
What if deconstruction isn’t what you think it is? What if it’s more personal and nuanced than the sweeping, categorical positions often applied to it? What if, on the other side of that table is not a collective of people bent on resistance or rebellion, but individuals who have the courage to ask if what is is what God really wants?
When I found myself in what I know as “deconstruction” I also found myself in an arena with people who had been widely dismissed by the American church. It was voiced by some Christian ministry leaders that deconstruction leads to apostasy or atheism, or that it was actually the evidence that an individual just wanted to follow their own sinful desires and live without accountability.
The reality is that it’s not that simple because people are not that simple.
Deconstruction is not something people choose for themselves. It is different for every individual, even for the husband and wife who are lovingly attached. Additionally, the outcome of the process is wholly unknown. That, for people who rely on the security of believing what those around them believe, is terrifying. I think this is also part of why deconstruction has been so widely denounced and rejected in Christian circles.
My aim here is not really to define deconstruction, but to hopefully provide some measure of understanding that would help us, as followers of Jesus, better love people who have found themselves in the painful place of deconstruction. Because almost without exception, it is painful.
The Good
I’ve never heard a motivational speech where going with the flow, doing what everyone else does, and “being a sheep” is promoted. As a western culture we celebrate selfless resistors, innovative thinkers and courageous pioneers who refuse to accept the way things have always been.
I know more than a few men who to this day are still emotionally moved by Theodoore Roosevelt’s Man in the Arena speech. It embodies a whole-hearted life—every part of you being thrown into your conviction:
…the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming…
Knowing all of this, is it not interesting how deconstruction is predominantly viewed in the Western church? Is it not a little strange that we honor the courageous, the daring, those with “great faith in the unknown” yet quickly dismiss or even berate those who demonstrate this type of courage in what we might say matters the most—their faith?
To feel something that you do not see others feeling and to express that feeling and curiosity takes immense courage. To observe a way of doing things and question the validity or even the essence of it is a fast track to being dismissed and rejected, not to being heard and valued.
Deconstructing doesn’t mean you’re right about what you feel or think, but it does mean that you’re paying attention to what’s going on within you, and you have the courage to live authentically, often at great personal cost.
People don’t deconstruct because they stopped caring. They deconstruct because they care so deeply that they need to do or say something different. In a world where riding the current of community is enough for the majority, the deconstructors believe there is more. Or in some cases, perhaps less.
I actually believe it’s safe to say that people in deconstruction want something that is purer than what they have or are currently experiencing; something far less questionable, superfluous, or even tainted. They (we) want something we can put our whole selves into.
The Bad
In 2019 a close friend, Zac, challenged some of my very charismatic Christian beliefs. I deeply disagreed with him and we shared an hours-long exchange. He presented many “what if (it’s not the way you think it is)” positions, along with things he used to believe but simply didn’t anymore.
I was so fixated on what I believed was right that I didn’t actually hear his questions and certainly didn’t consider his positions. In the end, I left him unseen, unheard, and misunderstood. He was gracious but I know it had to hurt him.
It wasn’t until the last year that I found myself asking questions he was asking back then that I realized what I had done to him. I brought that discussion back up and told him how sorry I was for how I handled it and how grateful I was that he was kind towards me in my arrogance.
This is the bad part. It’s not that people are questioning what they believe, struggling to find footing, and exploring different points of view. It’s that we have more interest in being right than we do in being a loving presence where they can safely process without the risk of losing relationship and community.
There is transformation and healing in being loved that does not exist in knowing what’s right or wrong.
Right now there are anti-Jesus communities embracing Christians who are deconstructing, and they’re flocking to them. Why? Because they are safe places to be heard, to be seen, to be understood, and allowed to process.
It’s not even that people agree with them; it’s that they care enough about the person to offer a safe place to be without judgment.
That is not the current state of the Western church. It’s just not. Church communities are built on doctrinal agreement or charismatic vision, not loving attachment and relationship. Some reading this now will not find a problem in that statement, and honestly, I understand that.
I might just throw out there that love is the thing Jesus said would cause the world to know we are his; specifically how we love each other. And it was the elevation of doctrinal agreement that actually prevented the Sanhedrin from recognizing Jesus at all… those who ended up following him had to abandon much of their doctrinal beliefs.
At this point you might be asking “What about people leaving the faith? Isn’t that the bad / worst part?”
The thought of anyone leaving the Christian faith is heartbreaking to me… but to know that for many, the reason came down to communities where they weren’t loved well, weren’t allowed to process, weren’t valued as a brother or sister… it’s hard for me to not think that’s worse.
If a brother or sister looks at their life within Christian community and decides they did not see the evidence and goodness of God enough to believe in him, I consider that to be an indictment on us.
If the very people entrusted with revealing the good heart of a loving God are the ones so poor at loving that they drive people away from God… I’m not sure what else to say.
The Beautiful
The beauty comes in the response. In our response.
How do we treat those who find themselves in a place of deconstruction? People who have been hurt, who have seen things in the church they never should have seen? How do we give value to the person who is reeling from feeling worthless in community? How do we provide space and time for people to say what’s really on their heart; what they’ve been far too scared to say for fear of being dismissed, accused, or wholly rejected?
You see, we have the chance to be a people who love in beautiful ways.
But to do that, we also have to be willing to let go of the structures, systems, and hierarchies that are actively hurting people. We have to be willing to examine ourselves and our approach to leadership and community, gathering the courage to say, “maybe there’s a better way,” “we’re off course” or even “we need to start over.”
We need to face the fact that some things that we call “good” are also causing great damage in the larger picture. Some things are actively driving people away from Jesus.
The beauty is in the opportunity.
A community that embraces difficult questions and the tension of lives lived with limited knowledge is forced to embrace relationship above knowledge—even above being right. It demands humility.
It requires mutual submission and equality, not demanded submission and hierarchy.
To affirm the heart of someone you disagree with without having to prove them wrong creates safety, and it actually brings healing. Everyone is afraid that they are all alone. Alone in their struggle, alone in their weakness, and uniquely alone in their particular flavor of messed-up.
To be a witness to someone’s story, acknowledging the real pain of their struggle and experiences, to validate their desires for good, and the reality of their loss, is to be Christian. This is the story of the incarnate God, Immanuel, God with us.
Because we are all broken. We are all weak. We all struggle and do the best we can with what little we have.
Jesus did not invalidate pain. He wept with Martha at the loss of Lazarus. He went into the pain of the woman at the well and gave her belonging. He was gentle with doubts and misunderstanding.
This is the great hope I see in the context of deconstruction, and it’s why I want to know and love those who are struggling with what they believe about the church, Christianity, Jesus and the Bible.
These are precious people—brothers and sisters—who care enough to ask questions. Instead of shaming them for their experiences and curiosities, we get to become the people who offer loving relationship that is safe to process and heal. We get to be the people who reveal the love and good heart of God when it matters the most.
And that is beautiful.
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"The more often you feel without acting, the less you will be able ever to act, and, in the long run, the less you will be able to feel."