Coronavirus and End Times Doctrine

Forgive me, Bloggerati for I have sinned. It has been ages since my last blog post. Its been for good reason though, as I’ve just launched “Unchurchable, the podcast.” This has been a dream of mine since around the time I started this blog, but writing was my passion and my comfort zone. However, the project is live and the first cab off the rank was the topic of the End Times Movement. 

If you happened to catch the pod but missed the end times stuff in Evangelicalism, then here’s the scoop: the End Times Movement is a doctrine within Christianity that focuses on the book of Revelation as an apocalyptic prophesy. It covers things like the Rapture, the Great Tribulation, the Four Horses of the Apocalypse the the Second Coming of Christ.

Its heavy stuff; so heavy in fact, that following the screening of a rapture movie at my kids church when I was about 8 or 9, I plunged headlong into a life of avoiding the book of Revelation and always wearing clean underwear lest the rapture hit and leave my laundry-day specials in a pile on the ground with the rest of my clothes.

With Covid-19/Coronavirus swirling its way around the globe, there seems to have been a predictable peak in End Times anxiety and that’s certainly not something I take lightly. In my own life, I’ve had to confront some of the fear that certain doctrines had left me with. It is my belief, a scriptural belief, that love casts out fear. That fear shouldn’t be the thing a faith is built upon.

So! Back to coronavirus/end times anxiety. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to dust off my writers hat and do some meaty, doctrinal stuff and if I can, I’d love to help put some end times anxiety to rest. So without further ado, there are a few key things that make up the end times doctrine, and when combined, we can see why they indicate that Coronavirus does not signal the end of the world.

1. The Book of Revelation as Apocalyptic Prophecy: The whole end times doctrine and movement hinges on the book of Revelation being written by the John the Apostle as a prophecy of the apocalypse. This also assumes Biblical literalism – ie. that every word written in the Bible is directly inspired by God and thus infallible. Now, there are some plot holes here, namely:

• Biblical literalism is only one way to read the Bible. Some people believe that the original Greek and Hebrew text was directly inspired by God, but that subsequent translations of the Bible have cost us some of that infallibility or even slipped other meanings into or out of the text. There are still others that read the Bible as prose – poetry and storytelling imbued with divine meaning but perhaps not historically accurate in a literal sense. I used to be a hardcore literalist, albeit one who was a bit uncomfortable with the book of Leviticus. These days I probably sit in the second group that believes we have lost meaning and context in thousands of years of rewrites. I also wonder whether gentile assumption of the Torah sits a little further towards cultural appropriation than a key tenet of Christian faith, but that’s another story for another day.

• The authorship of the book of Revelation by the apostle John has been questioned by Biblical scholars. One school of thought is that yes, it was the Apostle John. Another is that it was another guy by the same name. I haven’t waded too far into the evidence, but so far I’m sitting on the side that it probably was the John. But if you are bored during Coronavirus lockdown, you are certainly welcome to dive down that rabbit hole!

• There is yet another school of thought that the Book of Revelation may be apocalyptic fiction, or even commentary on times past (i.e. Israels poor treatment under the hand of the Roman Empire).

• I remember having a conversation with a friend of mine who is of Jewish heritage, and while he was strong in his belief that the Book of Revelation was prophetic and will come to pass, he also remarked that the Jewish understanding of time is slightly different to the gentile understanding of it. In his words, he explained time as like a double helix laid on its side. Instead of being a linear thing, it cycled coiled around bringing certain aspects of prophecy into existence but not all of them as yet. But, he said “In the final days there will be a complete fulfilment of all things.” It was certainly an interesting explanation to this little gentile who understands time as linear. Oh the philosophical arguments we could get into here.

The case in point is that, before you panic over coronavirus being an end times “wipe out 50-75% of the population” event, you really have to consider what the book of Revelation is. On one hand, it could be the infallible word of God delivered to the Apostle John to describe the end of the world. On the other hand, it could be apocalyptic fiction written by a disgruntled guy named John, talking about his beef with the Roman Empire. It could also be anywhere between.

And I’m not going to choose your answer for you. Have fun with that.

Every generation since John, whoever he was, has believed their generation was the last. And we have survived little apocalypses before. This is the second thing to note. I have fond memories of listening to the music of Keith Green, growing up. He was a 1970’s Christian music legend who was sadly taken before his time (in a plane crash that also claimed the lives of two of his kids). His music is littered with references to Jesus coming back again. There seemed to be this fever pitch around that time that society had gotten as bad as it could get and Jesus would have to come again soon.

But a similar thought was evidenced in writings much much earlier. The scripture says that no one can know the day or the hour that Jesus will return for his people. So quite simply, we can’t afford to panic every time there is an event that freaks us out. They have been happening for millennia. The very word “apocalypse” can mean a world ending event like the one described in Revelation, or it can mean “an event describing damage or destruction on a catastrophic scale.”

If we ascribe the latter meaning to the word, then even in my lifetime, there have been apocalyptic events: the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the Rwandan Genocide, climate change, the Covid19 outbreak to name a few. The world is different after such events. We are reborn in a way. Perhaps, this is a little apocalypse, but it isn’t going to mean the end of the world. It is simply going to mean the beginning of a new one. Perhaps that is what the book of Revelation was eluding to.

The Rapture is a key part of the End Times Movement: The Rapture, or the moment when believers (in Jesus) are snatched away to meet Jesus in the air, is described in Thessalonians by the Apostle Paul, and eluded to in Revelation. Most evangelicals subscribe to the Pretribulationist view that all the Christians will disappear from the earth, suddenly and mysteriously, before the Great Tribulation occurs. This will then be followed by a seven year tribulation and then a thousand year Messianic Kingdom. Don’t freak out and think the Handmaids Tale is coming though. I’ll explain more on why later.

If you are a Christian, and you haven’t been raptured or borne witness to the sudden disappearance of most of your friends, then Covid19 isn’t likely to be the Great Tribulation. I would advise though, probably don’t go reading the “Left Behind” series right now. It might not be good for your anxiety. I do have to concede that there are two other schools of thought about the Rapture. Midtribulationists believe that the rapture will occur half way through the big Trib but before the worst of it, and Posttribulationists believe we will all disappear into the sky after it in an event that will coincide with the second coming of Christ. By and large, though, the most popular school of thought at the moment is pretribulationism.

Next up are the Four Horses of the Apocalypse. Revelation chapter 6 describes these four doomy-horses and their riders. The white rider is thought to symbolise pestilence. The red horse is thought to symbolise war. The black horse is thought to symbolise famine and the pale horse to symbolise death. Now, that’s pretty fearsome stuff. It has predictably caused many a Christian to look upon world events with a certain apocalyptic interpretation. And its hard not to. However, again we need to hark back to the arguments made above this point: we don’t know if Revelation is commentary or prophecy, and we haven’t been raptured yet anyway. So either way, there is no reason to panic over coronavirus. I mean apart from observing the obvious hand washing and social isolation procedures, obviously.

Arguably the most popular school of thought today is that The Great Tribulation is supposed to occur after the rapture if the book of Revelation is prophecy. Tribulation is mentioned by Jesus in Luke and by John in Revelation, but has been expounded upon by many end times theorists to include some pretty hectic, doomy conclusions. They include massive death tolls (up to three in four people, depending on who you are reading) and are tied up with those four fearsome horses mentioned above.

But here’s the scoop: there are actually four views of the Great Tribulation. Only one of them holds that the Great Tribulation will occur in the future. The four views are:

1. Futurist – whereby the Great Tribulation is a relatively short, seven year period of trials and testings for Christians.

2. Preterism – whereby the Tribulation actually refers to the past event where Roman legions destroyed Jerusalem and especially the temple. It affected the Jewish people and not all mankind. It is thought to have occurred in AD 70, and to be the reason why Jesus mentioned in Matthew 24:34 that “this generation shall not pass away.”

3. Historicism – which holds that the Tribulation refers to a time of persecution of believers that may have begun when Papal Rome was in power (from the year 538 to the year 1798). Other thinkers in the Historicism camp see prophecy fulfilled down through the centuries rather than in one hit. Some see it beginning with the destruction of the temple and continuing through to the Holocaust.

4. Idealism – which holds that the Great Tribulation actually refers to Satans fall from Heaven and will conclude when Christ defeats Satan at the second coming.

The Kit K Conclusion: Apocalyptic writings are scary. I have avoided them all my life. But having sat down and spent a bit of time in it of late, I’ve found my fears have dissipated rather than intensified. At this point in time, I believe that, even if the Book of Revelation isn’t fiction or commentary on things past, COVID 19 isn’t the Tribulation. It is a catastrophic event in the checkered history of mankind, no doubt. It is a low point. It is a time when humanity feels locked in and caged and that isn’t good for our collective mental health. But this too shall pass.

People who use this moment as a trumpet call to get people into their churches or tithes into their coffers (I’m looking at you, Kenneth Copeland) should be ignored or called out for putting the physical, mental and financial health of their people at risk.

But perhaps the most poignant truth during Covid involves where we put our attention. If you tune into something and expect it, it increases the likelihood that you will experience it. It’s true for when you are thinking of buying a car and suddenly start seeing it everywhere. It’s true for when you are trying to have a baby, and all you see is expectant mothers. I believe it is also true for things like hardship, persecution and warning signs of the apocalypse. If you tune into it, you will see it. It might have always been there. It may just be life. It may just be that you are noticing what has always been, but it is taking on different meaning for you in the moment. It doesn’t mean there are more signs. It just means we are drawn to the ones that have always been there.

I’m not saying that to be judgemental or to say they’re all in your head. Please hear me right: I’m not. All I’m saying is that when people constantly point to signs that the end is near or that the sky is falling, there can be confirmation bias that tunes us further and further into our own anxieties. Sadly, some of these anxieties have been programmed into us by traumatic doctrines.

The scripture tells us to set our minds on things that are pure, and kind, and good. Perhaps the great key to whether or not a world event is the Great Tribulation is in fact our view of life and God, and the way we experience the event. I see this scripture as a heavenly hint towards intentionally building healthy confirmation bias.

I.e. If we believe we are being persecuted, we will see persecution. If we believe we are being caged and taunted, we will experience the lockdown as a moment of being caged, and we will be taunted by our own minds and the dark possibilities they entertain. If we see ourselves as blessed, our future as bright, and the dawning of a new time after Covid19 when we all get out of our houses and enjoy eachothers company again, then that is what will happen. Our perception matters, because it is either a journey into peace or turmoil; a journey into the Great Tribulation or out of it.

Either way, now is not a time to fear. Fear creates stress which is bad for your immune system. Now is a time to use this lock in to learn a new skill, connect with an old friend, and make peace with the things you have avoided for so long.

I personally don’t believe the rapture is going to be a mass event. I believe it is a singular event that happens to each individual at the end of their time on earth – with all its joys and trials and tribulations – when we pass from this life and are caught up into eternity.

My friend Shari Smith has written a kick arse piece on looking after your mental health during this time. I’d encourage you to go read that, and to tune into the podcast if you missed it.

Until next time, look after yourself, be informed, and let good information bring peace and drown out the bad information that only increases fear. Also, go subscribe to the podcast! Now on iTunes and Spotify.

