16 years ago…
I nervously step up to the pulpit, holding a couple of A4 pages of handwritten notes. These aren’t just any ordinary notes though: these notes contain my TESTIMONY.
As an awkward 14-year old living in a small country town in mid-Wales, my life so far hasn’t exactly been a thrilling epic. But there’s something magical about this word, and when the pastor introduces me and my TESTIMONY, there are cheers and anticipatory smiles from the congregation.
So I stand on the stage, take a breath, and begin.
**For those who don’t know me, I gave my life to Jesus when I was 6, and I’ve never been the same since.**
Tonight is a special night: I’m getting baptised. Unlike some other denominations, we don’t practise infant baptism. Instead, we wait until the person is old enough to make their own personal decision to follow Jesus, and take baptism as a public statement of that decision.
But before you get baptised, you have to give your testimony. It’s basically the story of your life: how it looked before you became a Christian, and how it’s changed since.
**I’m not very popular at school, and have been bullied there for years. But I know that God is always with me, and has given me great friends at church to help me through.**
The crowd is easy to testify to; I could be talking about how God saved me from a childhood working for a gang of meth-addicted cannibal prostitutes and they’d be no more excited and responsive than they are already. They’re eager to cheer me on and make me feel like part of the family.
I’m a typically uncomfortable-in-my-own-skin teenager, short for my age, with moderate acne and baggy clothes and an eagerness to please. Afterwards, the pastor will say in front of the whole congregation that although I may not be popular at school, I’m certainly very popular with everybody here. That line will make me feel kind of amazing, and stick with me for years afterward.
**I’m getting baptised tonight to let everyone know that I want to follow Jesus and make a difference for Him in the world.**
I look around and see the faces of friends and family, leaders and mentors, grandparents and toddlers. Everyone is cheering me on. To my right, the youth pastors stand in the pool, proudly listening to every word I say, preparing to dunk me under the water in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
As I mentioned onstage, I’ve had some trouble fitting in when it comes to the non-religious areas of life. But tonight I’m affirming my real place in the world: here is my real home, my real family, the only thing that really matters.
Tonight, I’m finally getting baptised.
**And I know that whatever happens, I’ll love God and do whatever He wants for the rest of my life.**
16 years later…
Shit.
I’m a mess right now. It’s 2018, and it feels like I’m still trying to deal with the same old problems that I’ve been trying to deal with since I was a spotty high-schooler.
I’m a self-employed musician living with my girlfriend in Leeds, in the North of England. This year has been REALLY hard. I’ve felt lost, lonely, depressed, confused, frustrated, generally just not in a healthy state of mind. I’ve hardly done anything for the last few months. I’ve been really short on work and I’ve been unable to enjoy what I usually love the most: creating things that I care about.
Oh, and I’m an ex-Christian.
Back in 2015, I took a short break from the church I’d been part of for the previous 8 years, and went away by myself for a little while. I needed some space to think, to breathe, to rest.
Then that short break turned into a longer break, and then it turned into an awkward ‘oh boy I think this might be an actual break-up’ situation, and then it finally turned into a permanent split.
And then I started the rest of my life.
This is the first time that I’m publicly calling myself what I actually am… an ex-Christian. As in, I was a Christian, and now I am no longer a Christian.
Hm. It’s crazy how difficult it still is to say that.
A lot of people around me probably vaguely know, but it’s hard to say it explicitly. For a long time, even in the last couple months, whenever people ask me about my faith I give a floaty answer that aims to blur the lines as much as possible. Something like:
‘I’m not really sure where I’m at right now’, or
‘I’m definitely interested in spiritual things’, or
‘I really haven’t thought about it for a while’.
But the truth is, I do know the answer:
I’m no longer a Christian. I once was, and now I’m not.
8 years earlier…
It’s another beautiful day on the Sunshine Coast of Australia. The sky is clear, the waves are rolling gently, the clothing is minimal, and the moment is perfect. I’m walking down the beach in a northerly direction, enjoying the quiet and talking to God.
In this moment I’d describe my relationship with God as natural, free, uplifting, and deeply meaningful to my life. I talk to Him about everything, in a very conversational way. It’s like talking to the closest friend I could ever have. Actually, He is the closest friend I ever have. I never talk to another human being as openly and honestly as I talk to God. And it feels good.
Today I’m mostly talking to Him about relationships. These are complicated and confusing at times, and emotions are frightening and unhelpful and weird. But I know what I need when I’m feeling too caught up in everything:
I need a God-walk.
It’s something I’ve always done, as far back as I can remember. I took God-walks as a 9-year old on the hills above my grandparents farm, feeling a deep connection to spiritual life even as a kid. I took God-walks after work at my previous church in mid-Wales, thinking about the day and talking about all the things that were on my mind. I took God-walks when I had to make the decision to leave mid-Wales and move to a new city.
This is something essential to who I am. So, here in Australia in 2010, I’m doing the same thing I always do.
I stop walking where an outcropping of rock juts across the beach and dives into the water. The waves smash dramatically, high into the air, and I feel cool sea-water fall on my skin. It’s refreshing, it’s peaceful, it’s beautiful. It’s how I feel about my life with God.
And as I stare out into the vast blue of the South Pacific, I feel like I’ve gotten some clarity. Relationships and feelings and life all seem a little less confusing than they did a few hours ago, and I feel steady and grounded again. That familiar feeling of peace and acceptance and happiness is back.
