It’s Okay to be Okay
Well, it has been a hard year to blog. I’ll say that upfront. I mean there have been literal firestorms, and pandemics and all sorts. They’ve all been external though. Then there has been the internal stuff. Late last year, my husband and I published his story of surviving gay conversion therapy (also known as Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity Change Efforts). I had intended to follow that piece up with a lot of stuff on mixed-orientation marriage, but something didn’t feel right. I’m glad I listened to that gut feeling. Because only a couple of months later, he and I would separate.
Fast forward to today: The ink is barely dry on the announcement of our separation. My best friend and her girlfriend came around to get the kids and take them out for a play because this covid19 lockdown has been hard on parents! Another newly single friend dropped around with coffee because we are allowed to now thank God! She and I sat on the couch with Patrick, who now comfortably inhabits the ‘best friend’ space, and we laughed. Like, belly-laughed. This is our life now: separated, best friends, co-parents, in lockdown until the pandemic passes and then living together by choice afterwards.
I didn’t think this would be how my life went. But it is. And every day I spend a moment in gratitude that this separation didn’t go the way of animosity and loathing.
There has long been a message out there in the ether about mental illness, saying “It’s okay not to be okay,” and it is. It 100% is. But I’m also learning, here on the other side of chronic pain, trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, repetitive pregnancy loss, losing family-relationships, losing a community of friends who were supposed to be “covenant” and “forever no matter what”, having to leave a church that represented the only life I’d ever known, changing careers, deconstructing faith, reconstructing faith, having a whole town talk about my family’s dirty laundry, having my dad take to the newspaper to discredit us when it came out that we no longer go to his church, supporting my husband through a sexuality crisis and recovery from the horrendous damage of conversion therapy and a lifetime of internalised homophobia, separating from that husband because of his sexuality and reinventing our partnership – it’s okay to be okay, too.
It’s okay to be okay, too.
When I was diagnosed with PTSD nearly a decade ago, following a misdiagnosis of anxiety and depression, I wondered whether I would ever be normal again. I had been diagnosed with a mental illness that seemed to mean I had diminished coping skills. Counselling failed to dull the vivid flashbacks (thanks to an extraordinary ability to recall details in picture format). It seemed I would live a lifetime under the weight of past trauma. I felt the shame of that diagnosis, and within my social circle at the time where everyone knew everyone’s business, I had failed to find a feeling of safety. Instead, I felt exposed, ashamed and on-show every time I had an episode. I was finding it even more difficult to enjoy life. That was the unwanted gift my diagnosis gave me.
I was wearing the weight of stigma that often comes with mental illness. That made it hard to accept that for the most part, I was a strong, smart, worthy person with so much going for her. Sometimes I think we can have such a deep attachment to our trauma or to the diagnosis that explained our difficulty that it is difficult to lean into the beauty, strength and complexity of who we are.
Ironically, after my diagnosis, this made my condition worse: I would fear having a PTS episode, which would increase my ambient anxiety levels, which would mean my tolerance was lower and I was more likely to have an episode. Saturday nights became long, sleepless nights, which meant I would march into Sunday ill-prepared for the stressors I would face. Usually, this meant my body would burn through stress hormones and I’d crash on Monday’s with blinding migraines. My long-suffering (now ex) husband supported me through this beautifully. During this time, we also coped with the loss of four pregnancies before finally, our son was born. On the day I found out I was pregnant for the fifth time, Patrick knew it was time to leave the church. I would fight to stay for another few months before realising leaving was our only choice. We were about to plunge into an incredible time of upheaval. I was about to face more confrontation, stress, grief and loss than I had ever experienced before. But something unexpected happened: I stayed pregnant for the first time, and my PTSD episodes decreased to the point where the coping mechanisms I used to use daily are all but forgotten.
I went from having an episode once a week at least, to forgetting I even had the condition.
Despite all the heartache we faced, the years I spent married to Patrick were wonderful and beautiful too. We have truly walked through fire together, and we’ve laughed, lived, and created a beautiful family that remains and will remain the centre of our hearts and lives. But he is gay, and there’s just no way around that. I’m truly happy for him, and am happy that I reached a point of being whole-heartedly LGBTQIA+ affirming in my theology before our separation. That means I celebrate with him instead of feeling a whole lot of unhelpful, and in my opinion unbiblical, things.
After we made the call, I felt grief and sadness, of course. But the main thing I felt was “What on earth will people say? How will they judge us?” I felt this because I used to be the person who thought divorce was always the wrong thing. I had this naive idea that everything could be prayed away, or ignored away, and that which couldn’t be was a tragedy. Deconstructing my faith disabused me of that idea.
I don’t see divorce as a tragedy anymore. I see abuse as a tragedy, but if someone has walked away from an abusive marriage then the walking isn’t tragic! It is brave and wonderful.
I see mistreatment of a spouse as a tragedy. But I don’t see that spouse standing up for themselves and realising they are worth happiness as a tragic.
I don’t see dissolving a marriage because of sexuality as a tragedy. I see living a lifetime of repression as a tragedy.
