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Response: I’m Not All That Impressed with Exvangelical Deconstruction Stories

“Deconstruction” is the current term for deconverting from Christianity. I’m sure it’s applicable to other religions, and I know not all people who deconstruct end up abandoning their faith altogether, but by and large, the end result of deconstruction is a new skeptic.

The Christian response to this has fallen into a few categories:

  1. They deny that the person was ever a true Christian to begin with.
  2. They blame the churches for incomplete catechesis.
  3. They play down the deconversions by calling them silly or suggesting that their objections are basic and even juvenile.
  4. They suggest that the new skeptic “just wants to sin.”
  5. They blame the parents for not teaching their children their faith well enough.
  6. They suggest that de-conversions do not result in a lack of faith but rather a change in where the faith is placed.

Occasionally, a Christian response can’t quite decide which tack to take and simple mixes and matches responses. Such is the case with Grayson Gilbert’s “I’m Not All That Impressed with Exvangelical Deconstruction Stories” from a couple of years ago.

Gilbert begins condescendingly enough by referencing the “never-ending supply of pastors, pastor’s kids, and artists formerly known as Christians” who are leaving the faith. There may be a number of “grand excuses,” Gilbert suggests, but he insists that the “fundamental issue behind every one of these de-conversion stories” is the fact that, as the Bible explains in I John 2.15, they “went out from us, but they were not of us.”

Gilbert pretends to preempt objections in the next paragraph by acknowledging that for many it’s not an inadequate answer because “it’s a bit too Calvinistic.” That’s a very theologically based objection, firmly grounded in an acceptance of the basic tenants of Christianity and quibbling over details, but most skeptics’ objections would be to question the validity of Gilbert’s and St. John’s foundational assumption: they left Christianity because they were never really Christian.

Forget for a moment how utterly and arrogantly childish it is to suggest that, despite skeptics’ protestations to the contrary, these true Christians can read the mind and know the intentions of those who have rejected Christianity. The truth of the issue is simple: most people who leave Christianity do so reluctantly. They want to believe, but they find they no longer can. Evidence and arguments that once convinced them no longer do. But for a Christian still in the fold, the thought that someone who is a true Christian (how Christians love to be gatekeepers with each other) could lose their faith is terrifying because it means if someone else lost their faith, they could, too. To allay these fears, the only option is to suggest that these individuals never were really Christian in the first place.

Gilbert then deals with a particularly famous ex-evangelical, Abraham Piper, who is the son of John Piper, a Protestant theologian who has written a number of books and runs a successful online ministry in addition to his real-world church. Gilbert points out that “Abraham has taken a fancy to TikTok with clever, catchy tidbits of him mocking the Christian faith.” That sentence is just dripping with derision: Abraham’s efforts online to point out the flaws he sees in Christianity are not a serious work but instead “a fancy.” His succinct observations are merely “catchy tidbits” unworthy of serious consideration. And he is not critiquing Christianity, which would require a measured response; he’s mocking Christianity, which can be easily dismissed and forgotten.

In a parenthetical remark, Gilbert suggests that mocking Christianity “is so in vogue today.” Never mind that this is not a question of popularity; what’s more significant is the notion that critics are merely “mocking” the Christian faith, much like childish bullies mock their victims. It produces the victim complex that Christians expect from exhortations in the Bible, and it downplays the seriousness of the critiques themselves. Christian theology has caused real-world pain and done significant damage in a lot of people’s lives. It has destroyed self-confidence in its near-continual insistence that humans are worthless trash. It has caused untold damage in its institutional misogyny and homophobia. It has literally killed thousands upon thousands in religious wars. It threatens the planet with its denial of science. It stifles critical thinking and encourages blind faith obedience. Leaving this mindset can produce a sense of relief, but if this is something that the new skeptic’s parents taught them, something that’s been a central pillar in their life for so long, there can be understandable anger arising as a result. Gilbert explains he uses some of Abraham Piper’s videos to discuss “the nature of the Proverbial fool” with his son, thus attempting to ensure that his son instinctively reacts as he does without giving further thought to the motives or reasoning behind a de-conversion.

Far from the fact that the son of a celebrated and admired pillar in the Evangelical community has left the faith might depress Gilbert, he insists that he now has “a deeper appreciation for John Piper.  “It led me to see that despite Abraham’s brutal mockery of all his father and mother stand for and love, it testifies of his paternal faithfulness,” he insists.

How does Gilbert square this round hole? He explains that it is a sign of “the faithfulness of a man like John Piper in raising his son to be so inundated with biblical truth that he still can’t quite get away from it well into his adult life. It is constantly on the tip of the tongue; he cannot go about life without thinking of the God he professes to reject.” This is an attempt, in other words, to turn a loss into a win. Gilbert doesn’t consider the possibility that the reason Abraham Piper is critiquing Christianity online is to try to help people who are facing the pain and frustration that rigid, fundamentalist Christianity can inflict (see above). Notice, too, the wording: “the God he professes to reject.” This is a not-so-subtle dig at Piper through a subtle allusion to Romans 1:20:

For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.

