use tricks to make you believe that. They just tell you what to think. (And don't like it much when you disagreed.) Still, there's not really any "mystical manipulation" in the CB.

Is this different from cults staging wild spiritual phenomena, like visions, exorcisms, and demon-casting, like we imagine? Only a little. Does the lesser degree of staging spiritually enhancing environments make it less intentional and manipulative? No. Do wild stagings happen in mainstream churches? Yes. See TV preachers such as Benny Hinn for obvious examples, but they happen in the NAM all the time too, whether they are patently false and acted out, or simply psychological delusions.

3. Demand for Purity.The world is viewed as black and white and the members are constantly exhorted to conform to the ideology of the group and strive for perfection. The induction of guilt and/or shame is a powerful control device used here.

I really shouldn't have to convince anyone of this. This is very obvious. MC view the world as black and white, saved and unsaved, and those who are Christian are the right ones while everyone else are the wrong ones. Christianity is considered (by themselves) as the One True Religion. Jesus is the only way to heaven. We as human beings are to strive to become holy and blameless, just like Christ. Most Christians will admit that this is impossible this side of heaven, but we are to strive for it regardless. Guilt and shame (disguised as "conviction" and "admonishment") are major forces. While they would claim that in Christ we are free from all condemnation, guilt and shaming devices are used every Sunday to remind us of our shortcomings in relation to God and to repent and strive harder.

In the CB, certain sins are treated as extremely guilt-inducing and will get you kicked out of the church, such as sexual immorality and divorce. While you can be re-admitted into the church, it is after a time and alongside public confession (see the next section).

In the NAM, sin is still just as terrible, but there is a lot more leniency and "grace" towards sinners. However, this is no license for slacking. Purity is the goal. Those within the movement, whose hearts are right with God and totally for God, forsaking all else, are the truly saved ones. The rest of the world are just nominal Christians. If those lackadaisical people are even truly saved, they are only barely saved. You are either one hundred and ten percent living for God, or you are not living pure enough. This can be said of many churches and many denominations within MC too. There is a strong us vs them mentality all throughout MC.

As for the LDS, this is taken to a different level. While Christianity claims that none are perfect and we can do no good of our own, and salvation is completely a gift of God and not anything to do with our own works (though good works should follow salvation), the LDS believe "it is by grace we are saved, after all we can do." Purity is very important to Mormons too, but perhaps even more so, since salvation somewhat depends on it. The consequences are more nuanced though. less black and white. Rather than the choice of Heaven or Hell, there are levels of heavenly homes, the Celestial Kingdom reserved for good Mormons, and lesser heavens for the good people, Mormon or other. Only the really nasty level (which still isn't "hell" per se) is reserved for the really nasty people. As for guilt and shame, most ex-Mormons I know will admit that these are very powerful tools within the community to coerce obedience. Most ex-Christians I know (including myself) will admit that guilt and shame are powerful tools the Christian community also use to coerce obedience. Not necessarily explicitly, but most certainly implicitly.

Is this different from the purity demanded of cult members and the guilt and shame used to keep them in line? I don't think so at all.

4. Confession.Sins, as defined by the group, are to be confessed either to a personal monitor or publicly to the group. There is no confidentiality; members' "sins", "attitudes" and "faults" are discussed and exploited by the leaders.

I'll start here with the CB. As I mentioned a moment ago, certain sins will get you excommunicated. These sins are read out in a letter to the entire membership of one's particular assembly. If the excommunicated public repents of his sin and stops the act, they can be re-admitted into the assembly. The best examples are sexual immorality and divorce. If one has pre-marital or extra-marital sex, it is to be confessed to the church leadership and excommunication will follow, regardless of the repentant nature. If the sexual misconduct has ended, one can be later re-instated. As for divorce, the initiating spouse will be excommunicated. Neither spouse is allowed to remarry. If the spouse does remarry, he or she will be excommunicated, though if he or she later "repents" of the second marriage (though the second marriage does not need to be dissolved), the remarried spouse may be re-admitted to the assembly. In CB churches, these sins are definitely discussed publicly and in many ways exploited by the leaders.

In the NAM, while there are no concrete rules like this, public confession is strongly encouraged for accountability and purity. In my own experience, I was encouraged to confess any sins or bad attitudes I'd committed during my weekly home group meetings and with my mentor. I was encouraged to confess my sins to anyone who was considered in any kind of authority to me, all for the purpose of purifying my heart and in some cases, casting out the spirits of this or that. I wouldn't say these things were ever exploited by the leaders in my own church, but they have been in other NAM (and MC) churches. "Confessing your faults one to another and praying for one another that you may be healed" is a Christian concept. In Roman Catholicism, Confession to a priest is a well known sacrament, as well as a command. In all churches I've attended confession is encouraged to greater or lesser degrees.

The LDS are to confess sins to their Bishop, as taught in the Doctrines & Covenants. He then determines the consequences, as far as revoked sacrament-taking and other church-participation privileges, all for the sake of bringing one back into good standing with the ward and God. A guilty conscience will determine if confession is necessary. As with Christians, the purpose is to absolve one of personal guilt by confessing to someone else, often a superior.

Is this the different from confessing sins publicly in front of the entire group and having it used against you? Maybe, but maybe not. Depending on the group we are talking about, faults can be either very publicly used against you or only privately exploited. Punishments and consequences of your faults, sins or attitudes are determined by third party.

5. Sacred Science.The group's doctrine or ideology is considered to be the ultimate Truth, beyond all questioning or dispute. Truth is not to be found outside the group. The leader, as the spokesperson for God or for all humanity, is likewise above criticism.

