For many people who end up leaving situations in which faith was abusive or, as in my case, otherwise traumatic, religion just becomes a non-starter, something to laugh at or rail against. This makes a lot of sense: once bitten, twice shy as they say. But what’s more surprising is how many people end up rebuilding their faith when the dust settles. But how to do it well? Today I’ll share a bit about my own experiences and share some principles I think are helpful for ensuring a reconstructed faith is healthy and beneficial without falling into the trap of a hyper-personalized, pick-and-choose spirituality.
In my case, spiritual reconstruction began with the unleashing of my curiosity. In each their own way, learning about psychology, jazz, Buddhism, drag, and Judaism all taught me not to take my self so seriously. It’s a strange thing for me to think about, because my conservative faith was never about intellectual certainty. But I think the fact that my sexuality was a ‘red line’ for me that I would not and could not even consider crossing, together with my natural tendency towards structure and routine, combined to create an unhelpful, and dangerous rigidity. Exploring these different traditions which each taught flexibility not just in thinking but also in identity and intention — Jazz with its tension between structure and improvisation and collaboration and individuality, Buddhism with its questioning of whether the self really exists, drag with its sense of play when it comes to identity and its performance, and Judaism with its delight in disputation and textual fluidity — helped me to discover paths forward with a sense of play and curiosity and without feeling like my whole world could fall down if I made a misstep.
In this process of exploration, I realized that, no matter what it had felt like in the thick of things, my whole identity had not in fact crashed around me. I came to understand just how deeply the Gospel values had shaped the man I was, and how much I cherished them. This planted the first seeds in what would be my theological and spiritual re-formation. The biggest accelerator for those seeds’ growth was simply re-reading the New Testament. What stuck out to me on that reading was the idea of truth being determined by the quality of what it produces (e.g., Matthew 3.10; 7.15-19; 12.33; 21.18-21). This wasn’t just a one-time deal either, but a consistent refrain in the teachings of both John the Baptist and Jesus, and while put in different language, I found it in Paul, Peter, James, and John too. This became the beating heart of my re-emerging, reconstructing faith: If it bears good fruit in the world — “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control,” and more! — then it’s of God and therefore true; if it bears bad fruit, then it’s not.
The faith that emerged was a lot more confident than the rigid faith I had known before. I was free to continue exploring different ideas and worldviews without fear that they would compromise my own. It was therefore able to be more generous, creative, and curious, and because of this flexibility, it was also more resilient. (A branch that will not bend will break, as they say.)
Throughout my reconstruction process, I was always very sensitive to the accusations from conservatives of “picking and choosing” what I believed, or “cafeteria Christianity” or “Sheila-ism” (a name given in some of the literature to the generic yet hyper-individualized faith of people who identify as ‘spiritual but not religious’). It was important for me not to run away from difficult texts or doctrines, but to have ways of engaging with them in a healthy way. For me this was obviously largely about the ‘clobber texts’, but it’s also true more generally. I wanted to be able to say ‘yes’ to as much of the tradition as I could, in a way that was life-giving, healthy, and sustainable.
Everyone will have their own story and their own journey when it comes to reclaiming and rebuilding their faith. It won’t look like mine. But I do think my story points to some principles that apply more generally:
- Engage with your curiosity and spread your net widely. As you’re learning, hold things with an open hand — what’s worth keeping will stick with you; what’s not will fall away.
- Find something you can use as a strong foundation.
- Build with flexibility in mind.
- Focus on what works.
- Don’t ignore or bypass difficult themes or passages. It may take time, but hold space for engaging with them seriously when it’s psychologically safe for you to do so. (I couldn’t address the ‘clobber texts’ until a few years into my process. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. That space enabled me to come at them fresh.)
- Integrate as much as you can healthily.
To these principles that were helpful for me, I’ll also add the opposites of the traits of abusive religious environments we talked a bout a couple weeks ago. If we want to build back better, and find communities that help us to do so, we should look for traits like:
- Building connections with the wider world
- Accepting criticism and acknowledging people’s experiences
- Recognizing a broad understanding of human experience
- Creating a safe space, built on trust rather than fear
- Not demanding more than what people can reasonably give
- Encouraging questioning and curiosity
- Empowering individuals for their personal growth and service within the community
Rebuilding after the collapse of one’s faith, or leaving an unsustainable religious environment, is never easy, and if you want it to be sustainable, I’d suggest it’s also never quick. But good things come to those who wait, and I am convinced that with good intentions, an open heart, and trust in God’s goodness, it’s well worth the time and effort.
