I've read a lot of deconversion stories, and have even had them sent to me. It seems like the kind of thing that people just want to get off their chest. They simply must tell someone. Anyone. I'm not one of those people. But I'm going to tell it anyway. I figure some people want to know, plus there are a lot of misgivings. What made you so angry at Lord Jesus? Aaaarrrrgggghhhh.
I wish I had a great one to tell, but I don't. Unfortunately, most deconversion stories have a sour note to them. You know, like the realization that everything you have been told your entire life is worthless. While these may be personally important and very powerful to the individual, I don't get the impression that they cause many people to think seriously about deconversion. I want to alienate my family and friends, too! My entire life structure is foolish? Sign me up today!
I suppose the telling of personal rejection-of-religion stories is a bit of a catharsis. I would liken the atheist community on the net to a quasi-support group. Kind of like ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics). Not all atheists are upset about their former religion, necessarily, but it would be fair to say that many wish it had not been forced on them at a young age.
I was raised as a Southern Baptist. This denomination is considered one of the more conservative, even Fundamentalist. Honestly, I never really got that impression. It was just normal to me. I was too young then to remember now if they had a real literal biblical interpretation. I can remember Noah's Ark and creation, but these myths are not unlike other childhood fairytales--they wouldn't have stood out in my mind as wrong. I can't remember if they claimed these things were historical fact, but I also don't remember doubting them.
I have only general memories of that church, because my family soon switched over to an inner-city church. This one was more non-denominational (even though it was still Baptist by title). This church was run by an urban food/clothing pantry that serviced (and still services) the homeless and downtrodden from the streets of Indianapolis. We got involved because my mother worked as a social worker in the facility.
This was the kind of church that is becoming very popular now, at least in the United States. It had modern songs, as opposed to the dusty old hymns. The messages were general. There was no picking apart of every word from the fifth translation of statements Jesus may have made 2000 years ago. Nonetheless, I can honestly say now that it never really got to me, and hadn't for some time. I was losing my faith.
The details, sadly, are a bit sketchy. I can't remember exactly how it happened. If I did, I would have a much better idea of how to talk to wavering Christians. What is for sure is that it wasn't an overnight process, and it probably took a couple of years from my initial doubts to my final proclamation of disbelief (from age 13.5 to 15.5, if I recall correctly).
There was no one time when I first entertained the possibility that God didn't exist. Disbelief, for me, is a sliding scale and not a yes or no thing. I do have some idea, though, about what my first questions were.
As a kid, I really liked dinosaurs. Huge lizards with massive teeth! And as tall as my school building, I was told. I loved it. If the movie Jurassic Park had come out during my childhood, I would have probably watched it 50,000 times before I was 12. I listened intently in school whenever dinosaurs were brought up, and I was told in no uncertain terms that dinosaurs were dead long before man appeared. (This was an emphatic point of science teachers, who hated all the pre-Jurassic Park movies showing caveman vs. stegosaurus wrestling matches.)
That didn't hit home at first. Later on, after a rather superfluous reference to Genesis in a sermon, I started to think about it. Ironically, it was the fact that it was casually mentioned that bothered me. No disclaimer. "The lesson of the story of the creation" was not the choice of words. It was referred to as accurate history. I mulled it over. What about the dinosaurs?
I asked someone about it, probably my mother--I don't recall. The answer I got was that God created the animals (dinosaurs included), then much later on he created man. This was the first time I had asked a critical question about the Bible or Christianity. As would be the case from then on, the apologist answer struck me as contradictory and contrived. I resolved to keep my questions to myself and ponder them in my own mind. After all, I could have come up with that excuse. It added absolutely nothing to the situation but more doubt. Plus, the explanation led to more problems than it solved.
Once the Humpty Dumpty of biblical literalism shatters, no amount of creation "science" or reinterpretations or metaphorical truths can put it back together. Genesis chapter one was treated as exact, literal, historical fact for thousands of years, from long before Jesus to the middle of the 19th century. Such belief is still quite common today. All of a sudden it no longer means what it clearly says? Oh, God really meant this, did he? It's not that God made his people deliberately misinterpret things for thousands of years, I was told. He just put things in terms that they could understand. Really?
What is not to understand about long periods of time? The Jews had a calendar, didn't they? If the Bible contained, in Genesis, the real chronology--from the appearance of stars to planets to simple life to plants to animals--in the exact order and with specific numbers, then the validity of the Bible would be unquestionable. "...one-half and four billion years ago the LORD your God finished His guiding Work on the Earth as He had intended in the Beginning. And He saw that it was Good." Where is this passage?
It became abundantly clear that the hand of God didn't guide the Jewish writers very well. These stories (I also had problems with the flood) looked remarkably like the mythical work of desert tribes, and not the all-powerful creator.
Eventually, while this notion marinated in the back of my mind, I came up with another one. I asked myself the question: "What is the fate of the billions in human history who have died without ever hearing about Jesus?" The Catholics had the notion of Limbo, but this idea has no biblical justification. It seemed contrived in order to answer my very question. Without Limbo, ignorant unbelievers either (1) burned in hell because of where they were born, or (2) got a free ride, while the rest of us had to work for it. If #2 is the case, then why tell anyone the "good news"? Before, they were going to heaven by default, and now they must believe or burn?
I have seen the argument made now, as I did then, that everyone has their own worldview, or worships something, and God would judge them on that and their actions. My answer then is just as it is now: "Why not judge all people on works and kindness? This makes more sense than basing it on faith. What if I invent a Tree God for myself, complete with rules and worship? If I believe it and follow the rules, do I get in to heaven? Or am I disqualified because I have already heard the 'real' message?" (Not bad for a 14 year-old, eh?)
The question about never hearing the message was eventually modified into the Free Will argument, and is a question I still pose. That, along with the Argument from Evil (my version, at least) and a critical Bible reading finalized it. Omniscience, omnipotence and omnibenevolence are contradictory qualities, leading to either no God, or a type of God that I didn't like very much (and one quite different from the God of the scriptures, I might add).
I didn't become agnostic first, like most people. I don't know the day or the hour or the moment, but at some point I pronounced Christianity and the whole Father-God concept to be false. Absolute foolishness. There was no Silver Bullet; there was no one argument.
After leaving the inner-city church, we shopped around for a while. For weeks I would sit in church, knowing it was all a sham. I felt sorry for everyone--but that would pass. Eventually, I began to feel disgusted with myself for living a lie. It was time to break with the Church for good.
One Sunday, I decided it would be the last Sunday that I went to church. Still shopping around, we went to one close by, in a renovated store in a strip mall. This was much like our last permanent church--short services of a general message, with current music (well, current Christian music) and lots of hand clappin' and amen's. In addition though, this church had people who speak in tongues. That's right. Tongues. I had to try very hard not to bust out laughing at such ridiculous gibberish. When we got back home I told my mother that I no longer believed in "God". I never went to church again. I don't miss it at all.
Afterwards, something spectacular happened. The sun still shined. The sky was still blue. Everything was the same. I publicly renounced the Big Boogie Man, and yet nothing happened. My life moved on, just like before. The more I think about it now, the more proud I am of the way I was during my transition. I made a choice to think for myself, to seek my own answers, and to trust my own faculties.
I don't feel the least bit of regret about how things turned out. In fact, it was heartening to see my younger brother do the same, and in a shorter period of time when he was about the same age as I was. That's what it's all about: freedom of conscience, freedom of thought, and a critical and honest examination of your beliefs. Now that's a positive story--and a hope for all mankind.