There is a lot of overlap here with Point 1. Within MC, members can sometimes be "encouraged" to study outside their religion to bolster their faith (and churches who encourage this ought to be given credit for their confidence and bravery), but at the same time, they are warned that the Devil is tricksy and can lead them astray if they study these things without being properly spiritually prepared. Which is the same as saying, "Unless you are super Christian, best not get into that just yet." They also, of course, believe the Bible to be the absolute truth (though there are progressive churches that accept the Bible as metaphorical) and all information outside the Bible, including science, is to be regarded with caution at best. At worst, they are tools of Satan to confuse you and lead you astray.

Reading anti-Mormon (LDS) literature is actively and pretty explicitly discouraged. You won't get in trouble for reading it or anything, but you'll be counselled not to. The above MC stance again applies to LDS.

The NAM, as far I know, don't push any particular written materials but to a lesser extent accept as reliable evidence the testimonies of other members, regardless of how fantastic their stories or preachings are, because they are perceived as from God. The Bible is not so much a closed canon for them; God can reveal new information to anyone at anytime. They took it a step further sometimes, though, that outside information and influence might actually sometimes be a way of allowing demonic spirits into you or into your home. So basically, be on alert at all time (but accept our testimonies as true because they happened to us so it's definitely true).

For the CB, since the leaders are considered infallible in matters of faith, their publications are to be taken freely as absolute truth. They follow the Bible as the sole source of truth, and their leaders' interpretations of it are considered correct. Other interpretations, even those of other Christian churches, are wrong or misguided. Again, members and leaders are to remain separate from even other Christian churches. If the Body of Christ includes all Christians, they at least consider themselves the Head. (Yes, this is an example they have used.)


6. Loading the Language.The group interprets or uses words and phrases in new ways so that often the outside world does not understand. This jargon consists of thought-terminating cliches, which serve to alter members' thought processes to conform to the group's way of thinking.

I'll admit this is a hard one, though I feel it should be obvious. I guess I just don't think of it as "cultish" really. I mean, all groups have their jargon; hang out on Reddit or in a sailing club and you'll be utterly confused about what anyone is talking about. I guess the point is that this can separate people further from outsiders, that they can load meaning into words that the Average Joe would use more simply. Words like "righteousness" and "holiness" are perhaps harder to come by than you might think. I don't know. We all know that all Christian groups have their "language". Maybe this is the one where we all get let off the hook. Maybe stereotypical cults do this to an extent I don't understand?

7. Doctrine over person.Members' personal experiences are subordinated to the sacred science and any contrary experiences must be denied or reinterpreted to fit the ideology of the group.

This one is different for all the groups.

So within MC, usually doctrine always takes precedent over personal experiences. In general this is means in a situation where a member says they have felt God telling them that X is okay but X is condemned in the Bible, then the Bible is right. Or if someone has had some kind of religious experience that is contrary to Christianity, their experience was a delusion. Or if someone (like me) does NOT feel any experience that the Bible claims I should, then the Bible is still right and the problem is within the person's own heart. Basically cognitive dissonance always wins. In evangelical churches were charismatic behavior is not the norm, any supernatural experience such as speaking in tongues is also considered faulty and the person's sincerity does not trump what the Bible says (according to them). I think it was Martin Luther who said, “I wouldn’t believe you if you had swallowed the Holy Ghost, feathers and all!” Scripture and doctrine trump what you've experienced.

I'm not sure how the LDS approach this. I do know that individuals' experiences are confirmed by "the burning in the bosom" which comes when truth is revealed. (Before MC scoff, this is no different than the feeling you get when God "speaks" to you.) I am going to assume, however, that if the burning in the bosom occurs over something contrary to their belief system, this will be considered deception.

The CB are very strict about this. No one's personal experience is more believable than the Bible or church doctrine. End of story.

The NAM, however, are very, very different on this one. Personal experiences actually CAN overrule doctrine at times. As long as it confirms God and Christ. If it deviates from the accepted truth too far, then it will likely be ruled out. But a person can claim all kinds of fantastic things, as long as it continues to uphold a general belief in Christ.

In all situations, when personal experiences fail to prove God, the situation is reinterpreted to fit their ideology. A person who prays to God for faith and gets nothing did not get denied faith by God but is still too sinful or too proud or too something (anything), which is getting in the way of actually knowing God.

So, Points 6 and 7 - pretty weak evidence that Christianity is a cult, right? Would you admit the evidence is weak for Mormonism too then on these two points?

8. Dispensing of existence. The group has the prerogative to decide who has the right to exist and who does not. This is usually not literal but means that those in the outside world are not saved, unenlightened, unconscious and they must be converted to the group's ideology. If they do not join the group or are critical of the group, then they must be rejected by the members. Thus, the outside world loses all credibility. In conjunction, should any member leave the group, he or she must be rejected also.

Absolutely. Absolutely true of each of these religious groups. Obviously MC believe they are saved, they have received the truth, they have been chosen in some cases, and the rest of the world are in darkness, have rejected the truth, are lost, unsaved and must be converted to avoid eternal punishment. They also conclude that those who have it close to right, but not right enough (like say, Mormons, JWs, etc) are also lost, unenlightened, deceived. And going to hell.

The LDS believe this too, minus the eternal punishment (unless you're a REALLY nasty person). Mormons believe that MC have it close to right, but not right enough, therefore they are unenlightened and need to be converted to the absolute complete truth.

The NAM believe they are the ones who have it really right and all the other Christians are not quite Christian enough. They won't be lost, but they aren't as enlightened as they are, or as serious about their faith, or are missing out on some really great things God is doing. Those outside Christianity (including Mormons, JWs, etc) are lost and in darkness and deceived. And going to hell.

The CB believe they have it totally right and all other Christians are not totally right enough. They won't be lost, but they don't have it all exactly right. And anyone outside the Christian faith (including Mormons, JWs, etc) are deceived and lost and not saved. And are going to hell.

