Deconstruction as Rebirth

After writing my last post about deconstruction, I was talking to a friend about it and started thinking about the verses in John when Nicodemus comes to Jesus and Jesus tells him, “you must be born again.”

As an evangelical christian, I regularly claimed that I was “born again.” To me, that meant that, at some point in my life, I had felt the tug of God on my heart and I had confessed with my mouth and believed in my heart that Jesus Christ was Lord. From that point on, I had made it a priority to align myself with the teachings of the Bible and the evangelical church that had led me to that faith.

But now, thirty years later, I am annoyed that I can still read Jesus’ words and think that being “born again” could be so simple as saying a prayer.

I have 3 kids. I delivered two of them without medication of any kind. I felt every.single.moment of the labor pains. It seemed as though my body was trying to turn itself inside out. Giving birth – and being born! – is hard, it is exhausting, and it is definitely more complicated and painful than simply saying a prayer.

Let’s consider the metaphor, shall we?

Starting around 28 weeks of pregnancy, a mother’s body may begin having “Braxton-Hicks” contractions. There are not real contractions that will induce labor, but they are your body’s way of preparing for delivery. Your muscles are practicing and strengthening for labor. During a Braxton Hicks, there is pressure and tightness, but it’s fleeting and sometimes they are so subtle, you barely even notice them. Sort of like those first niggling thoughts of doubt or questioning. Maybe a friend makes a comment about God not existing, or you hear your pastor preach about sin again, or you read something in the Bible that makes you cringe and you wonder if it’s really true. But, the thought doesn’t linger and you go on with life as usual.

The Braxton-Hicks get stronger and more frequent as the baby approaches its due date. The pressure can become so intense that the mother wonders if its the real thing. She may even call her OB to ask if she needs to go in. To the christian, doubts and questions become more frequent and they get harder to ignore. Maybe they begin to affect your life – you stop praying or reading your bible, you don’t go to church as often, you skip bible study.  Or, in your efforts to shut them out, you step things up and immerse yourself even more into your faith, believing that you can overcome the doubts through sheer willpower. You may feel worried or afraid that this is a spiritual attack – that Satan is trying to steer you away from Christ.

But, again, the Braxton-Hicks go away, there is a pause. You read a book about the historical Jesus or listen to worship music or pray with friends. You search out bible verses and listen to sermons and focus your mind as much as you can on the reality and truth of your faith. You begin to believe that you will overcome this doubt, just like Thomas and Peter did. But, in the back of your mind, you know that something bigger is happening… something that you don’t want to face, just yet. You’re not ready.

And, then, the contractions hit.

You can no longer ignore that something is wrong with your faith. The doubting becomes painful and your family and friends start to wonder what’s going on with you. Maybe you’re angry or sad or confused or bitter. And it’s beginning to show. This is the real deal. You find yourself responding differently, angrily, apathetically, to social media posts, to scripture, to comments that people are praying for you. Suddenly the doubts seem more real than what you’ve been believing for years. 
The pressure to conform gets more intense and you start to get scared – if you walk away from your faith, you might lose your family, your friends, your community, your income, your reputation. The contractions are fierce, you cannot escape them, you cannot ignore them, the doubts and questions and fears become all-consuming, always there in the forefront of your mind. 

And there comes a moment when you can’t do it anymore, you get pushed over the edge: forced out by circumstances, pulled out by God, or maybe even just a final nudge that kicks you out of your former comfort zone down the path and into “the wilderness.”

At this point, when the baby drops into the birth canal, there is a strange lightness that comes. Everything shifts. The mother can BREATHE. There is also sometimes a weird pause in the labor. Some women can be at this stage for a while. The mom is able to talk again, although she is still intensely focused on the baby. There is a pressure in the birth canal, but a stillness too. The baby is quiet, waiting for delivery, waiting for another contraction to bring forth its new life.

For those deconstructing, I think this birth-canal time is where many people just slide into atheism. After the painful labor of facing your fears and doubts head-on, there is an indescribable FREEDOM, a lightness and ease that wasn’t there before. You still feel the pressure of your choices, but the freedom is soul-satisfying. It’s hard to imagine ever wanting to go back to being contained, to being under the thumb of some god or religion. Many take the freedom as the gift and run. That delectable taste of liberty is what they will get in this life, and that’s great! Then, there are those of us who continue hanging out in the birth canal. We still feel tethered, somehow. We are curious. We wonder about the mysterious, weightless presence that surrounds us. We sense that there is still something more. 

But it is lonely here. And scary. And weird. It’s an in-between place, neither here nor there. We don’t fit in with the atheists or the believers. We’re sort of agnostic, but not. We’re just sitting in the dark, waiting for this encompassing entity to reveal itself to us. We may try to get ourselves out into the light – we read books, listen to podcasts, seek out others who are going through this, go to counseling, pray. We are trying to push ourselves out but it won’t work. We have to wait for the Divine Mystery to make its move. We must be born again by the spirit. 

There are times when the contractions or Braxton-Hicks are not strong enough to encourage the baby to leave the womb. After the 40-42 weeks of gestation are up, the conditions inside the womb deteriorate and it’s no longer safe for the baby to be there anymore. If you are suffering in silence with your doubts and shoving them under the rug, trying to pretend like they don’t exist, your soul is dying. The faith you have or had, is no longer nourishing you anymore. Now, don’t get me wrong, labor pains SUCK and for some, may have far greater consequences than one can even imagine (Jen Hatmaker and Rob Bell are high-profile examples of this). But birth is, at its core, separation – a leaving behind of the safe entity that sustained you and gave you life. This separation is necessary in order for you to have a human experience of this amazing, beautiful, sad, heart-breaking world. For a baby, birth is a total upheaval of its little sanctuary. They even have to learn to breathe in a new and different way! And, yet, birth also represents the beginning of hope, new experiences, and the capacity to give and receive love. A baby represents all the possibility and perfection of new creation, albeit initially covered with the residue of its previous existence. 

Right now, I feel like I’m In the birth canal. I have not walked away, waving my freedom like a victory flag, though sometimes I want to. The temptation to leave faith behind, in its entirety, is strong, but I am curious about this mysterious force that I cannot deny. I want to hang out a little longer and see if there is something more to be had; if there will be another contraction that will move me one step closer to the light, the love, the deeper understanding of what this life is all about. 

So, if you are in a challenging time in your faith, you can know that wherever you are on this journey, I’m here, too. It’s hard and strange and dark, but there is a peace to be found in this stillness, and there is rest for your soul. You are not alone. This is a safe place for all our questions and doubts and fears as we reconsider beliefs that we’ve held onto for decades. Like a hand reaching for yours in the night; like a voice that whispers, “it’s ok;” this is me, sitting with you, waiting and hoping, suspended in the unknowing.