One of the books that helped me early on in my journey as I was just starting to wake up to what was going on in religion.
The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse: Recognizing and Escaping Spiritual Manipulation and False Spiritual Authority Within the Church
https://youtu.be/GX3QuoZsdF4?si=5YKB4VMxsEI7B1lH
By David Johnson an Jeff Van Vonderen
This is inspired by certain people, but not directed to anyone specific.
I don’t want to be a Christian.
Not if being a Christian means we have to sit around and talk about demons, end times, and the Nephilim. Not if being a Christian means we have to talk about the Illuminati, the occult, and Kentucky Fried Chicken being made out of human flesh.
Yes, these were actual conversations.
Especially when we’re not taking care of business. Of our personal business. Of our family business.
In fact, recent conversations aside, I already did this before. One time, one person sticks out specifically. Especially.
And I can’t. I can’t do conspiracy videos sent to me at all hours of the day. Again. When I am trying to live a very real life. And pay very real bills.
I don’t have a luxuries afforded to me like that. Like others. By the government. By family.
I miss who I at the time thought was a friend. Jonathan. But now I am not too sure. Now I think he just kept me around because I would listen to him. Because there were times I frankly adored him. And I think his ego ate that all up. I think that’s the only reason he tolerated me as long as he did. Not because he loved me. Because he didn’t. He never really protected me. No, if he loved anything – it was only how I loved him.
And maybe I was in love with the way I could love someone so much.
Or was it even love from my side either? Now looking back I wouldn’t be so confident.
I think it was God-ordained. But maybe not for the reasons I hoped back then. I am thankful that in the genius of God, They can partner up two people in the universe who are going through some shit. And have them be there for each other. Even if it’s not forever. Even if they weren’t the best of friends to each other. Broken as they were. As they are.
I still miss the good times. Terribly.
Not just with him. With everyone.
But I can’t do crazy anymore. I don’t have that bandwidth.
Jonathan used to want to sit around and talk about guns all the time. He scared me. Several times. But I didn’t have any self-esteem back then. Any boundaries.
So when he told me he could kill me and hide my body in such a way that nobody would find me… while we were on a walk out in nature… I just thought he was speaking scientifically since he was a “doctor”. Licensed as a chiropractor.
I love you, Jonathan, but I think even you hated yourself for not following through. For taking the easier way out. And then made so many people pay for hating yourself. Projecting constantly. I trusted your heart, but never your mind. Friend.
Maybe because I related too much? Did I take the easier way out also? Did I not put in the work? Was I lazy?
That’s the problem with intelligence. You don’t build the muscle and endurance you need to make it in the real world. The audacity. The dogged determination. That you’re not owed anything but you deserve it as much as the next bloke. Or specifically the next bloke who will work for it.
That’s the problem with school. They set you up for failure. That all you need is the right answers. Well, in my experience right answers don’t make for shit. Right answers don’t pay the bills. Right answers don’t do the work you need to do to fix your relationships.
I don’t want to be a Christian anymore if it means we just endlessly pray. For God to bail us out of our bad decisions. Instead of taking accountability. Instead of being able to admit we fucked up. And have the courage along with the humility to admit we are human and just go to better. Do differently because we own our shit. And value Life more than just an opportunity to sit in front of the television day after day. Collecting disability. Collecting social security.
I hate that America.
Is that really the gospel? Really the “American Dream”?
I have real problems. And all these programs can’t do shit. But take down my demographics to shove into another database. Where someone is getting rich off grant money. But nobody can do nothing. Except empty hope and excuses.
I don’t want to be a Christian if the best you can offer me is “the rapture”. If every time you pray all you ask Jesus for is to get you out of here as quickly as possible. And kill all the people you got a problem with.
If you’re just holed up in your little church regurgitating fear-mongering because you have no answers for actual reality.
Jesus came to serve, but you can’t even take a phone call. You’re too pussy to have a real conversation or real relationship.
But don’t neglect passing that plate, bro.
And be sure there is always someone on salary to prepare those statements for the IRS at the end of the year.