And for all these groups, the more adamantly against their religion you are, the deeper into darkness you are. If you are actively anti-Christian or anti-Mormon, you are even more deceived and pitiable. Christians (mainstream, ultra-conservative or not) really don't like atheists and Muslims who they perceive as actively anti-Christian (sometimes this is true, sometimes not) and consider them to be the most lost. Depending on your particular congregation, these people are to be either totally rejected or even more reached out to to get them saved. However, should someone actually LEAVE any of these groups, shit gets REAL. There are exceptions, sure, but in general, MC, LDS, NAM and CB all to some extent turn their backs on those who first turned their backs on them. They can lose family members, friends, jobs, everything. Having personally experienced this after leaving the CB and Christianity as a whole, I can attest to the fact that you will be rejected (though individuals may still keep some slight form of contact). Having friends who have left the LDS, I know this also happens there too, often.

Signs you left a cult? When everyone turns against you and rejects you (in our case, we were labeled as tools of Satan, in almost as many words), or when you friends and family turn away from you because you left their religion or church, does that sound like leaving a cult? Does the Sailing Club turn away from you in anger when you lose interest in sailing? Does anyone even notice when you stop posting on Reddit?

If you think none of this is solid evidence that Christianity is a cult, then that's fine. Just ask yourself then, is Mormonism anymore or less of a cult than Christianity? Is the Closed Brethern or the New Apostolic Movement? Are Seventh Day Adventists or Jehovah's Witnesses any more or less cultish than Christianity?

But of course Christianity isn't a cult because it's the truth and all the rest of these are false!

Right?

No Fear In Love

Once upon a time, my Papaw and Mamaw took me to their Assembly of God church’s production of Heaven’s Gates Hell’s Flames©. This is a play that Christian production companies take on tour to churches all over the world, using the members of the local congregations as the actors, which tells the stories of various people in their last moments of life and their subsequent first moments of eternity. Will they end up at Heaven’s Gates or will they succumb to Hell’s Flames?

The good people, and perhaps one bad person who at the end of his life begged for salvation, all met a meek, white-robbed, shaggy- haired Jesus who graciously and lovingly drew them to the shining bright light on Stage Left where they would spend eternity in peace, comfort and eternal bliss. The bad people, however, and maybe one person who “thought” he was good, were dragged kicking and screaming by demons to the red satin streamers flapping onto the stage by the fan of the flickering red lights of Hell’s Flames, Stage Right. The moral of the story: You never know when your last moment will be (car crash, falling to your death from work scaffolding, gunshot, or if you’re simply lucky, old age), so get prepared now. Ask Jesus into your heart now (there will be an altar call at the end of this production to assist you as you make your lifelong commitment now) or risk dying on the way home and being dragged to your eternal doom by the scariest red Spandex-wearing, black goatee-sporting Satan you could ever imagine.

At the end of that production, when the pastor asked the non-believers in the crowd to raise their hands to be saved – and requested the rest of the audience bow their heads so they wouldn’t see whose hands were raised – I nervously lifted my hand. I had already asked Jesus into my heart a couple of times before, but now I had to be sure, doubly sure, triply sure that I was saved, just in case. I did not want to be dragged Stage Right. I was terrified of being dragged Stage Right, for all of forever, never to be released. My Mamaw next to me gently tugged my arm back down. I was so confused. Was she ashamed that I wasn’t already saved? I was afraid of disappointing her so I put my hand down and stayed in my seat. I remembered that I could just as easily get saved from my seat as from the altar, so there in my chair, I begged God to please save me from going to hell, but I was still afraid that by not actually getting out of my seat and going forward, that my pride had kept me from actually being heard by God.

I was eight years old.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” (1 John 4:18, NIV) This is what we are taught. We are told that it is God’s love that draws us to him, not fear. Yet at the very end of it all, the threat of hell dangles ahead of us, always warning us, always keeping us in check. When we doubt our faith, when we doubt God, when we are tempted to do wrong or go our own way, images of hell flicker in our minds. Eternal separation from God, misery, agony, death that never lets you die, the arrogant, maniacal laughter of Satan – though he too is burning – drives us from taking steps too far from God. The closer we tiptoe to the edge, the more real hell becomes. The flames lick our feet, the smoke singes our hair, and we run full force back into the arms of Jesus. Once we are there, we claim it was Jesus’ love that brought us back, but really, it was the proximity to hell that drove us home.

Fear is a motivator. Parents, teachers, police officers, judges and madmen use it all the time.

Do that again and you’ll get a spanking.
Study harder or you will fail.
Break the law and you will go to prison.
Use protection or you will get pregnant or an STD.
If you ever turn gay, boy, I will beat your ass.
Scream, bitch, and I’ll kill you.

Consequences are directly linked to fear, for better or for worse, and we use consequences and fear constantly to assure cooperation. Some consequences are logical, natural consequences: throw that toy out of anger and it will break, rob that liquor store and you will get arrested, cheat on your spouse and you could lose your marriage. Others, however, are illogical and unnatural: hit your sister and you will get spanked (e.g., hit by me), forget your homework once and fail the class, talk back to an officer and get shot. Fear is a factor anytime consequences are considered, and some fear is helpful in making positive decisions. But when fear is taken to an unnatural extreme, it can be abused as manipulation.

I know already what the Christian wants to say: “But hell IS a natural, real consequence, and the worst consequence, and it would be wrong of us not to warn you!” Putting aside, for just a moment, the fact that there is no actual evidence that hell is a real, natural consequence other than an ancient book sort of, kind of, if you read it a certain way, says so, I have to wonder just what kind of all loving, Heavenly Father would actually choose eternal torture as a reasonable punishment.