Love and peace

Kit K

What Happens When God Doesn’t Answer Our Prayers

Late last night, a friend send me a text message. “Have you seen, #wakeupolive on instagram?” it read. I jumped on over and saw every mothers nightmare. A beautiful little girl name Olive, 2 years old, full of life, had suddenly stopped breathing and died. She was taken to hospital and declared dead on arrival. She was not on life support. Olive was gone. My heart sunk to my shoes. I wanted to wake my sweet 2 year old girl and cuddle her forever. Because no parent should lose a child. But little Olive’s case was different. Her mother is a worship leader at Bethel and the last five days have been filled with worship sessions, worldwide prayer and fervent beseechings for God to raise this little girl to life.Now read me right, I’d be thrilled if the best were to happen. I’d pull a Tom Cruise and jump  up and down on the couch with my kids. 

But we are heading into day six now and so this story will have a lot of people asking “What if she doesn’t get raised from the dead?” Well that, my friend, is a very good question.

I want to start by saying I believe in miracles, in that I have been the very reluctant recipient of two of them. (I.e. It wasn’t mind over matter because I was sure that I was not going to be healed from these conditions. I’d even been in big arguments about it. There were witnesses to that.) Long story…

But miracle healings do happen. In the science world, they are called spontaneous remissions. There are thousands of documented instances of sudden and inexplicable recoveries in both Christian and secular settings. When you look at people like Dr Joe Dispenza, Dr Gregg Braden and even illusionist Derren Brown,  you actually do get some pretty fascinating explanations for how these healings might take place. I’mma blog more on that another day because it’s complicated. But for the sake of today I want to say this:

I believe that God, or whatever you choose to call the force that animates the universe, can use various mechanisms to heal us. Science and metaphysical philosophers of various streams may be able to explain some aspects of it. Great. I’m not offended by that. I believe that God can do whatever He wants to do. I also believe know it can be profoundly disappointing when it doesn’t pan out the way we’d have liked.

Real talk: God has been profoundly disappointing to me at times. I remember sobbing in the shower after my fourth miscarriage and telling God some things I really hated and was furious about. Then I hated myself for hating God. And then I realised God has big shoulders. He can handle my anger and my questions.

When these questions become deep questioning, that can be called deconstruction. It’s the moment we start to grapple with whether or not our faith and worldview holds up to scrutiny. The issue with deconstruction is not whether God can handle it. Its whether we can. When I look at the Bethel movement, I can see some pretty big red flags. One is the doctrine that complete healing is guaranteed as part of atonement at the point of salvation.

Bill Johnson believes and teaches that [1]:

God never causes sickness.
God always chooses to heal.
Paul’s thorn in the flesh was definitely not a physical ailment.
If you do not believe in healing on demand, you are preaching another gospel

Johnson has said “I refuse to create a theology that allows for sickness.”

Well! Bill isn’t God. He doesn’t get to decide that, but…

The first point I don’t have an issue with per se. Although, as we age, the body is subject to entropy and atrophy. That, to me, seems to be just part of life after Eden.

The second is rubbish. God doesn’t always choose to heal. Jacob walked with a limp. God didn’t choose to heal him. The argument that Paul’s thorn in the flesh was “definitely not a physical ailment” is laughable. There is no way we can tell. I know plenty of people of great faith, who walked closely with God, who were constantly bringing their sin and failures before him who did not receive their miracles. I wouldn’t dare question their salvation. I wouldn’t dare question anyone listed in Hebrews 11 who didn’t receive their healing or the thing they were praying for.

The moment we create a theology that portrays God as a genie in a bottle who grants our healing wishes, we deny the sovereignty of God. If we believe that God is God, we have to believe He is sovereign over the timing of healing (i.e. here or eternity). We have to believe the choice is ultimately His. If not, we are demoting Him to genie, and promoting ourselves to deity.

And hey – the scripture tells us that if we share in his sufferings, we share in his glory. Why would that be dropped into scripture if salvation meant life would be a painless walk in the park?

The idea that healing is guaranteed on demand is a bad doctrine that has the potential to knock someone right out of the church door if tragedy strikes. It’s bad theology. And bad theology is dangerous.

I used to come at faith from a position of, I don’t know, superiority maybe? I had some bad theology of my own. Now, having lost the blessed naivety of my youth, I know that Christianity isn’t a magic wand, a silver spoon or a genie in a bottle. It is a comfort and a guide. It is a set of ethics and morals. It is a way of seeing the world. It’s a reverence and a reference point, and so much more.

I believe it should constantly be something I wrestle with and think about in terms of how best to live it out. But it doesn’t change the amount of struggles I will face in my life (spoiler: there have been a few!). 

I doesn’t change the amount of struggles anyone faces. The Bible never said it would. It said though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will *fear* no evil for you are with me. It said thy rod and staff comfort me. It said all things would work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. But that never meant we would be immune to pain.

Hey. I’ve got unanswered prayers. I have significant health challenges. I don’t for one minute blame God, and I don’t for one minute blame myself. Those challenges mean I can sit with people who have invisible illnesses, support them and understand them. I grieve my angel babies. But I’ve been able to hold the hands of people walking the road of infertility. Sharing those deeply personal struggles is an honour I don’t take lightly. I might not be healed, but I am bloody resilient. I thank God for that gift.

(I’m not suggesting that poor Olive’s mum looks for any such silver lining right now. I am hurting for that woman! Let’s make that clear.)

The case of young Olive is a tragedy. I hope it doesn’t become a dual tragedy that causes her mother to lose faith, or causes other people to ask God why He didn’t be a good genie and bring her back when we demanded it. If it did, I wouldn’t blame the parents. I wouldn’t blame the people who are praying for these precious souls because of the compassion and empathy and faith they have right now. Thank God for them!

I’d blame the people who trot out bad theology and raise expectations above the Biblical bar.

God isn’t our genie. He is our father in heaven. He is the author and finisher of our faith. He is sovereign. He is not able to be fully understood and I cringe at even using male pronouns for him right now. God is too big for our petty labels. God is too big to push around.

And hey side note: I read this fabulous quote on instagram (I’m looking at you, Jess Hugenberg): Types of witchcraft: 1) incantation: magic spells, a series of words or phrases believed to be uttered to achieve a desired result. 2) Divination: seeking knowledge by supernatural means, such as necromancy, which is summoning spirits or raising the dead.

Proclaiming “resurrection power” with poor understanding is heresy. Resurrection power is NOT the power to raise anyone from the dead. Resurrection power is the power that fuelled and accompanied Jesus’ resurrection which defeated sin and death. That doesn’t mean we will never die but that our souls will have eternal life in Jesus.

Look, I don’t know about you, but I like to stand well clear of the line that tells God what to do. The rationale above is pretty good reasoning as to why. My witch friend (yes! She’s fab) has shown me there is far more to witchcraft that what I wrote above. Her practice is quite different. But I’ve put that quote up there for thought provocation. We need to be careful which lines we cross. In my mind here, Bethel is crossing some dangerous lines.

If God didn’t answer your prayer, 
If he didn’t heal your child, or your sibling, your friend or partner, if He didn’t grant your wish on demand, that doesn’t mean God doesn’t exist. Look for him in comfort you receive. In the medical treatment you can access. In the faces of the friends who support you, and hopefully even in the blogs that try and help you to grapple with the questions that fall out of that disappointment.

But when we subscribe to the genie in a bottle doctrine of complete and guaranteed healing as part of atonement, then we not only question God but our very salvation. There is no biblical case for us to think we get to demand God heal us and have him scramble to snap his cosmic fingers.

Now, for my atheist readers, Hi! Good to have you along. I’m sure there are a million thoughts you have here, including the power of the mind and the placebo effect in healings. I’ll get to that another day! But for everyone else who believes there is something out there, for those of us who believe that something out there is called God, hang tight.

Unattained healing, ungranted wishes, unrequited desires – these are not evidence of an absent God. I like what a friend of mine says “Lack of evidence is not evidence of lack.” She was saying it about the world of research, indicating that there is much yet to be discovered in terms of the power of the body, the mind and the forces that animate and impact upon it.

I think it applies to God, too. I look at world history, at world religions, at the different denominations that exist around the world and I know that we are all striving to find meaning on this planet and to try to understand and explain the uncontainable Divine.

If God hasn’t answered your prayer. I’m sorry. I hope in time, He does. But if tragedy has struck, I hope that you can find comfort in the knowledge of a loving God who will carry you through the aftermath. When we subject ourselves to bad theology that treats God like a genie and denigrates His sovereignty, we can’t find comfort in God when we go through hard times. We can only be angry that our genie didn’t perform, or we can think that somehow we weren’t good enough.

Don’t do that. Life is hard enough. My heart is with the Bethel Church and the Heiligenthal family. I’m praying for them right now in this horrendous time of grief. I’m also grieved that this has played out in such a public and desperate fashion. Gosh. Imagine.

That’s all I got. I’m going to go hug my daughter real tight.

Over and out

Internalised Victim Blaming

One day last week, my husband got home and asked me how my day was. Ordinarily, it’s an innocuous question. This day, it was loaded. We had just posted something big on the blog. Something I had been carrying around for years, and he for decades: his story of surviving gay conversion therapy (what others might call ‘sexual orientation change efforts’ or the ‘LGBTQA+ conversion movement), which of course involved him coming out as bisexual. That kind of thing can make you feel a little vulnerable. Brene Brown tells me that vulnerability is courage though, so I was mentally feeling like a badass, while emotionally feeling a little…meh.



I rambled, as I tend to do when I’m feeling overwhelmed. As I rambled, I explained my fears that people would make it about them when it wasn’t, or that it would be seen as an attack on churches when it isn’t…that it was, in fact, a call for churches in general to wake up to damage that may be invisible to them and to become safe places for LGBTQA+ people. But I was scared that it would be taken the wrong way, and I was pre-empting the responses. 

Then my husband said something that made me sit up and listen.

He said, “Babe, that sounds like internalised victim blaming.” 

Yowza. He didn’t tell me what to do about it. He just let me sit with it. And sit with it I have.

I wanted to take a moment on this blog to pass on that little lightbulb moment. Victim blaming happens. We see it all over the news in all sorts of horrendous situations. It happens when people try to cover up institutional abuse. It happens when judges take the side of a neat, tidy, middle class perp and offer un-earned leniency or when people say the victim was asking for it. It happens in all sorts of places. It’s wrong on all counts.

But it also happens inside us. We blame ourselves. When someone has been the victim of any type of abuse, be it psychological, spiritual, physical, or sexual, it might be hard to realise that we are internalising the victim blaming – that we are blaming ourselves for things others might say or think, or pre-empting how they’ll react. 

I’m inviting you to notice it. In particular, I’m inviting survivors of religious abuse to take a moment to do so. Because noticing matters. It can be so healing.

Over the year that I’ve been writing this blog, it has gathered together a unique readership: we come from all over the world. We are mostly Millennials and Gen X’ers. We have been raised in and around churches, but have found ourselves at odds with doctrines or power structures that we weren’t allowed to question, or that crushed our spirits. Many of us are spiritually curious. We are Christians in and out of church, many of us are agnostics who have been burned by church, or atheists who have walked away from their childhood faith. So many of us are closet progressives who are wondering if we can be called “Christian” and still sit to the left of Judo-Christian conservatism.

I like you. You are my people. I blog for you. And me, but I’m one of you so there’s that.

A lot of us, sadly, have left groups that were toxic to us. I have a feeling a lot of us have suffered some type of religious abuse. So here are some things you need to know [1]:

• Religious abuse is real. It can involve psychological manipulation or various types of harm inflicted on a person through the teachings of their religion.

• It is often perpetrated by people in positions of power within the religion, but I’d argue that it can include lateral violence (whereby the abuse becomes part of the culture of a group or religion and is then inflicted by peers as well).

• Wikipedia, the font of all wisdom as we know, says “It is most often directed at children and emotionally vulnerable adults, and motivations behind such abuse vary, but can be either well-intentioned or malicious.”

