http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php Thu, 29 Jul 2010 13:12:09 +0000 30 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/40079-to-deaf-ears-we-pray/
I don't want to get all biographical so I'll give a short run on my life. Early childhood was bad, not terrible, but wasn't great. Had some abuse issues, started my preteen years visiting lots of counselors, lots of medicine, suicide attempts and such. Went on for most of my teenage life. I was diagnosed as bi-polar, ADHD, among other things. So as you can see the setup is just asking for a "then Jesus came into my life" intervention and that's what happened. My wife's (then girlfriend's) mother, who was a fantastic and caring woman, started taking me to church and it went on from there. Got saved, stopped doing drugs, smoking, and it seemed all my life's troubles were over. I even volunteered at the youth group for about 6 years doing their multi-media and basically acting as the youth pastor's assistant.

I held onto those experiences for a long time. It's what kept me believing. So much hope, where could those feelings have come from? The hardest part of falling away from my beliefs were the fact that they felt so real at the time. "Either God is real or I'm crazy," is what I used to always tell myself. In reality, it was neither. In all reality Jesus was just there when I needed him to be. It could have been anything and I'm sure it would have had the same affect. I just needed someone to believe in because there was no way in a million years I could believe in myself. How perfectly the Christian idea of salvation fit into my personality. I was worthless, suicidal, addicted to drugs; so of course I needed a savior. But I didn't.

Melissa, My wife's mother, passed away shortly after from cancer. I don't think I will ever know anyone as benevolent as her. Perhaps Christianity is great when it motivates people to do good as she did. Taking me to church was a good thing at the time. It was all she knew. But she also put all of her faith in god. When she was diagnosed with cancer of course the first thing she did was take it to him. She believed she was healed. Was healed at a service, several times mind you. I remember her sitting in the pews trying to partake in the worship service. She was in such pain she could stand up. But she kept her hands raised, worshipping as much as she could. And She left it at that. Refused any treatment and believed with her faith that she was healed. Well, obviously faith isn't enough. Would she be alive today if she took treatment? Who knows, but we won't ever know, because faith in someone who isn't there doesn't save anyone. What a waste.

And I'm sure we all have stories like this. Why do the wicked prosper while the faithful die? Because life is life. If there were a god you better believe the holy would prosper forever. I don't buy the "devil is attacking you bs." Who the hell is god if he can't even protect those that serve him? The lord is my shepherd? Yeah right. But beyond all that it's important to realize that religion kills. And I don't just mean through the wars it has influenced. I mean when someone believes so much that it takes over their commonsense and any scientific evidence that contradicts them. "No, I have faith in god, so I will believe in him!" Like I said, what a waste. If anyone could turn water into wine with only faith it would have been Melissa. That woman believed stronger than anyone else could that god was all she needed. But as the days grew fewer, her body slowly decaying from the cancer, she cried out "I don't want to die! God I don't want to die!" But he didn't hear. He doesn't hear anyone. And the more we put faith in ears of someone that cannot hear anyone, the more lives that will be wasted.

Just wanted to share a small part of my life. I have so much more but can't imagine dropping that all at once. I hope to get to know everyone and thanks again for this place to share my story.]]> Thu, 29 Jul 2010 13:12:09 +0000 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/40079-to-deaf-ears-we-pray/ http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/40033-my-simple-story/
My story is rather simple. I was raised by a single christian mother. We never attended church regularly growing up but as most in the black community, we surely believed in God. My mom eventually became a member of a non-denominational church. I was already 17 at that point and I think this was critical in the ease of my deconversion. I had not been indoctrinated into christianity as many had. I went off to college having never attended any church regularly but believing in god because that's what I was told was the truth. At age 30, I had a great job, a great long term girlfriend, was enjoying life and just figured that god was the only thing missing. As I began to research the story of the bible and a few things stuck out to me. Why did god need middle men? Why wouldn't god write his own book? Why did god always meet these "prophets" in private? In researching varios religions I realized the theme of the story got more outrageous the younger the religion. Jesus rose from the dead and acsended to heaven to return to dictate to moses, muhammad rode a white horse to heaven to talk with god and Joseph Smith found some unintelligible gold plates in the forest that he had to translate in private to the BoM. These stories are just ridiculous especially to the unindoctrinated mind. Not to mention the talking snake, 900 year old man building a boat that could hold all the animals on earth, the guy living in a fish and on and on. The bible sounded more like an episode of the smurfs. I would wonder, if these things happened so readily in the midevil period, why haven't these "miracles" happened since? Why'd they stop? Why do most of these "gods" remain invisible and silent?