Abraham doesn’t really reject it, in other words. He knows there’s a god — he just wants to sin.

Still, even if John Piper had not been a good Christian parent, it’s not his fault if his son rejects faith (and thereby condemns himself, in the Christian view, to hell):

Many a parent neglected to make the Word central in the home, raised their children to be good, obedient pagans, and then wondered why their children came back from school with all sorts of ideas that run contrary to the Christian faith. The onus is still on these children to search out the truth of Scripture, regardless of how bad a job mom and dad have done.

As a skeptic, I have to wonder how one could worship a god that creates such a confusing book that requires a library of explanation and commentary to understand and then sends you to hell if you don’t understand it properly. That’s probably something along the lines of what some of these de-conversion experiences went through as well.

Soon after this, Gilbert switches his argument and employs the “well, everyone is religious” suggestion: the “Religious Nones” are in fact misnamed: “everyone is a devotee to some belief system, whether agnostic, atheistic, or the ever-vague “spiritualistic but not religious” group.” It’s funny how “religious” becomes something of an insult in this case.

Finally, after tossing this argument and that argument at the idea of de-conversion, Gilbert launches his main attack:

I’ve come to be more and more convinced that the vast majority of those who reject the Christian faith do so on the basis of intellectual laziness, intellectual dishonesty, or simple ignorance. They either don’t care to find the answers, they don’t care to hear the answers, or, they don’t know where to even begin.

He classifies the case various ex-Evangelicals have leveled against Christianity thusly:

The objections that people like Rhett and Link, Abraham Piper, the Gungors, Newboys’ former member George Perdikis, dc Talk’s Kevin Max, Joshua Harris, Derek Webb, et al., have, are basic, Sunday school level objections. In where we are in the history of the church, these aren’t even the interesting questions that Christians have any more. These are some of the most basic elements of the historic Christian faith that it leaves many of us wondering if these people took much time at all to crack open some dusty, old tomes from dead guys on the subjects.

This is because for

anyone who has taken the time to actually study these things in depth, the question isn’t if someone has given a satisfying answer to reconcile the apparent contradictions of the Scriptures, given exhaustive treatment on things like textual criticism and transmission, or provided ample solutions to the “problem passages” we find as finite readers.

In other words, they reject Christianity because they are lazy, and even though all the answers to all their objections have been covered time and time again, they reject them in their ignorance. In still other words, they haven’t read the right books, and indeed they probably haven’t even looked for the right books.

Speaking as someone who has done the reading and looked for the answers, I can simply say this: it is entirely possible that someone can start questioning their faith, look for and find answers to their questions, and find those answers unconvincing. We cannot choose what ideas convince us and what ideas don’t, and to suggest that the only other alternative is ignorance or laziness sloppy argumentation at best and simple vilification at worst.

But in the end, that’s to be expected when we consider the intended audience. Gilbert is not seeking to convince wayward Christians of the errors of their ways; he’s soothing the worried faith of those who worry that they in turn might find their Christian faith lacking. If someone like Abraham Piper can reject Christianity, anyone can. But not us, assures Gilbert. We’re real Christians; we know that no matter the objection, there’s an answer for it out there. Notice, though, that Gilbert didn’t rehearse any of the objections or their answers. He simply swept them all away with an easy flick of the wrist: the answers are out there. Surely they’re convincing…

This Year’s Letters

  • I know you’ve heard the rumors of how bad Mr. Scott is but trust me there are worse teachers out there.
  • Welcome to Mr. Scott’s class. The place where I shed many tears, stressed so much I almost went bald, and learned more than I could have ever imagined. This class will most likely be one of the hardest you ever take. So now, go ahead and prepare yourself for some of the hardest and most work you will ever receive from any teacher. Go ahead and prepare yourself for countless late nights, wasted boxes of tissues and piles of papers. Finally, go ahead and prepare yourself for the longest year of your life.
  • Overall, Mr. Scott is not a mean teacher, but his class is one of the worst things you’ll experience this year.
  • Mr. Scott may seem like an innocent, and nice English teacher, but he will always make sure that his students are having a terrible time. […] Mr.Scott’s class is just pure evil.
  • Welcome to one of the hardest classes you have taken in middle school. You might be thinking that this class will be a breeze like English classes in the previous years, but Mr. Scott’s class is no joke. […] He will push you to your absolute max, and him doing this can cause a lot of stress, confusion, frustration, and maybe some crying. Aside from this, his class will definitely construct you into a better student, writer, worker, and reader.