• It’s confusing as heck, because sometimes it is well-intentioned and is interwoven with empowering moments or talk of a benevolent, loving God. A lot of us have heard church referred to as a “Family.” That can be so promising but so traumatic at the same time. All of this amounts to what can be well-intentioned and damaging at the same time.

• Regardless of the intent, the effects are real. Long term damage may include “the victim developing phobias or long-term depression. They may have a sense of shame that persists even after they leave the religion. A person can also be manipulated into avoiding a beneficial action (such as a medical treatment) or to engage in a harmful behavior.” Depression, anxiety, PTSD and dissociative disorders are among the other mental health issues that may arise from religious abuse. So it is serious. It shouldn’t be fobbed off.

• It’s not that uncommon. You might be surprised how many people relate to it. A recent study took a sample from a College campus in the States and found 12.5% of participants had experienced religious abuse.

An expert in the topic, Ronald Enroth, wrote a book called “Churches that abuse”. In it, he proposed 5 categories of abuse (Thanks wiki *again.* for the summary [1].)

1. “Authority and Power: abuse arises when leaders of a group arrogate to themselves power and authority that lacks the dynamics of open accountability and the capacity to question or challenge decisions made by leaders. The shift entails moving from general respect for an office bearer to one where members loyally submit without any right to dissent.

2. Manipulation and Control: abusive groups are characterized by social dynamics where fear, guilt or threats are routinely used to produce unquestioning obedience, group conformity or stringent tests of loyalty. The leader-disciple relationship may become one in which the leader’s decisions control and usurp the disciple’s right or capacity to make choices.

3. Elitism and Persecution: abusive groups depict themselves as unique and have a strong organizational tendency to be separate from other bodies and institutions. The social dynamism of the group involves being independent or separate, with diminishing possibilities for internal correction or reflection, whilst outside criticism.

4. Life-style and Experience: abusive groups foster rigidity in behavior and belief that requires conformity to the group’s ideals.

5. Dissent and Discipline: abusive groups tend to suppress any kind of internal challenge to decisions made by leaders. (end wiki quote)

You can imagine that all sorts of ploys would be needed to maintain that sort of control. The book is excellent. Read it if you need to. But consider the ways in which mind games, gaslighting and manipulative control methods would be needed to create such an environment (Even if it started out, or is still to some degree (of cognitive dissonance, I’d argue) well-intentioned).

Research has shown the people who depart from such groups often show symptoms associated with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. In fact, complex PTSD is one of the points laid out in something called “Religious Trauma Syndrome [2] Mensline Australia has published a list of things to watch out for in terms of religious trauma [3]. Some of these cut pretty close to home, so I’ll leave it to you to jump over to that page if you feel the need. But why am I talking about this in an article about internalised victim blaming. Well for one thing, we need to understand the harm is real. For another thing, this:

Someone raised a point to me a few months back that really made me think: he said “people who have been gaslit (made to question their own mind) in abusive situations are often chronic over-explainers.”

Again. Yowza. When my husband mentioned the term “internalised victim blaming” it connected for me, instantly. When you’ve been made to question your own mind, you over-explain because you need to be believed. When other people have blamed you or made you question your own nature or worthiness, you can blame yourself too. Long after their voices are absent from your life, you still hear them. As long as this goes unchecked, the damage can continue. And you deserve better than that. We all do.

I lay all these things out for a few reasons: Firstly, I want you to know that you aren’t alone. Secondly, I want you to know that internalised victim blaming isn’t uncommon. But thirdly, that doesn’t mean what happened to you was your fault. And it doesn’t mean you have to continue to listen the voices that blame you. 

Even if those voices are from your own mind, or echoes from memories you’d much rather forget.

I’m a strong believer in therapy. I’m a strong believer that the company of positive people, intentionally chosen to support and empower you, is therapeutic. I’m a strong believer that meta-cognition, or the act of noticing your own thoughts, can help free you from the prison built by trauma.

I didn’t know that internalised victim blaming existed until this week. Or perhaps I did, I just hadn’t given it words. I didn’t know that victims of gaslighting were often chronic over-explainers until recently. I’ve noticed now. 

So if this is you, too, then I want you to know that you don’t have to blame yourself or explain yourself to anyone. I want you to notice that internalised victim blaming can sometimes mean feeling the pressure of what you are sure people are thinking even when it isn’t said to you. Hey – no one can read minds.

You don’t have to blame yourself or be responsible for what others think about you.

You don’t have to avoid God just because church was traumatic.

Not all churches are traumatic but that doesn’t meant you have to step inside if you just can’t bring yourself to.

If you can’t be a Christian inside church at the moment, then you can be a friend of mind and we can follow Jesus together, and grapple with the big questions, and get into the philosophical and hermeneutical mess of life knowing God’s shoulders are big enough to carry it if we stuff it up.

I just don’t think God would be nearly as hard on us as we are on ourselves sometimes. The irony in fearing hell is that sometimes you can live it anyway. I hope that, in noticing with me that internalised victim blaming and chronic over-explaining is a thing, we can release ourselves from that kind of hell.

Hey people – take care of yourself this Christmas. I’m aware this can be a triggering time of year for some. Make sure you check in with yourself and exercise some self-care if you need.

Peace! 


Kit K

The Good Christian Persecution Complex

Hey there bloggerati! It’s been a while. I’m afraid this months blogging effort has lapsed far behind others but I’m telling myself there’s a good reason for that. I’ve finished the first major redraft of a book I’m ghostwriting. I got a short-notice request for a coffee-table book of layman-friendly research articles that ate through a week, and in between, there has been man-flu, 2-year old molars and various kinds of growth spurts to hit Casa-Kennedy. In amongst this, something has been burning in my mind: the good Christian Persecution Complex. I want to take a moment to talk about it.

The truth is, it has been on my mind because we’ve been covering my least favourite book of the Bible at church recently: The Book of Revelation.

I hate it. I think I was put off it when I viewed a Kirk Douglas rapture film of some description when I was a touch too young, and thus my yearning for writings regarding apocalyptic prophecy died then and there. But there’s no denying it. Revelation exists. The powers that be saw fit to put it in the final cut of the Bible. So we’ve got to look at it, right? Nestled in Revelation chapter 2 is a reference to the church of Smyrna: the persecuted church. In his letter to the Smyrnaans, John encourages them not to fear prison, tribulation, poverty, or blasphemy, and promises they will overcome “the second death” and be given the crown of life. (Rev 2:12ff). Now, this is a beautiful note of encouragement to the persecuted church. But here is my strong feeling on it: we can’t call any opposition we might experience ‘persecution’. And perhaps not for the reasons you think.

Discomfort and bullying vs. persecution proper

Persecution is defined as “hostility and ill-treatment, especially because of race or political or religious beliefs; oppression.”  Among its synonyms are victimization, maltreatment, abuse, tyrannisation, torture, torment, discrimination and other such terms. Over the course of the last five or so years, I’ve observed a lot of good Christians cry “persecution” when someone challenges their ideals on Facebook (which, oddly, seems to be where ‘real-life’ plays out these days. Weird.). While I do concede that cyberbullying is very real and also agree that for some, it takes real guts and incites real anxiety when they put their faith out there for the world to judge, I do have to offer up a caution: we can’t claim the martyrs crown because someone disagreed with our belief system.

Society is becoming increasingly pluralistic if you ask me. We don’t have one faith that everyone needs to subscribe to anymore and thus we can expect a bit more pushback when we say things like “Because the Bible says so.” Even if we look at Christianity alone, there are increasingly diverse ways of looking at our individual and collective efforts at following Christ. Two people who are well-educated, well-read and genuinely searching for the best way to live a Christian life can arrive at two very different conclusions. This means a lot of people can disagree with us, and even within the Christian faith alone, a lot of us can disagree with each other.

The results can often mean conflict, even nasty conflict. But here in this complicated and uncomfortable zone lies a truth we need to acknowledge: Discomfort, bullying and persecution aren’t the same things.

For clarity, I’ll offer up a qualification here: bullying is bad! I’m not a fan of bullying! Don’t do it. Don’t take part it in. Don’t stay silent if you witness it and can safely speak up and help the target. But don’t equate it with persecution. There may be overlap, but it is not the same thing. Persecution is often systematic and wide-spread. Bullying is more often one on one. Persecution involves large groups or power structures bearing down on minorities or marginalised people. Bullying is more targetted and nuanced. Persecution may involve bullying, but the reverse isn’t necessarily true.

And then there is discomfort. Discomfort is good sometimes. I’ve heard countless motivational speakers remind us that no growth happens inside our comfort zone, and I have to agree! We shouldn’t fear discomfort. It is part of life and sometimes good things come out of it! Persecution, however, is crushing, life-altering, and in so many cases, life-threatening. Open Doors USA, an organisation that exists for persecuted Christians, has this to say on the matter:  “While Christian persecution takes many forms, it is defined as any hostility experienced as a result of identification with Jesus Christ. From Sudan to Russia, from Nigeria to North Korea, from Colombia to India, followers of Christianity are targeted for their faith. They are attacked; they are discriminated against at work and at school; they risk sexual violence, torture, arrest and much more.

In just the last year*, there have been:

• Over 245 million Christians living in places where they experience high levels of persecution

• 4,305 Christians killed for their faith

• 1,847 churches and other Christian buildings attacked.

• 3,150 believers detained without trial, arrested, sentenced or imprisoned.”

These numbers are mind-boggling. But a further look into them (which came from the 2019 World Watch List) is this: Saudi Arabia didn’t even crack the top ten in terms of persecution against Christians. China didn’t crack the top twenty.  The  United Arab Emirates sat at number 45. Open Doors only carried the top 50 countries in terms of persecution on their list: The United States of America, Australia, and Great Britain did not make the list. Yet, at least from my observation, there is a growing idea that Evangelical Christians are being persecuted, and we seem to buy into this rhetoric all too easily.

The idea that we, in our privilege as some of the richest nations on earth, with our human rights advancements, our employment anti-discrimination laws, and our religious freedom acts, might be persecuted ignores the very real systematic targeting of our Christian brothers and sisters in other countries like North Korea, Somalia and Afghanistan – places where confessing Jesus as your saviour may cost you your life or your safety and livelihood.

The worst I will face here, in my white Judeo-Christian privilege, is someone calling me names on the internet. Bullying or harassment, but not high-level stuff that makes me legitimately fear for my safety. Not systematic torture, displacement and even murder of my people. I feel for those who face bullying because of the effects it has on them. I pray for them because that hurt is real. But it isn’t necessarily persecution and its unhelpful to confuse the two.

I have to make another distinction here: there may be many of us who have faced a bit of harassment, especially online, because of a “Christian” argument. This could be taken as a lesser form of persecution, and perhaps it is, but if you don’t have to worry that someone will even find out that you are a Christian (regardless of your thoughts on certain doctrines or current events), the odds are you aren’t being persecuted. I used to get called a “churchy” at work. I learned to take it in good humour. Later on, there was a swear jar at work put up for people who swore around me (because their assumption was that I would be offended. If only they hung around me now!) It made me a bit awkward in the beginning but then I took part in the game. I’ve been involved in my share of debates, but when I changed my posture from one of dogma to one of debate (with a particular bent towards connection and understanding rather than making the other person wrong), I found the world was a much softer place than I originally thought.

Why am I pointing it out? For a couple of reasons. One is that it is sometimes the abrasiveness in the delivery of our message that gets peoples backs up. People sense when someone is trying to make them wrong, and automatically defend their status quo. But the second reason is one that I find gravely concerning – There is a difference between persecution and the persecution complex. Both are harmful, one unspeakably so. But the persecution complex is something that can isolate and divide unnecessarily, especially if a person believes they are suffering persecution when they aren’t.

