Your faith (or lack of it) is not a brand
It’s been a busy week for walking away from Christianity.
Marty Sampson, a songwriter for worship megagroup Hillsong, announced on Instagram that he was “genuinely losing” his faith. Sampson deleted his post, but his Instagram feed has been filled this week with posts reflecting on doubt.
If Sampson’s dilemma sounds familiar, it’s because it was only a few weeks ago that former megachurch pastor and author of “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” Josh Harris announced his own departure from the faith, one week after using the platform to announce his divorce.
Harris’ apostasy (his words) were the ones that launched a million hot takes, with every corner of Christianity — and atheism — weighing in. Harris’ change of heart was brave and to be applauded, some said. Others said it was to be mourned. Still others said Harris caused so much pain with his best-seller, which helped contribute to the shame-based Purity Culture, that they didn’t care what he did.
Someone who did care was John Cooper, frontman for the Christian thrash-rock band Skillet, who hopped on his own Instagram to chastise those worship leaders and young pastors who made their deconversions matters of public record. “We must STOP making worship leaders and thought leaders the most influential people in Christendom,” wrote the Christian music singer from the Instagram page where he has 325,000 followers.
Sampson shot back, claiming that Cooper had no idea what was in his heart and taking issue with the “Monster” singer’s description of him as an influencer. He was just wrestling stuff out on his own, Sampson wrote on his public Instagram page, claiming he only has a small number of followers, about 4,000 (his profile states that he actually has 11,000, although I guess it’s possible he gained almost three times as many after jumping into the fray). He was writing “Not to influence them and their beliefs. Not to draw attention to myself. Not to have a voice.” He wrote this just a few hours before crafting another post, where he said “no to staying silent. No to being put in a box. No to caring so much about what others think, that I dismiss what I think. No to being afraid. No to allowing others to speak for me. No, no, no, no.” He then proceeded to not draw attention to himself by referring to himself as a rebel and went on to not attempt to influence anyone by posting several arguments for doubt and atheism.
By the way, how do I know all about this? The Christian magazine Relevant kept us all updated, mining the division for every click it was worth.
The realness of doubt
Before I delve into this further, I want to stress something upfront: I am not chastising Harris or Sampson for having doubts or for even leaving the faith.
Christianity in America is in a dark time. Evangelicals have aligned themselves with a president and party that seem to be antithetical to everything the Bible teaches. The same preachers who clucked their tongues at Bill Clinton’s indiscretions in the ’90s wave away Donald Trump’s womanizing and sexual abuse (while still finding time to remind us how lecherous Bill Clinton was). The same Sunday School teachers who taught us to sing that Jesus loves all the children of the world endorse racist policies and rhetoric. The parents who introduced us to a Jesus who commanded us to love our enemies have thrown their support behind a bully.
I don’t blame anyone for beginning to wonder whether the faith they were raised with is true. I’ve asked the same questions over the last three years. And I’ve wrestled with the questions Sampson raised on his Instagram post about the validity of miracles, the reality of suffering and the seeming silence of God. These aren’t new or original questions; they’re the ones every human wrestles with at some point. For some, these questions point them to a deeper faith. Others leave the faith. Who stays and who goes? Only God knows (unless you don’t believe, in which case, who knows?).
These are difficult questions. If you’ve been embedded in faith communities for much of your life, just asking them can isolate you from friends and family. Walking away often means losing a community of people you regard as brothers and sisters. Sometimes even marriages are at risk. These are questions that deserve a sympathetic ear and friends who will listen without judgment and offer honest answers instead of platitudes, even if the honest answer is “I don’t know.” These questions cut to the very centers of who we are, and to brush them off flippantly or defensively is disrespectful and unloving.
The sadness of deconversion
But I think that sometimes people who depart from the faith feel such a rush of relief in coming to a conclusion of unbelief that they can’t understand why everyone isn’t cheering them on.
In Joshua Harris’ case, his post about walking away from the faith was accompanied by a picture of him by a lake, surrounded by trees. His hands are outstretched. It’s like he’s starting a great adventure. And maybe for him, he’s wrestled with this long enough that he does have a peace about it and it feels like a new path.
But Harris has also been in the Christian arena all his life, and must have been aware that his decision would be met with tears and perhaps anger. He was not simply a person making a statement of disbelief; he was a writer and former pastor whose words had helped other people shape their spiritual outlook and some of the deepest decisions about their lives. It’s one thing for Harris to say his dating book was wrong; it’s another for him to say he no longer believes in a message of eternal salvation and hope that others staked their lives on.
Harris has not been a pastor for several years, but I imagine there were many who had made life-altering spiritual decisions under his leadership who must now be confused. There are brothers and sisters in the faith who take very seriously the beliefs about Heaven and Hell who think Harris has set himself on a course for eternal damnation. And there are others who have wrestled with belief and stayed in the faith who likely resent what appears on social media to be a sudden change of heart and a rejection of something they’ve fought hard to hold onto.