I discussed my feelings with my mom. Her answer to most of my questions and skeptisicm was, "you just have to believe". I almost felt sorry for her. She had no answers and looked a bit confused but she didn't see this as outlandish for me. She knew I questioned everything and this was nothing new. I didn't push it to much but this confirmed to me that there is no reason to have "faith" without proof. I had never been saved but my life was great. I had never attended church regularly but I was happy and felt totally fulfilled. I felt no need to have a divine purpose. I just wanted to be happy and enjoy the years I had on this planet.

All this led me to the internet where I, as others, have discovered Dawkins, Hitchens and many others who debunk religion with ease. My natural skeptisicm was confirmed and backed with sensible scientific evidence and a detailed look a biblical history.

Thanks for providing the forum to share.

.

]]> Thu, 29 Jul 2010 12:55:05 +0000 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/40033-my-simple-story/ http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/36413-giving-up-on-god/ Giving up on God

This is very long, but a text I wrote to get my feelings on paper. Thanks a million if you bother reading the whole thing

Over the past few years I have slowly begun questioning my faith. After spending years as a fervent follower of Christ, and seeking desperately to be more like, learn more about, and know Him on a deeply personal level I’ve lost the fire. I sought him through almost ceaseless prayer, Bible study, worship music, quiet times, Sunday services, prayer meetings, and reading books to deepen my understanding and to come as close to the throne of the heavenly Father as humanly possible. It was an intense quest. That lead nowhere.

I was raised as a Christian. The daughter of a magnanimous and charismatic pastor I went to church every Sunday, both morning and evening services. As I grew older I went to youth group on Fridays in addition. Easter vacation, New Year’s vacation, and weeks during summer were spent at Christian camps where we had Bible study every morning and Worship services every evening. My life was engulfed in Christianity.

In the midst of all this I still felt like I didn’t quite get it. I watched people around me seemingly deeply attached to Jesus, and living in such powerful personal relationships with Him that I figured there had to be something to it. I didn’t feel it myself, but the only plausible reason for that had to be that I wasn’t “doing it right”. I figured I just wasn’t saved yet. I must not have prayed the prayer of salvation right.

Sunday school was so boring I could barely stand it. I’d zone out most of what was said as they never said anything new. I knew every story, and moral lesson. I sung along to the songs, and folded my hands dutifully when there was prayer. After a few years I started making sure I was at the back of the line when all the kids were dismissed from the service to go down to Sunday school. I would hop off the line and disappear into the baby nursery and spend the rest of the service time down there. I loved the baby nursery. My dad knew I did it, and would occasionally ask me to go to Sunday school instead, but never made a huge deal about it.

Many write stories of being raised under the heel over overly religious and judgmental fundamental parents. I can make no such claim. My father, now passed, was one of the most amazing men I’ve ever known. His faith was truly based in a true and loving heart. His preaching of hell and damnation was always sidelined to his preaching of God’s love, forgiveness, and a conviction that through God you would be able to live a fulfilled, happy, wonderful, and exciting life. Seeking Him with a full and fervent heart was more a way of helping you be happy than a way to avoid damnation. “All” you had to do was to accept Christ as your Savior and you would be saved. He preached that hell wasn’t fiery pits of hell, but rather the absence of the love of God. My father never told me that if I didn’t listen to him that I would burn in hell. He never told me horror stories about the devil, or attempted to exorcise me if I did something wrong. My father truly loved me. He was my rock. My mother was a mentally unstable, and awfully difficult person to deal with. Without my father in my life it would have been dreadful at home to grow up in. I would never dream of disappointing him, or sadden him by telling him that I didn’t “feel it”. I knew it would break his heart. Seeing me seek God brought him such joy.

