The House that Emily Built

Okay, there is something that FTN's comment-fest has brought up for me that I would like to share with you. Maybe this post should be called "The True Confessions of an Ex-Fundamentalist".

I was a pentecostal fundamentalist when I was in my teens. A serious one, too. A sort of trainee preacher. This was a very important experience for me, which has had a long term effect on my whole life.

There is a lot of speculation about why people find these churches appealing. People seem to assume its about the lively, rock n roll style music and the sense of security that people get from accepting clear direction and leadership.

But for me, it was always about wanting God. Wanting a relationship with God. And God, in the fundamentalist church I discovered, seemed to be a real presence, someone who was active in my life.

And for a few years, it worked. I loved God, and I knew that he loved me. My church friends were a great source of fun, serious conversation and support. I had a lot of trust in our leadership. I accepted rules and limitations about things like pre-marital sex as part of a bigger picture. They were a significant sacrifice, but a sacrifice I was willing to make. And I was so happy and proud when I was chosen to join the trainee ministry team.

But over time, the fact is that it didn’t work. As I grew up, became more familiar with the way the world actually is, it became increasingly clear that church teachings didn’t reflect that. They didn't reflect what most forms of knowledge tell us. They didn't even really reflect what I could see around me if I kept my eyes open.

And as I read the bible more and more, it became increasingly clear that the way the bible was portrayed didn’t add up, either. I always smile quietly to myself when someone accuses me of trying to wriggle out of what the bible says. Because they obviously don't know me well enough to realize that I would have liked nothing better than to find that the bible provides a clear set of statements about what to believe and what to do and not do. Instead, the more I actually read it, the more I found that the bible doesn't really provide a set of bullet-point beliefs and commandments. It was more like a library - a sprawling, contradictory, sometimes beautiful, sometimes terrible, library of stories, poems, parables, histories and other kinds of literature, from different times and from different places, with one great theme: God. Inspired by God? Perhaps. But at least as human as it was divine.

And part of the problem was language itself. Language, even biblical langage, cannot fully describe God. To get to the deepest truths, it ends up having to resort to metaphors, analogies, poetry and stories which point to the truth, but are not, in themselves, the whole truth.

For a long time, I repressed these thoughts. And I don’t think I was the only one. Over time, I noticed how much the church and I had a kind of siege mentality. We in here, we were okay, still fighting the good fight. Facts that didn’t fit were denied entry. People that didn’t fit were denied entry. Parts of ourselves and other people that didn’t fit we repressed ruthlessly. And, you know, I become obsessed with this kind of repression. The more I repressed, the greater my doubts. I no longer felt like a person who was growing in faith and maturity. I felt like a person who was trapped in a fortress, unable to see the sky or breathe God’s clean air, and just going around and around in circles.

And ultimately, I felt like a person who was lying to herself about what she really believed and what she really felt. And I felt like a person whose fortress was becoming a prison.

And, of course, a siege is always temporary. It always comes to an end. And when I could no longer deny my thoughts, I plunged into a prolonged spiritual and emotional crisis that involved pretty much everything – my sense of God, my beliefs abut the bible, about the world, about morality, about gender, and my sense of self. And especially my relationship with God, which I thought must be over. I truly believed that my grief and my loss of God were so complete that I would never get over it.

Now, I have known a number of people who have left fundamentalism behind. Most don’t seem to really move on, spiritually speaking. I have a close friend who truly believes that he is going to hell when he dies, and yet is still unwilling to go back!

For myself, I have been luckier. I have managed to assemble some of the bricks that made up my fortress and construct something else. Something that provides me with a home and yet doesn't shut out the world. Sometimes it looks well constructed. Sometimes it looks kind of gerry-built. But, you know, I can live in it. It has a lot of windows. And it can cheerfully remain in a neighbourhood that includes the lovely FTN and his commenters, without needing them to build something similar.

This house that I am building is not something that can be finished, you stick a fork in it and its done. Its always in process. This house involves a view of God that is much bigger than I would ever have allowed for as a fundamentalist. This house involves a view of the bible in which I respect it, not for what I wish it was, but for what I think it really is, and allowing it to still speak to me. It involves a more minimalist set of beliefs. It involves committing to always telling the truth to myself about what I really believe and about my own feelings. It involves working on becoming a more compassionate person, towards myself and towards others.

I sometimes call myself a "theological liberal", and it sort of fits, but I really only use the term to save my fundamentalist and evangelical friends the trouble. For myself, I don’t much care about the label. I believe that faith is about a relationship with God and, in that sense, as long as it is real and I am sticking with it, it doesn’t really need a certificate of approval from anyone.

And overall, the effects are good. I think I am a much freer, happier person than I would have been, had I stayed with fundamentalism. More importantly, I think I am able to be a more loving person, because I am more able to deal with the world, with people, with myself, as they are, rather than as I would like them to be.

I do not think that I am a very wise person. I had to laugh at something Trueself said once, which was that what she had in book smarts, she more than made up for in lack of common sense. Because I am the same. I have a lot of flaws that I am very conscious of. But I cherish the bits of wisdom I do have, because they have been so hard to win. And I am not going back.

And to paraphrase a great nursery rhyme: This is the house that Emily built.

And to quote a great man who also chipped away at a great edifice, only to find it tumbling around his ears: Here I stand. I can do no other.