Em October 29th, 2009
I cannot begin to describe the exquisite accuracy of D’s entry Fear and Control. You have put words to what I have seen and felt that I could never articulate myself. I could never articulate because I seem to have fallen off the bridge into the water you sagely examine.
How can I begin to describe my own messy, difficult, ongoing exit from fundamentalism? Better yet, why should I begin to describe it? Perhaps there is someone who needs to hear it, to know they’re not alone; perhaps I am vain and prideful and hope that others will read my story and consider what a strong, courageous woman I am. And perhaps I only pause because I know there are others who remain where I began, who cling to the fears D described, whom I love and hope will always remain a part of my life. My fear is, and has been since the beginning of this journey, that they will reject me if they find out who I truly am.
Truth is sometimes unfortunate, however, and I feel compelled to give the truth.
I knew without a perceptible doubt that Jesus was God, that he had died for my sins, that he was coming again, and that I was His light in the world. There was no shortage of metaphors to describe who I was; a soldier in the army of God, a runner in the race of righteousness, a traveller with a cross strapped to my back, a beam of light in the darkness of an evil world. They were lost, I was found, and I was coming to bring them the truth. I did it all: I spoke in tongues, I witnessed on the street, I prayed for hours, I fasted, I read the Bible through, I studied, I sang in the choir, I even came on Sunday nights. My faith felt glorious, powerful, and strong.
Now, this is not to say that I was the perfect model of fundamental Christianity, but I certainly was a committed acolyte. By this time, I was coming to the end of high school and was strongly encouraged to attend the bible college D so aptly described. The main reason this appealed to me was also the driving force behind my devotion; everything I believed could be utterly and completely explained by studying history, the appropriate philosophy, and above all the inerrant Bible. I wanted to go and create resounding arguments that would leave atheists and various other non-Christians stuttering and speechless. I wanted to bring them to their knees through the unfailing logic and reason I found in the very words of God. Pride had no small part in my ambition, I realize, but I was absolutely convinced that I could be a historymaker, and that through God’s power I could literally save the world. Going to bible college was the first step toward a bright, certain future.
Bible college was not to be, however. That path was barred, and I was forced to find a new one. To me, this was incomprehensible. I knew that God wanted me to go to bible college, I knew that he wanted me to be a missionary, and I also knew that he controlled everything. Why, then, would he prevent me from doing exactly what he wanted me to do? There were no scriptures, no comforts, no words of wisdom that satisfied me. In a world where faith and the Bible spoke logical conclusions to every answer, I found nothing but an overwhelming silence. You must understand what this event meant to me; it was not simply a dramatic shift in life direction, it was the destruction of my innocence. The pillars upon which my truth was built were now cracked and damaged. However, I am not bitter nor angry, because I now believe the problem lay in the foundation itself rather than the incident that rocked it.
Pillars going to pieces around me, I entered the most ideologically diverse place around; university. This was a time of intense reflection, and I did write about it. In this piece, I can still hear remnants of certainty and clarity. But as time went on, my questions became deeper and deeper, up to now when I feel as though my tiny fragment of faith is a fly in the sap. If you are inclined to read them, the links contain entries about my gradual, cyclical struggle with faith.
And so here I stand, light years from where I began. I can barely pray without being wracked with doubts, my Bible has more questions than answers, and I cry through songs that used to make me smile. I want to be a part of God, but so much doubt has risen from the ashes of my fundamentalism that I cannot believe in any way like I used to. The irony is that I don’t know how to believe other than through the absolute rationality that I once had. It occurs to me that perhaps I could learn, and perhaps I will. I still believe in God, but I have come to a point where I can no longer ignore my doubts. They gnaw at me constantly, and unless I choose for or against Christianity they will gnaw me into apathy. Already I can feel hints of blissful numbness in my soul, which is more terrifying than I can describe.
I fear judgement, I fear death, I fear hell. How ironic that through my rejection of fundamentalism, its strongest grip has tightened around me. And now, I want to end on a hopeful note, but I don’t have anything like that to write. My hope has become those who love me. Thanks for doing that.