I do see growing apart as sad. I do think marriage is to be fought for. I do see “til death do us part” as a beautiful ideal that I hope to experience. That I will experience (lets put that down as #goals here). But I am no longer naive enough to think that misery is noble and kids are better off with married parents even if those parents are miserable, depressed and at eachother’s throats.
Once I realised that this is what I really thought, I came to another realisation: its okay to be okay, even if you are divorced or divorcing, even if you have a mental illness (no matter if it is well-managed or not), even if life didn’t go the way you planned it would go, even if you’ve caught more curveballs than its really fair for life to offer up. You don’t have to feel miserable just because that’s what society expects of you. It is okay to separate and feel genuine love and happiness for your ex-partner, and geniuine optimism about what comes next for us as individuals.
Because I’m a woman and I can totally multitask, it is also okay to have moments of sadness, too. The existance of one doesn’t have to deny the existance of the other.
It’s like my friend Bridget told me: “Don’t let anyone shit in your peace bubble. You get to have the life you want.”
So here we are in the middle of a pandemic, locked down in our homes, feeling a little bit caged and realising the human spirit really isn’t made for captivity. This has been a time of upheaval globally, and mental illness has compounded this difficulty for many of us. I like to say that Patrick and I split “before it was cool” because you bet your butt there will be a spike in divorces post Covid19.
But I want to say this: if joy visits you, let it. If you wake up one day and you don’t feel depressed or anxious or caged or let down or beaten up by life, let yourself feel okay. Sometimes it’s hard to let ourselves be happy when we have been conditioned to another reality. Being happy, experiencing joy, doesn’t deny life’s hardships. It doesn’t mean you no longer have a mental illness, or that your life is suddenly easy. It certainly doesn’t mean you have to stay happy either. It just means that here, in this moment, you are okay. That is something you can lean into with a smile.
Why say all of this? I’ve been looking around at Christian messaging (and I still identify as Christian FYI), and I’ve noticed there is often a lot of emphasis on suffering. “When we suffer God is glorified.” “His strength is made perfect in our weakness.” “God disciplines those he loves.” “Let God heal you from your hurts and your wounds.” Also, pretty much everything about the Lutheran and Billy Grahamesque versions of Christianity. It all seems to tune us into our deficits and low points so that “God can be magnified”. That has been my experience, at least.
Here is my progressive Christian hot-take: we don’t have to hate ourselves, or focus on the bad things in us or around us. God doesn’t have to use every experience of our lives as a glory-grabbing moment, nor do I think miserable people bring all that much glory. You know? Happiness is okay too. Acceptance of ourselves in all our imperfect perfection is wonderful.
Over the last decade, I’ve spent a lot of time doing the hard yards when it comes to my wellbeing. I’m no longer the traumatised girl with the new PTSD diagnosis. Every now and then, once in a blue moon, I experience the taste of metal in my mouth and realise my pulse is racing and my cognition is a little scrambled. But now I know the sky isn’t falling; I’m just having a PTSD episode. I now know that PTSD isn’t shameful. Its a normal reaction to a set of really abnormal circumstances. Having spent a lot of time learning from experts and doing the work, I have built up some pretty amazing skills when it comes to resilience and wellness. I’m proud of that. And I’m going to say something pretty wild here – I’m not giving God the glory for it. He knows I did the work!
I’ve also learned something precious: I can’t control my life. I can live it. I can throw myself into it, make the best of it, and take responsibility for my own decisions and actions, but control is a myth because life is filled with other people and their choices and inner realities.
A couple of years ago, I got the first niggle that “til death do us part”might not happen for Patrick and I. So I did what I had learned to do – enjoyed every moment that I could, knowing I couldn’t change the inevitable but I could enjoy what we had. Those two years have been an absolute gift. We have loved to the best of our ability until we both knew it was time to love platonically instead. Now that time has come, our ability to accept the things we cannot change has meant we navigate our way forward as friends with a truly special bond. He cheers me on as a single woman in her prime. I cheer him on as the most fabulous Dad my kids could ask for, and I can’t wait to see how life unfolds for us in this unconventionally, wholly affirming post-separation family.
Sometimes resilience means fighting for what you know you must fight for. Sometimes it means knowing when something can’t be changed and accepting the outcome so that you can find your way forward.
I get that this is hard for some people to understand. I also get that this blog post is a little more rambly and a little less cerebral than my normal posts, but I just wanted to say: for my friends who caught a curveball and whose lives turned out differently to what they planned, for my friends who are struggling with lockdown, for my friends who have a diagnosed or undiagnosed mental illness – its okay to be okay.
If you feel good, that is a good thing. It doesn’t decrease your hardship. It magnifies your strength.
Be well, fam
Kit K
Unchurchable - the Podcast
After years of wanting to do it, and after a full year of talking about it, I finally did a thing: I finally started the podcast. And I thought I’d better pop a note up on here to make sure no-one missed the memo. Unchurchable, the podcast is now live on Spotify and iTunes. Sorry I couldn’t get it on Google Podcasts. At this point in time, Australia is apparently a bit too far in the backblocks to enable! The links are there: go follow them and subscribe.
