By Aimee

Like many people who once believed in Christianity, I was born into it and brought up with it. My parents attended a rather rare type of church, calling itself the Church of Christ, and it tried to the best of its ability to follow the New Testament as fully and completely as possible. This church is exceedingly absolutist - in fact, most of the sermons I can remember dealt entirely with pointing out what denominations of churches did wrong. We'd have a sermon on Catholicism, Mormonism, Baptist, Pentecostal etc etc.

In fact, I knew more about the depth and breadth of Christianity than any other Christian kid I met. I believed the pastor when he said that these churches were wrong because it was so very supported by the Bible itself. This church did not shy away from the hard side of God and Jesus and did not indulge in any frivolity, and managed to remain fairly clear of hypocrisy as well. But one thing that my upbringing missed was any real mention of beliefs entirely independent of the Bible. It was easy to follow the logic: if the Bible is true, than this church is telling the truth; but what if the Bible is not true? This thought did not enter my head for many years.

But these religious beliefs were not my only moral guidance. One thing that I always held strongly was the idea that all human beings are of equal worth. I always deeply cared for other people, not just their soul, but their lives - the whole person. I didn't think much about the eternal damnation they supposedly faced. If anything, I trusted that God treated everyone equally, based on each person's experiences and birth place and culture - to believe otherwise would make him to be a very terrible person in my mind. I only worried about doing the right thing and being as good a person as I could be. I didn't talk about religion much to friends at school (I went to a normal public school), but tried to lead by example only.

I also always had an affinity for nature, trees especially. The 'feeling' of God I longed for in church I found when outside alone at night, looking up at the stars from beneath - or within - a tree. I was very sensitive as child, I talked to trees, rocks, dolls, even furniture. I read books with a passion and fell in love with all things fantasy. Lord of the Rings became my Bible and I still treat it with what could be called reverence. I boxed my religion as something that I think about in church, but rarely felt the need to take it out in every day life.

Many things changed for me at eight years old. I was extremely sheltered and ill equipped to handle what a man would do to me while my parents were away from home. A man that was supposed to be baby sitting who instead raped me in the shower. As I lay in the pink tinged water waiting to die (as I thought I surely was going to) the only thing I could think about was the terror that awaited me in hell. I did not understand what had happened, except that it was bad. Even while my brain put the event in a little box and vaguely named the box "something bad" the only thing I could be certain of was that something incredibly sinful had just happened.

I did not tell my parents. I couldn't, the shame would have killed me. But for weeks I could not sleep in fear of the eternal hell fire that awaited me, and death seemed so very close. I told my dad that I had to be baptized because I was in sin and couldn't bear to be separate from God any longer. He baptized me, reluctantly because he thought I was too young, but did so nonetheless. And for a while, my child's brain was satisfied. My sins were washed clean, I was a new child in Christ and did not have to think about the past anymore.

If you read what little the bible has to say about rape, as I did years later, you will find it to be extremely indifferent to the woman, more concerned over her lost virginity than her shattered mind and body. This experience effected my life despite my attempts to cover it up and forget about it. I read everything the bible had to say about it and was all the more distressed because, by all accounts, the worst thing that could happen to me was to not be a virgin on my wedding day. No amount of praying or hoping could make that fact go away.

Through puberty the effects of both the rape and the resulting guilt complex gifted to me by Christianity drove me into depression. One other hot topic for my church was the sanctity of marriage. One man, one woman, both virgins, married for a lifetime no extraneous sex, woman in submission to the husband. Over and over it was pounded into me, how important it was to be a virgin when you were married. A girl in my church proudly stated that it was the greatest gift she could give to her future husband. I had nothing to give.

When I was 15 my parents got separated and later divorced. Because it was their church and their beliefs that held so strongly that marriage was to be for life, I had a difficult time with it. I later found out that my dad cheated, but that was probably the least of their problems. Neither of them could stand to be home for any amount of time and I found myself raising my younger brothers in absence of having anyone else around. This lasted for about a year. All this time I felt alone. I no longer felt anything at church but shame, guilt and fear. At home it was only stress of my parents crumbling marriage, and all the beliefs they tried to bestow upon me. It made me feel utterly worthless.

I looked around at my closest friends, none of whom could be called particularly christian, one a Hindu, one Buddhist, one a Mormon, some just pleasantly agnostic. I never had any "true" christian friends, but I had the best friends in the world. Never once in high school was I offered drugs or alcohol - not because my friends were Christian - but because my friends were smart. I looked at them and acknowledged that they were all equal. And they were intelligent, and were living the life that made sense based on their upbringing. My life didn't make sense to me. My church became increasingly full of hate and judgment, I didn't even care anymore. If my friends were going to hell for their beliefs (or lack thereof) then I would be willing to join them there.