Modern Gnosticism

I encountered a meme that got me thinking about the relationship between Christianity and conspiracy theories. It was a meme dealing with the supposedly soon-coming apocalypse that will usher in the end of the world and the return of Jesus (if you’re a post-trib millennialist, I guess).

This sort of hyperventilating anticipation of being able to say “I told you so!” is fairly typical of the fundamentalist Christian mindset, and it’s one of the reasons I’d be nervous having a fundamentalist Evangelical in the White House: he (and it would certainly be a “he”) would be tempted to make decisions based on a sense of what might help prophecy along. At any rate, the meme suggests that skeptics will soon be put in their place:

This sort of gnostic conspiracy theory is part and parcel of the Evangelical tradition. They await anxiously the events suggested in the meme, and the suggestion that Christians have been waiting for 2000 years for something like this is wasted breath. Every Christian generation has had a portion of people who are sure that they are the last generation. Indeed, Jesus himself in the earliest gospel seems to think this:

And he said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come with[a] power.’

Mark 9:1

I grew up in a heterodox sect that took this gnostic conspiracy theory nonsense to the next level, suggesting that its members (numbering less than 150,000 at its peak) were the only true Christians on the entire planet. That’s probably why I’m so skeptical of this nonsense.

May Saturday

State meet — the Girl won third in high jump, tying with three other girls.

Afterward, we had the Boy’s eleventh birthday party — it was much like the tenth, without the sleepover in the tents.

Eight-Grade Dance

One of the real joys of the year is the eighth-grade formal dance. To see these kids out of uniform, being silly, having fun — without a care in the world. It’s a beautiful thing.

A Real Fear

We have a lot of big trees in our backyard — trees that if they fell the wrong way would cause a lot of damage. I tell myself that the root system for such a tree must be massive and must be deep.

Not like this — a large area but not much depth.

A house I saw on the way home from work experienced one of my greatest nightmares as a homeowner with children…

Hopefully no one got hurt.

Injured Friend

We found a little injured friend on the road this evening. He’s not much bigger than a bottle cap, and when we first brought him in, placing him in a small basket with a cap of water, he was barely moving, breathing heavily, and keeping his eyes closed.

“It would probably be the merciful thing to just euthanize the poor guy,” I said, “rather than let him suffer through the night only to die a painful death.”

“No, animals have a way,” K assured me.

We will see tomorrow, I suppose.

By the Numbers

When students don’t hand in work for an assignment, we enter a special code into the grade book to indicate that: NHI. “Not Handed In.” Some students have not a single NHI in the whole grade book; others have a few more than zero.

That’s how it always is; the breakdown is always according to class. It’s always predictable:

The on-level classes are a different story. And the inclusion class, which includes a lot of special education students, is a category all by itself. That class alone, which has 27 students who represent 24% of all my students, has 46.29% of all the NHIs. Their NHI/student ratio is almost double the average for the whole group of 112 students whom I teach. One student alone, I calculated, is responsible for almost 5% of the NHIs herself.

P4 and P5 are honors classes. They have relatively few NHIs. Out of about 1300 grades (assignments times students for a given class), they each have in the 70-80 range. That’s about 5% of all assignments not turned in. That’s relatively high, I think, but they are middle schoolers. The bulk of the NHIs in those classes are from boys who don’t really want to be in the class to begin with.

How many of these students will fail the class? None. Not a single one. Even the student who had 40+ NHIs out of 64 assignments. She will pass the class by about one point.

Why?

Because in the district’s wisdom, NHIs don’t count as 0; they count as 50. In other words, students do nothing and get 50% of the credit. What do they need to pass? 60%. So students can literally do three or four assignments per quarter and pass by the skin of their cliches.

“That’s all fine and good,” outside critics might say, “but what about when they get a job? What is that teaching them for a work ethic?” Forget about when they get a job; the 50 floor ends when they enter high school. So we’ve taught them that it’s possible to skip most assignments and still pass, and then they’ll get to high school and find their 60 in middle school translates to a 32 or so in high school.

Who thought this was a good idea?

We teachers like to joke that we should stop doing any work and demand 50% of our salary. “If the students can do it, we should be able to as well.”

The truth of the matter is, though, that even if we didn’t have this floor and gave students the grades they really earned, we wouldn’t hold them back. Kids get socially promoted all the time, and they know that it’s a district (or is it state?) policy that students can only fail once before eighth grade.

“You can’t fail me. I’ve already been held back. You can’t do anything to me,” I’ve heard from students.

What about high school? If you fail a class once, will they be reluctant to fail you again? Do they socially promote students? I really don’t know. I tell students they don’t, but for all I know, they might.

And this is yet another reason the education system in our state is broken almost beyond repair…

Happiness

Written as we finished up our 2022 trip to Poland last summer.

