This Message Will Deconstruct

When I was a young 16-year-old, my whole family went on a vacation to Las Vegas. It is weird to think back on the fact that there is nothing to do when you're that young. I spent most of my time seeing how slowly I could walk through the gaming floor before the security would tell me to leave. We were all there to celebrate my grandparent's 40th wedding anniversary. I walked with my grandad around the Forum Shops at Cesar's Palace. They had just opened, and it was busy, so we went into the front, where you could see the whole property. We walked around to the entrance to the hotel and casino, where there were massive columns. My granddad stopped at a column and knocked on it. This is the part of the story where my memory is a little fuzzy; it was either hollow or just concrete, but what my granddad said next has stuck with me forever. He leaned over and said, "Broc, this is just a cheap imitation of something that the real thing is made of solid marble. Don't be impressed with cheap imitations or hollow efforts; look for the marble in a world of concrete." 

In 2019, I looked at the faith tradition I was standing in and realized it was hollow concrete columns, but I wondered if faith was more profound, more comprehensive, and sacred than any life hack, squad goals, or country club for the privileged that it had become. I began the process that many now label taboo, of deconstruction.  

Now, before you stop reading, because this is just another deconstruction story. I want to qualify that this is also a look at the process. You'll find that deconstruction and reconstruction are exemplified throughout the Biblical experiences of the authors and contributors and woven into many of the stories. This isn't a journey that somebody should avoid, but it should be encouraged by everyone professing a Christian faith. After all, according to your faith tradition, you're betting your eternity on your faith. It should stand up to some questioning. In the end, how Jesus, The Gospel, and Christian life were portrayed was my issue all along. At the same time, I didn't know that, but it became clear throughout my deconstruction journey.   

Here are my thoughts on how to get through this journey without losing your mind. I was that, but I want to be perfectly clear: this is my experience. THIS IS NOT A HOW-TO! This is a how-I-did! You glean what you think applies and leave all that doesn't. I am writing this because I needed to hear others in an existential crisis on this road. How they handled the bumps, pitfalls, treachery, and betrayal that culminated in the most beautifully woven tapestry, I now call my faith.  

I got honest about my doubts.

When I embarked on the journey of deconstructing my faith, I understood the importance of confronting doubts with honesty and courage. I realized that acknowledging doubts wasn't a sign of weakness but rather a testament to the strength of my intellectual curiosity and integrity. It involved questioning deeply held beliefs, allowing room for introspection, critical examination, and exploring alternative perspectives. The first doubt I got honest about was the idea of the rapture. It had been shoved in my face for over two decades as what I now know was a control mechanism. When I went to another church, similarly minded to the one that I left, their stance was that the idea of the rapture, reportedly written in Revelation, was a newly held belief in church history. Then someone asked me what if the second coming of Christ was the Body of Christ. That hit me like a ton of bricks because, repeatedly, God never showed up in the way we, as humans, ever conceived of. By embracing doubt, I opened myself to the possibility of growth, self-discovery, and a deeper understanding of my spirituality. Through this process, I found that grappling with doubts led to a more authentic and resilient faith grounded not in blind adherence but in a genuine search for truth and meaning. I realized I was worth asking the questions and that God was more than big enough to hear them, knowing them even before they were spoken.

I found a safe community.

Finding a safe community while I was deconstructing my faith proved to be essential to my journey. In such communities, I could openly share my doubts, struggles, and questions without fear of judgment or rejection. These spaces provided a supportive environment where people engaged in honest dialogue, offered mutual encouragement, and provided emotional support. Whether online or in-person, these communities offered a sense of belonging and understanding, helping me navigate the complexities of deconstruction while fostering a sense of connection and solidarity. In the safety of these communities, I could explore my evolving beliefs, find companionship in my journey, and discover that I was not alone in my quest for spiritual authenticity and meaning.

I didn't want to make any agreements.

I understood the importance of prematurely making binding agreements or commitments. I recognized that deconstruction is a deeply personal journey that demands time, patience, and reflection. It required me to question long-held beliefs, explore new perspectives, and grapple with uncertainty. I vividly remember a night when I lay in bed staring at a long list of doubts and asking aloud, "Is God even real?" The weight of that moment hit me like a gut punch as those words rolled off my tongue. I paused my racing thoughts, laid my head down, and slept for the night. The following day, I woke up with a massive headache, realizing that this question was more significant than I was prepared to answer alone. I reached out to my pastor then, and we had lunch together. This experience reinforced the importance of community in my journey. Ultimately, I worked through that crisis, but the memory of that pivotal moment remains etched in my mind. I resisted the urge to determine whether I was an atheist or not hastily; instead, I allowed myself to sit with the tension and explore. Rushing into agreements can hinder the deconstruction process, potentially impeding growth and preventing individuals from fully embracing the complexities of their evolving beliefs. Thus, I understood the necessity of remaining open-minded and curious, navigating the nuances of my faith journey with authenticity and integrity, and ultimately arriving at a more genuine understanding of my spirituality.

I found a neutral counselor.