Parents discipline their kids in various ways. Time-outs, loss of privileges, rectification, smacks. The purpose of discipline is supposed to be character building. We teach children about natural consequences so they will understand how to make better decisions in the future. We explain right from wrong. We try to show them how wrong decisions affect and hurt others, and why right decisions are always right, even when they are hard. We fill our box of parenting tools with the tools we believe will be best suited to these purposes. In general, we all try to do our best to reach the same common goal of bringing up children who are good. This is what God the Father is supposed to be doing too. Teaching us lessons that will make us stronger, better, more righteous people.

When we hear of parents who have beat their children to a pulp or who have kicked their children onto the streets, very few of us agree these parents have done right. A boy who is beaten by his father for being gay or the girl who is kicked out on the streets for getting pregnant are examples to us all of how not to parent our kids. Yet even in the worst possible way, those parents are in some dim, misguided, heartless way trying to teach their kids a lesson. Trying to “improve” them, in most cruel and irrational ways. These are what we call “bad parents”. Yet when we look at hell, we see something crueller than even that.

We see a loving Heavenly Father who gives his children hardships to strengthen them, who allows horrible things to happen to them to bring them even closer to him. Abusive relationship parallels aside, the most innocent and well-intentioned view of this is that God just wants us to be the best we can be, making us more like his Son Jesus, which is the goal. But that is only one side of him. The other side looks at those who are not his children (even though they are his creation) with total disregard, or worse, with vengeance. He gives salvation freely but not to these people. And for his creation that he disregarded, he has a plan for ultimate punishment – eternal torture in a fiery furnace of misery, agony, complete separation from all good things like love and companionship and holiness, forever and ever and ever with no chance for redemption. No chance of redemption. No chance to learn from their mistakes and become better.

Even the worst parent who beats his child does it with some kind of sick belief it will do the child some good.

Unless God the Father is like the father who beats his child for his own sick pleasure and nothing else, God is no Father at all. The God of the Bible that Christians taut as all-loving, who Christians insist to your face loves you has designed a place for you where you will suffer for eternity for absolutely no reason other than not believing in him. He withholds his grace from you (remember, faith is a gift that only God can give) and will punish you for it. Unless you want to spend your eternal afterlife in this miserable place, you better get yourself right with this all-loving, all-compassionate Heavenly Father who has the power to make you burn. Fear of hell is the ultimate motivator.


Last night I went back to see a production of Heaven’s Gates Hell’s Flames©; I wanted to know if it was really as frightening as I remembered. It was. Everything was exactly as I remembered it, except Satan wasn’t wearing red Spandex as he did in my mind’s eye, but instead a black cloak, a menacing white and black mask with evil facial features and had reverb in his loud, booming voice. Hell was still Stage Right, with smoke and satin flames and flickering red lights. He still dragged both bad and good (though all of course always pre-warned, because that’s how the world really works) people into his lair, begging and screaming their bloodcurdling pleas for forgiveness all too late. Even as a thirty-something year old post-Christian, I watched in horror, as my chest tightened with memories of that childhood terror, the childhood dreams of demons dragging me to hell, the fear I was never really saved and would one day die to hear my supposed Savior shout, “Depart from me, I never knew you!” Unchecked, I myself would’ve been swayed by the naked fear it instilled in me; that primal fear of hell may never go away.

It was a sad realization. The trauma we go through as children will always be with us. It will always be there, hidden in somewhere in our psyches, long after rationalization and logic take over our conscious thoughts.

There were several children in the audience, some who looked too young to even be in school. To their credit, the production staff did warn at the start that the program was not suitable for children under ten and encouraged parents to send their kids to a children’s program located elsewhere in the building. Many kids went to that, but many stayed. I wondered how many parents who kept their kids with them had actually seen the play themselves previously. I wondered if they had, if they would still insist on keeping their children in to watch teen suicides, domestic violence, murders, car and plane crashes, school shootings and of course the Devil Himself unfold right before their baby eyes.

My heart ached when I saw a tiny little girl, no older than six, lift her own skinny arm at the altar call at the end, seeing myself in her tiny blond bob, seeing her future before her, one of fear, even if also mixed with love. Fear will be with her as she grows into a woman.

After the final scene, where a screaming unsaved mother is dragged away from her screaming, begging Christian teenage daughter by the billowy, echoey hooded Satan and his demons at the gates of heaven, and the girl is hugged by Jesus then sent on her own to enter the pearly gates looking forlorn but okay, the production director came on stage and began the obligatory altar call. At first, he asked that all would bow their heads and close their eyes, just as the director did twenty-five years ago. He asked that anyone who wanted to invite Jesus into their lives slip a hand in the air. He then asked them to stand, and anyone else who was too afraid to lift their hands the first time to also stand. Then he requested that all the backslidden Christians also stand. Even with my head bowed, I could sense all the bodies around me standing. He then invited them to come forward to the altar at the front. Bodies filed past me, many crying, many looking guilt-ridden, a few looking relieved. As the director kept insisting there were more backsliders who hadn’t yet come forward, and more “backsliders” filed past me to the front, I felt the same familiar rage build inside of me. These are good people! You are all good people! I wanted to scream. I was burdened and angry at the guilt heaped upon guilt being laid on thick on all the spiritual masochists in the room – and all the normal people too – who were all searching their hearts and determining that he – no, God – was speaking to them. I waited. I wanted to stay to the end if I could.

Then he said, “Christians, I want you to turn to the person next to you, even if you don’t know them. Maybe put your arm around them. I want you to ask them, ‘Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?’"

I couldn’t take any more.

Before the sweet looking teenager next to me whose friend had just gone forward could turn to me, I turned to the aisle and marched not forward to the altar but backwards to the back of the room and out the back door. Eyes followed me, but I did not care. I had no intention of making a scene, but I’d seen and heard enough. Frustrated, I knew that many people interpreted that in their own Christianese as me hardening my heart to the Spirit, but it was far from being that. It was like having to leave a scene of abuse that you have no way of stopping. Like having to walk away from something that is so wrong and out of your control that you cannot bear witnessing it any longer. Like turning your head away from a car crash on the freeway instead of rubbernecking. I had seen enough of my past and these strangers’ futures to watch any longer. The anger bubbling up inside me was too explosive. I’m afraid of what I would’ve said to that sweet teen next to me. Afraid of what would have come out of my mouth. My purpose in life is not to insult other people’s sincerely held faiths. But it is also not my purpose to condone psychological abuse.