And be sure to include the address where people can mail a check. Their actual hard-earned money.
Be very sure to know who gives. Who has tons of retirement from the government. Even though you’d never enlist.
You’d run tight out the back door. All father this, mother that. But abandon those sheep, those little lambs in a heartbeat if it came down to it.
As it does in little ways all the time. Has. They’re just too positive to give you anything else but the benefit of the doubt. For now. Believe me. Speaking from plenty of experience.
So many have already left. But there’s no real motivation to look in when a whole gangload is still lining up to get in. Still following. A new one in the pew each week. Another one seeking answers. Or delusion. To distract from their work also.
I needed religion for awhile. It was absolutely a crutch. To keep me going for a long, long time. Until I was strong enough to look around and see all the devastation. Nothing but devastation.
But then it was time to grow up. To make a decision. A choice. To live life with a pacifier. Or to actually commit.
To make hard decisions. To let people down. To navigate not being understood. Not being accepted. Not even being tolerated.
To what end? What is the point? What is the plot?
Why not just self-medicate and self-hypnotize myself into oblivion like everyone else?
Let’s be clear: Jesus and God Loves us both equally. Exactly the same.
So I get no brownie points for raw-dogging anything. I get no accolades.
Especially if I think I am superior in any way. Especially if I think I am justified in condemning anyone.
I just talk my shit as a form of validation. Of acknowledging my experience. So I don’t go crazy with everyone else who refuses to admit… anything.
The only hope I have is to lean in.
They’ll never accept me if I try to play their game. I’m so far behind. Before I ever started. If you want to be a part of an established community, you basically gotta be born into that shit. Or choose it early-enough on that you’re considered an insider. Versus a poser. Versus a tag-along.
The only game I know at Life is broken families. Is religion. Is child sexual abuse. Which I think is more aptly referred to as child rape. Child violence. Child sexual violation. That’s all I know. And I don’t want to be a part of that club. Of that community. I’ve been fighting all my Life to get outta that shit. To not be associated with it. To move the fuck on.
But some things we can’t deny. No matter how hard we try. Other people see it all over our face. Before we even know they do.
I can’t be anything other than the fucked up kid I am. The abandoned kid I am. For daring to speak out. For not going along. For refusing to tow the line. To sweep everything under the rug. To pretend nothing is wrong. Especially in Jesus’ name.
Not popular. Loser. Failure. Because I fought what I thought was the good fight. Apparently all alone.
God did give me a verse the other day. 1 Samuel 30:22. “Then all the wicked and worthless men of those who went with David answered and said, ‘Because they did not go with us, we will not give them any of the spoil that we have recovered…’”
In other words, credit and even honor where credit and honor are due. Even to those that don’t finish the race with us. Even to those that gave up. Who were too tired or too fearful to finish the fight. Those who joined us on the journey. Those who even went with us a long, long way. We share the spoils with them. We consider them brethren. Still brothers and sisters in Christ.
Just like Jesus did when He led by example. Going back to cook fish tacos on the shore for those that in the worst ways denied Him in the hours He needed them most.
All are human. All are not God. The gift of anyone’s presence along the journey. For laughs when we can find them. For hugs when they are safe. For a warm meal. For a bed. For some air conditioning in this miserable Texas heat. For even a prayer. In spite of all our brokenness.
If it was their journey to take then they’d be with us. God would see to it. Nothing in heaven or on earth could resist.
What they don’t show you on the television or in the movies is that sometimes you get to the point in the journey where you are absolutely in the right place even if you are all alone. That I believe God even specifically made everyone fall away, hopefully just for a time, so that you could do this part alone. So you could meet yourself, your true self, on a road probably most-often filled with suffering. The kind that burns away dross. Versus destroying. Versus any kind of punishment. Although navigating maybe everyone thinking differently is probably a shared experience for almost anyone. Who dares down this path. Of truth. Of self-discovery. Of daring to peek to see if there is anything better out there than the washed-out, worn-down status quo.
The jury’s out ’til it’s not. The proof isn’t there until the pudding is finished being prepared. A whole bunch of dumb analogies and metaphors. You get the point.