So why start a podcast and why call it “unchurchable”?
The first bit is an easy answer: I like talking to people. I used to be legitimately terrified of phone conversations and audio interviews (I mean why have a meeting when you can send an email, right?) but I’ve spent the last five years interviewing people who are way smarter than me for work. I mean neuroscientists, functional neurologists and doctors of chiropractic among other things. I’ve done a lot of it on camera and I’ve learned in this time that I can do it. And that I love it. Giving a platform to people who are smarter than me, or who have walked a different path and have something important to say has become a real love of mine.
The second bit cuts a bit closer to home. I started this blog nearly 18 months ago out of a desire to explore my own faith the best way I knew how – through writing. I’d gone through an incredible time of personal upheaval and had to start deconstructing my faith. I hoped I could hold onto my belief in God (Spoiler: I did), but I was absolutely sure my expression of faith would take a drastically different shape to what it used to.
Spoiler: it did.
But the beautiful thing that has come out of this that I’ve connected with incredible people from all over the whole who seem to echo similar sentiments: they believe in Jesus, but they find church difficult.
Hypocritical.
Too small a box to fit in.
Too judgemental.
Some of them have self-excluded and others have been excluded (even given a behavioral ultimatum or asked not to return).
These scars run deep. For some it takes a long time to recover from religious trauma. For some it takes a lifetime. But the thing I’ve realised is that if one person can give voice to the idea that you don’t need anyones permission to practice your faith the way you want, that you can find a tribe that welcomes you as you are (questions and all), and that you don’t need to put yourself through hell in order to go to Heaven, then isn’t that worth it?
I call myself “unchurchable” because I don’t know whether I will always be able to walk into church. I don’t know whether I will be able to commit to the “every Sunday, rain hail or shine” ethos I used to live by. My relationship with church might be tidal, or the tide might go out and stay out. I will always find people who think like me and connect with them, and in doing so keep myself from “foresaking the gathering together of the saints”. I will never let anyone else control my expression of faith or my walk with God though. Because that is mine and mine alone.
Unchurchable is for people with questions. Its for people who have been unjustly excluded. It is for people who have excluded themselves because it was just too darned hard. Church might not be for you, but that doesn’t mean that faith, spirituality or indeed Jesus is off the cards.
I love asking hard questions. I love talking to people who make me think, and even make me uncomfortable. I love making other people think. So this is unchurchable. Friend, we can talk about anything here.
Enjoy.
Go subscribe! And follow the socials on Twitter and Instagram
K thanks bye
Kit K
PSA: God Doesn’t Kill People in Bushfires
Okay. My least favourite athlete is back in the news – perhaps because he and Margaret Court like to compete for titles (like Australia’s biggest homophobe). I joke. I joke. But he claimed this weekend that the bushfires in Queensland are God’s judgement for abortion and marriage equality laws. When lives are lost in natural disasters and an accusation like this comes out, it’s no joke. But sadly, it’s not even new. Daniel Naliah made the same claim about abortion law and bushfires back in 2009.
It was outrageous and unbiblical then, and it’s outrageous and unbiblical now. But with lives lost, Imma drop a microblog on it to drop a few Biblical truthbombs.
Here they are. I’m sure there is more, but here’s the start:
Isaiah 51:6 describes some pretty heavy weather but promises his salvation shall endure. (I.e. He doesn’t kill people via extreme weather)
Luke 9:56 says Jesus came to save our lives not destroy them.
Matt 18:4 says it’s not God’s will that even one should perish.
Noah’s flood, and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah occurred before the Old Testament/New Testament split whereby Jesus took the judgement of Mankind.
Even if this wasn’t the case, Abraham negotiated with God in Genesis 18:16ff and God said that if there were even 10 good men in Sodom and Gomorrah, he wouldn’t destroy it. I know there are more than 10 good men in Australia.
This is a long way of say that Izzy Folau’s statements are unbiblical, unfounded fear-mongering that does nothing but tarnish the name and perceived-nature of God. God doesn’t kill people because of law changes. But maybe we should pay some attention to climate change (which, believe it or not is not a religious issue! You can be a Christian and reject single use plastic because it’s bad for the environment).
Anyway. Hi! It’s Monday. Hope your’s is good. It’s going to be a huge week on the blog here, and I’m working really hard on some kicking’ content for you. If you haven’t subscribed yet, get on it friends. You won’t want to miss Thursday’s piece.
Have a great week, safe in the knowledge that God isn’t burning Australia down or causing crippling drought. Comforting, yeah?
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!
Why Faith Post-Deconstruction is Pretty Great
When I look back through the backlog of topics I’ve written about on here, one thing is abundantly clear: I’ve written on a lot of heavy stuff! (#SorryNotSorry). While you could be forgiven for thinking I’m constantly sitting on a rock, looking at the stars and stroking my chin like some contemplative stone statue, in truth that’s not me at all. I just carve out a few hours a week to be a nerd. And. I. Love. It. But its time for something happy and simple. So today I’m popping out a bit of encouragement for you: if you are going through deconstruction right now, then fear not. Life and faith post deconstruction can be pretty great.
