I really miss knowing.
It’s so much easier when you’re sure.
Sure about God.
Sure about the resurrection.
Sure about heaven.
Sure about what is and isn’t sinful.
Sure about what the world needs.
Certainty was so great.
So comforting.
Yes, there were hardships.
When you’re sure of everything, you have to spend your whole life convincing others that you’re right and they’re wrong.1
That part is no fun.
And yes, certainty gave me a lifetime of shame and self-hate.
I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.
But certainty was safe.
It was comforting.
Despite the chaos of the world, being sure about God gave me comfort.
Also, I had people who loved and supported me. Because we agreed, they trusted me.
Losing certainty started slowly for me, but picked up considerably.
It started with one question, then another, then five more, then seventeen others.
I kept pulling the strings until I couldn't find any more strings.
We're lighting candles in church to remember those who died in mass catastrophes, whether natural disasters, shootings, or bombings. Why am I setting up these candles every damn week? I know God doesn't stop everything, but shouldn't he be stopping something?
My gay/trans/queer Christian friends are some of the strongest Christians that I know. Certainly stronger than me. And they're dying from suicides because we Christians recite 5 Bible verses at them. Have we been wrong the whole time? Are we the bad guys?
My entire belief structure, vocation, and personality, is centered on a dude coming back from the dead. I'm not sure if I buy it. But I have to tell people it's true every Sunday morning.
and on…
and on…
and on…
Questioning one thing often leads to questioning another.
And then another.
And another.
And when the certainty goes away, the pain starts.
Some of the friends who loved and supported you no longer do. You no longer believe as they do. The trust is gone.
Everything that made you feel grounded and gave you a sense of purpose no longer does.
It all hurts.
So badly.
It’s good, and it’s worth it,
But it hurts.
Worse, when the certainty goes away, the questions become more and more troubling.
Have I been wrong for the last 30+ years?
Was everything I learned in church wrong?
How toxic were the beliefs I held?
Did I cause harm to people?
Did I make the world a worse place because of how I expressed my faith?
If so, what became of the people that I convinced to become Christians like me?
Do they hurt as bad as I do now?
Did they hurt other people because of their faith? Their faith I gave to them?
Did they make the world a worse place?
I'm glad I pulled at the strings.
As I deconstructed/shifted/changed/fell apart, my closest and most trusted friends said I’d be happy I did so.
And I am.
But there’s a not-insignificant part of me that also wishes I hadn’t.
Because I miss knowing.
I asked AI to draw “Knowing.”
AI gave me this:
I’m disappointed in our robot overlords.
Christians call it “evangelism.” A lot of other people call it “being an a—hole.”
This is incredibly relatable. I'm so glad you have support. ❤️