Reconstructing Religion Through Relationship

I’m not sure when it became taboo to have questions. Especially within religion.

You would think that realizing the limits of your understanding on something as grandiose as the divine would actually be the more realistic and desirable trait than a dogged commitment to blind belief. I thought God was supposed to be beyond comprehension, or is that just me?

Can’t put God in a box? Sum God up in a nice little tweet? Can’t put a label on God? Good, pretty sure that’s idolatry, which at least in the Christian religion is a no-no. Still, we try. And what’s worse, we try to convince each other that having doubts or asking questions and really digging to the bottom of our beliefs is somehow dangerous and a show of poor character or a lack of faith.

What’s with the “deconstruction” trend?

There’s a lot of history and religious politics that led up to what is now known as the exvangelical movement, which played a large part in the rising popularity of the term, “deconstruction.” We won’t get into all that, because it’s a lot, and the term’s original meaning is far less important than its colloquial use today. In today’s popular culture, deconstruction refers to a person’s doubts about their beliefs, identity, practices or religious system. People may say they’re deconstructing after going through a loss, experiencing spiritual abuse or moral injury, after a huge life event or moral failure. Interestingly, the very types of junctures which are most likely to make a person consider spirituality and take steps toward a religion are the same things that often call an established faith into question.

This is about the time that I should probably disclose that I grew up in a fairly conservative, white, Southern church. Not quite evangelical, not quite Catholic, but somehow in the same conservative territory as both denominations. Now, conservative can mean a lot of things to different people, but in the religious or spiritual context, I’m referring to an adherence to traditional views on gender roles, sexuality, rigid cultural norms and practices, literal interpretation of the Bible in almost all cases and often a strict deference to all authority. It’s not a toxic environment or bad religion, but it doesn’t leave much room for questioning or growth, for that matter.

Ask most conservative Christians today what they think of deconstruction and they’ll likely mutter about how everyone’s losing their faith in a kind of hushed tone that implies deconstruction is dangerous like an illicit street drug. They’ll share theories that deconstructors are people who were never really “saved” to begin with or just people looking for a way to choose what parts of the Bible they want to believe and which they don’t. 

I can understand the criticism. From a distance, any kind of movement that threatens to unravel a religion (i.e. drain churches of its congregants and funds) or put into question deeply held personal beliefs seems like something to be wary of. 

And in all fairness, there is a lot of custom order religion happening these days. People are stitching together whatever bits of religion they like or spiritual teaching that makes them feel good and calling that faith or spirituality. There’s a lot less interest in reading ancient texts and understanding the importance of faithful translation and interpretation and a whole lot more interest in zodiac quizzes and personality assessments. We’d rather talk to a guru or coach than a pastor or priest. We’ll sooner listen to a podcast than a sermon. The landscape of religion is changing at a rapid clip and I can understand why the traditionalists would fight to keep people within the sanctioned norms.

But then, if deconstruction alone is harmful to Christians, what’s the alternative? Where does one go when they’re hurting? When the very institution or representatives that are supposed to guide and support them have injured them in some way? What is someone to do when what they’ve formerly believed is put to the test and fails to pass? What do they do when they feel like their religion is asking them to deny who they are? Who do they go to for answers when nothing seems trustworthy anymore? Where do they go when they’re white hot with anger at God and can’t sing another jingly worship song?

You see, I think part of the issue with deconstruction (besides the name itself) is that it’s assumed that we will have to do it alone. If your questions or pain and anger aren’t welcome in church then you have to leave. If you’re making everyone else uncomfortable, then you’re the problem. 

So you leave the group to go off on a solo spiritual journey and hope you don’t run out of water or get eaten by a bear before you get back. There’s this pervasive idea that deconstruction is really just a muddled version of Buddhism or Universalism. We imagine that these spiritual wanderers are going to get lost only to find their way to an ashram or monastery to meditate and live in solitude. But remember Eat, Pray, Love? As Elizabeth sought out religious instruction and inner peace abroad, she spent so much time with other people through the course of her spiritual exploration and travels. It was through communion with other people, that she finally found communion with God and regained her direction. Similarly, people are finding spiritual community through recovery groups, gyms and rec leagues, mom and me play dates, political activism, volunteerism and yoga studios. We’re not deconstructing alone. We just have to find people who will tolerate our ambiguity.

Deconstruction or reconstruction?

Deconstruction is a terrible name for what has become so popular. Its roots are too archaic for most laymen to research or care about and so it sounds innately hazardous. Destruction is never good, but what if the destruction has already happened? Now the person can either live in a partially destroyed reality or they can do the work to rebuild a faith structure that’s more supportive and resistant to the storms of life? When you view it from this stage in the timeline, it’s much more positive. It’s more of a renovation than a tear down. A reformation, if you will.

Yes, there will be some who do not remain Christian or retain a religion at all. But this has always been a risk of the human occupation. I, for one, would much rather have a well-tested and considered faith with a couple holes from some wear and tear, than a perfectly constructed glass house. If we don’t deepen our faith, and grow in understanding and reverence of God, then we can say all the right things and think all the right things, but when tragedy strikes our faith will crumble like we never saw coming.

Evolving our faith is natural. If you walk through life without ever struggling with your faith, without ever questioning a single belief, then I wonder how deep your faith really is. Why can’t it be tested? We should know not just what we believe but why. A person with conviction is a powerful and beautiful thing, but conviction untested can be delusion. Just because someone older or with more authority than you said it, doesn’t make it true. Toddlers are some of the most profound people I know and can teach us so much about faith and wonder. There’s incredibly brilliant, faithful people on just about every side of any theological argument. IQ or righteousness doesn’t get the monopoly on truth or wisdom. 

Pursuing formation together

So to grow in our faith, we need to ask the tough questions that may ruffle feathers or make people uncomfortable. We need to be honest about our feelings toward God, even in our anger, heartbreak, loneliness, and disbelief. We need people who can hold us both tenderly and firmly, providing a safe and secure place to process our confusion. We need to know we’re not alone in our doubts. We need to hear other people reconsider their beliefs and confess their disbelief. 

When did it become uncool to share each others’ burdens in church?

“I don’t know.” Or “I’m not sure” aren’t dirty words. 

If we had safe spaces and people to process a lot of this with, I don’t think people would have to leave church at all. Deconstruction wouldn’t be some scary word batted about like a slur. Questioning would be welcomed within Christianity and perhaps not even an isolated stage of faith development, but an ongoing formational practice.

I know some churches have tried and some do this very well and they deserve credit. But the Church as a whole has not made it a central part of the Christian life, much well communal life together. We’re obsessed with saving each other, administering the fastest ways to healing and leaving no room for ambiguity or autonomy. 

Instead, let’s return to trusting God’s ultimate love and sovereignty over us. Let’s be vulnerable about what’s eating at us. Name the thing you just can’t understand or get on board with. Ask someone with a different point of view to share more of their perspective with you. Give people hope and dignity, not answers or platitudes. Be a nonanxious listening presence when someone is going through a tumultuous time. Respect others’ autonomy to choose their own path, their own practices and beliefs. Give each other (and yourself) grace to get it wrong, reconsider, and change your mind. Share as you question and learn. Get curious. And for heaven’s sake—don’t go it alone.