deconversion

I'm not quite sure how to articulate what I just experienced.  I can speak in terms of my present emotions--astonishment, sadness, amusement, incredulity, disappointment.  I just had 'The Atheist Talk' with my father.  We touched on it momentarily a few weeks ago, by him asking me where I was spiritually, to which I replied that I was no longer a believer.  We left it there--until tonight.

Allow me to give some background.  My nine-year-old son (who has autism) and I have been spending the summer with my parents while he attends a summer therapy program for autistic children in a nearby town.  I live in a large city that offers such treatment but for twice the cost.  Also, my parents have been helping to foot the bill for the program since my insurance company (aka: f**king nazis) doesn't cover most types of treatment for autism.  I cannot say enough about the love and generosity my parents have shown time and time again, helping with the treatment of my son.  They are truly wonderful people.  So keep in mind the degree to which I am indebted to them for their hospitality and generosity as I tell this story.

I was shopping at Target a few days ago for school clothes for my little boy (we'll just call him E.) and I found a light-weight hooded sweatshirt for $4.00 (I know, right?) and I couldn't pass it up.  It was the coolest little rock-n-roll jacket ever with a little biker-gang looking skull on the shoulder and some stripe details.  So of course I bought it.  Yesterday I was proudly showing my mother E's new school clothes and she saw the skull.  Now, maybe I wasn't acting wisely when I showed her the shirt, but I really didn't think it would be a big deal.  Boy, was I ever wrong.

She immediately bristled.  She began asking why I would let E wear something like that and talking about how demonic and satanic it looked and how it was "just DARK."  I tried to play it down and said it was harmless and no different than wearing a Darth Vader shirt.  She clammed up and I thought the issue was over.  Again, I couldn't be more wrong.  Although I didn't really expect it, I wasn't surprised when she reacted in such a way.  She's a bit superstitious and gullible, falling into the category of older Christians who hate Harry Potter (but think Star Wars is A-OK) and like Benny Hinn and Kenneth Copeland and give them lots of money.  I was very surprised when my father reacted the same way, however, albeit a bit more calmly.  I have long thought of my father as a fairly reasonable man.  An intelligent man.  A wise man, even if it is a rather earthy, farmer's wisdom.  I never saw this coming.

Although the conversation didn't begin with addressing the satanic sweatshirt, it was definitely on the agenda.  I can deduce that my mother must have shown the shirt to him and voiced her concerns.  My father, who knew of my somewhat secret unbelief, must have begun to question my judgment about buying such an item of dark representations.  My mother went to bed uncharacteristically early, which should have tipped me off but I was watching the Rangers vs Redsox and wasn't clued in.  The game ended and when I said that I was going to bed my father just said, "No."  Here we go.

It was the most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with my father.  I was grilled on everything from Pascal's Wager to fulfilled prophesies and the authenticity of Paul's letters. 

    •    "How could Jesus' disciples allow themselves to be killed for what they taught if it wasn't true?" 
    •    "All of this couldn't have come from nothing." 
    •    "Do you believe that Pontius Pilate existed?"  (Because if one person in the story existed then they all must have, I guess.)
    •    "Other gods aren't real because the people that worship them made those idols with their hands"  (I nearly lost it at that one.  I couldn't decide whether I wanted to laugh or cry.)

I was dumbstruck.  I really believed my father was more logical than this.  These were some of the worst arguments I've ever heard.  There were other points brought up as well, and I won't go into my responses although I can say I didn't pull any punches.

I thought many of the same things not very long ago.  And I ran so many similar gauntlets trying to protect my beliefs against the attacks of logic and reason.  So I can't be too hard on my dad.  But then came the sweatshirt of dark power.  Apparently by allowing E to wear the shirt I'm showing the world my allegiance to Satan.  I kid you not.  He said if he saw another child wearing that shirt then he would conclude that his parents could only be aligned with the powers of darkness.  Further, any one of his peers who saw it would think the same thing, so it must be true.  It doesn't matter if it's not seen the same way in other circles of society.  It doesn't matter if contemporary fashion coincidentally lines up with my parents' and their friends' ideas of evil, anyone who wears such a garment is in league with the Devil.  Then he played THE CARD.  If I cared about his and my mother's feelings I would take it back because they found it offensive. 

My nephews can proudly wear the AC/DC shirts my brother bought for them at God's own Wal-Mart.  As a teenager I was allowed to listen to the music of some of the most lecherous bands imaginable.  But this damn skull on my kid's sweatshirt was going to far!  It was equivalent to tattoing 666 on his forehead.  They were offended and I was not a good son if I didn't immediately return the scary shirt.  I asked how far the boycott went.  Would they stop shopping at Target and Wal-Mart because they sold such evil wares?  Of course not.  It admittedly only went so far as their family's appearance.