When I got old enough to go to youth group I joined with excitement. They really seemed to have it together, and I thought this was my chance to truly find the God everyone else had such a great relationship with. Unfortunately I didn’t suddenly find the answers there. So I kept playing along. I had heard enough people praying out loud over the years that I could pray with the best of them. I quickly got a reputation for being such a solid Christian. My father was so proud of me, and his approval meant everything. So I kept going, even though it felt like a total farce.

One day in youth group we were asked to draw God. That was easy enough. I had a rather clear picture of him in mind. I drew a bearded old man on a big thrown. One side of him was smiling lovingly, he was sunny and bright, had a greeting arm, a lovely lap, and looked like the most wonderful grandfather. The other side of him was one of wrath unfurled. His hair was messy, his face was furious, flames and lightning surrounded him, and his arm was raised to fight. It shocked my youth leaders. I was pulled to the side afterwards and asked to explain. I explained as well as I could that this truly was my view of God. There was the God of Love, and there was the vengeful God who killed, waged wars, and condemned people to death. I got a long talking to about how wrong I was, and quickly admitted my mistake as I knew I couldn’t convince them of my point anyway. I was never one to fight, so I just left it alone. We prayed together, and my leaders went happily on their way, I’m sure soundly believing that they had done a good job of guiding their sheep that day.

Faking falling down when prayed for, begging Jesus to save me over and over and over, crying to God, praying to God, teaching people about God, attending church, and being the best Christian I could be my teenage years went by. Besides feeling tortured by guilt that I didn’t “get it”, I truly had a good time. I had tons of friends, and we had lots of fun. It wasn’t bad. I just carried a big secret, and I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone find out.

My junior year of high school I joined a non-denominational high school ministry group, and for the first time I actually felt like I got it. I started having quiet time of Bible reading, prayer, and listening to worship music every single day. I felt at peace, I felt like I was getting there, and that I wasn’t such a fraud anymore. It felt good.

The next years of college, working, getting married, and having children, were spent totally devoted to church. I had a huge study Bible, and for a long time spent up to two hours a day in quiet time with the Lord. I wrote my prayers in a prayer journal so that I would not only keep focused on the prayer for an hour or more, but also so that I could look back and see all the answers to prayer. As the years went on there weren’t many of those. “A purpose driven life” by Rick Warren, “Prayer on Fire” by Fred A. Hartley, and “Brokenness” by Nancy Leigh DeMoss were just a few of the books I studied in an attempt to grow even closer to God. I tried to memorize 100 names of God because I heard calling him by his name would make him hear me better, because he liked to hear his names called out. I lay prostrate before God when I prayed. I wanted him to know that I had truly laid down my life for Him.

My devotion and dedication to God was noticed, and I was invited to be a part of the intercessors at our church. This was a small and exclusive group of people who were particularly called to be prayer warriors and that would storm the throne of God on behalf of our church. I was the youngest one that had ever been given such a privileged position, and I was awed, intimidated, and flattered at the same time. I vowed to pray for my church every day, and each Sunday morning we gathered to pray for an hour before the service started. This was to make sure that the service was covered by a blanket of prayer, that all demons were cast out of the sanctuary, and the space was ready for God to meet his people. Each service one intercessor would spend the entire service in the prayer room covering the service in prayer. In addition, when there would be a special service, or the head of the intercessor felt the need, we would schedule an overnight watch before the service. Each intercessor would pray for an hour before the cross in the sanctuary. My slot was between 3 and 4am. I would get up at 2:30, throw sweats on, and drive to church to lay prostrate in prayer, begging God to bring revival to our church. I would try to cry with tears. Couldn’t. I would try to stay focused. Couldn’t. Only reason I didn’t fall asleep was that it was really cold on that floor...

It would shock the intercessors to know that my time as intercessor was the beginning of my return to feeling like I didn’t get it again. I felt like a fraud. I would sit in the pre-service prayer gathering and think: “What am I doing here”. When scheduled to pray through the service I would force myself to pray hard, and I would be intensely nervous that it wouldn’t be an amazing service where lots of people were saved. After all, the battle of souls is won from the upper room, not from the sanctuary. I feared that this was when I’d be found out for who I was – someone trying to be somthing I was not. It wasn’t quite as fearful to pray from 3-4am because people were praying all night, so if my time-slot failed I figured it wouldn’t ruin the whole effect of the night. I can’t remember a single one of these nights in prayer resulting in some sort of amazing church service.

