Letters From Leavers

Oh yes, I’m the great pretender
Pretending that I’m doing well

…

I’m lonely but no one can tell

…
I play the game but to my real shame
You left me to dream all alone

I was “saved” in a pentecostal church. I say it that way because I had been saved before and technically, I was born into the faith. But we switched churches fairly frequently after we left the Catholic church and before we found the church I would spend over a decade of my life in — and much more of my life dealing with. And my life was pretty good when I was saved but I did find a few things which bothered me about the faith. Eventually, these things led me to study apologetics. Apologetics only made me less satisfied with the answers I was given.

After a long period or painful reflection, I knew I could no longer call myself a Christian. The epiphany came suddenly enough to shock me but was easy to see in retrospect. This was a terrible moment in my life. My entire life was tied up with the church. When I was not at school, I was at chuch or hanging out with friends from church. I was not permitted to go anywhere else. When I believed, this did not matter because I was at church 5-7 days a week so I didn’t feel alone or secluded. But now I had to deal with this sudden apostasy. And worse, I didn’t even know what to tell people I was.

After a little thought, it was clear that I could not reveal my change of faith. Now that I was outside the mindset, I was suddenly aware that much church was dangerous in a very physical manner. And I feared I would be hurt or possibly killed by good intentioned people trying to bring me back. This was not a silly fear as I was to learn later in life. So I kept it quiet and just started playing the game. I had to keep up the image and I did well at it. I never even allowed myself to whisper my real thoughts to myself when I was alone at night. The words were strictly confined to my head. I had a growing collection of books on religion and other faiths. A few I was able to pass off as Christian and the rest had to be hidden. If they were discovered, they would be burned and I would be accountable for having had them. I lived in constant fear of things of mine being thrown into a fire. It happened, even as cautious as I was, often enough. But not enough to raise real suspicions and usually with trivial “forbidden” things like cards or tapes.

I had kept a journal for the period up to my apostasy and for a while after. Eventually, I threw that into a fire for myself. As a symbolic means to finally accept that I wasn’t going back and of letting go. That was still long before I stopped pretending.

Years of my life, spent with arms raised to a God that I knew wasn’t there. Pretending to believe things I didn’t… raising money to go on missions trips to bring a lie to people who needed something more substantial… leading people to accept a God I had rejected years before. A terrible time, a cowardly time, of my life. Eventually, I was leading the boy’s group at the church and serving in other positions. And wondering how deep the rabbit hole went before I had to draw the line. And I almost had to draw the line before I left home. As a matter of principle, I refused to become an official member of the church. This went unnoticed for a long time as people just assumed I had already joined and the people who knew didn’t really care to press the issue.

When that came up and I was told to join, my refusal caused quiet a stir. My stubborness paid off, just barely, and I made it to college without being an official member of the church. It was my one small victory from that time. Of all the losses that I suffered, I take that one win as my own.

In college, I was able to really be myself. That was fantastic. But I still had to be my other person at home or when family came to visit. My friends, the closer ones, all heard why and understood. I think a few may have doubted how serious the matter could be. Finally, the summer of my 21st birthday, I decided to come clean about my leaving Christianity. I am 21 years old… it’s been seven or eight years since I last called myself a Christian… and it was a disaster. I never really got far in explaining it. They didn’t want to hear and suddenly I found myself in a situation I could not control. I ended up in a camp to be reconverted. Another horrible period. And one where I realized just how deep the apostacy went because there were times that I really wanted to go back but just couldn’t do it. They could break me… and they did (I am ashamed to say) but they couldn’t break that. After a week, I went back to pretending for my family. It would be almost three more years before I was able to come out and stay out.

I had to move back home to afford finishing college. Even working full time it wasn’t possible otherwise. But I ensured that I worked nights and Sundays to avoid the church issue. And no one pressed it — I think they preferred to not know. Eventually my mother unconvered my new collection of books. It was obvious to her, from the varied contents, that no Christian could have such books. She called me at work… where I had almost a full on nervous breakdown. But I wasn’t going to lie. I didn’t let her know how badly I was shaking… only a friend of mine who was visiting me at work saw that. And he had no idea what was going on. I admitted I wasn’t saved and told her I would get my stuff and be out of her house within a day.

I think she panicked because she knew I was serious. She didn’t want to lose me so she backed down. She would not talk about it for months. And even now (years late) it’s still a very taboo subject. But most people in my personal life know it. I still keep it “officially” quite professionally because I could lose my job over it.

I will never go back to Christianity. I might visit a church, once in a while. But I will never go back.