Luckily no one followed me outside, though I was worried someone might.


Reflecting later last night, one more sad realization struck me. Fear is the overarching theme of this play. The scenes of people going to hell dominate not only my recollections of last night, but my memories of the play from twenty-five years ago. I remembered so distinctly the damned being dragged to hell Stage Right. But how is it that I did not remember that the saved walked up a huge flight of stairs center stage to enter heaven through a shiny curtain at the top where they were greeted by Jesus? I realized, I only concluded that the Christians went to heaven Stage Left because actually, I couldn’t remember at all what happened to the saved. That was never the point of the play. How did I recall every detail of hell in the wings twenty-five years later but forgot that the entire stage was decorated in gold and silver, with sparkling steps running up the center, surrounded by angels who stood on stage the entire time, with a humble Jesus waiting at top, arms outstretched?

Jesus is not the point of this play, that’s why.

Jesus never speaks a word. Not one word throughout the whole production. He never makes a single active motion aside from hugs to the people who climb the steps towards him. In only one scene does he seem to intervene in a situation, the one in which a troubled teen commits (accidental) suicide. Both Jesus and Satan approach her silently, then Satan flees when she calls out to Christ. Even then, Jesus only stands there smiling gently. He does not actually do anything for her until she is in heaven and he silently wipes his hand across her arm, removing the scars from years of cutting, before sending her through the curtain.

Conversely, Satan has lots to say. In his booming, echoing voice, he taunts the sinners, laughs at the arrogant fools who thought being a good person was good enough, and then addresses the audience with one-liners about how he loves to watch anger CONSUME people’s hearts and how pornography is his SPECIALTY. Then he flaps back to hell with guffaws that echo through the room after blackout.

Jesus is entirely forgettable. I do not recall anything that Jesus did twenty-five years ago on that stage. But Satan was everything I remembered. It could have been the same actor, the memories are so exact.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”

Things You Should Know About Me

Lately I've been wanting to dispel some myths about atheists. Since "coming out", I've had a few people seem, I don't know, uncomfortable maybe? around me. It's as if they don't know what to think of me anymore.  I began writing out some myths about atheists, but I soon realized that there is no way to categorize all atheists and what they are or aren't.  Just as you can't categorize all Christians in the same way atheists, believers, and everyone in between come in all shapes, sizes and temperaments. Since it would be impossible to dispel myths about "atheists", I simply want to dispel some assumptions about ME.

1. I don't hate Christians. Or God for that matter.
I still have total respect for my friends and family, just as I always have. I've not always agreed with everyone on everything anyway, and I good-naturedly argued various points with them, but I've never hated them or what they believed, and that hasn't changed now. In fact, I still very much enjoy a good theological debate. If you want to talk to me about your relationship with God, I still want to listen. I still understand you and empathize with you. I've been there. Talk away.  And I don't hate God either. I just don't think he exists. I'm not going to start saying mean, insensitive, blasphemous things about him to you. I still ask my kids not to use the Lord's name in vain, because I know it's insensitive. I also don't insult Muslims, Mormons, or Jews for what they believe either. I don't hate any of you or any of your beliefs. I just don't believe the same things as you.

2. Similarly, I'm not just angry at God either.
Just because I don't believe in something doesn't equate anger with that thing. To use a very poor, inadequate example, I stopped believing in the tooth fairy once, but it wasn't because I was mad that she forgot to pick up my tooth - which she did indeed forget. I just started putting all the pieces together and realized my mom was the tooth fairy and I hadn't told her I'd lost my tooth. I know God and the tooth fairy aren't the same thing, but the concept still holds - disbelief does not equal anger.  While I might have once been angry at God (and I was), I did not stop believing in him just to get back at him.

3. I have not lost my morals.
Some of my ethical and moral philosophies have shifted, true, but that does not mean I am now amoral. Just because I no longer fear divine retribution or eternal damnation for wrongdoings does not mean I now give myself license to wrongdoing. I care about my fellow man. I care about my children. I care about my husband. I don't want to hurt people, not by stealing, gossipping, cheating or injuring.  My motivation for being good has always been personal, out of my own desire to be a good person. I used to also feel accountable to God for my actions. But without that accountability, I still have that same personal desire to be the best person I am able to be. And when I do mess up? It's not because I've "lost my way" and "turned my back against God". It's because I'm human and fallible, just like I was before, just like you are, and we all make mistakes, with or without God.

4. I am not "militant".
I may talk about my non-beliefs to or in front of you, but I have no intention of "shoving it down your throat." Similarly, I have no desire to make you change your beliefs. In fact, that is very much NOT what I want to do. I know firsthand how painful the exit from faith is. I don't want to force that on anyone else. If something I say resonates with you, that's different, but it's not my intention to tear apart your faith in any way. Just as I don't regard you merely talking about faith as shoving it down MY throat, I hope you'll see that my talking about my experience is the same. The only way we'll all understand each other is if we listen to each other. When anyone starts getting defensive or offensive, the lines of communication shut down. I understand your need to talk about what matters to you. If my talking about what matters to me is upsetting to you, just stop listening. I'll never talk about it as a backhanded way of denigrating or criticising you.