After unsuccessfully trying to reason with him, I told him I would return it.  I'm trying to decide if I'm actually going to take the shirt back or just fake it.  As I mentioned earlier, I do truly owe them for everything they've done for Elijah and myself, so I feel a great deal of obligation.  Don't get me wrong--I think that his bargaining tactics were despicable.  If he had just asked me to take it back, I probably would have agreed.  But to leverage me like that...  I hate this.

We at least ended the conversation on a positive note.  I assured him that while I no longer share his beliefs, I'm still the same person.  He doesn't think I'm wicked and perverse, so that's a plus.  Finally, we told each other that we loved one another.   And while we each have our reasons for being disappointed in one another, he is still my father and I am still his son.  Though I'd still feel better about it if it hadn't come up over a stupid sweatshirt. 



PaleAle

My story isn’t strange—born into a Christian home, raised into a Christian lifestyle and led a faithful Christian life as an adult.  I was a missionary for six years, both living overseas and operating from a stateside base from which to travel.  I worked as an assistant pastor/worship leader and youth pastor.  I had always wanted to be a professional musician and opportunities arose which allowed me to pursue that dream as a member of a Christian band that saw a decent amount of success, both in the Christian music industry and the mainstream industry as well.  Funny, at least one other de-convert here actually has one of my albums.  Ah, irony.

As a teenager I left my Southern Baptist upbringing to follow a more charismatic faith.  Later in life I left the protestant faith altogether and converted to Catholicism, having come to the studied conclusion that it was the most historically accurate iteration of Jesus’ and his disciples’ teachings.  Throughout all of my transitions, however, I remained faithful to the core of Christianity.  Yet I remember, on a few occasions, allowing doubt to surface.

What about people who are born into other religions?  Would God punish them eternally in Hell for being born in a country where the social landscape was dominated by a different (read: false) religion?  Regarding creation, I had always leaned towards theistic evolution, which was only inches away from pure evolution.  At what point were humans given the “breath of life” and acquired souls?  How did that evolve?  Or were we plopped fully formed into an already evolving environment? 

I asked a friend once ‘how could we know that any of this is real?’  My friend, who was educated in theology and philosophy wisely responded, “We can’t.”  It was simply a belief that in the end we chose to believe out of desire and faith.  He chose to adhere to the belief that the Christian god exists because otherwise he would fall into despair and debauchery, insisting that morality has always been the property of religion (poppycock!).  While this somewhat diminished my perception of my long-time friend my faith and desire persisted.  I continued to follow the path of Jesus.

Around this same time I had a child.  My wife gave birth to a beautiful baby boy-- ten fingers and ten toes and apparently both strong and stubborn since he had the nerve to remove an iv tube that doctors had inserted to get his iron leveled out.  He developed normally, despite an early sinus infection, and was a happy, vibrant child.  But at around one and a half years we began to notice that things weren’t necessarily as they should be--reduced eye contact, lagging language and lack of response to social cues that most babies his age had long since mastered.  A year later, it was confirmed and diagnosed as autism. 

I was working at a church at the time and was beginning to ask more questions about the source of their theology which brought up questions regarding theology at large.  I started gobbling up every reputable church history book I could get my hands on and the more I read, the more I became convinced that the Catholic church had existed long before it had become the “Roman” Catholic church and that the basic infrastructure was the solid core of early Christianity, adapted from Judaism.  Every other type of Christianity had branched off from the Catholic roots to become a diminished and weakened (in my opinion at the time) sect.  I set about to quit my job as assistant pastor and worship leader to be confirmed into the Catholic Church.

As one would imagine, this didn’t go over to well with my employers.  It was especially so since the Holy Spirit himself had given the pastor a verse-by-verse interpretation (his words, I kid you not) of the entire bible.  And to make matters worse the pastor was my wife’s uncle.  I was immediately dismissed and completely cut off socially.  No one at the church would talk to me save the pastor who antagonized me through vicious hate emails for months on end.  He never engaged me in person or even on the phone despite my requests for personal conversation.  I was never rude and never made such claims as ‘The Catholic Church is the only true church” or any such nonsense.  I tried to stay out of conversations centering on my choice.  Nevertheless, my friends dismissed me, even to the point that I was labeled as a demoniac sent to sow dissension among the faithful.  Still, I remained a faithful follower of Jesus, convinced that I was doing the right thing.