There are many intellectual reasons to reject Christianity, or God all together. While I completely agree with those who have set out all the reasons not to believe, I only needed one. We are equal. When we die, the same thing happens to us all, the same thing happens to everything on this planet. And even if, in the wildest probability, the Bible is true, I still am glad I made my choice and got free of it. As I told my grandmother, 'I would rather go to hell with my friends than go to heaven without them.' If that is what happens, so be it, I am no better than they and deserve salvation no more than any one else. I have eaten from the tree of Knowledge and I am glad I did.

On a personal note, the feelings of guilt and fear and despair won out in me for a long time and I found myself in a dangerous situation that ended in another sexual assault. I do not blame Christianity per se for the things that have been done to me, but it put me in the position to be a victim, blame myself, and never seek help about it. I was a girl, meant to be submissive to adults and to men and this is the consequence of such teachings. Had I not had the love and support of my non christian friends, and later my non christian boyfriend (now husband) I shudder to think what else might have happened to me.

Just as I never felt the need to talk about my faith as a Christian, I have rarely felt the need to talk about why I am not one any longer. Disbelief was easy and did not require me to share my reasoning with anyone. I wrote this, and I could have written much more, because I see people point out the hideous verses that describe rape in the Bible, but have never read someone who has experienced it, read those words and felt the lasting agony they can cause. It is a story about how the religion is not only illogical, but harmful and debilitating. How could I worship a God that at times encouraged his people to rape others, placed as much blame on the victim as the rapist, suggest that the rapist should then marry the girl he violated, think it righteous for a man to offer his own daughters to be gang raped rather than a man etc etc. It is just too terrible. That is reason enough not to believe, isn't it?

*I could have looked up all the verses, but it makes me depressed. Its not hard to find them if you are looking.

By Brother Greg

Image by Harry‧黃基峰‧Taiwan via Flickr

This is something that happened during high school that I wish I had looked at more directly earlier in life – it might have helped me leave Christianity much sooner than I ultimately did. I should mention that this high school was an American school based in Taiwan. In Taiwan, when I lived there, there where there were a large number of white missionaries supposedly there to convert Chinese people to fundamentalist Christianity. I had a friend in the high school– let’s call him Mike.

Mike was a nice guy. He was also quite human. He was proud of his high SAT scores. He was in love with a girl at my high school, and the love was unrequited. He was very opinionated about music, about performing artists, songs, and lyrics. He was someone I could agree with or disagree with, but I respected his intelligence.

One day, Mike invited a friend, Steve, and me to a Christian weekend retreat for high school students, run by missionaries, and, out of curiosity, we agreed to go. There, during that weekend, Steve and I both had spiritual experiences. Given the context of our experiences, surrounded by all the missionaries and fellow high school students who were deeply invested in Christianity, we became Christians. We were told to read the bible, pray, go to church, and clean up our lifestyles, etc. I was stunned by my personal spiritual experience and overwhelmed by the earnestness of all the people so quick to tell me how to interpret my own experience.

Days after that, while hanging out at a local coffeehouse that was set up for Christian teenagers, Mike commented on how he was so happy to have participated in a “miracle”—the conversion of Steve and me. It was a comment that haunted me for years afterward.

About a week later, Mike was diagnosed with hepatitis. He stopped attending school and retired to his home. At the time, it seemed to me to be one of those diseases from which people usually recover. I don’t think, in those days, much was known about the different forms of hepatitis—that some forms are more harmful than others. I didn’t think anything of it. My father had once had hepatitis from eating shellfish, and he recovered. But Mike was getting worse, not better.

I went out to visit Mike at his home one Saturday afternoon. At that time, as he lay in bed, we talked briefly. He told me it was hard for him to have a conversation, because he felt so tired. Even just listening to people was an effort. He indicated that it was hard for him to have visitors, and I got the sense he’d rather not have any. So I let him be.

The next time I saw him, he was in the hospital. Another person and I visited him in the early evening, and he was sleeping. An orderly shook him, telling him he had visitors. Mike woke up, startled, looked at us, and promptly got sick. He was really out of it, and we soon left. That was the last time I saw him.