I take a moment to reaffirm my love for and commitment to God, and start the long walk back down the beach.
8 years later…
According to the evangelical Christian website GotQuestions.org, I don’t exist.
Here’s a quote lifted directly from their article titled ‘Is there such a thing as an ex-Christian?’:
“This is a question for which there is definitely a clear and explicit biblical answer. First John 2:19 declares, “They went out from us, but they did not really belong to us. For if they had belonged to us, they would have remained with us…” This Scripture makes it abundantly clear — there is no such thing as an ex-Christian. If a person is truly a Christian, he/she will never depart from the faith…”
Oh wow. That’s confusing.
So… was I never a real Christian then?
Was my testimony a sham? Was I never part of the club in the first place?
All those memories of powerful spiritual moments, of everyday walking-and-talking with God, of praying for people, of worshipping and giving and serving, of waking up in the early hours to read the Bible, of feeling so loved and accepted by the Creator of the entire Universe… were they all just in my head? Do they mean nothing?
All the years I spent being bullied and excluded from school and social events, because I believed in God strongly enough to be an openly weird Christian kid… was that all a lie too? Did I waste all that time trying to be different when I was never actually a real Christian in the first place?
With all due respect, GotQuestions.org, fuck you. And fuck that dismissive, easy answer.
Sadly, this is one of the most common responses I’ve seen towards people who have left Christianity behind. People assume that the leaver must have never really been a Christian in the first place; they were probably just going through the motions, doing the right religious actions, fooling themselves and everybody around them.
It’s hard for some people to grasp that I could have had a very real, meaningful, powerful life experience within Christianity, and that I could have thoughtfully chosen to leave that life behind. So the response of ‘you were never a real Christian in the first place’ is their attempt to resolve a situation that can be confusing, threatening, and scary to deal with.
When your identity is tied up in a particular group or belief system, it’s not easy to see somebody else leave that group behind. I understand that. I’ve felt it myself in the past.
But regardless of how painful it is, there are no easy answers to this stuff.
There’s just change… and huge, life-shaking change at that. I was a fully-formed, fully-committed, fully-immersed, Jesus-loving, saved-by-grace Christian… and now I’m not.
That’s just how it is.
And I guess that’s why I want to write more about this: to talk about the honest, messy, liberating, confusing experience of change. To explore the things I deeply miss about my faith, the things I deeply DON’T miss, and the struggle/adventure of trying to figure out where to go next.
4 years earlier…
I don’t think I can do this anymore.
I’ve been holding on for over a year, trying to keep coming up with reasons to stay, trying to get myself out of bed on a Sunday morning to go to a place that leaves me feeling empty and alone and frustrated.
I feel guilty that I feel this way. This place has given me so much. I’ve received friendship, opportunity, love, support, some of my dearest memories, a home. I love so many people here.
But I don’t feel the way that I used to.
I’m still talking to God. In fact, I feel closer to Him when I’m not at church these days. I’ve been reading more and more outside of the Christian world, learning about science and history and philosophy and other opinions about life, and when I read these things, I feel like I’m actually growing. There are parts of my mind that I haven’t explored since I was a kid. It’s like breaking into abandoned houses, letting sunlight into places that have grown old and musty over years of stillness.
And I feel like God is actually okay with this. Like I have all the permission I need from Him (if God even is a ‘Him’) to explore, to learn, to listen to other points of view without feeling threatened or scared.
Maybe I don’t need to hold so tightly to all these things. Maybe I don’t need to feel guilty for needing to move on. Maybe it’s okay to find my own path.
Maybe I just need to take a short break.
4 years later…
So, I’m an ex-Christian. Yep, it’s a real thing.
And despite the struggle and the mess, I’ve never looked back.
Here’s what that doesn’t mean:
- It doesn’t mean I know what I am now; as if I’ve decided what all my beliefs are, and have a new label ready to make it neat and tidy.
- It doesn’t mean that I’m anti-Christian: I’ve not jumped into the opposite camp, calling all my old beliefs stupid and ignorant and hoping to wipe them all from the face of the Earth.
- It doesn’t mean that I totally regret ever being a Christian: although it’s complicated, I am definitely grateful for a lot of what Christianity brought to my life.
Here’s what it does mean:
- It means I’m trying to learn how to actually deal with some of my shit without God’s help for the first time ever, which can be really messy and difficult and frustrating.
- It means that in some ways I feel like a 30-year old kid who never learned how to feel fully at home in the real world.
- It means that I’ve had, and still have, a lot of learning to do.
- Mostly, it means that people change: that they can change, they will change, and they should change.
Whatever we think we know about our future lives when we’re 14-year old spotty kids, we’re probably way off. Whatever I think I know about my future life today, as a 30-year old messy adult/kid, I’m probably way off. When I’m a 50-year old hopefully-slightly-more-put-together human, and I think about my future life, I’ll probably be way off then too.
In fact, if I’m not way off, I think I’ll be a little bit disappointed.
Because change is real. People learn new things, shift perspectives, reverse behaviours, feel embarrassed about the people they used to be. Change is a central part of life. It’s painful, and confusing, and it’s messy.
And I never want to be closed off to that change ever again.