So I played in my band, which was becoming more and more lucrative as the months progressed.  And I went to church.  And I prayed for a miracle for my son, who was getting worse.  The tantrums were getting more violent.  He was becoming self-injurious to the point that we were frightened that any day we would get a call from CPS.  I spent hours in prayer.  I fasted.  We were also going to doctors and trying different treatments and searching for the cure that we were certain God would lead us to.  Well, we still haven’t found it.  And God never performed the miracle we prayed for and our families prayed for and their churches prayed for.  It was at this point that I started to get angry.

I began to challenge God.  I cursed at him and I think I even went as far as to spit on a cross hanging on the wall.  I wanted some kind of reaction.  Any kind of reaction. If God would not heal my son, the way he healed the sons of pleading fathers in the bible, then perhaps he would at least have the decency to respond to a desperate challenge to his authority and existence.  If I had the certainty of God’s existence, then I could develop a framework to support the struggles and suffering of my son and myself.  I wanted desperately for God to exist.  And not only exist, but to be present.  To be the God I loved and was taught loved me and had mercy on the needy.  But there was nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I prayed for a sign.  I pleaded to God for reassurance, that somehow he would communicate to me in an unmistakable way his existence and fatherly love for me, my wife and our unfortunate son.  Nothing.  No warm, spiritual embrace.  No rebuke of my outbursts.  Nothing.

As an aside, believers commonly state their knowledgeable opinion that atheists really don’t disbelieve—rather, they don’t like the idea of being held accountable to a higher authority so they’re just in rebellion.  At least for myself, this could not be further from the truth!  I loved God.  I desperately wanted God!  I wanted to know that my life’s pursuits had not been futile.  I wanted to be accountable and know that God was there watching me and protecting me.

Somewhere during this period I began to shed the weight of faith.  I’m not sure of the day that I ‘became an atheist’.  I was unable to attend church for two reasons.  My son was just too loud and distracting to bring into a service and most Catholic churches simply don’t have childcare during the service.  Second, I was traveling so much with the band that I was never in a place to attend church.  I was usually setting up for the show that evening or traveling to a new city.

This is where most Christians would begin to claim that I was just not strong enough to deal with my adversities.  Or God is just trying to teach me something—which would imply of God that he is requiring my son to live in mental and physical torment until I learn some undisclosed lesson.  Or my personal favorite, “God gives special children to special parents,” ignorantly implying that God has a cache of severely disabled souls in heaven that he’s waiting to give as children to unsuspecting parents who he deems “special” enough.  Perhaps God was mistaken and I’m not as “special” as he thought.

I talked with my brother about the doubts and struggles.  He listened and sympathized and we shed tears together.  He gave me the only advice he could.  He said that I should start going to Mass again and that my faith would return.  I really wish it were that easy.  I tried so many times, desperately seeking the God I wanted so badly to believe in, kneeling and crying in the chapel before the image of the crucified Jesus.  I prayed the prayer of the father with the sick child in Mark, “I believe, help my unbelief”.  Needless to say, my unbelief was never ‘helped’ unless it was helped to grow from a lack of response. 

I began to wonder if I could still consider myself a Christian.  I placed it in God’s hands—needing to believe that when I died if there indeed was a God I would throw myself upon his unfailing mercy because of my weakness and inability to understand what others could.  I remember finally concluding that I was no longer a Christian.  I was agnostic.  Perhaps I was a Universalist.  But I no longer believed in the strict limits of Christian salvation.

From there it was a fairly short jump via the already fertile channels of evolution and science to concluding that there is no god at all.  And I’m fine with that.  I don’t need a ‘first cause’ to believe in so that I can feel significant.  I don’t need a creator to give me a divine purpose.  I believe I have an earthly purpose and that it is mine to choose.  I no longer need the promise of escaping this life to heaven.  I believe that we have the opportunity to make our world a better place and that is far more beneficial than chasing after ‘eternal rewards’ in an afterlife while our fellow humans suffer.  I believe that humans have inherited and developed the wonderful traits, reason and empathy, and that they are the two most powerful forces in the universe.  I believe that with those two superpowers we can overcome all injustice, hatred, poverty and waste; without the guilt, sadness and repression of the doctrine of sin; without the fear of judgment and eternal punishment by a vengeful and jealous god; and (thank you, Douglas Adams) no one would have to get nailed to anything.