As I said a few paragraphs up, I’ve seen Christians cry persecution over Facebook stoushes they willingly waded into. I’ve seen mindboggling claims that the President of the United States is being persecuted (i.e. victimized on an international scale). Like…wow! While repeated efforts at convincing an unwilling world of an unpopular opinion (especially on social media) may reap repeated disagreements or arguments that certainly have a negative effect on a person’s state of mind, it is not necessarily persecution.  Nor do I think you can claim persecution when you are the most powerful man in the free world. Holding that position of privilege is the antithesis of persecution.

Of late, I’ve started listening a little harder to my friends who are people of colour, or who belong to the LGBTQ+ community. I’ve been confronted by something I noticed here: we straight, white, cis-gendered, Judeo-Christian, middle-class westerners can be blissfully unaware of our own profound privilege and, by virtue of this, confuse the loss of that privilege with persecution. A better word for what we are feeling would be, I don’t know, crestfallen? Uncomfortable? But systematically victimized and oppressed, not so much. We might find ourselves needing to learn resilience a bit more, but the answer to this problem is compassion and self-development not fear.

Alan Noble, in an article for The Atlantic, pointed out some very real flaws in the evangelical tendency to buy into the persecution complex. He said: “Persecution has an allure for many evangelicals. In the Bible, Christians are promised by Saint Paul that they will suffer for Christ, if they love Him (Second Timothy 3:12). But especially in contemporary America, it is not clear what shape that suffering will take. Narratives of political, cultural, and theological oppression are popular in evangelical communities, but these are sometimes fiction or deeply exaggerated non-fiction—and only rarely accurate. This is problematic: If evangelicals want to have a persuasive voice in a pluralist society, a voice that can defend Christians from serious persecution, then we must be able to discern accurately when we are truly victims of oppression—and when this victimization is only imagined.”

But the last thing I want readers of this article to do is mock those who are suffering from a persecution complex. Here’s why:

The Persecution Complex is a Worrying Mental Delusion

The Merriam-Webster Complex Medical Dictionary calls it “the feeling of being persecuted especially without basis in reality.” In individuals, the persecution complex may be called a persecutory delusion and fall within a range of “delusional disorders’ in the DSM V (the diagnostic handbook of the psychological profession). In groups though, it is an interesting and perhaps dangerous phenomenon.  I found a study resource online that helpfully described a persecution complex in the following way: “A persecution complex is a type of delusion. A delusion is a fixed, irrational belief that one is convinced is true despite evidence to the contrary. In the case of people suffering with delusions of persecution, the fixed irrational belief is that others are plotting against and/or following them. Signs that someone may be struggling with a persecution delusion include:

• Increased isolation.

• Paranoid behaviors

• Verbal statements that make little sense or are not rational.

• An increase in angry outbursts.”

If we were to witness this in a friend, we would have the right to be very concerned. But with the rise of cultural and political discourse in the public sphere (i.e. media), it isn’t uncommon for people to face off against a strong or emotive and opposing viewpoint. When this hit to the ego (and we all have an ego, or a sense of self) is combined with a persecution complex, things can get ugly.

So what happens when a group of people holds to the same ideals and experiences similar opposition? You have the potential for a group persecution complex to develop. You have the potential for the group to isolate itself, to believe society is against it, to develop an “us versus them” mentality, and for verbal statements rooted in the persecution delusion to be met with confirmation bias and thus become part of groups’ folklore. My fear is that this can then become the narrative of their lived experience and entrench the persecutory delusion even further.

Let me be real here: this is a terrible situation. Imagine believing society is against you, and the only people who truly understand you are part of a particular group. Imagine constantly thinking everything people write online is geared at you. Imagine the mental and emotional toll that would take. I could unpack this a lot further but I hope the case is clear: Even if the persecution is imagined, the effects of the persecution complex can be very, very real.

What do we do about it? I can’t give you all the answers, because I’m certainly not the authority on this issue. I write this for awareness and reflection more than anything. But I can say this: start with compassion. Regardless of whether someone is going through persecution proper or experiencing a persecution complex, something is going down here. You can’t fix the former easily. You can pray, and donate to good causes. You can be part of organisations working to end persecution. But if a friend of yours is experiencing a persecution complex, you can’t tell them they’re idiots and should get over it. That may just reinforce the delusion.

There could be something a lot deeper going on. The persecution complex isn’t uncommon in cults. It can also be part of mental illness. It may simply be a way of externalising some deep internal unrest. Either way, its tough stuff. It might require professional help to shift.

Approach it with care. But know this: we can’t fix a problem if we can’t accurately diagnose it. If it isn’t persecution, if its a persecution complex, then the system isn’t the problem. The problem is a lot closer to home.

Just some thoughts! Hopefully thats writer’s block out of the way! lol. I’ll return next week friends!

Deliverance: What the Hell?

I debated putting the word “Heck” in the subject line there, but look – I’m partial to a truly awful pun. However, I’m not partial to truly awful theology and/or spiritual abuse. Hence, I need to pull on my big girl panties and talk about what I said I’d talk about at the close of my last article: deliverance. It came at the conclusion of a discussion about mental health and Christians, specifically whether or not Christians can suffer from depression. For the longest time, depression, anxiety or other mental illnesses have carried an unfortunate inference in Christian circles: that they may be somehow, in some cases, spiritually underpinned. Read my last piece for my thoughts about that. But now we move on to the chunkier part of the argument: deliverance. Oh brother. 

I’ll start with a story, perhaps a cautionary tale. Once upon a time, I was struggling with a few dud hands life had dealt me. I found a counsellor that did wonders. I was making progress. Then I got in a *ahem* discussion with my pastor. He “suggested” strongly that I drop that counsellor and do something else. I said, “No thank you, this is working and I want to stick with it.” Next came a big reaction and the “suggestion” that I fly to a neighbouring country to go through a power-deliverance experience with a minister flown in from America. When I say “Power-deliverance” I mean the hard-core evangelical experience of being prayed over and having someone command spirits to come out of you. That was not my cup of tea, because I wasn’t dealing with demons. I was dealing with grief, loss and a few weird/traumatic curveballs. Even if this wasn’t the case, it still didn’t exactly sit right with me.

Anyway. The message I got from that interaction was “You are under the influence of demons. They need to be cast out of you.” I was flabbergasted. I sat on the couch and blinked while my wonderful husband recognised the signs of PTSD raising its head again and flew in to bat for me.

Thank God he did. Because I believe a power-deliverance experience like that would have been profoundly damaging for two reasons: It would have been administered without true consent, only guilt and shame over alleged “demonic influence” that would have lead me to discount the validity of my choice in all of this, and because being in the atmosphere described by the people who went to see this deliverance person would have undoubtedly triggered my PTSD. That would have looked like some evidence of demonic influence, and a vicious cycle would have continued. Gentle, qualified counselling however, worked great. (Side note: I am doing very well now. Thanks for asking!)

I tell this story for a couple of reasons: the practice of “deliverance” isn’t gone from the church. Not even close. Christian mega-church “Bethel” recently launched a gay conversion therapy program which would likely have some element of deliverance in it. If you plug the term “deliverance ministry” into a search engine, you will get all sorts of hits. But simplest truth is this: many Christian people have experienced it. Some feel good about it. Some say they feel good about it. Some really don’t.

I admit I sit in a place of privilege here. I know my own mind. I know the Bible to a fairly decent (though not scholarly) degree. I’m well read. I am a level-headed and self-assured person who has witnessed a good many Christian lurks and quirks over the years. It is with all of this in mind that I assert the following: there are three types of deliverance. You probably REALLY don’t need the third.

I’ll say straight off the bat that this is an uncomfortable topic for me. But I’m writing about it because as the NAR and Neocharismatic movements gain speed,  as pseudo-Christian doctrines can be taken up without so much as a reference check, and as paganism and Christian spiritual warfare appear to show significant overlap in the Venn-diagram of modern spiritual practices, its important to know BS when you see it. And its important to know what you need, and your rights when you are speaking with the clergy.

Before you say it: Yes, Jesus engaged in power-deliverance in the New Testament. We see it when he cast the demons out of the man who self-identified as having a legion of demons within him (Mark 5, Luke 8). Now, this is an interesting one, because we are talking here about a raving lunatic so dangerous he could not be held with chains. We also witness Jesus converse with the man and then agree to send the evil spirits into the pigs (2000 of them. Bacon exports from the Gerasene Region were poor that week).  

Now: we don’t know what significant psychiatric disorder this man may have had. We know he lived in a time where modern medicine did not exist, but spiritual practice was a lot more common. He was dealing with God made flesh, who had perfect knowledge of the situation. Therefore human error is removed from the equation.

The world has changed. Deliverance practitioners are now thoroughly and completely human with imperfect knowledge. They are largely unqualified (I mean, I haven’t read of a university with a degree in casting out demons – have you?). We have modern medicine that can bring calm when needed. We have anti-psychotic medication for extreme cases like the Gerasene man in Luke 8 and Mark 5). There is literally no reason or excuse for someone in 2019 to be forced into an exorcism. (When I say forced, I mean forced literally, or made to feel such shame that they submit under emotional duress). By and large, I don’t think this is what happened in the Gerasene case (but that’s a much larger conversation – too big for this tiny blog)

And side note: in John 8: 52, Jesus was told he was demon-possessed and then the pharisees tried to stone him. So thats fun. ANYWAY! On to the meaty part of this blog article. What do I believe every Christian needs to know about deliverance?

The first type of deliverance is Salvation. When you read through the gospels and their account of Jesus death on the cross for the forgiveness of sins and humankinds reconciliation to God through Him, you read a powerful, all-encompassing and complete process. John 19:30 sees Jesus utter “it is finished.” Revelation 1:18 and surrounding scriptures chronicle Jesus’ descent into Hades to take the keys of death and hell. Ephesians 1:7 and 13 talk about the gifts of salvation and of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps most poignantly Phillipians 2:11 says “At the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” I.e. Once you believe in Jesus and have accepted the gift of the Holy Spirit who dwells in you, that’s it. This is the bit where you can all sing Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

I could delve into all sorts of exegesis and hermeneutics about all the scriptures used here, but that would be a thesis in and of itself. The critical takeaway point is this: what Jesus did is thorough, complete and a finished work of deliverance in and of itself. We accept that then there’s no space left open for demonic possession. Ephesians 1:13 even calls it the “Seal” of the Holy Spirit. To say that someone can be born again and still demon possessed is a fallacy.

Another day, I will debate what salvation means. But for now, I’ll point you to Romans 10:9 and John 3:16 and get on with my day.

The second type of deliverance is the word of God. Pentecostal and Charismatic Christians will likely be familiar with the old exclusion clause that helps deliverance ministries get around the complete nature of deliverance at the point of salvation. They say things like “Okay. You aren’t possessed, because if you are a Christian you can’t be, but you might be under the influence.” This is where the second type of deliverance comes in: it is the gradual strengthening of a person as they know more about the word and nature of God, and know more about their own mind and how it works.  Romans 12:1-2 says “Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind that you may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.”

I like the word “prove” here. I think of a math proof – where the answer to a problem is explained via the process the mathematician used to get there.  It’s not a matter of having someone pray for you to be all transformed and then “wham bam” I’ve totally changed how I think. That simply doesn’t last. Its the crash diet of Christianity. Old habits return. We see this in the parable of the empty house in Matthew 12:43-45 (where the tenant is evicted from the house, returns finding it empty, and brings seven friends back). It’s a simple illustration that we can’t just get rid of one way of thinking, living and being, and replace it with nothing. Old habits die hard. That’s why we learn, we study. We take in the scriptures, think about them, enact them and have them become part of our lives. It’s a gradual process of transformation and frankly, it’s beautiful.