5. My life is not meaningless and death is not hopeless.
If anything, I feel my life has more meaning now than ever before. Now that I realize this is my only shot at life, and there is no life hereafter in which to atone for my mistakes (and there is no God to fix what I've done wrong), I now live life a lot more intentionally and purposefully. I try to repair my mistakes myself, now, rather than leaving it up to God to rectify. I am grateful for every second I am alive in which to awe at the splendor of this universe.  I don't believe in eternal damnation or glorification. I wish, oh I definitely wish, that I could one day watch the continuation of life progress from my comfortable mansion in heaven, but knowing that I can't just means I must appreciate every moment of living now. As for death, I'm not going to pretend the loss of the heavenly concept isn't a bit disappointing (I really wanted to prove I'm right about so many things to Scott after getting to ask God), but it's not hopeless. My body will be donated to science to be practiced on by the nation's future doctors, and then I will return to the earth. It's kind of wonderous. My energy, whatever energy is left of me when I die, will return to the earth and keep the process of life moving on. I came from nature and will return to nature. I think that's fascinating.

6. I'm not trying to be edgy and trendy.
Far from it. I never wanted to be an atheist. I thought all atheists were evil assholes. I'm still a little uncomfortable with the label. I could just do away with labels altogether, but at the end of the day, it does accurately describe my view of divinity. I was much prouder of my Calvinist label than I am of my atheist one. It's not about being edgy. I got over the excitement of rebellion sometime around the age of 19 (except for when it comes to my hair color, piercings and tattoos!). That's about the extent of my edginess, says the girl with a Soccer Mom plate on her white minivan.

7. And finally, it's not just a phase.
I go through lots of phases: crafty phases, bento phases, pet phases, fitness phases. This is not one of them. I'll always miss certain things - the community of church, the comfort of believing in divine protection, the dream of an afterlife. I'll talk sometimes with longing about my past beliefs. But that doesn't make me a Christian in remission. I don't know for certain what the future holds for me, of course, but I'm pretty certain it doesn't hold a reconversion to religious faith. However, if you want to keep praying for me, I won't be offended by that. Prayers (honest prayers) come from a place of love, and whatever our beliefs, love is universal. I hope that our differences in religious beliefs won't displace love.

I Don't Need To Join Another Cult!

So lately I've been really into documentaries. I've been watching documentaries on Netflix on anything and everything, from Mitt Romney to asexuals to sushi.  I've watched several documentaries on various cults, which I find extremely fascinating.

On a seemingly entirely different subject, I've recently really gotten into fitness and working out and (mostly) healthy eating.  I've started a Love My Body project and have been focusing not so much on losing weight, but on feeling good about myself and embracing - and loving - the body I have.  I can do a little to shape and sculpt it, but at the end of the day, the frame is the same and I am learning to love my curves.

One night, at a Zumba Toning class, a guy introduced himself to me and invited me to come along to a local fitness group.  The Zumba Toning class already appeared to be made up of 30 or so people who clearly knew each other's fitness goals intimately, and they all rallied around encouraging me to join their group.  I smiled and thanked them for the invite, and just barely stopped myself from quipping, "Thanks, but the last think I need is to join another cult!"  I realized just in time that such a joke may not come across as funny as I thought it was.

Not only did I realize that calling their fit group a cult would be insulting, but it would also insinuate that I'd been involved in cults previously.  And when one thinks "cult" they think documentary-worthy cults, like the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints or the Martha Marcy May Marlene variety.  No, I was never in one of those.  I never lived in a commune or was physically abused.  All the religious organizations I've ever been involved with were more or less legitimate, mainstream churches.  Some more mainstream, some definitely less.

Yet both of the two main churches I attended for a lengthy amount of time as an adult have been only two or three steps away from cultish.  One church was loosely affiliated with a group that, if not actually considered a cult itself (though I'd consider it one), had some very cult-like offshoots; the other was literally a breakaway from a cult (even if the breakaway was decades ago).

It wasn't until I left that second church that I realized how cultish it had been.  I'd been reading about the organization my church had separated itself from, and I was horrified by how similar they still were.  While they'd relaxed rules about strictly not associating with outsiders or banning TV, and while thankfully the sexual misconduct that emerged from the original church was, as far as I know, absent in our current church, most of the rules were still pretty much the same, or at least had only changed in the last fifteen to twenty-five years (such as being allowed to marry "outside" the church).  A couple of steps away from cult.  And the freedom I felt when I left it! And the horror when I realized how long I'd just accepted it...

I must admit I now shy away from anything resembling a too closely-held belief system, whether it be political, social or especially religious.  I was sucked into it for too long, even as an intelligent, thinking, supposedly not easily suggestible person.  I'm afraid of getting sucked in again.  Another cult is the last thing I need!

The Five Stages of Grief

The following is a re-worked copy of the original essay that inspired my book.  My book is currently two-thirds of the way done... the third part - which discusses how I deal with life after faith - is still being lived.

About three years ago I discovered I had a terminal illness. I was at work, and all day something was bothering me. There was a group of fundamentalists in America who were proclaiming that today was the day that Jesus Christ would return, and I thought it was laughable but also sad.  How sad that they have all placed their hope so sincerely in something that obviously wasn’t going to happen. As I thought about these people, something else started nagging at me.  As a Christian myself, am I any less laughable?  After all, I too believe Jesus Christ will return, I just don’t have a date set in my calendar for it.

It was that day that I discovered I was terminal.  My faith was dying.

As a born-again Christian, a practicing, devout, sincere, whole-hearted Christian for basically my whole life, this was dire news.  I battled with this disease for three years, trying to come to terms with this faith that was so close to death. 

Denial.

I went home from work that day figuratively wringing my hands.  I must ignore this doubt.  We all have doubts. I myself have had lots of doubts.  This is no different. God will see me through. I pushed the thought from my mind. Ignore the doubts, and they will go away.