But will you sit in that in-between discomfort? Do you even want to? What brings you happiness? Or are you comfortable-enough now?
Knowing what I have been through, I’m not sure the cost of enlightenment is worth losing everything else. I wouldn’t necessarily categorically recommend losing your religion. Being so full of yourself that you don’t know how to be around others anymore. I really would have a hard time saying that’s worth it. You might get freedom – but who will be there to share it with you?
Like winning the lottery, buying Disneyland, and then not having anyone to enjoy it with.
I’m too far gone. I’ve fucked up too much. I can’t go back and ingratiate myself by trying to play ignorant. I forgot how to mask. Even if I could, it would make me physically ill.
But you probably have a chance. You probably haven’t completely blown your cover yet. There’s probably still room for you to nod, say yes, and sing hallelujah without anyone getting suspicious. Without anyone calling you to prove your loyalty. Just fade into the background. I don’t recommend standing out.
Which I was never trying to do by the way. I was innocently completely clueless about how I was being received. I took things literally. When they said they loved me. When they said we were like family. When they said they cared. Especially about the truth.
I just kept going on and on and on and on and on and on. Trying to get them to see. Not realizing it was all just words at some point. That their silence was proof enough. To stop. To move on. To go grieve. And then decide what the hell to do next. If anything was worth that same effort ever again.
Me. I guess that’s the answer. If I still got bills to pay. If I still am going to stick around and be here. A house. A car. My health. Very practical things. With a little bit if romance to be sure: dreams of maybe not traveling the world anymore; but at least California one day. Seattle again. Germany? Even Belize?!
Not if we don’t get busy. Not if our only plan is waiting around for Jesus to bail us out financially. Or otherwise.
That’s why I can’t be that kind of Christian anymore. Obsessed with end times. The whole time. Before the end of my time. Completely missing the point. In my opinion.
I want to hear about Jesus more than demons. I want to hear about what you actually did today. Beyond just listening ad nauseum to conspiracy theories.
I get it. I used to live there. But then God told me: enough. I already know enough. And yes, it’s worse than I can imagine. But all well-above my pay grade.
So, go be a kid – God’s kid.
That’s blasphemy? Well, I guess to each his own. Again, not my mission in life to get everyone to see it my way.
I may be wrong. But hopefully I’ll have less regrets. I’d love a safe life, but in the absence of that possibility – then I’ll settle for one well-lived. One where I roll out like the last car in a demolition derby. At least satisfied that I left nothing on the table. That I tried.
God told me I know enough. And now: go LIVE! Love out loud. Even myself.
That’s all this is. I can’t even save myself. Much less anyone else. I wish you nothing but the best. But I have work to do. Real problems. Real Life. That’s what I am focused on now.
Live as long as you want in your head. In your mind. But I just don’t have the energy to join you there anymore. With whatever time we have left. My priorities have changed.
I want to be the kind of Christian who Lived a real Life offline. Who didn’t get sucked into the drama with nothing to show for it. Who was more action than talk. Even though I clearly enjoy crafting words together.
This here, my thoughts, is literally nothing. Is just processing. For historical context. Later. So I can look back with some perspective. To hopefully pass on any nuggets of hard-fought wisdom. To whoever has ears to hear.
It really is all good – whatever you choose to do. This is just me now. Nothing personal.
But committed to not being a constant victim of other people’s choices. If I want any chance at happiness. At enjoyment. Gotta own my place in the universe. Gotta actually do something with what I’ve been given. Instead of constantly waiting around for God, country, church, or anyone else to give to me what I can do for myself.
Not fun. But probably necessary. The devil you want? Or the devil you need?
Refine me, Lord. We pray. But do we really mean it? Count the cost, my friends. A promise.
And for my detractors: this is just poetry. Not proof of my mental health. This is creative writing. Not a scientific dissertation. It’s called expression. Not everything is literal. Or so serious. Can we not make art in forms other than what you are limited to? Relax. Fucking breathe. Then go be. Instead of reading so much. Into me.
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