Now I’m going to do something heretical here and suggest that the use of the word ‘mind’ in this scripture should suggest to us that we look after the mind in the same way we do the body. i.e. If there is something not quite right, we get help. If you are a reader of my blog, you’ll know I love therapy. I don’t just go when I’m not doing well. I go when I’m doing well so I might learn to do better. The wisdom I have gained from understanding how my mind works has been life-changing. I recently spoke to a person who had been advised by her pastors not to go see a secular therapist and had lived with decades of torment. My heart broke for her. That is bad advice. It’s like telling someone only to go to a Christian doctor when the only specialists available to save a life might be non-Christian.

A good therapist is qualified in the science of Psychology. They will counsel you towards your goals and in accordance with your own values. You will get value out of it. It’s worth shopping around for. So here is the heretical bit: the ‘mind’ is hard to define, but its largely thought of as the brain in action. When the Dalai Lama asked “Can the mind change the brain” in the 1980’s, he was laughed at. Then science caught on to what he was talking about, and now we have a far better understanding that we run our brains. They don’t run us. The field of neuroplasticity is proof of this.

There is a long-held argument in Christian circles that our mind and our spirit are different things: that we are a tripartite being comprising mind, spirit and body.  However, there is another, lesser-known theory buried within Christian scholarship that holds to a dichotomy rather than a trichotomy. I err on the side of ‘dichotomy’. But regardless of which side you come down on, here is something I believe solidly: While you are learning about your faith, your God, and your guidebook (being the Bible), it is a good thing to also learn about yourself. Was it Socrates who said, “Know thyself?” It is a profound and beautiful thing when you can reflect on your own growth, or reflect on how the Bible in all its complexity might help you grow. This growth, led by the word and spirit of God, is a form of deliverance.

So now for the third type of deliverance: the power ministries. Green vomit. Exorcisms. Etc. I did a bit of searching on this before writing this blog piece. I was aghast to discover that it hasn’t really progressed in its rational or methodology since Derek Prince Ministries released a document on it in 1985. Detailed in that document was a whole lot of demonology in dot point format with no real rationale or exegesis attached to it. I’m sure, in other corners of the internet, there is better documentation on it. I’m also sure that people can use all sorts of out of context scriptural arguments to back up their positions. The fact of the matter is that for the most part, the stuff I’ve read has relied upon “divine revelation” to spell out how to approach exorcism. This, for me, is wildly concerning.

Now I want to flag a danger here: it is so easy for the area of exorcism to cross over into abuse. It is so easy for it to happen without genuine or even explicit consent. It is so easy for a person to be shamed into it, or for it to be based on bad theology.

This is dangerous. So very dangerous. It is my belief that, in this day and age, it should be avoided at all costs.  When the first two deliverance options are complete in nature and process, there is no need for the third. If you feel there is a need for the third, I’d encourage medical assistance, counselling and more time dedicated the process of healing and transformation before you opt for the third. Do the work first. In life, as in mental health or even diets, you can’t cut corners. This could be a serious psychiatric problem that exorcisms might only make worse.

I’ve seen a few of these “casting out demons” moments in my time. If anything, I believe it gave someone an experience that was profound enough to allow them to tell themself a different story and empower them towards recovery. I cannot tell you what else (if anything) happened. But sometimes that’s all that is needed: that boost that allows the mind to break out of the familiar pathways it has been caught in for years and experience something new. But in other situations, all I can see in power-deliverance ministries is bad theology and stage-craft. I am not all-knowing. There might be something in it. But for me, it’s a hard pass. Leave it to the Son of God and the original apostles. Guiding people through the first two options, and when needed referring to mental health professionals, should be all we need.

I don’t discount the power of prayer. It is clearly Biblical. It is clearly a practice that has carried down through cultures and generations. It can be helpful and calming.  If someone needs or requests prayer for assistance, then more power to them. Support them. But don’t overstep the mark of what they are actually asking for. God isn’t waiting for someone to pray for you so He can do something. He already sent Jesus to do it. He needs no middle man. And I can’t stress this enough: shame, guilt, or feeling like someone thinks you need deliverance doesn’t mean you need to go through with an exorcism.

A moment of willingness to seek out or submit to prayer should not be used as an opportunity to be subjected to exorcisms or power-deliverance. I believe that this is an overstepping of consent at best, and spiritual abuse at worst. If in your own time you experience some profound moment in which something becomes clear and you become changed, wonderful. Bookmark that moment and celebrate it. But for someone else to step into that place and do it for you concerns me a little.

The human mind/spirit is an amazing thing. In it dwells the power to hurt and heal, grow and change, learn and develop. When we harness that mind in combination with faith in a Saviour who has done all the supernatural stuff that will ever be needed, then we have a complete picture of deliverance.

That, I believe, is all we need.

Peace
Kit K.

Deconstruction: Why the Church Needs To Do It Too

I was reading a critique of the Christian deconstruction phenomenon this week (because I like to challenge my own thoughts, too, not just everyone else’s!). It seems the movement is greatly misunderstood. Several articles I read alleged that the problem with deconstruction was that people who went through it seemed determined to do away with absolute truth, or the concept of sin, or the deity of Jesus, or the authority of the Bible. They seemed to believe that the only way to be a Christian and a progressive is to erase these fundamentals in order to line up with our own changing ideals.

As a deconstructor, and as a Christian progressive, nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, the process of deconstruction calls us to delve further into truth. It causes us to search for it beyond dogma and beyond what we have been told scriptures mean, sometimes from the days of early childhood. Deconstruction is applying critical thinking to the concepts we just assume are true. It calls us to really look for truth, and once we find it, to wrap thoughts and words and ways of living around it.

Here’s the kicker: If what you are living by is the truth, then you shouldn’t fear to apply critical thinking to it. The truth will survive examination. If anything, it will become more meaningful because of it.

I’ve been listening to a podcast called “This Cultural Moment.” It’s been fascinating, and while I don’t necessarily agree with everything these guys say (because my analysis on certain things differs), I love the process of looking at cultural moments and current affairs through the eyes of what it means to be a Christian. But a thought hit me when I was listening to it: this phenomenon of “deconstruction” doesn’t just apply to Christians. It applies to churches as well, and that’s a very needed, very good thing.

I look around church establishments these days and I see a few things (and I should note at this point that this article is wholly and solely my opinion!). I see some institutions trying to hold on to relevance by arguing old ideas, asserting dogma because “God says so” in the face of civil rights advancements, and generally bunkering down in some ill-fated attempt to hold on to influence and relevance. I see other churches trying to get hip in order to maintain relevance. Here are fancy stage designs, cutting edge music and tech, coffee machines in foyers, sermons that are less like delivery methods for spiritual and scriptural truths and more like Ted Talks. What is the “right” way, if indeed there is one? I don’t know. Some of these ways of staying hip are very much enjoyed and appreciated in my corner! But I can tell you one thing for sure:

The church needs deconstruction too.

Church attendance used to be every week. Now, to be a regular, you need to go only once every three or four weeks. (I go almost every week. That must make me a zealot. Or a musician). Attendance is deconstructing. Church used to be a moral measuring stick. Now, it isn’t. Church used to be a place where we found God, grew convicted of our sin, and sought the way forward in terms of living a more Godly life. Now, we figure out ethics and morals within the context of our own spheres of influence and our own devotion. Evangelism isn’t so cut and dried. These aspects, too, are deconstructing.

Of late, I’ve found myself asking whether it’s possible to have Christianity without the fear and self-loathing. The answer I came to is that it should be possible: because Jesus was the highest example of love, compassion, and progressive ideas when it came to the inclusion of those the religious system had shunned. He was/is the highest example of life above temptation, of grace and truth in the face of persecution and death. He is always worth following. He doesn’t require me to hate myself so that I can follow Him. He only requires me to love, acknowledge and follow Him, knowing that in my humanness I will mess up and that in those moments, His grace is sufficient.

As more people embark on this journey of deconstruction, and as modern life marches on, there are a few changing realities we can expect: digital church attendance will matter more to people, so our web presence’s need to offer more than shiny pictures and short clips of sermon highlights. Depth will matter. Preaching, being an experiential thing, will take precidence over teaching in many settings, but this does not negate the need for good teaching. If anything, it makes it more important (especially as more independent churches pop up, which has many benefits but also the ever-present risk of bad theology and cults of personality). The community of faith will maintain its importance, but the way this manifests may be faced with challenges.

These are my hunches. There are better experts with more thoughts, I’m sure. But what I’m saying is this: deconstruction is here, and it applies to groups as well as individuals. If the church doesn’t change, it is done. But Jesus isn’t. Because He is still relevant and will always be relevant. Now is not a time for digging in and attempting to maintain old structures of power, influence, dogma or even format. The structure we have now is something we have inherited generation after generation since Constantine. But even that didn’t bear any resemblance to the early church we saw in Acts. So why we have such a devotion to the old familiar format is a curious thing.

Maybe its time to reinvent it.

Just some thoughts! See ya’ll next week for something a touch more scholarly!

Peace out,

Kit K.
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Cultural Marxism: A Christian’s Perspective on a Cultural Myth

Nearly 2 years ago, the ever-wise politicians in Australia put us through a national plebiscite in which we voted on marriage equality. During this time, social media became a particularly toxic place to be as the conservative/Christian right went to war with the progressive/humanist left. Among the many insults thrown around the web during that time (and other times to follow) was this fancy term “Cultural Marxism.” I didn’t really know what it meant, but it seemed it was always aimed at “progressive” ideas pertaining to culture, equality, diversity, feminism, LGBTI issues and such that are supposedly undermining Western Culture. It seems a little like the term can mean whatever you want it to as long as it is railing against so-called “progressive cultural” ideas.

But what does it really mean? A little research shows a disconcerting truth: Cultural Marxism is a myth, a meme, a conspiracy theory that isn’t real. But as much as its a fairytale, its one that people believe in and thus it exists anyway albeit in a poorly defined manner. Therefore, it still has power. But I like what Paul Kengor called it: intellectual laziness that leads to intellectual nastiness. How true that is. It has become a banner for those who want to oppose the rights of others. Concerningly, the myth of Cultural Marxism has grown into an obsession for some and even violence for others. It’s a myth that needs to be dispelled. But how do we do it? With information, of course! And as the whole world reads my blog and agrees with everything in it (heh heh…), let’s take on this heavily misappropriated term.

You’d think it would have something to do with Karl Marx, right? After all, Marxism is based on the political and economic theories of Marx and Engles (in which government control of resources and production theoretically ensures equality.) Yeah, cultural Marxism isn’t that.

So what is it really?

It generally refers to one of two things: First – Extremely rarely – “cultural Marxism” (lower C, upper M) refers to an obscure critique of popular culture by the Frankfurt School, framing culture as being imposed by a capitalist culture industry and consumed passively by the masses.

Second — in common usage in the wild — “Cultural Marxism” (both uppercase) is a common snarl word used to paint anyone with progressive tendencies as a secret Communist. The term alludes to a conspiracy theory in which sinister left-wingers have infiltrated media, academia, and science and are engaged in a decades-long plot to undermine Western culture. Some variants of the conspiracy allege that basically all of modern social liberalism is, in fact, a Communist front group.