Yet my mind kept churning through this thought in spite of my resistance.  Jesus did say that “this” generation (his disciples’ generation) would not pass without the Second Coming.   I’ve heard sermons on this my whole life.  I’ve explained this away to many people myself. “This” generation is a metaphor.  “A day in our eyes is like a 1000 years in God’s.” He was referring to something else.  I always accepted all those answers.  But plain is plain. Jesus was wrong. Or he was very unnecessarily cryptic. Either way, that generation and many others, did pass away, and we’ve yet to be taken into Glory.

From here, everything began to unravel.  Like a cancer spreading, the foolishness of my sincerely held, and intellectually held, I might add, belief began to deteriorate and poison my whole life.  I tried and tried to deny what was happening, but denial has never been much of a comfort to me.  As a Christian and as a person, I have always been honest with myself.  I knew, as much as I hated knowing, that my faith really was on its death bed, and something had to be done about it.

Bargaining.

So I lived on. I churched on. I prayed on. Oh, did I pray. I prayed with fervour I rarely prayed with before. I begged God for another chance. I begged for a renewal of my faith. I requested help and prayer from others. I read online articles from other people in my situation and conversed on forums.  I told God I would continue living the Christian life, I would continue to honor and worship him despite my doubts, if he would just reward me one day with a genuine faith again. By this time, my head was completely sceptical, but my heart was still with Jesus.  I read a book about cell memory of the heart and came to believe that maybe faith really did live in the physical heart, and all I needed to do was let my heart rule over my head. It sounded so utterly foolish, but it’s all I had left.  I would live this out to my dying day, if only to be rewarded with my place in heaven and a crown of jewels for carrying this cross.

The faith was still a spark in my heart.  I took that as a sign that God was still there, not letting go of me entirely. This was just a test of my faith. I had always put so much stock in the truth of Sola Scriptura. Maybe God was taking me further, to a deeper place I’d never known. I would pass this test.

Yet with each question my dying faith brought up, I already had the answers. I’d been studying God’s Word and sharing my faith with people my whole life.  There were no new answers to be found. I realized that for every question on the test, I automatically knew the answer.  They’d been answered long ago, but insufficiently.  Sufficient for an existing faith perhaps, but entirely useless to a fledgling non-believer.  If this test was for my benefit, what could I possibly stand to gain from already having all the answers?

Depression

I felt beaten.  As all this was taking place in my heart, my church was crumbling around me.  I’d always believed in my church, with all its flaws – flaws I never once pretended weren’t there – but I accepted them all the same. Why? Because I believed the people to have genuine, Christ-like hearts.  Sadly at this point, even that was falling apart around me.  My husband and I left.  He was done with Christianity, but I wasn’t ready to give up.  Still in the Bargaining phase as depression began to wipe over me, I went out in search of a new church. All I found was emptiness. Finally, I found a church with wonderful people with whom I felt I could share a little of my painful honesty without judgment, and there I stayed until we moved out of town. 

I was feeling crushed under my burden. I told myself again the Christian answers – You’re trying to do this too much on your own. You are trying to get to heaven by works not faith. But there was no hope for the alternative. I was clearly on my own here.  No God was answering my pleas. No faith was buoying me above the water.  Sinking, crushed, burdened, I was going through life trying to hold onto something that was never going to be mine again.  Death was calling; the truth was too clear for me to ignore but too agonizing to accept.  I continued on slowly, with my heavy yoke upon my neck and no friend in Jesus to help carry my load.

I found a new church in my new town.  Beyond anything I’d ever expected, it was a Lutheran church. Never before would I have considered going “practically Catholic”, but this place touched my soul in new ways.  Eagerly, I wondered if this was finally it. God was finally reaching back down to me.  All of this was NOT for naught!  I began taking communion again, loving this new Lutheran concept of the “real presence of Jesus Christ” being in the elements.  I felt something on Sundays when I was there. I might struggle all week long, but on Sundays...

Then one day I heard my six year old daughter telling her friend that Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit were all one called the Trinity, and if you didn’t love God you would go to hell. I cringed. What a horrible thing to believe, a horrible thing to teach my child! I realized then and there that I truly had been deceiving myself these past few months.  I wanted to believe that my faith was returning so badly that I allowed myself to be swept up in the precious, sweet sentiment of it all.  But when spoken of in the bright of day, so plainly, so academically, I knew I didn’t believe a word of it. I didn’t like the sound of it at all.

Anger

I thought at this point I’d reached Acceptance.  We found friends who were in the same place as us, previous Christians who left their faith and were, like us, trying to figure out how to live without it. With them, I felt understood and accepted.  We all understood each other’s unfolding religious experience at its most complex level.  I felt I could actually maybe embark on this new life-after-death after all. I really could accept that this was the new me.

Slowly, however, I realized there was a quiet rage underneath the surface.  It only boiled up every now and again, and not too hotly, but it was simmering. I felt it when I went out for drinks with a Christian friend. She was telling us about some things she had done and someone remarked what a good person she was.  She cast her eyes down and said, “Not really, but thanks.”  She meant it. I knew she meant it and wasn’t just being modest; I knew it because that’s how a true, good Christian feels.  All the good they do, all the right decisions they make, all the people they help really mean nothing because at the end of the day, we are all filth. We are scum.  We are sinful beings God cannot deign to look upon without the covering of Jesus’ blood.  I wanted to shout “But you ARE good!” I thought back on my own life, my own right decisions, the people I helped, my lifestyle in general. All I ever tried to do, even with all the mistakes I made along the way, was be good. And I really was good! It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d been put down by my faith my whole life and made to believe I was shit.  The times when I dared to recognize that I kind of was okay, I shot myself right back down for having too much pride.  Pride proved that I really wasn't any good at all.