In the midst of all of this I started getting sick. I started having tremendous amounts of muscle aches and joint pain. It was so bad I couldn’t pull a plug out of an outlet. The pain would jolt through my arm. It was awful. I could barely lift my baby out of the crib, and to avoid having to lift her in and out of the high chair I would feed her sitting on the kitchen floor. It got worse and worse. I had another baby, and that set of a landslide. It got to a point where I could barely stand on my feet. My husband carried me to the bathroom, changed my clothes, and people came to clean our apartment, care for our children, and brought us dinner every single day for 6 weeks straight. Therein lies the beauty of a Christian family – they were truly there for me when I needed them. I was taken to church in a wheel chair. Nothing could keep me from the house of God.

They prayed for healing over me over and over and over. All I needed was the faith of a mustard seed, but apparently my faith wasn’t strong enough. Not that I thought it would have been. My husband went to his men’s prayer meeting “Iron men” (iron sharpens iron and all that) every Wednesday begging God to help us. God was nowhere to be found. I started slipping away. My quiet times got shorter and shorter, and eventually faded almost completely. What was the point? God wasn’t listening. I was too tired to live, much less keep up this intense search for God. I was getting luke-warm in my faith. I was getting depressed. I couldn’t be a mother to my children, or a wife to my husband. God, for all my efforts to please him, to know him, and to be near him, didn’t come through for me. For all my prostrate prayer, Bible study, dedication, devotion, time spent, and brotherly love shared, God stayed distant. What more could I do?

As I wasn’t so intensely engulfed in the Christian life it was slowly occurring to me that it was a little preposterous to believe that out of the millions of people that live on this earth my father and our little denomination of the protestant faith were the ones who got it right. Did we really have the answer? Were we truly the ones who knew the one and only way to heaven? Some churches believe in salvation through child baptism, saints, and that you must be baptized as an adult in the name of the Holy Spirit. In our church all those things were wrong. Baptism was only for adults who could make a sound and clear-minded decision to do so, and you had to be baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. To only be baptized in the name of Christ wasn’t right. Babies are dedicated by being brought to God in prayer in front of the congregation. There are no godparents as the entire congregation promises to help raise the child in the way he should go. Saints were surely of the devil as they led us from praying to the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost to praying to deceased people. This was clearly disillusioned and wrong. It became difficult to me to swallow that our narrow interpretation of the Bible, the literal and true word of God, was the correct one. We were the ones who knew how to interpret the word of God in a way that lead us to heaven. People who interpreted it otherwise were just as doomed to hell as any atheist, Buddhist, Hindu, Jew, or satan worshipper.

As a parent myself it became more and more difficult for me to swallow that God was Love. My whole life I was told that God loved me more than anyone, more than my own parents. He knew me before I even entered my mother’s womb. He knew the number of hairs on my head and his plans were to prosper me, not to harm me. If I delighted myself in the Lord he would give me the desires of my heart. What a wonderful thought. However, as I am born a sinner I am doomed to eternal damnation. If I don’t follow the narrow path of salvation and accept Jesus Christ as my Savior and spend my life following him, then hell is my reward. Even before I got a chance to do something wrong I had failed. This also meant that my children were born sinners. I had friends who were quick to point out how true this is if they saw a child throw a tantrum, or rip a toy out of another child’s hand. It just didn’t ring true to me. If God loved my children more than I loved them, and I truly and deeply love my children, then how could he have sentenced them to death? How could any simple sin, such as saying they didn’t take the piece of candy out of the cabinet while the candy was in their mouths, deserve such severe punishment? I would never, ever, wish that on my children. I would aid in their demise in any way shape or form. What kind of God is this anyway?