A strange event that happened after that. It was early on Easter morning, and I had been invited to join with a group of adult, male missionaries for a prayer meeting. During this meeting, we started doing what was called “speaking in tongues” – believing we were praying in another language that we did not otherwise know. Then there was some prayer, in English, about the health of Mike. In this middle of this prayer meeting, someone started speaking, as if channeling a message from God, that we should rise up, go to the hospital where Mike was, lay hands on him, and expect a miraculous healing. Another person added urgency to this message – that we should go now. We all got pretty excited about this, and the prayer meeting came to an end. We got up to leave, with plans to get in cars and go to the hospital, when we were interrupted by a phone call. Someone answered the phone, conversed slowly, and then hung up. This person then announced to us that he had just been told that Mike had died at about 3 o’clock that morning.

We were surprised and perplexed. Mike had died before the time of the prayer meeting. So what were those directions from God all about? Had we misheard? We sat down and started praying again, and soon a new message emerged, that we should still go to the hospital and do as we had been told. In short, Mike would be raised from the dead! We emerged from the meeting, convinced this would happen…. We got in cars and drove to the hospital.

While we were still outside the hospital, as I recall, someone in the group pointed out that we had to get permission from Mike’s dad to see the body, so that we could “lay hands” on him. Others agreed. Someone called Mike’s father, made the request, and was turned down. We felt stymied. We stood around hoping something would happen to make our prophecy come true…. But, of course, nothing happened. We finally left, individually, to go to different Easter morning church services.

I think some of us met later that day or at night at the Christian coffeehouse, where one of the leaders of the coffeehouse expressed his belief that some miracle was still going to happen.

But, as we all could see, nothing had happened.

And as it became clear over the next several days that nothing was going to happen, we stopped talking about it.

Over the years, since then, I’ve reflected on how a group of apparently grown men and a high school student (yours truly) managed to dupe ourselves like that. We earnestly hoped Mike would live, of course, and so there was the motivation. But in the days that followed, no one seemed willing to talk about how childish we had all been – and how wrong we had been, about some so-called “prophecies” from God. I was shocked to realize how these apparently grown-up men, obviously devoted to their faith – men that I looked up to at the time, couldn’t acknowledge we had been absolutely wrong about everything we thought we had heard from God at that prayer meeting. I think, in the long run, it was an experience that eventually made it easier for me to step away from Christian fundamentalism, first, and then Christianity as a whole, later.

Sent in by koosgirl

Image by Caro's Lines via Flickr

I was raised in a mainline Protestant household. We said grace, had an Advent wreath, went to church every Sunday, etc., but my parents were not overly heavy-handed. Church services were low-key, with the preaching and lessons geared toward positive things--emphasizing God's love for us, how we should love one another, God's mercy and kindness, and so on. I really never knew the negative aspects of the Bible until I was in my twenties and decided to read the whole thing, cover to cover.

It was an eye-opener for sure. I remember in particular the story of Job. In our church, Job had always been portrayed as a heroically faithful man, remaining true to God even when life dealt him the severest of blows--and being recompensed by God for the strength of his devotion.

So it was rather a shock to get the whole picture. God makes a bet with Satan that no matter how much crap God dishes out, Job will keep coming back for more. In cahoots with Satan, God heaps the shit on Job, taking everything the poor guy has--including his kids. Whoa! What was that? It wasn't *life* that dealt these blows to Job, it was...God! Let's just say it was a WTF moment.

Then, having won the bet, God makes good by replacing all Job's possessions--including his kids. Another big HUH? You can't "replace" a lost loved one by having someone new pop in. They're unique individuals, and God is acting like he's just giving Job a new muffler or something. Even we puny little humans can recognize this, but God can't? What kind of God doesn't know that? What kind of God acts like that?

After that, the question of suffering remained always in my mind. I asked many a pastor, religious counselor, and faithful Christian why a loving god would allow people to suffer, and got one of two answers:

"We don't know. It's a mystery, but God does everything for our greater good, so we must have faith in his ways."

"Because God wants us to have free will, he cannot force us to always do good. Unfortunately, some people choose to do evil things and make others suffer. But God has promised that we have free will, so he cannot intervene because he never breaks his promises."

Answer one never really cut it with me. I failed to see how child molestation, murder, traffic accidents, tidal waves, and such, could be for anyone's greater good. Plus, if it really is for our greater good, why doesn't God explain to us how that works? Why does he let people live on brokenhearted and devastated when he could console them by telling them what that greater good is?

Answer two I could somewhat buy. It is true that evil people have as much free will as good ones, and sadly, that does mean that there are innocent victims. Not very consoling, but it made a certain kind of sense.

Then my world changed, and I asked the question no one could answer.