(Thanks wiki for that quote). Right out of the gate, we can ignore the first point. Almost no one accused of cultural Marxism is being accused of engaging in obscure academic critiques a la Max Horkheimer, Theodor Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Leo Löwenthal and Friedrich Pollock. More to the point, almost no one doing the accusing has any knowledge of these guys and what their criticisms of capitalism actually were.

The second definition is usually the one people are trying to allude to. It’s the idea that these sinister lefties have infiltrated universities, schools, Hollywood and other cultural hotspots. The supposed evil indoctrination includes the idea that freedom and patriotism are bad, and feminism, LGBTI rights, civil rights more generally,  and anti-war sentiments are good. (For clarity, this reverse is supposed to be true according to the far-right accusers). Supposedly, according to those who rage against this movement, this is a product of the Frankfurt School’s infiltration of western cultural institutions like Hollywood and Academia, and of cultural decay. It’s also, supposedly, the Jews. Say what? Check this out:

“A 2003 article from the US-based Southern Poverty Law Centre described cultural Marxism as a conspiracy theory with an anti-Semitic twist that was then being pushed by much of the American right. In a nutshell, the theory posits that a tiny group of Jewish philosophers who fled Germany in the 1930s and set up shop at Columbia University in New York City devised an unorthodox form of ‘Marxism’ that took aim at American society’s culture, rather than its economic system,” the report states [1].”

Yes, to rail against Cultural Marxism is to rail against the Jews and is plain, old-fashion, vile anti-semitism. Sorta like the Nazi’s, right? But in the same breath, railing against Cultural Marxism is an accusation of Communism, which is ironic given the Nazi’s still seem to be the poster-children for that one. So if you ever hear someone ranting against the Cultural Marxist’s who are taking over culture, this is Nazi Propaganda updated for 2019. You’re welcome.

The term has sort-of become a catch-all for far-right conservatives engaging in public debate. It’s been thrown around by the likes of politicians Mark Latham and Suella Braverman, but concerningly its also been used by extremists such as video game hate group, Gamergate, and even mass shooters like Anders Breivik and the Christchurch shooter (allegedly) [2]. So the definition of this phenomenon is sort of loose, sort of “whatever you want it to be as long as it is anti-progressive.”

This statement by journalist James Wilson [2] helps bring more clarity here. In it, he refers to post-cold war right-wing activist William S Lind: “The changing parameters of economic debate and the beginning of American decline demanded that conservatives embrace a politics centered more, not less, on cultural issues” – the family, education, crime, and morality. The fairytale of cultural Marxism provided a post-communist adversary located specifically in the cultural realm – academics, Hollywood, journalists, civil rights activists, and feminists. It has been a mainstay of conservative activism and rhetoric ever since.

While Lind has recently become a more marginal figure, his story of cultural Marxism has proved durable and useful across the spectrum of right-wing thought because it offers so much.

It allows those smarting from a loss of privilege to be offered the shroud of victimhood, by pointing to a shadowy, omnipresent, quasi-foreign elite who are attempting to destroy all that is good in the world. It offers an explanation for the decline of families, small towns, patriarchal authority, and unchallenged white power: a vast, century-long left-wing conspiracy. And it distracts from the most important factor in these changes: capitalism, which demands mobility, whose crises have eroded living standards, and which thus, among other things, undermines the viability of conventional family structures and the traditional lifestyles that conservatives approve of.”

I have looked with disbelief as white supremacy seems to have raised its ugly head again. I wondered how it happened, whilst simultaneously acknowledging my own privilege in that I’d never experienced racism or anti-semitism. In fact, I’d been blissfully ignorant of the problem until a friend shared her experience and disabused me of my privileged vantage point.

But as ugly undertones spike up into violent sentiment around every election or terrorist attack, its time we unveil the truth of this thing. Racism, antisemitism and class discrimination isn’t noble. It isn’t Christian. It isn’t righteous. This isn’t a term we should gather behind. (I say ‘we’, while also acknowledging that as a progressive Christian (yes, you can be both), I’m probably called a Cultural Marxist in some corner of the internet. Eh. )

So how does this railing against these “evil leftist commies” play out in the most extreme cases? I. e. Where can this rhetoric lead?  It’s potentially best seen in far-right terrorism which we have seen in times all too recent.

Sarah Manavis of the New American Statesman wrote: “Cultural Marxism’s move from political theory to full memeification was fast-tracked when it was used by mass murderer Anders Breivik. Breivik was the sole perpetrator of the 2011 Norway attacks in which 77 people died across several sites. Before committing his attacks, much like the Christchurch shooter, Breivik sent an enormous personal manifesto to a group of friends and family which outlined his anti-multiculturalist, racist, and misogynist ideals. In the manifesto, he spends huge chunks of time crediting the writers who pushed cultural Marxist conspiracy theories into the mainstream. The 1,000-page document references “cultural Marxism” and “cultural Marxists” nearly 650 times.

For the growing audience of anti-Semitic, alt-right white supremacists online, his musings have turned him into an icon – and “cultural Marxism” has become a foundational alt-right belief. It became an easy label for those white supremacists looking for an umbrella term to describe the people at which their anger about diversity, feminism, and religious freedom was directed. Cultural Marxist soon became a signal to mean anyone vaguely left-leaning – in some cases, even if this simply meant those who didn’t agree with white supremacy.”

At the heart of the Cultural Marxism meme is this: “If you are a right winger and you don’t like it, call it Cultural Marxism.” (In this light, it links seamlessly with an unbiblical doctrine that has crept into many churches; that of dominionism.)

A layer beneath that is anti-semitism and verbal or physical aggression against anyone who disagrees with you. Everywhere I’ve seen it, its simply been a trope used by those who can’t debate ideas – Play the victim. Hype the emotions. Then you can slink away from the brawl.

This is not the Christianity we are called to. Our faith and the One we emulate (Jesus, for the latecomers) calls us to better things.

The Problem with Cultural Marxism: 

There are many problematic layers here in this impossible pie. The first is the Cultural Marxism frankly doesn’t exist. It is completely made-up and used to incite fear. It is the boogeyman. The second is that it is often completely misappropriated by those who fling it around, meaning they may be unknowingly engaging in activities that they don’t align with. Poorly defined terms that can mean anything to anyone can mean you end up joining a fight that isn’t yours. What do I mean?

• Let’s say a Christian who loves Israel and believes the Jews to be God’s chosen people rails against Cultural Marxism. They are engaging in antisemitic dialogue without knowing.

• Let’s say an alt-right Christian man wants to oppose women’s rights and reproductive rights. He might use Cultural Marxism as his argument. Is he then also against equality across cultures, or is he automatically a white supremacist who believes women shouldn’t vote or work let alone take the Pill?

• A man walks into a Christchurch mosque and opens fire, mowing down Muslim worshippers in their sanctuary. In his pre-massacre rant, he rails against Cultural Marxism. To him and those who think like him, it means violent anti-Islamic sentiment. He has been egged on by what he feels is a growing mood against Cultural Marxism. He might know Cultural Marxism is anti-Jew and anti-diversity. Did the other people who engaged in online forums ever know what it meant? Did they mean to egg him on?

We have to stop using terms when we don’t know their meanings. Cultural Marxism is communism. It is anti-semitism. It is white supremacy. It is the suppression of womens rights and the rights of people of colour and of those who don’t fit rigid sexuality and gender stereotypes.  It is anti-Freedom of religion. It might seem like the kind of campaign God-loving Christians can join the fight against, but it is not that. It is so very far from that.

Can I also just say that there are some people who believe the early Christians in Acts 2 and 4 practiced a version of “Christian communism.” *Shrug* Its a topic for another day, and two sides to the argument. But if you know me by now, you know I have to throw it out there.

But can I revert to one line from Wilson’s article? He said Cultural Marxism “allows those smarting from a loss of privilege to be offered the shroud of victimhood, by pointing to a shadowy, omnipresent, quasi-foreign elite who are attempting to destroy all that is good in the world.” I have heard good people, good Christians, use this term to explain their concerns. I winced every time because they did not know that to others their comments were anti- Jews/People of Colour/Women etc etc etc. They just thought they were sticking up for good, old fashioned, Christian values.

They have been the privileged ones in generations gone by, but times are changing. Its highly possible that large chunks of conservative and far-right movements are feeling the pressure and the sense of loss there, and reacting out of that feeling. The church is just one place in society where social justice movements are inspiring the deconstruction of old systems of power. The #MeToo movement has shown us that men shouldn’t have the power to abuse women. Its feminism but its pushing back against abuse and sexual misconduct. The Royal Commission into Institutional Abuse has shown us that the older ones and the members of the clergy don’t have the right to abuse the young and hide behind institutions to cover it up. As social justice movements march forward, society is saying “Don’t use your Bible as an excuse for homophobia, transphobia, the opposition of equal rights for all nationalities, sexualities, genders, or religions. If one of us is free, we should all be free.” That is a big threat, a big change of posture, for the institution that used to be the measuring stick by which all of society sized itself up. I think we can all empathize with a fear of loss of power. But to some, it is still unfamiliar.

The church isn’t an all powerful institution anymore. In fact, the secular world is leading the charge in all matters related to social justice. The Bible told us to care for the widows, the orphans, the poor, and the broken. How odd I find it now that large blocks of Christian voters in the states and in the west oppose refugee rights while the secular world campaigns for their better treatment. Shouldn’t we be leading the charge here? Shouldn’t we be the first ones beating down our politicians’ doors with blankets, food, and demands for fair treatment? Instead, the very idea that we can do better here is “Cultural Marxism” to some. The Bible charged husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church and gave His life for it. Yet women’s rights are cultural Marxism? The very first Gentile convert was an Ethiopian Eunuch – a person of color and a sexual minority, yet God broke the laws of space and time in order to reach that man. Yet some people call all matters of equality and diversity “Cultural Marxism.”

God calls the Jews His chosen people. Yet Christians who follow the most famous Jew with their lives (that’s Jesus, by the way) are among those who rail against cultural Marxism, and by virtue of that, engage in anti-semitism.

Yeah, let’s not do that.

If you are against something, be against it. But form your thoughts. Make your argument constructive. Don’t let intellectual laziness lead to intellectual nastiness like Paul Kengor pointed out. But I put this thought to you: Maybe God/Jesus loved people of color, women, LGBTI people, Jews, Gentiles, the oppressed and displaced. Maybe that wasn’t what the religious institutions of his day approved of. Maybe He was sorta, kinda, in that way, a progressive.

Would we call him a cultural Marxist and rail against His right to stand up for everyone He ministered to and loved? Would we crucify Him all over again?

Just a thought.

Kit K

References:
Sydney Morning Herald – Chris Zappone  – Cultural Marxism: The ultimate post factual dog whistle

The Guardian – Jason Wilson – Cultural Marxism: A uniting theory for right-wingers who love to play the victim

The New American Statesman – Sarah Manavis – What is Cultural Marxism? The alt-right meme in Suella Bravermans speech in Westminster

The American Spectator – Paul Kengor – Cultural Marxism and its Conspirators

Novara Media – Cultural Marxism isn’t a Thing

What Made You Hold Onto Jesus?

If you know me, you know I love a reader question. Not only does it mean that someone’s reading my blog (and those stats aren’t lying to me after all!), but it means I don’t have to think of a blog topic for the week. That, right there, is a ‘double yay!’ This weeks reader question wasn’t necessarily a tricky one, but it did still make me delve into the archives of my brain and wrench up some details I’d sorta forgotten. The question was this: “In the enormous process of dismantling and re-establishing your faith, what made you sure that Jesus was still real and worth committing to?”

