Several months ago, one of my high school acquaintances went through a spiritual crisis. She revealed to me that she had started questioning her faith and whether or not God even existed. This was a big deal for her because up until then, she was a staunch Christian. She grew up in church and pushed it on me many times. She even quoted scripture in everyday conversations. Of course, I was surprised by her admission. I wasn’t sure what led to the breakdown of her beliefs but I liked it.
Then some of my own Christian guilt bubbled up. I felt bad that I felt satisfied by her questioning. But I also felt relieved. I wasn’t alone. Or at least this was the first time someone publicly acknowledged their struggle with their faith. Usually that kind of thing is kept to one’s self.
As she spoke to me about her questions and conflicting feelings, I listened and mentally checked off every inconsistency she mentioned, comparing my own list to hers. I realized we shared many of the same reservations regarding our religion. I could relate to her struggle. And I felt, for the first time, someone could relate to mine.
My town is divided up into 3 groups: devout believers, devout non-believers, and those who don’t care either way (the smallest group). But I felt like the single soul who actually fit into all 3 categories yet still didn’t belong to any of them.
There was a time when I believed. And then there was a time when I rebelled against my religion. And then there was a time when I think my religion rebelled against me.