PaleAle

I’ve been coming to D-C for almost a year now.  I’ve been getting to know people who post regularly and can usually tell when a troll wanders in or when someone is just trying to start a fight.  Sometimes I take the bait, sometimes I’m guilty of being an instigator myself.  I don’t remember how I found this site (Stumble Upon perhaps?) but I am so very glad I did. 

You see, I was in the process of losing the last thread of community I possessed, my band.  I was a professional Christian musician.  I played Christian Rock at churches, schools, clubs, festivals and arenas all over the country and worked with/toured with the most prominent names in the industry (and folks, I could give you some sh*t on just about everybody ☺) But I had finally come to admit that I was absolutely not a Christian anymore.  Sure, I had wondered if I was, sort of off and on for two or three years and flirted with the idea of agnosticism and even tried to mold it into a sort of “Christian agnosticism”.  It just didn’t work. 

I had been a ‘missionary’ with the organization Youth With a Mission or YWAM.  I was an associate pastor and worship leader.  And then I was a rock star.  I was constantly surrounded by a cadre of friends and co-workers who believed as I did and we had the common purpose of spreading the Gospel and leading the world to Jesus.  I was committed.  I loved Jesus.  I was a true believer.  However, I had been slowly incubating a disease that was dangerous to my system—inquisitiveness.  That, coupled with a strong desire to seek the Truth, no matter the cost, would ultimately lead to my de-conversion from and renunciation of Christianity.  I no longer believe that the god of Christianity is the ‘one true God’-- which sort of knocks out any contingency for Jesus to be the one true God’s ‘only begotten son’.  In fact, I believe there is no divine, supernatural, creative ruling person(s) or force at all (although I don’t rule out the paranormal, which is entirely different, so go figure).  I guess I’m a hardliner.  Maybe some other time I’ll post about the process of my de-conversion—the heartache, the struggle, the pleading for God to show up and help my unbelief—but this is about camaraderie, the loss thereof and the hope of restoration. 

It was becoming harder and harder as the months wore on to remain cloistered as a non-believer.  All the while I was performing at churches and Christian festivals, interacting with pastors and youth groups, doing on-air performances and interviews on Christian radio/TV and basically trying to ‘act Christian’ to the best of my ability despite myself (which is what most of the Christian musicians do anyway, btw).  One on-air interview in particular stands out during which each of us (band members) were asked to pick a piece of paper out of a hat upon which was written a question we were to answer.  The other guys got crap like “most embarrassing moment on stage” or favorite place to eat in given city.  I get “WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU AFTER YOU DIE”.  Oh holy f**k.  I guess I was exhausted with the charade that day or maybe I was not en garde but I decided not to lie.  I said, “I don’t know.  Everyone has their own belief or hope about what happens after but really, no one knows because it is unknowable.”  Or something like that.  I think I went on and as I did I was thinking, ‘this is not going to fly with the guys’ but I kept going.    I saw their eyes widen.  I could feel their panic.  This was not a Christian response.

Looking back, this was a pivotal moment for me.  The act of being true to my self and my worldview in the presence of my peers cemented my resolve.  The charade had to end. 

Later in the year, I announced to my bandmates that sadly, my wife and I were getting a divorce.  About a month later, I was given notice.  At the most difficult time in my life, when I needed friends the most, those who were closest to me decided to fire me.  It wasn’t a stab in the back; it was sword through the heart.  Face to face.  To their credit, however, they slowly became aware of the nature of their betrayal and rallied to my side before the end of my time and welcomed me to stay on for as long as I wished.  I admit… I was tempted.  I was truly tempted.  I gave it a lot of thought.  In the end, however, it became clear to me that there was never going to be a better time to ‘come out’—as it were.  I had to tell them. 

I was sick of the lie.  I was sick of pretending to be something I was not every time I got on stage.  It was dishonest to my bandmates, it was dishonest to our fans and it was dishonest to me.  In a hotel room in Virginia on New Year’s Eve I sat them down and told them I couldn’t stay.  And then I told them why.  It was like having two divorces at once.  I had been playing music with these same men for nine years. 

It’s a bit surreal now, trying to cultivate new friendships and a new career.  It’s very lonely.  I was around those guys for so long that it really was like family, and now I don’t see them at all.  It is for this reason that I am so very grateful for this site.  This community.  This (dare I say it?) church.  I occasionally get a random email from one of the guys—and I actually got to sit down with one of them for a songwriting session not too long ago.  But the brotherhood is gone.   Maybe the perception of estrangement is just mine, but I feel that I will always wear a scarlet letter of some sort in their company.  I hope not.  I hope that someday the bonds of friendship will prevail over the bonds of belief.

PaleAle