For those in the faith, deconversion is sad. Christians believe Christ is the only hope we have; their faith is a treasured thing. It’s sad for a Jesus follower to see another brother or sister abandon the faith. And there’s often a smugness that can set in among the deconverted, who can act like they’ve had the scales removed from their eyes and view their Christian friends as blind to reality (by the way, this is just an extension of the same smugness many Christians have when they first convert). It’s easy to feel like your faith and intelligence are being disrespected by someone who is high on a newfound perspective.
All that to say that I can sympathize with Cooper’s frustrations as well. He’s an artist in the Christian arena who likely has endured his own dark nights of the soul. I imagine it saddens and frustrates him to see other brothers and sisters walk away. He’s right that the questions that many who are deconverting ask are in no way new or original; they’re not going to shake Christianity down. That said, I do think his tone is a tad dismissive; whether these are brand-new questions or not, people are legitimately asking them. And I understand the surrealness that accompanies someone saying “I don’t believe in Christ” anymore, only to follow it up with admonitions to love our enemies and treat each other way we want to be treated, which were Christ’s teachings. But that leads to a whole circular chicken-and-egg argument that both sides can be mired in.
In short, issues of faith and doubt are complex. They are emotional. They require nuance, compassion and time. They are issues best spent with spiritual leaders and trusted friends over late nights and cups of coffee. They are discussions that should involve a lot of listening and a lot of acceptance.
Basically, these are not the discussions to have on Instagram.
Platforming your faith
Shortly after Cooper shared his post on Instagram and Facebook, Richard Clark, an editor at Christianity Today, composed a tweet that suggested a certain Christian rocker who created a Facebook post that sounds an awful lot like Cooper’s may have contacted a PR team to boost his statement’s visibility. And would it shock anyone to discover that Skillet had a new album released on August 2?
Would it seem then, that maybe Cooper was making a statement guaranteed to cause controversy and enhance his visibility in the Christian community at the same time he had an album to sell — and that his statement would reinforce to his audience of believers that he was still in their camp?
Marty Sampson may have stated that his initial statements regarding faith were just to keep fans aware that he was no longer touring with Hillsong. But what of Josh Harris?
Here’s the truth: Joshua Harris is not much of a public figure anymore. His most successful book came out in 1997. He quit being a pastor in 2015. Last year, he participated in a documentary in which he wrestled with the implications of “I Kissed Dating Goodbye,” and ultimately had the book pulled from stores. But was anyone sitting around waiting for the next Joshua Harris book? Now that he’d likely alienated his most conservative readers, was there an audience for him?
It’s important to know that Harris’ career following ministry has been in marketing. He has collaborated closely with Donald Miller, another faith writer-turned-marketer. I’m sure there’s a lot to say about why a former pastor, an influencer for Jesus, continues to seek a career as an influencer after leaving the ministry. But that’s not my point right now.
My point is that Harris is a marketer. And the way he chose to announce his departure from Christianity has all the markings of a brand relaunch. There was his divorce announcement, which included a serious picture of Harris and his wife as well as businesslike copy that treated the death of a marriage like the dissolution of a business, ending on a note that seemed to imply we should keep an eye out for this next development. One week later, we got the carefully curated image of him with arms spread, ready to embrace a great adventure.
This feels less like soul-searching and more like someone is trying to take the Josh Harris brand to a new demographic. He’s not writing to a conservative Christian community anymore, but his original work burned bridges with potential progressive fans. What better way to tell an initially resistant audience to pay attention to his latest work than by framing it as a Whole New Josh Harris (now with less certainty!). It’s a brand deposit that feels overly calculated; followup pictures of him eating rainbow cake at a pride rally feel so carefully composed that it feels less like tolerance and more like pandering.
Am I being unfair and cynical? Perhaps. But what else do I have to go on when we treat our faith journeys like the latest Instagram or Facebook story and try to wrestle with the deepest questions of our souls in a tweet? What am I to make of it when Marty Sampson uses his influence to claim he’s not an influencer, John Cooper chastises Christians for their use of a platform on his own social media feed, and Josh Harris frames his apostasy with all the calculation of Ray-Ban issuing a new line of sunglasses?
It gets worse. Christian publications like Relevant jump in to get clicks from fighting inside the faith community, releasing stories about rock star beefs under the guise of keeping readers informed about the happenings of their favorite Christian celebrities? They’re profiting off division. And by the way, I totally understand the hypocrisy of asking these questions on a global blogging platform.
We’ve reduced faith to a brand identity. We’re either the hardcore followers of Christ like John Cooper, who need to be bold in our criticisms of apostates in order to hold on to our Christian audience, or we’re preparing to alienate our core audience and we need to start building relationships with a new one so we don’t fade into obscurity. The deepest questions of our souls are treated as a tool to get more likes and shares. We sell out depth and opportunities for real conversation in order to stay in the news and keep our influence growing.
I don’t know a solution to this except that we hold back from posting our big “faith reveals” on social media and save them for conversations with friends and family who care about us, will listen to us and who will push back when they disagree. These are issues of life and death, heaven and hell; why are we wasting them on a platform where those who engage will quickly move on to the next cat picture?
