Faith Journeys as Differentiation

a currency for distinguishing ourselves from others

Many if not most exvangelicals have parents who are deeply Christian, who raised them to be soldiers for the Lord. This obviously creates tension when their adult children leave the faith.

But thatʼs not the case for me. When I started deconstructing my evangelical beliefs, my mom was like, ʼThank goodness! Youʼre not totally brainwashed!ʼ (Yeah, I know Iʼm using single quotation marks where I should be using double. The key on my laptop is screwy. Sad face.)

I grew up in a non-religious family. My dad was a lapsed Methodist and my mom had traversed her own faith deconstruction journey, from Catholicism to Unitarianism to atheism. My grandma was spiritually promiscuous—she read the Talmud, she revered Mother Mary, she studied Taoism, she believed in aliens and reflexology and the zodiac and the Buddha and Democrats and Cardinals baseball. She prayed often, but did not go to church. At fourteen, I could not appreciate meandering spiritual journeys, and I was just beginning my own.

I found Jesus through a para-church ministry, and I fell hard and fast. Oh how I loved Jesus! How could anyone not?! My heart swelled for the carpenter who wałked on water and died on a cross to reconcile me to God.

Mom really struggled with my newfound evangelical faith, and I couldnʼt understand why. My big teenage rebellion was lying to her about attending a conservative church and Bible studies. Either I lied to spare her pain, or I watched the tears roll down her cheeks as I left the house to worship my savior. It was brutal for both of us.

Photo by Ed Leszczynskl on Unsplash

Fast forward a decade. Iʼm very evangelical, a Registered Nurse, and Mom and I are in a better place. But then I start dating a pastor. Holy moly. Mom asked if I was doing this just to spite her; I told her I wasnʼt that committed to the cause.

Things were real rough for a few years, for Mom, for my boyfriend turned husband, and for me. When Simon and I made my mom a grandma, I knew she and I would be alright. It took a longer for healing to happen between her and Simon, but when it did it was beautiful. The conflict is long in the rear view mirror. My mom and husband love each other. They went to a musical together last year; it was so cute.

But shortly after Mom and Simon healed their wound, a new wound opened up between Simon and me. Follow and subscribe for more details, and check out my Instagram, but hereʼs the gist: I started becoming less Christian evangelical. As a ministry couple, Simon and I experienced several bouts of church trauma, and life through some of its own trauma our way. We had a daughter, and suddenly I couldnʼt accept the prohibition of women in ministry. I started combing through Scripture and scholarship, and was aghast to learn that egalitarian Christianity existed, and that translators and editors and councils had messed with the Bible. Turned out you couldnʼt just take those womenʼs submission texts at face value! And then it was like, wełl shit, if I was wrong about that what else might I be wrong about?

Cue researching and then abandoning the clobber texts that are used to vilify homosexuality. Then the whole house of cards came tumbling down: the Bible was not inerrant, it was not trustworthy in everything it said, it was full of contradictions, it could not be properly understood apart from ancient history and rigorous scholarship, and this all meant it was more fascinating than ever.

The Bible was no longer a military base to me; I didnʼt have to follow orders. No, it transformed into something so much better: a playground.

After that, it was no Satan, no hell, no substitutionary atonement, everybody goes to Heaven, abortion is not murder, maybe there isnʼt a Heaven either, who the hell knows, and isnʼt it grand that none of this is high stakes like theyʼd claimed it was?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Simon, THE PASTOR, had feelings. I was riding the slippery slope like it was my job, we had moved across the country, we now had three kids, he was working for a narcissistic abuser but finally had stable work, and he was trying to plant a daughter church at the direction of the horrible senior pastor abusive boss man. And then, and then, Evil Meanie Asshat fired Simon, lied to the congregation that he was choosing to leave, and financially strong-armed us into silence. Basically, shit was fucked.

He wanted to continue with the church plant independent of his former employer, and I did not. I would not. I could not. I was done being a Pastorʼs Wife—worst gig ever—and The Deciders of Everything Evangelical do not let men be pastors if their wives will not be Pastorʼs Wives.

Could I preach? Could I get ordained? Absolutely fucking not. Could my husband have his own identity and passion and purpose without my Weaker Vessel Rubber Stamp granting legitimacy? Also no.

Believe you me, it was brutal AF between Simon and I for a long time. Soooo much therapy. We are not the same, and we donʼt have to be. We honor each other even when we donʼt understand. And like the Bible, marriage is so much better when you stop trying to force a round peg into a square hole, and enjoy it for what it is, not what someone told you it should be.

So thatʼs how I differentiated from my husband after differentiating from my mother. First I was too conservative, then I was too progressive. Originally I was too Christian; later I wasnʼt Christian enough. Now Iʼm some blend of mystic, heretic, Jesus follower, agnostic, label-less spiritual-ish human. Sometimes my mom and my husband look at me and go, huh (for different reasons). But on good days we all let each other be who we are: distinct, individuated, unique.

Did your loved ones react to your faith journey? Either because you adopted faith or rejected it? Tell me in the comments! Thanks for reading.