When Belief Dies

When belonging is tied to "right doctrine," what happens when that disappears?

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

The first time I had the realization that I didn’t think I was a Christian anymore, I was sitting outside of a church on Easter morning. I was on the cusp of turning 24. I had been a church-goer my entire life. I didn’t abandon faith in college like many do; I had dug in even deeper, trying to find the answers that would satisfy my intellectual quandaries. I pored over theology books and the Bible, trying to learn more, trying to come to some kind of conclusion that would make it all make sense in my brain.

I didn’t want to not be a Christian.

But I didn’t know if I could count as a Christian anymore.

The fundamentalist style church I grew up in emphasized belief above all. We had to intellectually assent to a set of propositions about the nature of God, Jesus, and Jesus’s work on earth. We had to believe ourselves to be sinners destined for hell, and believe that Jesus died for our sins, and that it was only through his death that we could be saved from hell and make it to heaven. Well actually. It wasn’t through his death that we made it to heaven…(otherwise everyone would go to heaven, right?). It was through believing in his death, and confessing our sinfulness, and repenting, and believing that all of this now made us worthy of heaven.

We also had to believe that Jesus was born of a virgin, that the Bible was the literal word of God, that hell was a literal place of eternal conscious torment. We had to believe only men could be pastors. We had to believe that being gay was wrong and outside of God’s design for sexuality.

Belief, belief, belief. The only understanding I was offered about Christianity was that it was something one believed – gave intellectual assent to – was able to mentally check off the checkboxes besides the various points of doctrine.

It was one thing to change my mind about some of the more peripheral beliefs of Christianity, where there are actually various ways of believing and practicing (contrary to what the evangelicals wanted me to think). Plenty of churches are LGBTQ+ affirming; plenty of churches ordain women pastors. Lots of churches don’t believe in hell as eternal conscious torment, even!

But once I began poking too far into who Jesus was, what salvation was, who God was, and what in the world we were all doing here on earth anyway… things began to fall apart a bit.

I was still going to church – some service or other – every week. It wasn’t until midway through seminary, several years after this initial Easter, that I ever slowed that practice down. I still hung out with almost entirely with religious, or at least spiritually-inclined, people.

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One of the questions on my intake forms I have as a therapist asks people about their spiritual and cultural background. It often startles me how -- casual, I suppose – people can be about their answers. They identify as Christian because they go to church, at least sometimes. Or because they were raised that way. Or because they believe in God.

WAIT, you mean you didn’t repeatedly wrestle with these questions on repeat, trying to slice and dice what it meant to be a Christian, trying to figure out The Truth that might exist outside “The Truth” you were raised to believe in?

Oh.

Maybe this is a special plight of those who were raised to be all-in on high-control religion, where your faith wasn’t just some adjective about you but the noun of who you were at the core. Maybe it’s a problem of the particularly earnest, or the neurodivergent. (*raises hand repeatedly*)

Honestly, it feels a little unfair that others have the internal freedom to be so casual about it all while here I was, having existential crises about who I was and what my spirituality could be defined as, for the last decade and a half. Harumph.

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I was sitting in a Sunday School type discussion group the other day (I must be the most church-adjacent non-Christian I know), and we were talking about Brian McLaren’s most recent book, Do I Stay Christian? McLaren has a list of a dozen different ways one could define what it means to be a Christian, including historically/culturally, institutionally (power structures), doctrinally, and more.

The conversation had me reflecting on how highly we prioritized the doctrine aspect growing up. You were a Christian if you believed what we did, and you weren’t if you didn’t. But it struck me what an individualistic thing it is to prioritize doctrine to such a high extent. The doctrine is something that happens inside *my* mind. *My* eternal salvation is at stake based on what I can get *my brain* to agree to.

I wouldn’t say this is right or wrong for a religion to do, or that other ways of defining belonging are more accurate. But it’s worth noting how we reduced Jesus’ gospel to such an individualistic mandate to confess and believe very particular things about the very end of Jesus’s life.

I also wonder about the ways that fundamentalism shaped my brain – including in the leaving of fundamentalism. Or, how being in such a system served the inherent disposition of my brain in helpful ways, at least for a time. I crave certainty (something I’m often in denial about, fancying myself to be more flexible than I am). I like having a thorough understanding of topics I care about. I really hate being wrong about things. I want to have a coherent worldview and big picture understanding that cuts across disparate topics and connects them (because everything really is connected).

Fundamentalism afforded me that, until I couldn’t buy into the answers anymore due to my intellectual skepticism. And once I couldn’t buy into the answers, fundamentalism, which told me it’s an all-or-nothing world out there, told me that none of it would work if all of it didn’t work. (Which honestly, is a real losing strategy, not to mention psychologically immature, but that’s a post for another day).

And fundamentalism – and truly, most of Christianity – told me that I only counted if I believed the right things. Now that I don’t… I don’t count among their numbers anymore.

Their loss.

But not every religious group operates this way. I’ve developed a great radar for finding spiritual groups that don’t care so much if you believe the “right things.” They do exist! I can still look for the psychological and social benefits of belonging to a group, particularly ones oriented around issues of meaning and purpose. And I can find ways to contribute to the larger community and world through these groups.

That is religion enough for me. And it has very little to do with believing the right doctrine, and everything about finding like-minded people to share part of my life with. Including… groups like the people right here: yes, you, reading this right now. You are part of my group too. And I am glad you’re here!

If you liked this post, would you press that heart button or leave a comment? I love connecting to readers through the words you share with me! What are your thoughts about “correct” belief as litmus test for belonging? What have you struggled with - or not struggled with! - in this concept of belongingness? What has happened to you if your belief has died?

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