Memoirs of an Experimental Deconvert

One of the things we’ve been looking at in our summer sermon series in James is what faith looks like. We’ve talked about doubt and we’ve talked about the need for faith to be lived out. Below is part of my own faith story, which I recently wrote as a short assignment for my doctoral studies. I've shared some of this in sermons before, even within the James series, though not in this exact format. I hope this is helpful to you as you navigate various faith crises or come alongside others who are!

Once upon a time, I tried to deconvert. I said to myself, “I am no longer a Christian”. I said to myself, “I was a Christian because I grew up in a Christian home. Let’s see if I return to Christian faith on my own now that I am neutral”. One hour later, I couldn’t handle the guilt any longer. I confessed my sins of the last hour and asked Jesus to be my Lord again. I was a one hour experimental deconvert.

That happened when I was 14 years old, a year that was highly significant in my personal understanding and experience of Christian faith. It was the second of two years that my family resided in the Central American country of Guatemala. My father had previously been a youth pastor in a medium-sized church in rural Manitoba and was now teaching in an English Christian school in the city of Quetzaltenango. Up until that point in my life, Christian faith was simply a given. I had grown up in a town where half the population attended our church, where the teachers of the public school began each day with “devotions” and the Lord’s prayer, in an extended family where everyone was a church-going believer. I likely grew up in the closest thing to Christendom that Canada had to offer in the ‘90s. My first memory regarding faith was learning about hell as a five year old in Sunday School. It didn’t sound pleasant to my five year old ears. The teacher said the way to be saved from that fate was to ask Jesus into our hearts. I didn’t think twice and prayed to receive Christ in my life.

I’m not sure what it was as a 14 year old that changed everything. I was still in a solidly Christian family. I had even added a new status: no longer simply a “PK” (pastor’s kid), I was also an “MK” (missionary’s kid). I attended a Christian school with friends who at least claimed to be Christians. But at some point that year, I was confronted with a wave of doubt. And then another. And another. To be clear, I hadn’t asked for this. There were no bad influences in my life. I hadn’t stumbled across an atheistic book in my Christian school library or watched a debate on a yet-to-be-invented YouTube channel. I was the farthest thing from a rebellious child. From as young as I can remember, I desperately desired to do the right thing and to have the approval of my parents. To begin doubting the foundation of my life and world was the last thing I wanted. It was a completely uninvited crisis.
I now consider that period of time to be the greatest possible gift in the maturing of my faith.

What did I doubt? The better question would be what didn’t I doubt? Everything was up for grabs. Did God exist? What evidence was there for that? Was the Bible actually trustworthy? Wasn’t Jesus simply a man? What evidence was there for his resurrection? What assurance could I have that I was “saved”? Would I have been a Christian if I hadn’t grown up in a Christian home? (That was the doubt cycle that had led to my experimental deconversion.) These questions attached themselves to my thinking and seemed relentless. I was the bone, the doubts were the dog, and they would not let me go.

I believe a crisis of childhood faith like that will likely go one of two ways. It may lead to a full departure from Christian faith. It may also lead to a deeply personal and comparatively seasoned Christian conviction. For me, it was the latter. Looking back, there were at least three keys that led to that outcome.

First, I did not doubt in silence. By God’s grace, I did not try to stuff the thoughts down and pretend that everything was just great. I am so thankful that in comparison with other “deconstruction” stories where people grew up in repressive environments, I grew up in an environment where I felt I could be honest about my questions. Whether it was my parents or my teachers, I let them know the questions I was struggling with.
 
Second, at least one of those authority figures in my life was able to dialogue with me about those questions. That would be my father. As someone who had done a graduate degree in biblical studies, he was aware of every theological issue I raised. When I asked what evidence existed for God’s existence or for the resurrection of Jesus, he had things to say. I saw from my father that Christian faith could be reasonable. I saw that it was based on something solid and defensible.

And third, I wanted to believe. This was crucial because as helpful as all my father’s insights were, they were not enough. Apologetics may have placated my questioning mind, but it was always temporary. For example, I might go to bed one night, satisfied that the explosion of the early church was clearly evidence that something had happened after the crucifixion of Jesus. Within minutes, the doubts would roar back in: yeah, but what about this? Have you ever thought about that? That was when prayer entered in, a very particular biblical prayer: “I believe, help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24) Over and over again, night after night, I prayed this prayer. There were numerous points at which the doubt felt overwhelming, where I felt inches away from leaving it all behind, except this time not as an experiment. Those moments were the ones I cried out to God most vigorously. “I can’t do this, God, I can’t figure this out, but I want to! Please help me!”

And over and over again, in my very last gasp of faith, I would experience a flooding of deep peace in my mind. I have often described it like the sudden breaking of gloomy clouds. One minute, you’re being blasted by a deluge; the next, you’re basking in the warm, bright rays of the sun. I would now describe those moments as fresh encounters with God through the ministry of the Holy Spirit. As a 14 year old, I didn’t care to theologize them. I simply enjoyed them and praised God for them.

Of course, a week or so later, the cycle would begin again with a new round of questions. However, the result of that year was that as a 14 year old, I had a faith in Jesus characterized by two things. One was that I knew why I believed. I had asked my questions, and I knew that there were sufficient answers (not perfect, but sufficient). The second was that I knew who I believed. I had encountered the Lord for myself and had experienced His presence.

There have been all kinds of ups and downs while following Jesus in the 24 years since. There have been seasons of growth and seasons of stagnation. However, I can confidently say I have never again deconverted, not even experimentally.

I didn’t doubt in silence. I had adults who walked alongside me with wisdom and understanding. I wanted to believe and cried out to God in the midst of the crisis. And so He brought me through those crises into a faith that has continued to grow into adulthood. I praise God for these gifts He has given me.