What does (Christian) deconstruction even look like?

Easter time was always hard for me after I decided to leave the church. I left at 17 because I knew something just didn’t sit right with me. I thought I was taking a break, but what ensued was a complete fall of my belief system- deconstruction, I guess. Every year on Easter, I’m reminded of the progress I’ve made. This is my journey of deconstruction.

This week a friend asked me what deconstruction looks like.

I was taken aback.

For me, deconstructing is taking a faith, you once believed was full truth, completely apart. It is critiquing it, making sense of it and hoping in the process reconstruction will happen. It is painful, it is loss of community, but it is important.

My best friend, the queen of analogies, used the example of sitting on a brick wall. With deconstructing, different types of bricks falls out from beneath you at different times- one may be our views on church and race or homophobia. As you deconstruct, the more and more unstable you feel. This is the most difficult time and what makes you question whether you should go back. These types of bricks fall out of deconstructing-christians at different times to others. This is what makes deconstructing a very isolating process and confusing process. But when they do finally fall, you feel a sudden sense of release.

My first brick fell when I was at a christian girls’ brunch where I asked the female youth pastor about feminism.

I got a “we don’t talk about that here.”

Something in me began to rumble. It dawned on me that a world had been curated for me by the church and I had no control over it.

At this point, I had no clue what I was feeling. But I knew I had to leave, take time for myself and figure it out/deconstruct.

For the last 7 years I have been on a journey of deconstruction. Below are three practical outcomes of this process, which I have fought so hard for:

1. Articulating why (mega) church felt unsafe and I didn’t want to go.

When you first leave the church, everyone is asking you why. Saying ‘I just don’t want to go anymore’ is simply not enough. I vividly remember a leader from church (patronisingly) saying to me ‘What happened to you? You used to be so on fire for God.’ I ran home and cried that night, I didn’t know… was simply saying I don’t feel like this is for me not enough? My parents would ask me too, which was painful and confusing to answer to as a 17 year old.

That is why for me, deconstructing has really been being able to articulate why my experiences in church made me feel uncomfortable and unsafe. This was at first, to explain to others, but became later for myself.

You lose so many friends when you leave a church and it gets frustrating trying to come up with responses to tokenised christian slurs. ‘Church is full of people and people are imperfect.’

As someone who loves books, philosophy and political theory- I sought for answers in academia. I did my undergrad and masters grappling with many of the systems of oppression which I dealt with in the church. I quickly learnt that mega church made me upset because it was objectively racist, sexist and homophobic. I didn’t like the careful curation of political ideas within the church, I didn’t like that we weren’t allowed to engage with certain ideas. I didn’t like the gravity of control that place had over my inquisition. I actually felt like I had no freedom.

Academia for me, was a safe place (I acknowledge that it isn’t for many though.) I was allowed to critique things, I was allowed to cry over the writings of Patricia Hill Collins, I was allowed to talk about sex , I was allowed to express my feelings towards queerness, I was allowed to just think and be listened to.

I continue to articulate my feelings through writing because this way, I cannot be interrupted with christian, overused, petty come backs. I actually feel free to express. And most importantly, I know that saying no IS enough.

2. Faith is meant to be fluid and you should question it

When I first left the church, I felt bad about being a bit of a home wrecker with my thoughts. I justified leaving the church by telling myself I was taking time out to so that my ‘faith’ would get stronger. Surely, it would right?

As I engaged with many beautiful conversations and literature, I couldn’t justify choosing just one church, and their subsequent idea of faith, in my 20s. As I became friends with Hindu Tamil people, my family’s religion pre colonialism, I was slightly embarrassed, yet captivated. How did I ever have the audacity to preach one truth? There is such complexity to a person’s construction of personal faith, how dare I not listen to their experiences?

A big downfall of mine, taught to me by the church, was that I would never listen. I now find this habit frustrating in my family and ex friends. I don’t feel listened to and I’m often hit with the “we’re praying for you.” This is why I write.

It was a slap in the face for me when I listened to beautiful women, during my travels, share their personal framework of religion. We are all dealt different cards in life and have access to different frameworks as a result- who am I to say what is right or wrong? I need to be open to listening and critical of what I decide to adopt in my own personal faith. That for me is personal respect.

For me, deconstructing was finding peace with the idea that faith is a fluid concept.

It is meant to be something that is moulded and changed over time. I know that God is everlasting, or whatever, but I as a human am not. So if I am to worship the same God as a different person, isn’t it normal for faith to change? For church systems to not serve you anymore? To question things? To pursue growth?

The best part of this realisation is that I no longer feel rushed to figure it all out.

3. Getting rid of spiritual guilt, is part of the process.

When I was at church, I was a rabbit who was guided much more by the stick than the carrot. The stick was the guilt of not ‘serving,’ or going to hell and the carrot was apparently God’s favour.

You know what? I really didn’t look forward to serving on Sundays. I didn’t like having to put on a fake smile and to recite generic christian catch phrases. I did it all out of guilt.

As a result, I realised in my personal life I was being exhausted by a lack of personal boundaries. I felt like I had to say yes to everything and saying no was failure, and having a heart in the wrong place.

When I moved to corporate Sydney and realised the savagery people apply to what consumes their time and energy, I began to do the same. I no longer have time for things that exhaust me, and I can now say no. I actually… no longer feel guilt

My parents were popping off to church on Friday and I asked them where they were going. They said ‘It’s Good Friday.’

I went ‘oh.’

This is the first time in 7 years, I didn’t feel the need to go to church out of guilt. I was happy to enjoy my Friday cup of coffee in the sun hungover. I remember times in Sydney I kept forcing myself to go to church on Easter. On one Easter, I walked into an open heaven service where people “with porn addictions” were being asked to come to the front for healing. . I ran out half way through the service and never forced myself to go again.

As someone who is no longer controlled by guilt, I feel more free to explore. I attract more interesting and open people in my life and honestly, life is way more fun.

To all my friends deconstructing,

To the ones who’ve felt guilt about enjoying sex, the ones who aren’t sure about their queerness, the ones who enjoy the cheeky gin and dancing to 50 cent in the clubs. I stand with you. I know you’ve lost friends, I know your belief system has been pulled out from underneath you and I know this Easter long weekend is one nestled with a bit of guilt. But, I hope you do find some solace and peace. Whatever you do — know you made an important decision for both self preservation and respect. I stand with you.