Happiness is the longing for repetition writes Milan Kudera in The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Sunday sky is an almost-uniform gray with only a few spots where the cloud cover is even heavier, making patches of darker gray. Gray on gray on gray. The location of the sun is a mystery: so thick is the cloud cover that the sky’s luminance is completely uniform. Temperatures hover in the mid- to high-50s, and rain comes and goes throughout the day. There is nothing to do but sit in the house and read or watch television. Perhaps a game of cards to break the monotony. 

Happiness is the longing for repetition writes Milan Kundera in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and even this gray, cold Sunday afternoon, our last day in Jablonka during this trip to Poland, has echoes of the joy of repetition. How many Sundays when I lived here passed just like this? Looking at the sky, looking at the puddles to see if it’s still raining, not entirely sure what I’ll do if it does stop raining. The pacing from the chair to the window. The thought that even if I were in a more urban area that I might not go out anyway. So the day has a certain melancholy satisfaction in the repetition of routines I haven’t followed in years in the land so owns my heart yet is not my own.

Our trips back to Poland are all about finding that joy in repetition. How many times do we try, in some little way, to relive those years of our life in Poland while visiting here? This visit was somewhat different — a trip to the Three Crowns Mountains, a hike up Babia, bowling in Zubrzyca — but it still had the same general shape. We visit the same people (that of course is to be expected), but we also do so many of the same things. Part of it is an effort to show our kids what we love about this part of the world; part of it, I think, is a little grasp at that joyful repetition Kundera speaks of.

And so as the day turns into night and the Boy crawls into bed here one last time during this trip, I find myself both relieved and melancholy as does he. “My last night in this bed,” he says with mixture of relief and sadness. As always happens during extended stays from home, we’re both ready to head back and return to our normal routines. But endings are always hard, always a bit gray like today’s sky. We know how incredible a given experience was; we know how much we’d like to repeat it (or at least the joy); we’re not sure when or even if we’ll repeat it. I think that’s the heart of the gray shade of endings: it’s that uncertainty about the Kunderan joy. 

I know well the emotions the Boy is going through: I felt them myself whenever something wonderful ended. The most wonderful thing for me then was the Feast of Tabernacles, an annual conference our sect held every fall as commanded by various passages in the Old Testament. It was not very much like the Biblical version: ours was more like a wonderful week-long vacation with seemingly endless money (the sect required a second 10% tithe of its members to pay for this week). Every year on that last night, I would lie in bed wondering if anything could be as wonderful as the week we just finished. Without even knowing it, I was searching for my own Kunderan joy of repetition and was haunted with the fear that it might never repeat – not in the same way, at least. 

This is also why, I think, I’m so enamored with nostalgia: the song that brings back memories of throwing a frisbee in the heat of summer, or the bit of perfume that recalls of a long-forgotten adolescent love, or the taste of potatoes with dill that takes one back to summers in Poland. Those moments will never repeat, and in that melancholy is a certain joy, I think. It’s the longing for repetition that brings joy, after all. If the repetition comes, that’s wonderful, but it rarely does, even when coming back to Poland regularly to visit old friends and walk old paths.

The trick then, I guess, is to treat even days like today with that same approach: reliving the past, entering a kind of Kunderan happiness even in the gray reality of a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon. To relive that melancholy in a strange kind of joy, the happiness of repetition.

Our Team

One of the sweetest girls on our team drew a dry-erase marker portrait of the four of us.

It’s that time of year when I’m of two minds: on the one hand, I’m tired of these kids. I’m ready for new, fresh blood. I know the ins and outs of each kid (sort of); I know what makes them tick; I know how they’re going to react to this or that. And I’m ready for a new batch.

On the other hand, I love most of these kids. Every year, I think, “This is the greatest group of kids I’ve ever worked with. There’s no way next year can be better.” And it usually is. And so I’ll miss them, and a part of me doesn’t want to see them go.

But just a slightly bigger part does…

Time to move on, kiddos.

Flood 2023

We had a tremendous hail and rain storm today — about the worst we’ve ever had.

Victorious

Congratulations to our girls’ soccer team, who won the district championship tonight.

Several of my students are on the team, so I had to go watch this — not just our school to cheer but individual students I’ll see in class tomorrow and give high fives.

They went to extra time, scored at 0-0, and they won in the final minute of extra time. In a way, though, I feel awful about it: they didn’t win on a big strike to the corner of the goal. It was a goalie mistake, pure and simple. Almost a beginner’s mistake, I would say. The goal slumped down and began weeping. I felt awful for her: she’s going to feel the whole team did their part, and then she let them down. She’s going to relive the moment endlessly. She’s going to beat herself up over that for weeks. And the team will (and already did) huddle around her and cheer her up, tell her everything is fine — “We did the best we could!” But that won’t help. At least not for a while.

Throw

L won the javelin competition at the regional meet!