This week, I was talking to a beautiful friend who is just beginning on this journey. I guess I’m optimistic that for her, the deconstruction process won’t be so much like a rug brutally ripped out from under her feet, toppling a well-ordered world. I hope it will be a little more gentle, a little more hopeful. Hey – I might be way off mark, but a girl can hope, right?
However you approach your deconstruction journey, I want to say there’s hope. Many people who find themselves undergoing this dramatic internal reinvention go on to find deep satisfaction in life and faith. My deconstruction was brutal. But my life now is so deeply satisfying. In the beginning, it felt like all ashes. My world felt burned to the ground. But now, to quote the cliché, beauty has come out of it.
The thing each of us must know is this: you don’t begin a deconstruction journey unless you knew that something wasn’t right and that you had to figure out what and why.
You might not tell yourself this explicitly. It might be something that happens on a subconscious level. It might be something kicked off by conflict or circumstance. But there is a reason for the search. There’s no avoiding that. So you best lean in and strap in, friend.
I’ve met people who are trying their hardest not to go on the deconstruction journey. Eventually, they all find this to be futile. If you find yourself avoiding that pull, its because there is something that needs looking at. There is some soul-sore festering in there and it wants your attention.
But no matter the hardship that lead you there, beauty can come out of it. You can stay a Christian if you want to. You don’t have to walk away from everything. But taking a microscope to your belief system in the service of finding deeper truth just is not a bad thing. If anything, it can lead you into deeper authenticity and happiness.
The Peace Barometer
I love how Marie Kondo’s decluttering method seems to have taken the world by storm. She asks “Does this item spark joy?” If it doesn’t, then we thank it and it goes. Regardless of how you feel about your clutter, or the little sprite who floats into people’s homes and helps clean them, its not a bad approach. I guess, spiritually, my deconstruction journey was a little bit Marie Kondo.
I started comparing things against Romans 14:17 – That the kingdom of God is righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Ghost. I started comparing everything against that. But even within this, we can tell ourselves that our actions are right in the sight of God, and that settles the righteousness conflict. We can even tell ourselves that we are happy and joyful (although if you are about to start deconstructing, then you know this isn’t true).
For me, the one thing I could never manufacture was peace. Therefore, peace became the thing I measured everything against. The other two, righteousness and joy, factored in but I could convince myself I had both to a certain degree. But if peace was missing then I knew I had issues.
As Christians, we accept a lot of what we are told, because the people rocking our pulpits occupy such a place of respect and honour in our lives. Yet a persons walk with God is such a deeply personal experience. No one does it for you. Its you and God. From here to eternity. Over the years, I had become deeply uncomfortable with some of those things. I could believe them to amount to righteousness. But I did not feel peace and I did not feel joy.
So I had some questions to ask. For example, some of them looked like this:
Does dominionism bring peace? Does it bring joy? Does it make the world better?
Does the constant work of ministry bring peace and joy? Does it make me a better ambassador for Christ, or just a tired, cranky, legalistic one?
Do I have to support “Christian” politicians and their anti-immigration policies just because I too am a Christian? Does it bring me peace? Does it bring me joy to support such suffering? (if so…WHYYYYYY?)
And for a particularly touchy one – Do I have to be homophobic and transphobic just because I’m a Christian? Does this bring me peace? Does it bring me joy?
There were so many questions asked. These are just four examples. Everyone’s answers will likely be different. Mine were “no, no, no and no.” So I looked to the Bible. I searched. I listened to podcasts. I read books. I talked to other deconstructors to normalise what I was going through (important step, this!). I leaned into the process. I’m so thankful my hubby was there with me, because I’m sure he’d have gotten CRAZY sick of me if he wasn’t.
I’ve learned that if peace cannot be found, then something needs to change. Just because something is preached at us doesn’t mean it is truth. (Take that with a grain of salt. There are so many wonderful, wise, theologically strong pastors and leaders out there. I’m so blessed to have some of them in my life and my life is better for it. But that does not erase the fact that authority figures can be prone to error and dogma, and when the two combine, we have bad theology that does great damage.)
Chase peace. Chase joy. Chase righteousness. The truth is that the human conscience is a gift from God. It points us to truth when the external stimuli can be so aggressively pointing us to error. If your conscience is telling you something is amiss, then lean in to that. It is never wrong. It can be muted, but never wrong.
Post-deconstruction: love-based faith not fear based religion.
I can’t even begin to explain the depth and breadth of my deconstruction journey. It was big. I can tell you this though: I have peace and I’m happy. I will always carry grief. But that is true for anyone who has faced loss. We don’t stop grieving. We just grow a bigger life around it, and we find joy in appreciating the things that grew into our lives after loss seemed to prune us back.
