The Child in the Library: My Spiritual Deconstruction

I never expected to write this post.

When I started the blog that became wordsforwayfarers.com several years ago, I saw my writing as a kind of ministry. By exploring echoes of the Christian message in contemporary books, movies, songs, and albums, I hoped to demonstrate the relevance of Christianity to all of life. Many of my posts were targeted toward “wayfarers” – spiritual seekers with more questions than answers. I loved crafting these posts and believed that I was building God’s kingdom through my efforts. My faith had never felt stronger. But all that was about to change.

Last year, I began struggling with some intense spiritual doubt. This struggle wasn’t unprecedented. I’m a naturally skeptical person, and I had weathered seasons of questioning before, emerging from those seasons with a deeper and richer faith. I knew that questions were the lifeblood of faith, and I saw them as opportunities to grow and mature in my relationship with God. However, the questions that piled up in January of 2022 were different – weightier, sharper, and more relentless than any I’d grappled with before. Very quickly, I realized that my certainty in the central claims of Christianity – Biblical inspiration and the divinity of Christ – was gone. I was no longer sure what I believed.

Desperate to overcome my doubts, I dove headfirst into Christian apologetics research (based on the Greek world apologia, “apologetics” refers to the scholarly defense of religious doctrine from skepticism). Throughout 2022, I explored numerous books, articles, podcasts, lectures, and sermons, each of them dedicated to establishing the truth of Christianity. Many of the resources that I found were compelling, and I desperately wanted to believe them. Nevertheless, my research didn’t remove my doubts. In fact, it made them worse. The more arguments I studied, the more holes and inconsistencies I found in those arguments. Answers to bothersome questions sparked new questions which I hadn’t thought to ask, new objections which I hadn’t considered. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my faith was in crisis.

My battle with doubt wasn’t a purely intellectual exercise. Afraid that I might be prioritizing head knowledge over my relationship with Jesus, I did everything I could think of to draw near to God. I prayed for guidance and renewed faith, studied the scriptures, fasted from food, confessed sin, met with the pastors and elders of my church, went to Christian counseling, talked with a spiritual mentor, and pleaded with God for miraculous signs of his presence. Like my apologetics research, these activities failed to stop my spiral into skepticism. I was running after God as hard as I could, growing more exhausted with each step. So why did he seem to be farther and farther away?

If there was anything I felt sure of during this struggle, it was that I wanted to know the truth. Yet, as my doubts intensified, even that premise was called into question. Back in high school, I remember learning about confirmation bias – the universal human tendency to seek evidence which supports what we already believe and to ignore evidence which doesn’t. Human beings aren’t naturally objective creatures; our interpretation of the data is regularly skewed by our pre-existing assumptions, biases, and desires. This isn’t to say that we’re incapable of empathizing with contrary perspectives or of changing our worldviews when the evidence warrants it, only that doing so is very difficult. I started to wonder: Was my search for answers really motivated by a desire for truth? Or was I just seeking confirmation of what I already believed? If I was wrong about Jesus and the Bible, did I really want to know?

As I pondered this dilemma, I realized that my research only exacerbated the issue. All of the materials that I had explored in 2022 were Christian materials, designed to corroborate my faith. I had rarely engaged with skeptical positions on the doubts I was wrestling with, and even when I had, it was always through the medium of Christian resources critiquing those positions. If I were dialoguing with a non-Christian, I would’ve urged them to set aside their biases as much as possible, to read the Bible and other Christian books, and to seriously consider the possibility that they might be mistaken. Yet, I had never held myself to the same standard. If I explored the evidence against Christianity as tenaciously as I expected others to explore the evidence for it, what would I find? The prospect was unsettling. However, I wanted to know the truth. I was convinced that if Jesus really was “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), then an honest assessment of the evidence would inevitably lead me closer to him. I was wrong.

As I studied Christianity through a skeptical lens, my faith in Christ collapsed. It wasn’t just that skeptical scholars were raising objections which I had never considered. These scholars were tackling issues that Christian scholars often shied away from, facing those issues head-on. Furthermore, they were basing their critiques of Christianity not on unfounded assumptions, but rather on sound logic and detailed exegesis of scripture. When I stacked their arguments against those made by Christians and measured both against my study of the Bible, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the skeptics had a stronger case. I wanted nothing more than to hold onto my faith. The possibility of losing it had been my worst nightmare, something far too painful to seriously consider. But now, against all my hopes and predispositions, that nightmare was becoming a reality.