The gurgling volcano of anger began erupting now and again in other ways.  I would read a Christian article, or hear a Christian viewpoint, and find myself raging at it. I could never go back to believing those things. Even though a small part of me still wished fervently for just a blind faith to wash over me and let me be at peace instead of that constant spiritual masochism, I also knew I never wanted to be on that side of those viewpoints again. Even if I did come back around to having faith, I could never have faith in all of it.  I found myself especially annoyed when I read things about why people leave the church or leave the faith, written from the viewpoint of someone still in it.  Though I truly sympathized with their ignorance on the matter, (I myself having been one of them for decades), I was frustrated by how simplistic and egotistical their proposals are.  If anyone realized the sheer agony I’d been through for the past three years on this awful journey, they wouldn’t be able to take it so lightly or flippantly.  They wouldn’t be able to safely put me in a box and lock me away, as a friend put it.

You see, that term “spiritual masochist” speaks deeply to me.  It describes who I’ve always been. Unlike what “they” would like to believe, I wasn’t a seed scattered on the path or sown amongst the thorns or cast into the rocky places.  Rather, I’ve always over-searched my heart, ripped apart all the layers to find the truth of my soul.  I believed in God and the Bible in spite of my conscious, intellectual doubts, and I never lied to myself about those doubts. I took my ability to still believe as a gift from God, for I knew it was all foolishness to the wise.  Strip the faith away though, and I was left with oozing open wounds that I still tore and slashed at, amongst my cries and tears, trying to find the truth in the gash.  I felt certain that few Western Christians have ever been to the excruciating lengths I had been going through to keep my faith alive.  I spent years flagellating myself in the name of God to believe I was nothing, and there I was flagellating myself again to try and find some living cell within my incurable, terminal faith on which I could rebuild a self I didn’t even want anymore.  I had been beating and bruising myself over this, and could not stop, and I discovered I was actually very angry about it. I thought I’d by-passed the Anger stage, but there I was, boiling over at any unexpected stimuli. Was I angry that I was raised in a Christian home? Not at all. My parents believe whole-heartedly in Jesus as I once did. Of course they would raise their offspring to place their treasures in heaven and aspire for eternal salvation.  Was I angry that God has dropped me when I always believed he never would, never could? Extremely.  If there was a God at all, I felt I must be his toy Barbie he impaled with a knife and was melting over a spitfire just for amusement and laughs. I had been left to die with no savior to rescue me, just lies and manipulation.

Acceptance.

I didn't know how I’d ever be ready to accept entirely that my faith was dead.  I was still afraid of death, both spiritual and physical. I feared I was failing the test, and for that, I was going to be eternally punished. I still liked the idea of Jesus.  I still liked what he taught and what he stood for.  I still wanted to live by those principles and guide my children in those ways.  No one ever regretted being a good person.  But to believe 85% of the Bible and to believe that God will come to your rescue if you truly ask with all your heart are things I could not do.

I was stepping into a sunnier forest, just one without a set path.  I was afraid to forge my own, because I’d been taught my whole life that I am not able to.  To find your own way is to turn your back on the Lord.  Yet the Lord had turned his back on me already, so I really had no choice. I had children at tender ages to raise.  I had my own life to figure out.  I was afraid to come into Acceptance, because I knew that it would mean I had truly died.  I knew it’s around the bend, but I was still frightened. Frightened I was wrong. Frightened I was right. Worried how I would hurt my family who loves me.  Worried I’d do wrong by my kids.  I was in no rush to find Acceptance of my situation, but I was done with the search. I thought, “If the God of the Bible is truly the God of Love, he will pull me back in like the one lost sheep, but I’m not holding my breath.”  I was finding it hard enough to breathe as it was.

Then one day, while dwelling on God abandoning me, a thought struck me.  God never abandoned me at all; God just doesn’t exist! Of course, the possibility that God might not exist had been with me throughout the entire journey, but the sudden realization felt like someone opening the door of a dark room and letting in the daylight.  I felt like rubbing my eyes with the wonder of it, the excitement of it, the joy of it.

And like that, my anger dissipated.  Well, not really.  My anger at God was gone, because it was like being angry at the Easter Bunny.  How could I be angry at something that doesn’t exist, never existed?  He hadn’t abandoned me, so what was there to be upset about?  But I was still angry at other things. Angry at thirty years of a life wasted on a myth.  Angry at my ignorance.  Angry at myself for all the things I’d done in the name of God that I was now ashamed of.  Angry at missing out on all the riches of the world we live in because I was busy thinking about the next world. I was angry in general, but now had no one to be angry with.

The months went by.  Gradually I noticed my anger subsiding.  At first, I didn’t know how to relate to the world as a verified non-believer.  I didn’t know if I was a good person or a bad one.  I didn’t know how people would relate to me.  If they knew I was – dare I say it – an atheist, would they all turn on me?

I kept this terrifying word to myself, but as time went on, I realized how well it fit who I was now.  I was so thankful to have a husband and friends who were stumbling along this journey with me.  It was a little embarrassing to realize I was only for the first time truly trying to think for myself.  I had to push back the temptation to latch on to other non-believers’ opinions in search of my own beliefs – or non-beliefs.  At first, all of my atheistic feelings were tinged with anger and very raw.  Again, I wasn’t sure I had really reached acceptance.

But a few days ago I realized six months have gone by since I first came to the conclusion that there is no god.  And in that six months, a peace has settled over me. As I drift further and further away from religion, the harder I find it to understand the Christian mind-set and how I ever owned it. I’m now at the point where I have to consciously put myself back in that place in order to relate with people still in it.  I also have to remind myself how painful the exit was, because I’m actually quite comfortable with it now. 

There is just one step left.  I can’t say I’ve fully “accepted” my atheism, because I’m still not brave enough to let the world know.  I’ve been through the five stages of grief and now I’m no longer grieving, but I realize that not everyone I know has had the time to do the same.  To let my family and friends know that my faith is dead will only bring it all back up again, and now I’ll have to deal with their grief.  That’s the one thing I’m not ready to accept: Watching my own funeral.