I don’t feel anxious on Sunday mornings. I don’t feel anxious when I disagree with something said from the pulpit. I serve in a church and it brings me joy to do so. I grapple with how best to raise my children, but I have peace knowing we all do, and that if I keep faith and conscience at the centre of it then I can’t go too far wrong. I don’t feel that clench in my chest when I look at the politics section of the news. I feel calm, knowing I’m right where I need to be and the rest is God’s problem.
Even when there is a challenge that comes my way, there is a peace there that I never had before and that’s a truly beautiful thing.
This past weekend, my husband and I dealt with two sick kids and a list of odd jobs as long as our arms. I was leading songs at church and I knew it was going to be a tough gig because I had skeleton staff on the band, was multitasking far more than is practical, and half the church was away at a wedding across the other side of the state. I knew it wasn’t going to be the most earth-moving worship service. But I didn’t feel anxious. I felt peace. The word brought at church had a gentle challenge in it, but I did not feel crushed or at odds. I felt empowered to look at it and let it sink in. In amongst the domestic madness, my husband found moments to look at each-other, look at our kids and feel truly blessed and in love with our little family.
That’s not something that I could have had while I was at odds with myself, my faith and my expression of Christianity. But oh its a blessing now that the deconstruction journey is less intense.
I hope to deconstruct and reconstruct my faith constantly over the years to follow, because I always want my faith to reflect Christ, to be a sweet fragrance to those my life may touch, and to be authentically, peacefully, and joyfully me. Don’t fear deconstruction, friend. Lean in to it. Good things can come out of it.
So that’s me! I hope it encourages you. If you are on a deconstruction journey, then I hope you find support here. Hit me up if you have any questions as I love helping deconstructors if I can in any way – even if that’s linking you with resources.
Anyway! I’ve got to go do some real work. You have a wonderful week.
Kit K. Over and Out
(Hey, before you go, go follow my socials! Awesome. Thanks)
Instagram – @kitmkennedy
Twitter – @kitmkennedy
Facebook www.facebook.com/kitkennedyofficial
Is Church Still Relevant?
Rounding out the relevance series (before we get stuck into some heavy topics) is the topic of Church. To me, there’s no question that Jesus and faith are still relevant. In fact, a reader remarked during the week that it is people that drive people from Jesus. Jesus himself isn’t the problem but often Christians mess it up. No arguments there!
We’ve talked about the concept of sin, and we’ve unpacked preaching. But now its time to talk format. We’ve been doing church this way (roughly) since Constantine. Meet in a building on a Sunday and hear a sermon. Somewhere along the line, songs or hymns made their way in. Tithes have always been part of it (since Jacob promised God a tenth of everything and Malachi put pen to paper). Society has evolved over the last few centuries but Church kept the same format, albeit adding flashing lights, stage design and contemporary music stylings.
So friend, is church still relevant? Here are some thoughts on it.
To kick this one off, the obvious scripture reference has to pop up, right? Hebrews 10:25 – “Do not forsake the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhort one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.”
Some translations say “the gathering together of the saints”. Others word it differently, but the inference is clear – if you are a Christian, meet up with other Christians to keep yourself encouraged and built up. Its good logic, I believe. No man is an island. Its a cliché because its true. We need people, because life will be great but it will also be crappy. At times, our walk with God will be as easy as breathing. At other times, it will be as easy as breathing when you have end stage emphysema and a sumo sitting on your chest. It seems to me that we need the Christian community around us in both scenarios.
Firstly, when faith is easy its easy to stop praying, searching, or checking your doctrine. Its easy to invent your own truth and ride high on the euphoria of your own ideas when things are going well. Boy, I’ve heard some strange things come out of peoples mouths during these times! Things are going well. Things feel right. So we don’t check our thoughts to see if they are wrong. Being part of a community of believers can help keep you on the straight and narrow, and keep throwing scripture at you (via sermons) even when you aren’t reading your own copy of the Good Book.
Secondly, in the hard times, encouragement and friendship can stop you from throwing in the towel, hiding from God or yelling “As if You are even there!” at the sky. I think I’ve done all three. And I’m eternally grateful (perhaps literally) for the people who have helped me through. But in these times, church hasn’t been in the walls of the church necessarily. It’s been at kitchen tables, crying into cups of herbal tea.
Thirdly, community is a valuable part of a healthy existence. One of the greatest plagues of the modern world is that of loneliness. We are surrounded by people but have no one to share our lives with on a deep, personal level. We have Facebook friends lists with thousands of names, but no one to call in a crisis. Church, when done right, can be a solution to this problem. It can be a place to find a tribe and a sense of belonging. Nothing wrong with that (unless that church wields too much control over you because you need somewhere to belong. But that’s a whole other can of worms).
I am acutely aware that there are those who have a deep grapple with this question: is this “song service + pop culture sermon” format, the one that is oh-so-common across the western world, the best way to explore faith within the context of community. I can’t give you a Yes/No answer, but I’m more than happy to lay out a few thoughts.