Late in November of 2022, there came a night when I discovered that I no longer believed Christianity was true. The realization was crushing. When I tried to tell my wife, Kelly, about what had happened, I couldn’t get the words out. It was as if there was a block inside my throat. Eventually, after ten minutes of trying to speak, I had to scribble the words on a notecard: I don’t think I can be a Christian anymore. Then I sobbed uncontrollably while Kelly tried to console me.

The decision to stop identifying myself as a Christian wasn’t a welcome one. My faith in Christ had been the center of my world, the most beautiful and inspiring thing I knew. Losing it felt like losing the sun. In the months following that fateful November night, I’ve experienced many waves of grief and regret. I’ve also begun to process my transition into unbelief with family and friends, many of whom are deeply saddened and concerned about that transition. Yet, my conviction that I can no longer call myself a follower of Jesus has only grown stronger.

Currently, I consider myself a hopeful agnostic. On the one hand, I’m very open to the possibility of a supernatural world and eager to make contact with it if it exists. On the other hand, I don’t know what to believe about spiritual matters anymore, and I’m not sure how much can actually be known about them. I think there are some really convincing arguments for the existence of a divine intelligence or higher power behind the universe. Honestly, I long for that to be the case. Yet, even if God does exist, I’m firmly convinced that I can’t believe the core teachings of Christianity: the unique inspiration of the Bible, the atoning death and resurrection of Christ, the trinity, the Christian vision of the afterlife, etc. If there’s anything I’m sure of right now, it’s that I have far more questions than answers. Additionally, I’m increasingly skeptical of religious and philosophical systems which claim to capture the whole picture – to comprehend the whole fabric of reality. My assessment of the human situation is much closer to Albert Einstein’s view:

We are in the position of a little child, entering a huge library whose walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written those books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. The child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books, a mysterious order, which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of the human mind, even the greatest and most cultured, toward God. We see a universe marvelously arranged, obeying certain laws, but we understand the laws only dimly. Our limited minds cannot grasp the mysterious force that sways the constellations.

Since spiritual deconstruction is a complex and multilayered topic, I want to clarify several things about my experience. First, unlike many former Christians, I didn’t abandon faith because of disillusionment with the church. My deconstruction was driven solely by intellectual objections – doubts related to the reliability of the Bible, evidence for evolution, the morality of God in the Old Testament, the existence of hell, the hiddenness of God, and the person of Jesus. My experience of Christian fellowship has been almost uniformly positive. I have deep respect for the religious beliefs that many of my friends and family members hold, and I admire the many selfless, loving actions generated by those beliefs. Many of my most cherished values and convictions are rooted in my Christian upbringing. I was deeply and unconditionally loved within the church, and I treasure the relationships that were formed there. My experience of Christian community didn’t compel me to leave the church; it was one of the main reasons I didn’t want to leave.

Second, my apostasy wasn’t prompted by a personal moral failure. In the wake of my departure from Christianity, I’ve heard some Christians conjecture that my deconstruction was rooted in a prideful idolization of knowledge, a failure to trust God sufficiently, or a willful neglect of my relationship with Christ. I understand that these individuals’ theological frameworks require them to interpret my situation from a certain angle. I don’t expect to change their minds. All I can say in response is this: I pursued Christ as honestly and ardently as I knew how, wept and agonized over my doubts more times than I can remember, and confessed sins (both actual and potential) with all the transparency I could muster. As someone prone to self-criticism, I still feel shame about my decision to leave the church. I’ve wondered at times: Was my faith weaker than that of my fellow churchgoers? Did I do something to earn God’s disapproval, causing him to hide his face from me? Was my doubt really just selfishness in disguise? Yet, after reflecting on my struggle as objectively as I can, I honestly believe that my deconstruction was motivated by a genuine desire for truth. I left Christianity because I became convinced that it wasn’t true. I resonate deeply with Kenneth W. Daniels’ testimony in his book Why I Believed: Reflections of a Former Missionary:

Some of my readers might wonder, “Why did he do it? Why did he leave the riches of his faith for the despair and danger of unbelief? It couldn’t be that he sincerely believes Christianity to be untrue; there must be some deep underlying issues he’s dealing with, some flaw, some hidden agenda, some dashed expectation.” I have been asked this question directly, and my response has been this: you can dig as deeply as you like, and when you get to the bottom of it, you’ll find I believe what I believe because I think it’s true. There may indeed be some hidden issues that have driven me to this point, but if so, they are as hidden to me as to anyone else. I have shared freely with others and with God the matters I consider relevant to the question, but nothing definitive has turned up.