After a while I started feeling fairly certain that this whole “Jesus thing” was hokus pokus. I just couldn’t swallow or stomach it anymore. To reject the idea of an allmighty God, or higher power, was a different story. I have seen people healed from all sorts of things, my own brother being one of them. He suffered from a severe citrus allergy and a bothersome lactose intolerance. After his daughter prayed over him, and literally smacked him in the head with a Bible, he was healed. Why? I can’t explain it. However I also have a co-worker who had terrible back problems. She went to a healer, and after two sessions was perfectly fine. That was five years ago. This wasn’t a Christian prayer-based healing. She is not a Christian herself. Why was she healed? I can’t explain that one either. Is our mind so powerful that we can heal ourselves if we believe strongly enough? I don’t know. It seems pretty evident that healings take place other places than in the Christian church. That is pretty significant where faith is concerned. If God, or “the universe”, or whatever you would like to call it heals people without it being “in the name of God”, then how could Jesus be the only way, truth, and life?

Several seeds of doubt had been planted. This was pretty scary, because it didn’t just mean that I might not believe in God, it meant rejecting everything my father had lived and breathed for. He was everything to me, how could I do that to him?

We moved, and that meant having to find a new church. I wasn’t very inspired to. I felt defeated. My father tried to help me find a church for a while, but gave up without much of a fight. I know he prayed for me every day, probably several times a day. He approached my husband about him failing as the spiritual head of the household and asking him to bring us all back into the fold. My husband, thankfully being on the same spiritual journey as myself, didn’t heed my father’s word. It was difficult for him, as my husband respected and adored my father almost as much as I did. I believe my father decided to allow us to pursue this “crisis of faith”. He fought his war to win us back in the “upper room”, in prayer.

My father loved me. He was my very best friend. Knowing that I was causing him grief by not going to church was something I had to just put aside. I couldn’t let myself touch the emotions that evoked with a ten-foot pole. Even as an adult the mere idea of hurting him tore me apart. It wasn’t out of fear. It was out of an intense love of a magnificent man.

The day he died it felt like an earthquake. I didn’t know where to go. My safety net disappeared and I was alone. I felt like a lost little kid, and I wanted the safe arms of my dad to still be within reach. Even though I had begun rejecting his faith, his life’s work, and everything he stood for, I needed him. I believe it was his greatest sorrow that I stopped going to church. I have to live with that.

A year after his death it’s easier to allow myself to explore what I truly believe, or don’t believe. It’s easier to stomach. If he was still alive I still wouldn’t be going to church. Not living a lie has become more important to me than pleasing him. Amazingly. I guess I’ve finally cut the cord.

I don’t have the answers, but maybe I’m on my way there? I know at least that I no longer live guilt ridden, and stressing to find a relationship that isn’t there. Amazingly, I’m not sick anymore. Maybe it was the pressure? The inability to fit in? The inability to be who I was expected to be? The feeling of failure as it seemed God didn’t care to be in a relationship with me? Could be. At least today I can say that I raise my children with love, and I don’t tell them that they’re doomed and need to apologize for their very existence. I’m relieved, and infinitely happier today. I feel like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders. It feels great.

I have no label for myself that fits right now. Atheist? Agnostic? Universalist? Somehow I feel like I need one. I don’t know why. It’s taken a long journey to get to where I am today. I suppose it’ll take a little longer before I’m finally “there”, wherever that may be.]]> Wed, 28 Jul 2010 20:07:29 +0000 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/36413-giving-up-on-god/ http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/39642-its-kind-of-like-struggling-with-child-pornography/
For YEARS, I have been doubting my faith.

It began around the age of 14, when I was baffled at how my pastor drove a Bentley, never wore the same outfit twice, and yet the better portion of our church population was living under the federal poverty guideline.

Then after that, I began noticing things. The sermons became repetitive; it was all about what one could get from God if they could just harvest the supernatural powers of him. Shout your way to a new car! Pray away the depression! This oil will anoint you and make your boss finally bow down to you at work! Sow a seed of $100 and Jesus will cover your house for eternity!