There have been various movements in church format over the centuries. From the church of Acts which sounds a little like the communes of the 70’s (although I’m sure without the hippy/culty stuff that popped up in a lot of those). They shared their belongings. They broke bread together. They did life together. Then over the centuries that followed, long-form sermons and hymns took precedence as communal living faded away. Today, that sermon/hymn format has survived in some denominations. But in others it has been superseded by a more seeker-friendly format seen in mega-churches: a song service, tithes, the occasional communion, and a sermon. Its just all wrapped in slick advertising, nice stage designs and shorter, less fire-and-brimstone messages that are more appealing to the masses.
Is this the only relevant format? I don’t think so but each comes with pros-and-cons. Perhaps the modern format has been created to fit in with peoples busy, complicated lives, and perhaps that comes at the expense of a deep understanding of the word of God and a too-heavy reliance upon music to create the mood and experience. But the bottom line is this: if you are relying on church to keep your relationship with God afloat, you’re missing the point. Church doesn’t manage your relationship with God. It doesn’t save you. It doesn’t hash out your deep doubts or your misgivings. It shouldn’t dictate your every decision between Monday and Saturday. You and God have to work that out. Church is where we gather to keep encouraged, to be challenged when needed, and to find others who are walking a similar path. When we find a good church, its a thing to cherish.
Currently, a regular attender at church is someone who goes once every three weeks (or maybe four! I can’t remember!). It could be easy to think that this is the measure of a persons Christianity. I don’t think this is wise. Who has a closer walk with God? Someone who goes to church every week but never opens their Bible? Or someone who never sets foot in church but prays and reads their Bible every day? Who has a better hold on righteousness? The songleader who can create a heightened emotional atmosphere in a worship service, but chooses songs purely on how they can make people feel and lives a life that contradicts the songs? Or the person who doesn’t go to church regularly but makes a daily effort to ask “what would Jesus do?” and follow through on that.
Church attendance really isn’t a hill I’ll die on. I don’t think it determines whether or not you’ll go to Heaven. It can just make life a bit easier along the way. It can surround you with community, give you focus, and opportunities to contribute and grow your faith. That’s good. I’m in a church and I love it. But not all of my friends find it that easy. In fact, many of them serve out their faith the best way they can, but regular church attendance isn’t part of it at this point. You won’t find me passing judgement on any of them, because they share their faith and walk with God with other Christians (myself among them), and I’m absolutely sure God looks upon their reasons (and in some cases their struggles) and sees someone He loves and cares about.
Example: I’ve got a friend who left behind a city mega-church and settled down in the country. For him and his family, church is a lived experience that never has them set foot in a church (at least for this portion of their life). They have Christian friends and parents. They share their lives, frustrations, playlists, scripture readings, dreams, hopes and day-to-day stuff with them. But every day they make an effort to share the love of God with the people that are in their lives. Is it for everyone? No. But does it satisfy the Hebrews 10 clause – yeah, pretty sure it does. And they seem happy.
More than once, I’ve heard people voice their frustration at various parts of their own church experience. The worship doesn’t satisfy them (either its too pushy or its too light). The sermon isn’t quite right (its too pop culture, too light on scripture, too long, too short, too confrontational, not confrontational enough). The character of the congregation doesn’t suit. Its too cliquey, or too love-bomby and suffocating. It seems if you’ve got a church of 100 people, you’ll have 100 opinions on how it should run. You’ll have people who get along better than others. You’ll have rough diamonds. You’ll have iron sharpening iron. It will be great. It will be uncomfortable. It will be different things to different people. That’s all fine.
Church will never be perfect because its made up of humans and we aren’t perfect. I look at Hebrews 10:25, I look at people who never skip a Sunday unless they’re dead, I look at people who skip church on a sunny day and here’s what I think – Church isn’t Christianity. Church is encouragement, and community. Church is flawed, and easy, and difficult, and imperfect. It is beautiful and ugly at times, but Church is just people. It was a God-breathed concept that inevitably has good and bad aspects because it was entrusted to the hands of inherently flawed humans but church is not salvation. Jesus is.
The minute we think it is a qualifying factor in our salvation, or that it buoys our sinking devotional life, we miss the point. Over the course of the last few months, I’ve spoken with a lot of people who carry deep, deep wounds from toxic churches. Many of them can’t set foot in a church. To them I’d say – Don’t worry. No one is dooming you to Hell because you can’t do it. But find a friend who can help you satisfy the Hebrews 10:25 clause. There’s another scripture that says “where two or more are gathered, there I am in the midst.” Church doesn’t have to be in a building with a spire or a band. It can be in kitchens around tables. It can be in lounge rooms. Communion can be in tiny cups or it can be giant feasts an Italian mamma would be proud to put on. Format isn’t important. Here’s what is:
Does it encourage you to keep on going in your faith, to keep on searching for a deeper walk with God in the mountains or in the valleys of life?
Does it create room for the kind of friendships where someone could say “Okay mate, I think you’re going off on a weird tangent here. Why don’t we come back to what God says about it?”