Third, I never expected to attain certainty in matters of faith. As a devout Christian, I believed that God’s ways were higher than my ways (Isaiah 55:8-9). I knew that not all of my questions would be answered, and I wasn’t demanding that God unravel all mysteries for my sake. I simply wanted to know whether I could be reasonably confident in the veracity of scripture and the divinity of Jesus, something I’m sure that most Christians wouldn’t find fault with. Lack of basic assurance in the central claims of Christianity is what sank my faith, not lack of certainty. Comedian Rhett McLaughlin summarizes my position well in his own testimony of deconstruction:

I understand that it is unreasonable to expect Christianity to be a set of scientifically verifiable principles. It is a faith, implying that some sort of believing without seeing is involved. And more specifically, Christianity is a relationship with Jesus, and relationships are not well- defined or experienced scientifically. However, I don’t think it insignificant that the deeper I have dug into Christianity with a thirst for the truth, the more difficult it has become to have faith. In fact, for me, it has become impossible.

Fourth, I have no desire to cut myself off from contact with Christians. While I no longer attend church, I haven’t stopped dialoguing with believers or pondering Christian ideas. My beloved wife, my family, and most of my closest friends still follow Jesus, and although they disagree with my opinions, we’ve had many respectful, constructive conversations about our differences. My commitment to loving them and their commitment to loving me haven’t changed in the slightest. I’ve continued reading scholarly books by Christian authors and listening to podcasts with religious subjects, not for purposes of spiritual edification, but so that I can discuss Christianity with more nuance and charity. I firmly believe that the pursuit of truth necessitates active dialogue with those who think differently than us.

Fifth and finally: Since leaving Christianity, I haven’t descended into depravity or despair. Within the evangelical church, there’s a popular notion that life outside Christian circles is marked by meaninglessness, hopelessness, and moral compromise. This may be true of some non-Christians, but it is by no means representative of the whole. Nonbelievers can live lives that are every bit as noble and fulfilled as those of their believing neighbors. My desire to pursue truth and my desire to live a moral life weren’t dampened by my deconstruction. That’s not to say that I’ve got life figured out. I don’t. I’m more aware than anyone of my damaging selfishness, insecurity, cowardice, and pride. It’s only to say that, in my case, the stereotypes that I heard in many churches growing up haven’t proven true. I must admit that I’ve been forced to discard certain moral convictions which I no longer find tenable, such as conservative evangelicalism’s condemnation of LGBTQIA+ relationships. However, things like kindness, compassion, justice, courage, and integrity still matter just as much to me as they always did.

I decided to share this post for several reasons. Primarily, I want to be forthright with readers about the perspective I’m writing from now, since Christian faith was so central to my earlier posts. Furthermore, I hope that this post inspires readers to consider unfamiliar perspectives. If you’re a Christian, I hope this post encourages you to empathize with people who have left the faith – to grasp how painful and unwanted that journey can be and to consider that some apostasy may be motivated by intellectual honesty. I have no desire whatsoever to undermine your faith. If you’re a skeptic, I hope this post convinces you that rich dialogue with Christians is possible and that a Christian upbringing can enrich a person’s life in many ways, even if that person later decides to abandon their Christian worldview. And if you’re a doubter on the road to deconstruction, I hope this post assures you that you’re not alone, that life doesn’t have to collapse after you leave the faith, and that truth is worth chasing. If this post accomplishes any of those goals, then it’ll have been well worth the effort.

As I said at the beginning of this post, I started blogging because I wanted to assist wayfarers on their spiritual search. I wanted to encourage those who were seeking answers to life’s biggest questions, and I thought I had those answers. Reflecting on the past year, I can see that I had it backwards. I was a wayfarer all along, every bit as prone to wandering and desperate for direction as those whom I sought to guide. In setting out to teach others, I discovered just how much I had yet to learn.

This blog isn’t finished. Not by a long shot. There’ll be more reviews of books and movies, more analyses of songs of albums, and more reflective essays. I don’t expect that my writing style will change all that much (although I hope to become more adept at trimming the boring parts). Yet, whatever religious or non-religious background you hail from, I hope you know that you’re welcome here. I hope you see these scribblings not as a map to unriddle life’s mysteries (something I can’t hope to provide), but rather as a journal of sorts – a subjective but well-intentioned account of my personal voyage into the unknown. I hope this blog can be a checkpoint on your own journey, as well – a place to linger, reflect, and warm your hands before moving on to whatever’s next for you. I don’t have answers anymore. Sometimes, that fact frightens me. But I’m sure glad we’re on this journey together, that morning comes after night, and that life’s as full of surprises as it ever was. In this great library, with its shelves of books from floor to ceiling, who knows what we might find?