I’m not going to lie to you; my first answer was “fear.” It’s an answer shared by many a person with a similar background to me. Evangelical, a bit fundamentalist, raised in churches – we Christian kids learn to behave for Jesus before we fall in love with Him. I’d behaved for Him all my life. Of course, there was genuineness in my faith, but for the early part of my walk with God at least, fear was the big motivator. No, not the “awe-inspiring, fear of God” type. Just pure, unadulterated fear. Fear of judgment, hell, stuffing up, getting caught, getting embarrassed, missing out – you know the types.

But in the early process of deconstruction, I realized that the way I’d been viewing faith so far was incongruent with the message of the cross.

If love drove Jesus to the cross, why should fear be the thing that drives us to Jesus? Was it possible to discover a love-based faith rather than a fear-based religion? Was it possible to have Christianity without fear and self-loathing?

As a loving mother, as the wife of an incredible husband, there is nothing in me that wants to scare my husband or my children into devotion toward me. I don’t want to scare my husband into cuddling up on the couch and watching movies with me on a Friday night or whatever. I don’t want to scare my children into sitting on my knee and letting me cuddle them or read books to them. I don’t even want to scare them into behaving well. Rather, I want them to understand how to be safe in the world, and to grow up to be people who make it a better place.

If we stop and think about the reality of scaring our partner or children into loving us, we understand pretty quickly that it isn’t love. It’s abuse.

This equated to a bit of an “ah hah” moment for me. It was followed quickly by another “ah hah” moment: Jesus wasn’t a Christian. This means that this thing we call Christianity is simply mankind’s best attempt at building rituals, systems and understanding around a God too vast and infinite for words. It was always going to fall short. It was always going to be messed up by messed-up people and made better by the best efforts of the well-intentioned ones. It was always going to be a mish-mash of the good, the bad and the ugly. Because Christianity was only ever going to be an attempt at humankind housing the divine.

Expanding the search beyond the fear 

The realization that fear was my first motivator was a sobering one. Thankfully that lightbulb moment happened in a church while listening to a level-headed, and theologically strong pastor. He had dragged a scripture out of the archives that I’d only ever heard one way: it was the scripture about Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son with the clubbed feet. I’d only ever heard it preached one way – that because when Jonathan gave his armor to David, he held back his shoes. The message was always that what you don’t give up in covenant becomes a curse on the next generation. The message below that: obey because of fear that God will curse your kids.

But that’s not what this pastor had said in his message. My husband mentioned it after the service, and the pastor’s words have stuck with me ever since. “To read it that way is to completely misunderstand the nature of God.” He went on to explain himself in more detail, but I wasn’t listening at that point. I was thinking “What else about God have I misunderstood?”

The truth is that Biblical scholarship is an art almost entirely lost. It used to be that people didn’t read the Bible because they couldn’t. They were illiterate, or the Bible was only in such short supply that the scribes were the only ones who could access it and read it.

Now, in an age where most of us can read, and all of us can get free Bible apps on our smartphones, we still seem Biblically illiterate. Thus, we trust the people standing behind the pulpit to explain what we need to know. But what if “what we need to know” is tainted by lost context, personal agendas, leadership challenges, or the colored lenses of the pain and loss life might have thrown them?

There are a million reasons why we can’t just do this. We don’t know what a preacher is thinking when they choose the message for the morning. We don’t know what lens they are viewing that scripture through or what motive is behind it. If we don’t have enough knowledge about God and the Bible to inform us and ring the bell when and if something is a bit skewiff, then we are at the mercy of bad doctrine that takes us further away from a relationship with God, not further into it. But the sad thing is that bad doctrine almost always drives us further into fear and condemnation than into the redemptive love of God.

That realization drove me into the thing I’d always had in my pocket but never had the power to use: the Bible. But I ditched the complexity of the whole thing for a while and just stuck with the Red Letters.

Red Letter Christianity

I blogged on this a while back, and I won’t rehash the whole thing (because you can read it here). But a personal challenge I took on back at the beginning of my deconstruction was to read just the Red Letters for a while. After all, these were the words spoken by Jesus who was one-third of the Trinity. What could get us closer to the nature of God than the words spoken by the Son of God?

They are a big challenge in and of themselves, so much so that the rest of the New Testament seems largely geared at helping us understand how we can live out followership of Christ. But the revelation that I got from my foray into Red Letter Christianity was that judgment was not the goal of God. Love was. Love had always been. Judgment was a thing that He hoped He could spare us from, so much so that He sent Jesus.

He wasn’t after a perfect people. He was after a devoted people. And if our hearts are turned to him, then despite our humanity and the inevitability of failure, our imperfections are all covered. This, essentially, is the nature of God – love. He is love. He does love. He gives love. Yes, he is holy. Yes, he can’t stand sin. But because he loves us, he found a way around that.

That took me back to the fear-abuse conundrum I spoke about in the beginning: If God loved me, then He wouldn’t want to use abuse to drive me into His embrace. And right there, in that sentence, was the great inconsistency I had witnessed over and over again – People professing to have been moved by the love of God, and the higher way of living He called them to, using the fear of Hell and judgment to drive people into salvation and keep them there. “Just do this one thing different and God will love and bless you. Just change this. Just repent of this. Just cease this…” Always one more thing when the truth of the matter is that His Grace is sufficient and His strength made perfect in our weakness.

Boy, it takes the pressure off. Just like that, a lifetime of striving and wrestling got swapped for the safety in knowing God loved me even in the midst of deconstruction. Even if I had difficulty trusting Him or understanding Him for a time, that was totally okay. Because God has big shoulders. He can deal. He could see the grapple, and he could see my struggle to get to the heart of true Christianity, and He wasn’t going to judge me for that. Because that’s not in His nature.

Other World Religions

During the heavier initial stages of my deconstruction, I read a lot and watched a lot of documentaries. I always did so with one thing in mind: my own life experience had taught me that there is a God. That was something that history and science both echoed and did nothing to refute. Even atheism seems consistent with the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil, as written in Genesis. If we choose that tree, we eat of its fruit.

(Whole magazines are devoted to these topics, so I’m not going to talk about that in this blog post.)

But one documentary series stood out: Morgan Freeman’s “The Story of God.” In it, he looked at many different world religions including Christianity. It seems that, throughout the world and throughout history and even the post-modern age, we all seem to seek out the divine. And though our words for it differ, very similar themes echo through.

It seems to me that from the beginning of time, mankind has been aware of the divine. From the farthest stretches of the world to the modern centers of civilization, there exists an awareness that there is something out there – some greater power. We find different words to wrap around it. We find different lenses and structures to see it through. But its there.

What makes Christianity different? Well, I guess that’s a series for another day. But the place I arrived at is this: throughout my life, I had seen the hand of God. I had seen Him protect me from certain things, and seen him enable certain things that I’d always thought impossible. He had seen what I prayed in the silence of my room, or in the loneliness of my darkest times. He made these things happen in time. Other people might call this divine force something different. But I call Him Jesus. He calls Himself the way, the truth, and the life.

One day I’ll tell those stories, of the things he rescued me from and the things he bought me through. But for now, here is my truth:

Illness, personal upheaval, loss of church, loss of community, financial hardship, deconstruction of faith, a search through science and other world religions, a critical look through the Bible in its various translations and iterations, a critical look at the world around me – none of it has driven me away from God. Rather it has driven me towards an understanding that He is bigger than what I can possibly understand, and more loving than I ever thought. I don’t have to understand everything about him. But I can spend the rest of my life trying and that will be just beautiful.

Anyway! That’s kinda my thoughts on it. Its taken years to live through, so it’s going to take longer to unpack. But these are some of the things that made me realize, throughout the enormous process of dismantling and re-establishing my faith, that Jesus was still real and worth committing to.

Faith, Identity, and the Deconstruction Journey

When I first read the terms “deconstruction” and “reconstruction”, I was in the thick of what one might call an existential crisis. Up until this point “deconstruction” was something referring to food in swanky restaurants (A deconstructed cheesecake, for example. Basically it means a messy, smashed cheesecake with a garnish on top.) Suddenly I was hearing this word applied to faith, belief and the way one looks at life. At that time, I felt like my neatly packaged way of looking at the world was suddenly flying about in a million pieces like ticker tape. It was its own messy, smashed cheesecake and I didn’t know how to put it back together. 

I don’t know how to write this series in a way that’s neat. Because deconstruction and reconstruction aren’t neat. But I sure hope its helpful. So here are my first four thoughts.

First thought: You’re going to be okay. Its scary as heck. But you’re going to be ok.

Deconstruction, in psychological terms, is a process of critical analysis. You could apply it to faith, relationships, identity, life, or even specific issues in news or media. You could even apply it to a prize fight. Where did it go right? Where did it go wrong? Etc. But the type I’m talking about here usually comes after a loss of some sort: loss of a friendship, a relationship, a faith, a community, etc. It causes you to look back on time and ask things like “What was I thinking? What do I think? Who am I now?” and in some cases, “How do I approach life?”

The process itself involves deconstructing your old ideas about who you are and what you believe (and reconstruction is the partner to this process: where you put those pieces all back together). Think about this like a thousand piece puzzle. Its lovely when the picture is all together and looking sharp, but when you are holding the pieces and you don’t know where to start – well gee. That’s daunting. And its messy as F. (F meaning foretold. You didn’t think I’d drop the F bomb, did you? Heh.)

For some people this process of deconstruction can be limited to one patch of their life. For others its all encompassing. I’ve read that for people leaving a controlling relationship or a high demand group, for example, it can involve high-anxiety and inability to think through things as simple as deciding where and how to open a bank account.

When I started this journey, I was happy with where my bank accounts where held, thank Heavens. But I was second guessing what the Bible really meant, who was God really, how should I raise my kids or approach faith, God, and contribution to society. I was wondering how I should redevelop a tribe for my husband, kids and I to live and thrive in. My experience of faith had informed everything: my friendships, how I interacted with family, career, finance, sleep, tv consumption, major life decisions – everything. All of a sudden it was blown to pieces. I felt like I my locus of control had been external. I didn’t know how to reach out, grab it and figure out how to possess it for myself. I didn’t even know whether I was allowed to. In some moments, I was rapt in the freedom of it all. At other times, I was almost crippled with fear.

Its been three years. And I want to say something to people who are just starting this journey – you are going to be ok. I’ll give you a spoiler here: I’m ok. In fact, I’m happier. My marriage is thriving, as are my friendships. I love my tribe, and my weekends are spent with people I just adore. We soak in the sunshine, watch our kids play, drink wine (on many if not all occasions) and we laugh a lot. I laugh a lot more than I used to. I still have struggles but they are well within the bounds of “normal.” How do you deal with 2 year olds? How do you squeeze in date night when you are so tired? Why do the weeds in my garden have to grow so freakin’ fast? That sort of thing.

If you’re just starting this journey, then it feels all-encompassing right now. It feels messy, and painful, and out of control. But it won’t feel that way forever. I’ve got friends who are 4, 5, 6 and even 15 years post-deconstruction. They are doing well. Life looks different but it looks good. You’re going to be okay. Just keep taking one step at a time.

Second thought: There’s grief, and no matter what you’ve heard about the five stages of grief – it isn’t linear. One moment you are in denial. The next you are angry. You think you’ve accepted it then you change your mind about that. That’s okay. Just roll with it.