Does it motivate you to find ways to show the love of God to people who need it and thus spread the fragrance of His love in every place like the scripture says?
Does it surround you with community so you never feel like you are doing this thing alone?
Christianity is you and God. Church is a community that surrounds you. How that works format-wise is less of an issue than some make it out to be. There are markers of a healthy church. I’ve talked about that before and I’ll probably talk about it again. But for today I’ll say this: I strongly believe Church is still relevant. It just doesn’t have to look the way it always has.
I say that as a member of a healthy church, as a member of a worship team. I love where I am at and see it as an important part of my walk with God. But that is my walk with God.
You do yours.
Josh Harris, Purity Culture, and the Power of Saying “I Was Wrong.”
"There is transformational power in admitting you got something wrong."
I just listened to the most amazing Ted Talk. The speaker talked about how you can't rush the process of transformation, and that process involves owning up to, rather than sweeping aside, the things you were wrong about. He spoke about how admitting you were wrong will tick some people off, because they were invested in the old you. He talked about how, when someone can't admit they were wrong, they are not growing. And this should serve as a warning to those who follow them.
The whole talk had me nodding and murmuring my agreement (somewhat geekily I guess, given I was sitting in a café.)
Honestly, it was an amazing talk. You should give it a listen (I've pasted it below, but don't ruin the suspense by scrolling down to see it just yet). The guy giving the talk only just gave mention to what he was wrong about. It wasn't the true subject of the presentation, but gosh, it was massive. It took a lot of humility to do what he did - stand on the world stage and say "I got something wrong."
If you were anywhere near your teens or twenties at the height of the 90's evangelical purity movement, you know this guy. You were probably handed his book by a youth leader or mentor, and you might have felt a little kick of something like shame when you realised why you were reading it.
The speaker was none other than Joshua Harris, author of the international bestseller "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." This is the book that made him famous. Its the book literally sitting on millions of shelves, that was translated into several languages. At the height of the purity movement, this was the guidepost that urged us to guard our hearts and keep our desires in check. Now, after it's first readers have grown up, Harris is noting that it seems to have had a few not-so-positive effects.
Harris recounts an interaction on Twitter in which a reader told him his book was used against her as a weapon. Harris did an uncommon thing, when it comes to big name Christian celebrities. He apologised. It wasn't tokenistic either. He went on to open his website up to stories of the impact his book had. Some of them were resoundingly positive. Others were heart-wrenching. He is now making a documentary on it, one that is saying, "I was wrong about this." He's not throwing the whole baby out with the bathwater, but there's a lot he is copping as not quite right.
"Wow. Just wow," I thought. Its the same thing I said to myself when Benny Hinn admitted he was wrong about the prosperity gospel, or rather the extreme he used it for. (Read my take on that here). Its the same thing I thought when I read Billy Graham's take on what he would do differently. (Read that here).
I truly believe that, when people say "I was wrong" about something, especially if they do it on a potentially humiliating public platform like Harris did, we ought to sit up and listen. These are people who are deeply conscientious, who are growing in their faith and the expression of it. These are people who are safe to listen to. (Don't base your entire life on their expression of faith. That's dangerous. Your relationship with God is your business and responsibility. But they've been doing some soul-searching and they've changed because of it.)
Harris's Ted Talk is about the transformational power of admitting you were wrong. Honestly, its liberating!
But I can't really call this a complete review unless I talk about the subject he says he was wrong about: his book.
I can't say honestly that it hurt me. Much. The stories on his website vary a lot in content. The sadder ones include claims that it was legalistic, a flyswatter to whack people who stepped out of line, or that it was used to control people. I can't disagree with those points, whether through reading these accounts or recounting my own observations that spanned multiple churches I encountered over the years.
Many a story on Harris's website came from Christians in their 30's who are still waiting for their life partner. Some stories came from people relationally paralysed either by fear of giving too much of their heart away, or by the strength of their desires. One particularly unsettling story came from a 30 year old guy who simply cannot accept a mate who has had sex, even if it was just a mistake from her past. I read that account with two types of heartbreak - one for him and all that he may have lost by never finding love, and one for the girls he has rejected. Has this book given rise to a pseudo-Biblical form of "slut shaming", even in a time when we understand more about grace and forgiveness than we ever did? Quite possibly.
In hindsight, I remember reading the book and feeling a certain pressure to marry the first guy I "courted." (Spoiler: I did, and he's the best thing that ever happened to me). I am the eldest daughter of Christian ministers. There was a whole church and a whole network of churches that would see my every move. It was like living in a fishbowl. Oh the pressure to get this right!
I remember one lady in the church telling me off for flirting with a guy. She wasn't my mother, and it wasn't her job to police my behaviour. And I wasn't flirting! I had zero feelings for the guy. But the shame I felt over that was huge. It wasn't the only time I was pulled up for flirting. I truly believe this had a big impact on my ability to interact with members of the opposite sex. I tried my utmost to relate out of a stoic, "I have no sexual desires, I don't even want to get married, you know, unless its God's will for me," kind of persona. If even flirting was sinful, then gosh, I was evil! I'd done it more than twice. I have a naturally bubbly personality. I love to connect with people. Part of me died.
