The Freedom of Decostruction

Photo from Junior Moran on Unsplash

In the process of deconstruction, it’s easy to settle down in the valleys of heartache. Anytime we experience some sort of distress, trauma, or hardship, it’s difficult to see anything else. 

Even those who ignore their hurts are subject to the bitterness that accompanies such avoidance. People who seem bitter or hateful are usually far from it. Oftentimes, hatred towards abusive power structures does not come from a vindictive person but an oppressed one. The bitterness comes from actual pain. And it’s easy to stay there. Even if we’re removed from our abusive environments, if we do not find targeted healing from our past traumas, we will be unable to experience life to the full. 

Regardless, I’m not here to tone-police those who have been oppressed and abused at the hands of their church, family, or religions. They must be allowed to externalize their pain however they see fit. The most painful lives come where we are not able to do so.  

What I aim to do, however, is to share the joy that I have experienced in my deconstruction process. This arrived through the concept of felt freedom.  

When I began to move away from the frameworks of white supremacist Christianity, I removed chains that I was told were already removed by Jesus. You see, we were told we were the freest of anyone on the planet, that nobody outside of Jesus experienced what we did. In reality, this was a farce to keep us shackled to white supremacy in Christian form. 

I suppose one of the great manipulations of the white, Evangelical Christian Church has been to scream to us that we’re free while we shuffle from wall to wall in a cell, unaware of a much more beautiful, outside world. 

For how much freedom we are told to experience in the healing power of Jesus’ forgiveness, for how many sermons preached of being saved by faith, through grace, being forgiven of all our sin, being freed from shame, the subtext of these faith cultures taught us differently. 

Words mean far less than the posture of those delivering the words. 

For every “it’s ok you messed up, God forgives you” many of us received shaming facial expressions or a change in relationship. And this is at the minimum. Many flat out here “how dare you sin before God” their entire lives. 

The difference between covert guilt-tripping and overt guilt-tripping matters in terms of intensity and effect, yet we share common ground in that we felt like shit following something we did that was supposedly “against God.”

We can quantify this by thinking back to the people who were unsafe while growing up in faith. Who were we afraid to share events of our lives with? Who did we avoid when we thought we sinned? On the flip side, who allowed us space to process and mess up with absolutely no condemnation? 

Even if someone said the right words, we instinctively knew they were unsafe based on their posture towards us. I didn’t share anything with anyone for the first 19 years of my life because I thought I would be judged, or perceived differently, or disavowed. Hell, I still feel that with some people! 

We often blame ourselves for withholding information from others, yet I argue we are actually very smart in determining when to share and not share. The youngest of kids share their entire life, every minuscule detail with people they think are safe. Until they don’t. Because they were hurt, and there was no repair. We have a reason for not trusting people. Perhaps a post for another time. Either way, posture matters more than words said. 

This is one of the main reasons we never express doubts in our faith. We pretend to be free while holding so much back, because are we even good Christians if we feel burdened? Doesn’t this mean that we are partaking in the sin of disbelief in Jesus’ promises? 

But when our cognitive dissonance towards things of faith reaches levels high enough to put us over the edge, we can begin to actually experience freedom like never before. 

When I initially left the Christian church, I was amazed at the freedom I felt. I didn’t have to read the Bible. I didn’t have to go to church. Over time, I was allowed to rejoice in my gay friends finding love. I didn’t have to cringe when a friend told me of their premarital sex life. I could embrace others who were once off-limits. 

It was amazing! 

I felt new. I felt more whole. I felt more connected to communities I had once judged. 

It felt like freedom. I didn’t constantly have to worry about saving people, making sure they got to heaven, doing my part of God, fleeing from “sins” that might not even be sins to begin with. I could live my life in peace, do what I wanted to do, and be present. I realize now that the rabid focus on the afterlife took away so much of my ability to live in the present. But away from those frameworks, there was freedom and joy. 

And yes, is deconstruction difficult and tiring and long, and heartbreaking? Absolutely. And at the same time is there immense freedom and joy? 100%. 

We now have the ability to move towards others in love, unashamed love that we once were unable to find. We can affirm the LGBTQ+ community. We can welcome refugees. We can fight to abolish an immoral, cruel policing and prison complex. We can move to help the oppressed and abused instead of serving people in power. 

There is joy and freedom in being able to live a life away from a fake, oppressive divinity.

And in the hardships, in the pains of deconstruction when we feel at our lowest point; may we be able to take solace in the fact that we are pushing and pulling ourselves towards a freedom we were never allowed to experience.

There is more joy to be had. There is more connection to be had. There is more fullness of life. 

May we not forget to basket in the rays of such a truth. 

<3

Reid