Yes, you can grieve for faith, community, or relationships as deeply as you would grieve for a person.  Why? Because if you are grieving for the loss of identity or a relationship, then its almost like you are grieving for the person you were before. Its okay. My husband and I used to try to fix each-other. If one of us was having an off day, we would try to talk each-other up and out of that funk. One would compensate for the other persons sadness or rumination with confidence and cheeriness. It was noble. But we have learned something over the years: its better to acknowledge those feelings of sadness and rumination, hug it out, and simply be there in the sadness. You don’t have to feel “up” all the time. You can’t. That’s life. But if you have someone beside you to simply share it, then cherish that. I’m so blessed that hubby was on this journey with me. The way we worked through our deconstruction/reconstruction was different, as was the timeline, but we were in it together. I’m so thankful for that.

Not everyone will go through this process with a partner. If you can’t, then find a friend, a support group, or a therapist. Better still, find all of the above. This is hard stuff. You’re going to make it. But its hard stuff.

Third thought: You probably need to know about limbic lag.

Fun fact: Your prefrontal cortex (which makes sense of the world) sometimes works on a different timeline to your limbic system (which is thought to govern emotions). So when it comes to matters like re-evaluating and re-building your life, if you are feeling like crap, it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that you’re feeling like crap. Acknowledge it. Don’t fight it. But don’t think you need to rethink everything because you are feeling like rubbish in that moment. It could simply be limbic lag – thoughts and feelings working on different schedules. Eventually they’ll line up a bit better. But in the midst of the crisis, they might not. And that’s okay.

Tomorrow will be another day. You don’t have to feel sad tomorrow if you felt sad today. But if you do that’s okay too. (Disclaimer: one or two days is okay, but if your low mood lasts much longer than that, see a doctor. Sometimes when we face upheavals in life, it can wear on our mental health. If you are suffering from ongoing low mood then it could be depression, which is a medical condition. Don’t muck around with that. Your life means too much. Yes, even if you feel like you’ve lost your sense of purpose and place right now. You are worth help. And help helps, you know.)

Now, I know that limbic lag is a bit of a pop-psych terminology to describe this phenomenon but its a helpful one based on how the different sections of the brain work. If you’ve gone on a big process of deconstruction, then your whole life might be put under the microscope of critical thought, and you might be grieving a lot while also talking and thinking through it all. If you are used to “following your gut” to know whether you are right or wrong, then this limbic lag could be confusing. You might wonder if you are wrong on something just because you don’t get that happy, peaceful feeling about it.

In this moment, I encourage you to sit with the feelings and know that sometimes you just feel bad. I’m about to use another pop-psych term (eeek!) but in these moments, self-care matters. So run that bath. Have that chocolate. Go for that walk (get dressed first if you’ve just had that bath! You’re welcome). Phone that friend. See that movie. Deconstruction can feel all encompassing, but you can take a few hours off your existential crisis to see Jason Momoa, er I mean Aquaman or whatever. Your existential crisis will still be there tomorrow, so you can give yourself permission to take a day off making sense of the world.

Fourth Thought: Deconstruction and reconstruction don’t have to be separate. You can do one as you do the other. They can also be positive and freeing, even if the circumstances that lead you there weren’t.

Look, how you face your crisis is your business. No one can tell you how to do it (apart from a good therapist, which EVERYONE needs. I swear. Emphasis on the word good though. A good one will guide you through it, give you the skills to do it, but never demand you do it their way or according to their values). But I found I had to approach deconstruction and reconstruction together, and in an ongoing fashion.

In the beginning, something would pop up almost every day. Its amazing how pervading your belief system can be. During the heavy deconstruction phase after I left a church, lost a community and had to reinvent it all, I was amazed at how much I had to rethink. But deconstruction and reconstruction ran together. Something would pop up, and I’d realise “I used to think this about a particular thing. What do I think now?” I’d then study, think, talk it through with people in my circle and arrive at what I now think. It was a constant process of taking one belief out of my box of beliefs, turning it over, thinking about it and deciding whether it was to be kept, discarded or reinvented.

You see, you can’t just discard a belief. You have to replace it with what you now think. It’s not just a matter of realising Santa doesn’t exist. Its a matter of realising he doesn’t exist, and he’s actually your parents waiting until after you go to bed and putting the presents bought with their hard-earned cash under the tree. Santa didn’t eat the cookie. Ruddolph didn’t eat the carrot. Dad ate the cookie and Mum put the carrot back in the crisper so it could be chopped up and put in with the roasting vegetables.

It sounds terribly orderly, doesn’t it? I wish it were. It was actually a lot less organised. Because one day it was church attendance and tithing, the next it was social justice, predestination, the afterlife and fear of Hell. Then back to tithing or whatever. It was haphazard and emotionally draining, sometimes intellectual, and other times deeply emotive. Sometimes it was easy to arrive at a new conclusion or retain the old one, and sometimes it was too hard to sort through in a day, a week or a month.

Three years on, I hope I keep deconstructing and reconstructing for the rest of my life. Now that I’m through the existential crisis and into a more authentic, congruent and peaceful way of living and expressing faith, I think its an altogether healthy thing to keep asking yourself important questions. Its hard in the beginning if you’ve been living life one way and then it all gets thrown up in the air. But its not always a negative thing or something undertaken in reaction to loss or upheaval.

I realise this blog post lacks my usual references and intellectual geek-speak. I felt like it deserved a bit more of a personal look. I hope it helps. If it doesn’t, then I hope you just hold on to two things: find a good therapist, and you’re going to be okay.

Life can get sunnier if you do the work.

Three years into a deconstruction/reconstruction journey that may come and go for the rest of my life, here’s what I know: I’m still me. I just like me more. I am more able to grow and evolve than I thought I was. I am stronger and more capable than I thought I was. I am still a Christian. God hasn’t changed, but my understanding of Him has and so the way I express that and love people has changed. There will always be things I grieve. Because grief doesn’t necessarily go away. You just grow a bigger life around it.

And you can, you will, grow a bigger life around it.

Good luck. Stay tuned next week when I talk about…something relevant.

xo
Kit K

Solitude vs. Isolation: Where is the Healthy Place to Land?

I have this lovely friend. She's been through a lot in her life, a lot that could make her bitter, introspective, and a touch soul-destroyed. But she's more than a survivor. Her's is a life that is now devoted to supporting other people who have survived horrendous damage - be it psychological, spiritual, physical, or sexual abuse - and to finding her own way to thrive again. She never claims to be perfect. She's upfront about the ways in which she's not. But she is getting on with life and helping other people while she helps herself. Because "perfection" is not a prerequisite of "contribution." I love that.

Side note, before I get to the main topic: how come there isn't a cosmic quota for how much hardship a person can go through in their life before its all lottery wins and lucky breaks? Because I think that would be an amazing idea.

Anyway. She sent me a picture of Jim Carrey captioned with a quote of his. It said "Solitude is dangerous. It's very addictive. It becomes a habit after you realise how peaceful and calm it is. It's like you don't want to deal with people anymore because they drain your energy." Apparently old Jim -- AKA the mask, Ace Ventura pet detective, the guy with the stretchy, plasticky, comedic face - has undergone a spiritual awakening of sorts and is now all deep-thinking and wise. He just returned from weeks of solitude in the bush or something like that  (I'm not sure here. Don't quote me).

My friend asked me my thoughts on the quote. I have to say, its an interesting one. I like that Jim is so out there with his reinvention, and I'm not sure whether he was being poetic, or sarcastic. But here's what I think about solitude:

There's a difference between solitude and isolation. Loving solitude is a beautiful, healthy, regenerative thing. Needing isolation can be dangerous. 

There was a time where I couldn't do solitude. I didn't feel safe alone with my thoughts. I hid in plain sight - busy running a business, writing a book, being at every event, working crazy hours, maintaining a nuts kind of a social life, and so on. What would happen if I stopped? What would happen if one of the juggling balls dropped? Would I drop them all? Would I be completely out of control? Then I confronted the things I was afraid of. One by one, I took them down out of the "too hard" cloud that was hanging over my head. It was terrifying. It was empowering. It was painful.

It was beautiful.

Life has been reinvented somewhat. It looks barely anything like it did three years ago. Jobs, social circles, expressions of faith, hobbies, houses, daily routines, approaches to wellness - so much has changed. I thought about the things that were too hard to think about. I discarded the things that weren't healthy, even if those unhealthy things had become a crutch for me and it scared me to do so. I grew. I changed.

On the other side of the reinvention, I love solitude. Taking time away from the grind of daily life to sit on my back deck and watch my kids play without checking my phone or working. I love sitting outside and listening to the sounds of breeze and birdsong. I love sitting by the crackling fire with a glass of wine and nothing big on my mind. I've released myself from the evangelical tendency to think there are eternal consequences for my every action or inaction (Because like, God is pretty big. I don't have to be).  I'm not trying to solve the worlds problems or think my way through complex big ideas. There's time for that, but not during my wine and crackling fire time. Coz a girl has to recharge!

Solitude is not something I could ever do before.  But now I love it.

The thing is, its very different from isolation. If solitude is regenerative, isolation is the very opposite. 

Even in my raging workaholic days, I could do isolation. You can be isolated in a pile of work, too busy to connect with people who care about you. You can be too busy to be alone with your thoughts. You can pull away from the world and hope no one notices. That is isolation. It's a form of hiding. Where solitude says "I'm here. I'm me. I don't need to be anything else," isolation says "Don't come near me. Leave me alone. I don't want to be around anyone.. I can't be around anyone."

Isolation doesn't mean you are spending time with yourself and you are happy about it. Isolation can be damaging. Because isolation, to me, is fruit of fear, or of poor mental health. That can make you judge yourself far too harshly.  It can make it very hard to rejoin society when you feel better, because that choice makes you confront the fear what people thought of you during your absence, or what they will think of you when you rejoin. (Side note: I've also found that most people don't think about you nearly as much as you think about yourself!)

Getting out of an isolation loop can be tricky. There are so many reasons you got to that point. Getting back isn't always as easy as just turning up to an event and announcing your return to the land of the living. Isolation doesn't improve silence. It compounds it. The silence of isolation isn't comfortable. Its heavy with all sorts of bad.

Knowing your own personality type, your comfort zone, and your type of "healthy" is an important skill in maintaining the balance between solitude and isolation. 

My friend pointed out that abusive people will often shame you for needing solitude, recharge time or ever saying "no." Their demands take precedence over your own health. It's taken her a while to reclaim her need for solitude.

Now - a need for solitude is different from isolation. If you are an introvert, then quiet time matters. So don't feel pressured to fill every diary spot. A person who knows you and cares about you will either know the difference, or they'll listen when you say "this is what I need."

If it crosses over into isolation, then the friend stays important. They may gently challenge you and say "Hey I don't think this kind of isolation is healthy." An abuser will say the same thing, about solitude or isolation, but they make  it all about them-self or their expectations. If someone comes and presses on your self-protection bubble, then ask yourself which one it is. If its the caring friend, let them in even if you are feeling pretty crappy about life. Their love and care will make it easier to come out of the isolation bubble, even if the conversations that requires aren't easy. If it is the demanding, selfish person who is making it all about them, then you are free to choose solitude, and you should - for the sake of your health.

Because Jim Carrey is right about one thing. Sometimes people drain your energy. Solitude can be a little addictive like that. These days I have an "emotional coinage" budget. I don't spend more than I've got in the bank. Some people will take all you've got. Other's will help you recharge. Sometimes you give when there will be no return on investment, because you love that emotional vampire. Sometimes, the person you've got to spend your emotional coinage on is yourself. Know yourself. Know your needs. Know the difference. Sure, challenge yourself in certain areas. That is healthy. But a healthy person sets their own terms, and recognises their limits.

So there you go! My thoughts on Jim Carrey's quote.

Solitude can be great. Isolation, not so much. Know the difference and revel in the healthy one!

Happy Friday ya'll

Kit K

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