University was a particularly interesting time for me. When I was "outed" as saving myself for marriage, and when my fellow students discovered my flirting-disability, bets were laid. I felt so humiliated, and then all the more on guard with my peers. I was just a girl trying to find her way in the world. Now I was a trophy. A scalp to be claimed. A virgin. And that became the thing that everyone knew.
(Side note: Apologies to the guy who asked me out for dinner, and who was greeted not only by me but also the other 11 members of our study group. I totally missed the "its a date" memo. I will never forget the look on your face.)
(Another side note: I don't blame my parents at all for being among hundreds of thousands of church ministers globally who embraced this book and used it! Heck, we were all in the 90's purity movement. And you don't need a shot-gun or baseball bat if your teenagers are afraid of dating to the same degree that they're afraid of hell. My parents were just doing their best! I'm just sharing how I feel about Harris's book and its effect in hindsight.)
For many people, this book was a lightbulb moment. For me, and apparently for a lot of other Christian kids, it was fear-inducing. I was afraid of natural desires God had given me. Guess what: I wanted to get married. I wanted to love and be loved. I wanted the full experience of that and I felt all sorts of guilty about it. Imagine my mortification when an itinerant minister with the boomiest of voices began to call my parents church his home and insisted on loudly "Blessing" me with a husband - Every. Single. Sunday. (I still cringe)
I finally married when I was 29, and I don't regret for an instant that I saved myself for my husband - my soulmate, best friend and life partner. I guess, in some way, I have "I kissed dating goodbye (IKDG)" to thank for that. I guess in some way we do. Truly, I'm happy about it.
But post-marriage, we had a thing or two to learn about switching-on the desires that we had been told all our lives were bad. Yeah, yeah, you can kiss and hold hands and stuff when you are married. You can even flirt, you know, if you want. But the guilt doesn't go away instantly. (There's a whole lot I could write on that topic, but I won't yet because its a whole lot of disarmed honesty! Haha!)
I have a number of good looking, educated, eloquent, funny, amazing, single Christian friends who are of an age now where they look around at other friends with kids and wonder why its not them. They're still waiting for "the one." I've often ranted to my husband "Why don't guys just ASK HER OUT? I mean, she can even COOK! Wife her already, someone!" I sometimes think this is the legacy of IKDG. We can't go out for dinner with someone unless there's a bloody strong chance they are "the one." It carries a disproportionate feeling of failure if that dinner date doesn't result in a second date, a third, an engagement ring, a white dress, a picket fence, 2.5 kids and an SUV.
I wonder how many others felt guilty for even flirting. I wonder how many others felt bad that they wanted so darn much to get married and have kids. "What if it isn't God's will for me?" and all that.
My thoughts on flirting now - It lets you know what good chemistry feels like. And chemistry matters. If you are dating someone and there's none, then hold up honey! Warning bells.
My thoughts on Christianity and sexuality now - Can we stop pretending that because we are Christians, sexuality doesn't play a central, sensitive part in who we are? Can we take it off the list of things we don't talk about? Sure there is a Biblical approach to sex, and I don't for a second regret saving myself for marriage. But gosh - sex, relationships, sensuality, desire for connection - they're all God-designed. Can we not feel shame over owning something that is God-designed?
I applaud Josh Harris for standing up and saying he was wrong, and for expressing his regret at the legalistic fly-swatter his book became in more than a few instances. I hope he can also see the good it did (and I think he does). But adjusting our stance is a good thing.
My husband and I have two beautiful kids now. I adore them and hope they never face heartbreak. I'd love it if they fell in love with and married the first person they dated. I'd love it if they saved sex for marriage. I really hope they do and I'll raise them to believe that true love waits. But I'll also raise them to believe that flirting isn't bad, and our desire for love is normal and good.
Hopefully they'll marry younger than hubby and I, and I'll get a lot of years with my grandkids! If I have to wait until I'm in my 70's to chase the grandies around the park, I'm gonna be pissed.
If you've read Harris's book, if you love it, if you hate it, if you feel it helped, if you feel it hurt - I urge you to check out his Ted Talk and his website. At the very least it will make you view change and the admission "I was wrong" as a wholly good thing no matter what it applies to. It might even release you from some baggage you have felt over the years. It doesn't have to reframe how you feel about faith, sexuality, relationships or desire.
But you should know me by now! I like to think. I like to challenge thinking. And I have a firm belief that truth will prevail. I hope no one looks back on the 90's purity movement with bitterness. A lot of good came out of it. But one perk of the passage of time is that we build on the generation before us. That doesn't and shouldn't involve taking their word as gospel. It should involve extracting the truth, and discarding that which is harmful, then moving on to a closer, better, more compassionate expression of faith.
Oh and if you want to check out his Ted Talk, its here.
Just some thoughts!
Kit K.
Over and out.