Enough Faith to Leave It: Ending my Toxic Relationship with Christianity

       I am leaving the faith. 

       I am walking out of the healing water of God, pulling myself up upon the thirsty bank--clothing my flesh in fig leaves and am going to sit and stare into the water until I can decide if I want to believe in the gospel anymore. 

       I am returning to blemishes; willing to risk it. 

       As Laura F. Winner writes:
      "I [am willing] to walk away from God in hopes I will find Him."
       I cannot continue my toxic relationship with Christianity any longer. 

       This is my vulnerability. 

       I think I slipped into a cult mentality within my Christian community this year. I am a fan of urban ministry. The worship feels authentic, the sub-cultures within its targeted demographic are appealing to me due to their appreciation of the arts. [24 hours away from home and stifled by the legalism of a conservative bible college ] I sought family in a new setting full of creatives, visionaries, eccentrics...misfits. 

       "Finally! People who see the Lord as I do!"

        I ventured off into a new core of beliefs with the misunderstanding that I would be loved for who I am. In the beginning I was taught that I was valuable to the community: I was safe to live in authenticity...

        Until I did. 

        Over the past year my authenticity has been criticized, ostracized, critiqued and abandoned. Somehow, in my vulnerability I was threatening, sickening and considered "unsafe." I learned quickly I was as valuable as my ability to be projected upon. In the beginning, I was of great worth: A wet-behind-the-ears, 22-year-old, blank slate. The people-pleaser in me took great pride in my ability to be a chameleon: I just wanted someone to love me. As the year went on and relationships within my community grew more toxic, I became afraid:

        "These people have power over me,"
          I thought,
        "Power to determine whether I can find a place to live when I graduate, power to help me find a job [or destroy a job opportunity], and power to determine whether [or not] I have friends." 

        A recent examination of the above belief has suddenly left me frantic: 

       I have been living out of the fear for the past year. So much so, that for the past 6 weeks I have completely ostracized myself from everyone I know. At what point does a person stop to identify this as a red flag? Whether said individuals meant to have a strong hold over my life [or not] does not take away from the fact that they did.

         I am responsible for letting them. 

        In "Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis," Laura F. Winner is shamed by the church after her divorce. She writes on how--even in love--people would backhandedly scorn her. In turn, Winner [like myself] turned to wine and the poetry of Sexton [for awhile] to show her a true picture of God. I want a true picture of the higher being.

        The irony? I have yet to finish the book. 

        I assume by reading the title "Mid-Faith" indicates that she is still a believer.

        I do not know if I will be. 

        

       This weekend, I was challenged by a friend to reconsider Christ as the messiah. Together, we began reading Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth," and certain things in the book resonated with me on a level that has left me in a tailspin. I can honestly say throughout the sorrow, fear, anger and heaviness of my spiritual journey I have never questioned Christ. 

        I am now questioning everything. 

        

        I am terrified by this. 

        I am not asking for letters to sway my opinion. In fact, I am asking for the opposite. 

        This year it has been reiterated to me that I am too broken to serve God. 

        I do not know that I am willing to serve any power that sees me as a broken, screwed up mess.

     

        Abba Father, 

             I pray that if you're real, you will come and sit with me while I ponder these things. I pray that the power of the Holy Spirit would move in me and help me distinguish Your face. If You do not come, I will know that You are just something--someone [out of hopelessness one day]--made up in their head. 

             Save me Father,
             If I was ever your daughter.