Christianity Unraveled

February 18th, 2020

As often as I write about how I am 'falling away' from the faith we call Christianity, I must admit that I am engaged in the community just as so. I thought it would be much easier than this to drift away from religion (though, 'it's not a religion, it's a relationship!'), but I was quite mistaken. Perhaps it's my need to appear like I'm trying, or maybe it is actually because I need to feel like I'm still trying. Even so, I can't seem to escape the grip of religion just yet – and I am not sure if I want to.

If a medal could be awarded to someone who was simultaneously the most and least religious person, I have only slight doubts that I would be a nominee. If I am not finding a new piece of information on Jewish theology or Catholic history, I am off at a Bible study or having a discussion on spirituality (I must admit that the previous statement was a hyperbole, but I trust you understand what I mean!). And yet, in the midst of all that, it feels as though it is all for naught – whether I attempt to learn or attempt to listen to Christianity, I find myself being unable to truly empathize or accept it within myself. There is a part of me missing. I no longer can connect with the language and culture of spirituality.

But even more, there is a greater part of me that isn't missing: I no longer even want to try to or succeed in connecting with either anymore.

My thoughts are instead filled with ideas of restoration and justice, of immediate and long-term help, of challenging the systems of oppression and of greed. I feel as though the part of me that went missing was replaced by these needs and desires. Or perhaps it was transformed into these hopes.

I remember when it first began: I was contemplating the words of Jesus and noted that it seemed as though lifting people out of their oppression was more important to him than telling the world about who we perceived him to be. I felt more attracted in my heart to this message than what I was told I must feel – that is, that if I don't feel a need or deep desire to evangelize to the lost, then something within my heart is broken and I need to pray against the evil workings of apathy.

This wasn't a new concept. Early in my life, I was taught that I should pray for a heart that sees people like God sees them. I was taught to ask for my heart to be broken for the world and for opportunities to help the brokenness. I was taught to try to see each person as their afterlife and to fulfill the greatest and last commandment of Jesus: to go and make disciples of all nations. I was taught that God sees each person as either sinful or righteous, and I viewed each person as such.

Somehow, between then and now, my view of how Jesus saw people changed. What used to be my broken heart for the 'lost' and their need for a savior turned into my broken heart for the quality of life people are subjected to due to an unjust and corrupt system. What I used to see as brokenness in people turned into brokenness in the collective. What I used to see as necessary turned to the unnecessary, and I no longer cared about evangelism and engaging in spiritual conversations with each person I met. The unnecessary became then necessary, and I began to care very deeply about understanding where each person was at without a hidden agenda. I began to care about waging war against the injustices people face.

Whether I am replacing my feelings of apathy toward religion into a form of secular humanism or simply transforming my worldview, I cannot tell. Either way, I must admit that I rather like the way that I am heading and feel as though I am finally listening to the pulling of my true self.

If I were to die this moment or perhaps in a few years and discover that I must face eternity in unending torture because I no longer believed, then I would rather take that knowing that I didn't believe and thus worked toward bettering people's lives through altruistic motivations than take an eternity of pure bliss with a God who cares more about belief than goodness.