I found this invaluable in navigating the complexities of such a journey. I had initially gone to an LPC who was a Christian, and while I thought she would be neutral, she wasn't. We quickly hit an impasse when I started sharing my doubts. She wasn't bad; she just wasn't a fit for me. The neutral counselor provided a safe and nonjudgmental space where I could openly explore my doubts, questions, and struggles without fear of bias or coercion. They were skilled in facilitating constructive dialogue, offering empathetic support, and guiding me through the process of deconstruction with sensitivity and respect. Their neutrality allowed them to help me examine my beliefs objectively, encouraging introspection and critical thinking while honoring my autonomy and agency. By working with a neutral counselor, I gained clarity, found validation, and developed healthy coping strategies as I navigated the challenges and uncertainties of deconstructing my faith.

I found moments to laugh.

I found moments to laugh amidst the weightiness of the journey. Despite the seriousness of questioning deeply held beliefs and grappling with uncertainties, humor became a welcomed companion. Whether sharing anecdotes with understanding friends navigating similar paths or discovering the absurdities within certain religious teachings, laughter was a release valve for the tension and confusion I experienced. I laughed a lot and remember thinking, "Is this okay." I quickly reminded myself that this was my process and that there wasn't a manual for it. These moments of levity allowed me to approach my journey with a lighter heart and reminded me not to take myself too seriously. Amid deconstruction, laughter became a source of resilience, helping me maintain perspective and find joy amid uncertainty. When discussing things with my friends, priest, and family, I joked that this only dealt with my eternity, so it wasn't a big deal. These things helped me come up for air while immersed in a sea of untethering. That's how I viewed this whole thing; I was untethered from a boat that no longer was going in the direction I was going in.  

SHARE SHARE SHARE

Sharing my journey with others proved to be both cathartic and enlightening. Opening up about my doubts, struggles, and questions allowed me to connect with others on similar paths, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual support. Whether through deep conversations with trusted friends, participating in support groups, or engaging in online forums, sharing my experiences provided validation and reassurance that I was not alone in my journey. Additionally, sharing my journey allowed me to gain new perspectives and insights as others shared their experiences and perspectives. Through this process of sharing, I found solace, understanding, and a sense of community that helped me navigate the complexities of deconstructing my faith with greater clarity and resilience. This blog and the blogs before this one are what I am sharing. I have also sat down with folks just starting the journey to give them a perspective of being on the other side of much of this. While it's still a process, I understand what faith means clearly.  

I postured myself to be open.

During the deconstruction of my faith, I consciously tried to be open to new ideas and perspectives. Recognizing the importance of intellectual humility, I approached the process, willing to challenge my preconceived notions and beliefs. I regularly sat down with those with whom I vehemently disagreed to hear where they came from and how they arrived at their thoughts. This proved something to me; it showed me that often we are, one, saying the same thing but using different language, and two, that others' experiences were not like mine. I know that sounds simple, that we all have different backgrounds, but when you hear how those play out in other's lives, you realize that motivation isn't intentionally mean, but often it's just their perspective. The biggest lesson was not to assume the worst about everyone's motivation. This meant setting aside any dogma or rigid ideology and embracing a mindset of curiosity and openness. I actively sought diverse voices and viewpoints, engaging in thoughtful dialogue and reflection to expand my understanding. By maintaining an open posture, I could navigate the complexities of deconstruction with greater flexibility and receptivity, allowing myself to grow and evolve spiritually along the way. It was exhilarating to hear from people considered unimportant or heretical in the faith circles I ran in previously.  

I realized I needed a thick skin.

I quickly learned the necessity of developing a thick skin. As I began to question and challenge deeply ingrained beliefs, I encountered resistance from various sources, including friends, family members, and religious communities. There were moments of confrontation, judgment, and even rejection. It became apparent that not everyone would understand or support my journey, and I had to learn to withstand criticism and negativity while remaining true to myself. I had a pastor friend who once told me that the most painful bites were from sheep, and I couldn't agree more. Church folk are very mean when you challenge their house of cards. Oddly, I completely understand this, as faith is the most intimate and sacred piece of us, so it stands to reason that if we aren't secure in our faith, we react and are not always pleasant. Developing resilience became essential as I navigated through doubts and uncertainties, knowing that my path was my own and that I needed to stay steadfast in my pursuit of truth and authenticity. Though the process was often tricky, cultivating a thick skin enabled me to persevere and ultimately emerge stronger and more self-assured in my beliefs.

Unfollow, unfriend, uncoil.

I came to a point where I realized the need to unfollow, unfriend, and uncoil from specific influences in my life. I recognized the importance of surrounding myself with supportive and understanding individuals who respected my process. This meant unfollowing social media accounts, unfriending acquaintances, and uncoiling myself from communities or spaces that no longer served my growth or aligned with my evolving beliefs. While these decisions were not always easy, they were necessary for maintaining my mental and emotional well-being during such a challenging time. By intentionally curating my social circles and online interactions, I created a space to freely explore my doubts and questions without fear of judgment or condemnation. In doing so, I empowered myself to embrace my journey of faith deconstruction with authenticity and integrity.

In conclusion.

I won't pretend this process doesn't create a lot of loss, but it conversely creates a lot of gains. Sure, I lost a community of people, but I also gained a more diverse and complex community of people who understand that faith comes by being who Christ calls us to be, not by believing the things in the Bible. I also learned how to study the Bible, question the intent, dig into the cultural elements, and understand that, except for The Gospel, they are letters written to specific people at a particular time. I hope these words help anyone who is deconstructing, and as I looked back to write this, my heart filled with many emotions thinking through all these twists and turns that turned out so beautifully.  

Vaya con Dios

-b