August 15, 2022
When I was still a Christian and involved with the Evangelical Church, I had pretty much unlimited access to people who were “smarter” and “wiser” than me.
That meant if I expressed to an older man that I wanted to speak to him about some questions I had with the Bible, he’d take the time (usually right at that moment) to listen to me and give me his outlook.
If I expressed to someone who was my age but further along in his Christian lifestyle than me that I wanted to get his advice for how to handle a certain situation in my life, he’d take the time (usually right at that moment) to listen to me and coach me through it.
Hell, in my church, if I’d walked up to the head pastor and told him that I wanted to meet with him and ask him some questions, he’d slide me in on his schedule sometime during the week and make the time to listen to me.
Now, I’ve written before both on this blog and in my book that the guidance, advice, and “wisdom” I was getting from these people wasn’t that great simply because it was filtered through a Christian lens. However, the point I’m making here is that pretty much whenever I wanted—and no matter who it was or regardless of how “advanced” they were in their spiritual journey—I could easily access these people.
Ever since deconstructing my faith and leaving the Church I’ve noticed that the same concept does not necessarily carry over.
Not that long ago, a friend who I used to work with was talking to me about some problems in his life. This guy is a Christian and has a strong faith. As he was laying out his problems, I instantly recognized the situation as something I’d gone through myself. I had some advice that I felt very strongly would help him (because it’s what I did to overcome the exact same situation that he was describing to me now) except there was just one problem: my advice would strongly suggest that he stop paying so much attention to religion and actually consider that perhaps God did not exist, and then start living differently in accordance with that Truth.
Therefore, I didn’t tell him my advice at all.
I just said, “Yeah man, that sucks, that’s tough,” etc. And left it at that. I didn’t bother to give him my advice because I knew he wasn’t going to heed it or truly consider it because it wasn’t based in any kind of faith. So he left that conversation thinking I didn’t have any answers for him, when that wasn’t true at all. I had lots of advice for him, and advice that would’ve been very effective for his specific situation. I just chose not to give it to him because I knew he wasn’t going to take it on board and seriously and earnestly consider it.
That’s very different to how advice and guidance is treated in the Church.
You’ve probably been in this situation yourself, but with the roles reversed. Meaning you’ve likely been in the presence of someone who could’ve given you life-changing advice, but opted not to because he wisely sized you up and determined you weren’t in a place in your life where you were ready to hear it.
Is this a bad thing? At first it might seem so, but it really isn’t.
After I deconstructed my faith and left the Church, I became a very materialist atheist for a while. It makes perfect sense as a next step for someone who has just let go of their belief in a supernatural deity.
As a result, I used to get very frustrated with “spiritual types.” Not Christians, but “spiritual types.” You know, someone who was really into their spirituality, did a lot of yoga, meditated all the time, and all that stuff. At least, that was how I sized them up at the time.
What annoyed me about these people was that when I (or someone else) asked them what they believed, they never answered directly. They just gave me a knowing smile and said something vague. This used to frustrate me to no end. I took it as an admission that they didn’t know what they actually believed and they were just trying to dodge the question.
However, I see now that I was wrong. They weren’t trying to avoid the question—they were opting not to answer it directly because they knew I wasn’t ready to hear their answer. Just like my friend who I used to work with, they realized that the answer they had for me completely went against how I saw the world at that point in my life, so they knew it would’ve been pointless to explain it to me. Why waste their breath?
Now that it’s been several years since my own faith deconstruction, I’ve since opened myself up toward carefully developing a spiritual life. And you know what? Now I understand why those “spiritual types” never felt inclined to entertain my questions. Because they knew I wasn’t ready to hear the answer. I would’ve just dismissed it straight away.
I’ve since found myself in reversed roles. I’ve had friends who are materialist atheists ask me about what spiritual practices I’m adopting since I’ve left religion. I hear the subtle tone underneath their question:
“I see you’re into this ‘woo-woo’ stuff now. You’re not really going to tell me that you actually believe in this stuff, are you? Because if you do, I’m just going to write you off as a crazy person.”
I suspect the same vibe was laced in my questions to the “spiritual types” even though, at the time, I thought I was being earnestly curious.
The thing about these new spiritual beliefs was that I came to them on my own. No one person, church, or “guru” just dumped them onto me with a threat of “believe this, or else” like what happens in the Evangelical church. In a way, the “spiritual types” understood that most of the value of developing a spiritual life is by uncovering it on your own and in your own time and not just getting the answers from someone else.
By the way, this doesn’t only pertain to spiritual beliefs. It pertains to all aspects of life: relationships, business, government, politics.
Be aware of this dynamic. Be on the lookout for it. Next time you declare something (a political opinion, a lack of a certain belief, a proposition for the best way to go about something, what something means, etc.) and some (usually older) person regards you with a knowing, amused smirk, and then proceeds to say nothing… stop and consider that perhaps you’re in the presence of someone who already knows, through experience, that you aren’t speaking with a holistic perspective. And that if you were to ask him to tell you why you were wrong, he might decline to do so, simply because he recognizes you’re not yet at a place in your life where you’d be willing to consider it.
It’s not your fault; we all must navigate our ways to that more holistic perspective through time and experience and, usually, mistakes.