I miss studying theology.
Evangelical nostalgia – the kind of longing for a specific way of living out the Christian lifestyle – has been hitting hard lately. I find that when I’m most stressed or anxious, this longing for the way things used to be increases drastically. Early on in my deconstruction process, I had often forced myself to stay within the confines of the theological paradigms of evangelicalism so that I didn’t have to deal with that sense of waywardness wrought by questioning everything. I didn’t want to feel adrift, which is what happens when the beliefs that shaped and guided your day-to-day start to unravel.
But knowing what I know now prevents me from going back.
What I’ve noticed this time around, though, is the nature of the nostalgia has shifted. This isn’t merely a desire for the sense of comfort and safety (both of which are conditional within evangelicalism), but rather for the sense of purpose I felt when I studied theology. As an evangelical, it felt like I was feeding my soul – not just reading the bible, either, but rather connecting certain verses and passages to specific beliefs. And when I got to seminary, it felt like I was learning new ways to better understand God – feminism, womanism, liberation theology, etc., were all couched in the framework of understanding the image of God and what practices we might adopt to honor God’s image.
The theology I’d study actually meant something beyond getting others to agree with me. In fact, it was the opposite. Studying theology helped me navigate the biblical text in such a way that challenged my thinking and/or my behavior, which then compelled me to challenge others. The deeper I’d dive into the text, the more of a “woke liberal” I’d become – and for no other reason than believing I was following what God was teaching me.
On the outside of evangelicalism, though, there isn’t always that shared sense of purpose, let alone having a similar upbringing. Many that I know now either had a healthy religious upbringing where beliefs were taught, but never forced, or had no identifiable religious influence at all. Talking about Jesus now often introduces an entirely new concept where I have to double-back and summarize bits of the bible just so whatever point I’m trying to make has a chance at being understood. In a lot of ways this can be a good thing – it allows a fresh perspective on long-held beliefs or ways of understanding, which can then further the deconstruction process.
And yet at the same time it was nice to have companions on a similar theological journey. It made me feel connected to something bigger than myself, which in turn kept me from retreating within myself and/or pushing everyone else away. With all that’s been going on for the last 9 months, I guess I’m just afraid that I’ll reach a point where I’ll choose to close myself off, where I’ll choose callousness over connection.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in these last 9 months it’s that Islam is not a religion for the individual. Every Muslim I’ve encountered is deeply enmeshed in a community – where everyone’s fed, everyone’s clothed, everyone’s housed. Everyone’s connected. I’m not saying I’m interested in converting to Islam (or reverting? I don’t know, I’m still learning); I don’t think I can convert to any religion anymore. But I do think that if at its core, evangelical Christianity hadn’t been so tied to capitalism and harmful ideologies, I wouldn’t be feeling the side effects of having gone rogue.
Any other former evangelicals feeling this? Or something like it?
Scribal Practices 