At age 38, I became sick and was diagnosed with a hereditary illness. Medication helps, but I will never be well again.

This is a whole different aspect of suffering, and I wanted to know WHY it was happening. I wasn't even interested in wondering what greater good could come of it, having disposed of that answer long before. What I wanted to know was, how was my illness the result of someone's free will?

Whose free will?

Mine? I could hardly have chosen to have an illness, considering I couldn't even have chosen to be born.

My parents', for having had sex at that particular time that I was conceived? Not only is that nonsense--since they couldn't choose how their DNA would combine--it's unbelievably cruel to extend to them such a crushing burden of guilt. Besides, my parents loved me, and no loving parent would ever want their child to have an illness.

Adam and Eve's free will? Why should their decision to eat the fruit have any impact on my genetics? Why would God hold against me, something that two characters in a story written thousands of years ago decided to do? What kind of God does that?

I read voraciously, I asked all the so-called religious experts, I thought about it till my head ached.

Finally, one night, lying in bed with my brain chasing its own tail, I had a moment of clarity. The REASON I had an illness is because my parents were trying to have a baby. They had sex that particular time when my mom was fertile, the sperm met the egg, their DNA combined. All in accordance with NATURAL LAW, not the will of some Being in the sky. It happened...because it happened. It happened because Nature is random. It happened because that is the way the Universe works.

The remaining scales dropped from my eyes at that moment. No more metaphysical search for meaning, no more trying to make sense of the good god/suffering conundrum. Only the clear, obvious truth.

Some people say that this realization devastates them. For me, it was liberating! I didn't have to run in circles any more trying to defend some mythical god. I didn't have to wonder what was the greater good that would spring from my suffering. I didn't have to search for meaning in my illness. I tossed the last remnants of religion overboard at that moment, and I felt a peace and certainty much more real than anything religion had ever given me.

While I cannot speak for those who have endured the terrible tragedies of abuse, loss of a loved one, and the like, I can say that the meaning of my illness and the good that can come from it are the meaning and the good that I myself impute to it. In the ensuing years, I have found that for me, the good that has come from my illness has been the development of the grit and courage it takes to live as normal a life as possible, and much more empathy for others--indeed, a willingness not to judge them because I don't know their whole story, just as most people don't know mine.

I do not hate religious people. Some of them are horrible, but most are genuinely trying to be good with the tools they have. Most of them simply can't fathom a life without their faith, and that's fine for them. But as for me, I found much more peace in letting go of the supernatural. Now I value every day for what it is, I work to give meaning to my own life, and I accept the hand that has been dealt me. Life is better, and despite my ups and downs with my illness, I can honestly say I am happier.

By Donald R.

Image via Wikipedia

I ended up attending private Christian schools all my life. We were pretty much taught how to be sheltered from anything they deemed evil. So we were oblivious to the world outside of our church faction. Most children after graduation from high school ended up partying harder than the "worldy" folks. They were the children who weren't taught about sex and drugs and ended up getting pregnant at 17 and 18 years old.

My father was a pastor and he was very controlling. He knew how to manipulate your emotions and make you feel guilty for not doing things his way. So I grew up battling with my father because I was always one to ask questions as to why we did the things we did. Why we believed the things we believed. Part of me was made to feel bad for being the only one questioning things and another part of me felt I had a right to know why I was following blindly.

Just about a year ago I was in bed and I thought to myself, "Man I wouldn't even want my worse enemy to burn in hell forever, why would god"? So from there my search began. I begin to study the history of the church, Christianity and even the topic hell. As I studied I realized a lot of what was taught to me was farce. It was tradition. It was man made. A way to control masses of people by fear tactics. To create this good and evil and show how it has it's consequences if you didn't abide by the rules of god who passed it down to these certain "men of god".

I asked myself these simple questions. Why would a perfect god create imperfect beings and punish them for not living perfect? Why would a perfect god create Lucifer and allow him to revolt against him and allow him to tempt mankind? Why would a perfect god pass down his will to faulty man to pass on to the rest of the world instead of just talking to each person individually?

The more I began to ask questions the more I began to realize how crazy organized religion was. How preachers take so much money in the name of god yet the people they are suppose to be helping are poor and struggling to make it through the week.

Right now at this point in life I feel life is bigger than religion. I do believe there is a creator that created everything. The beauty of the world and universe is so complex for it to created out of happenstance. I don't think man can ever understand the creator of universes. We try to understand but no man can be 100% sure of their idea of a creator. So I encourage people to just love those around you, love yourself and continue striving for knowledge of this world. Leaving religion was the best thing that has ever happen to me.