The seeds of discontent were planted. The first flower peeked through the soil at 16. My pastor had been found to have mistresses all over the country, in addition to having two illegitimate children during his marriage. Of course, the man never came out to admit this ( but our local newspaper did). The next few months were tense, but after about 6 months, it was as if nothing had happened. He was still preaching. No one at church was talking about it. Then one day he did a sermon on how despite all of the children, women, and using church funds to support his lifestyle, God told him that he "was still the anointed man".

Fast forward, and I go to college. I join a fellowship. Shortly after that, I began coming out to my closest friends, and then word eventually spread (through my involvement in our schools LGBT center) that I was queer. Nothing was explicitly said, except for mentions of the "sin of homosexuality" from time to time.

Once I came out, I began on my quest to search for LGBT friendly denominations, christian writers, churches, etc. However, something felt ridiculous; I got tired of denomination hopping and scripture justifying, and arguing with people about how my "lifestyle" could be moral in the eyes of God. I got tired of looking for a way for my faith to justify my existence.

This boiled to a head at a conference I attended at the beginning of this summer. The woman, discussing sexuality and christianity, basically told an audience of roughly 100 people that " man's struggle with homosexuality is the same as his child pornography". That did it!

No, leaving the faith was not a gay issue. It was over 21 years of confusion, scripture abuse, church contradiction, blind faith by everyone I knew, over interpreting, and personal suffering- knowing that a book keeps me from having an intimate relationship with my family, because they would pick religion over me in a heartbeat. However, that last comment is what pushed me over the believers cliff.

So here I am at this forum, after many nights of google searching, poor sleep, and loneliness. I'm still involved in my ministry ( in fact, I am the head of the committee that handles incoming students for this upcoming year, and I'm a musician for the worship team) so how I am going to maneuver myself out of this as quickly and painlessly as possible scares me shitless. And every now and then, I feel like I need to go back to the "comfort" of faith....I even impulse bought a bible yesterday. But I'm hoping to be able to talk to people on here, because this is probably the most painful, but most liberating decision I've made in my life.

Thanks for listening ]]> Wed, 28 Jul 2010 19:44:30 +0000 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/39642-its-kind-of-like-struggling-with-child-pornography/ http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/39174-on-my-way-to-freedom-hopefully/
Let's start with how I grew up. I was raised in a Reformed Calvinistic church. Yes, I was one of those. Most Christians have heard of, or encounter a Calvinst here or there, but they assure the world that Calvinst are Christians, but they are not "true Christians". Well, I'm not going to give you a whole book of what they believe, but basically, they believe that everyone, before they're even born, are predestined by god to go to ether heaven or hell. But this is not evil, no no no. It's "good", because unless god chose a few to save and bring to heaven, everyone would go to hell. Lovely, isn't it? They also put very little emphasis on the "end times", and although they do seek converts, they don't do it like most Christians. Every Calvinist convert I've ever met came from a different christian background, and that's... a little odd.

Back on topic. So I grew up thinking these kind of things, but at the same time, I couldn't believe them, even as a little boy. I have a lot more to say, but it's getting late. I do need help with something though. Right now, I'm afraid of annihilation. Let me explain. I read this bizarre site a while back run by this weird old guy who said he follows the "words of Jesus only". What this ends up meaning is, he places the four gospels on a pedestal, throws out Paul completely, and cherry-picks through the rest. What really scares me, is he says that god created the world, basically just to see who would follow the "real" words of Jesus by "forsaking everything, including family" to follow a 2000 year-overdo promise, and will make them his "sons". The rest, will be annihilated like "garbage". (It's ****ing sick I know.) He also says that anyone who rejects Jesus' words (as interpreted by him), will have a guaranteed spot in gehenna, and will die a second death.

Now, the idea of there being no after-life doesn't bother me. What does however, is the idea that a god created the entire universe, just to see who would leave everything behind to follow someone, who would have been basically a cult-leader, promising big rewards in the after-life. And is going to kill/destroy the rest. I don't believe that, it's awful, disgusting, and sick, but it scares me to no end. I'll post the site tomorrow, if anyone could help me. I'll write more tomorrow. Thank you.

Bryant]]> Tue, 27 Jul 2010 01:59:03 +0000 http://www.ex-christian.net/index.php?/topic/39174-on-my-way-to-freedom-hopefully/