September 28, 2020
Let me tell you a story.
I was sailing down the Amazon river on a three story riverboat. I was there as a part of a team sent by my church. It was a short-term mission trip (a little more than a week) and to this day, it’s the only mission trip I’ve ever been on.
The mission trip worked like this: there were two main teams: a medical team and a children’s ministry team. Each team was headed by a Brazilian contact who directed me and the other Americans on how to assist them.
The medical team was divided further into dental, vision, and pharmacy. The local Brazilian dentist who’d accompanied us checked the villager’s teeth. The local Brazilian doctor set up a table and heard symptoms, then prescribed medication. His stock consisted only of over-the-counter medicines that had been donated. The vision team helped villagers try on donated reading glasses.
The day in the village concluded with a worship service and a sermon, asking people to accept Jesus as their Lord and savior. The sermons were given in Portuguese by the Brazilian pastor on board our boat and the worship songs were also sung in Portuguese by the interpreters.
One key component of these evening church services was that one of the Americans (who had previously volunteered that morning) would stand up and give their testimony to the local villagers. One of the interpreters would stand by and translate.
Then, we’d all board the boat and sail to the next village overnight while we slept. We’d usually wake up to find that we’d already docked at our next destination.
Late into the trip, I was doing my early morning quiet time and Bible reading in the most private spot I could find on that crowded boat. We’d been assigned readings by our pastor, but I ignored those and instead read through the book of Acts (I was rebellious like that). I think that book resonated with me at the time because it described the missionary journeys of Paul and Peter, and in a way, I felt like I was on my own missionary journey that week.
Anyway, the important thing about this particular quiet time was that I suddenly felt “moved” to give my testimony at the next village.
I realized I’d never given my testimony publicly before. I also knew that I would only get out of the mission trip what I put into it (which is true of most things in life). I was also aware that if I didn’t do at least one thing that was outside of my comfort zone on that trip, then I’d regret it (because mission trips like these ultimately serve the person who goes on the trip, not the local population — a big topic for another time).
But I was nervous about giving my testimony. I didn’t consider it compelling because I’d never made a dramatic turnaround from a chaotic life. I’d simply been saved when I was eleven years old and proceeded to live a predictable, boring Christian life ever since then. I also knew (because of what I’d always been told) that all testimonies are equal, and that mine is just as valid as another person’s testimony that’s fraught with challenge, sin, and drama.
So, in the morning group huddle and debrief, my pastor put out the call for volunteers to give their testimony. Before I could overthink it, I jabbed my hand in the air. “I’ll do it.”
I fretted about it all day. I tried to put together some semblance of a speech. I didn’t have much time to focus on it though, because the day’s work needed to be done. I was assigned to children’s ministry that day — another attempt to get out of my comfort zone. I’ve never really been that good with kids.
When the time came, I just rolled with it. I vomited my testimony, my words immediately filtered through the interpreter by my side. I don’t remember what I said at all. People encouraged me afterward, said I did a good job, but encouragement is so common in Christian environments that you can never really be sure if it’s true.
I’m telling you this story because I want to get you remembering your own testimony and the times in which you shared it for evangelistic purposes. Maybe you were one of the “lucky” ones that had a compelling testimony like I mentioned earlier, filled with challenge, sin, and drama. Maybe yours was less thrilling like mine. Either way, you were probably always taught — like I was — that your testimony is yours, unique, and valuable. The story of how you came to be saved — the most important story of your life.
Although I no longer believe as I once did, I still find the concept of a testimony valuable. I want to encourage you to not throw away this concept simply because it’s tied with religion.
The ex-fundamentalist community typically calls them deconversion stories. Regardless of what they’re called, the concept is the same. It’s your personal, unique story that you can tell to others about a significant and meaningful change in your life. A story that explains who you are today and why you see the world as you do.
Unfortunately, deconversion stories are often tragic. They can be filled with terrible things: abuse, trauma, manipulation, doubt, confusion, anger. It isn’t often you hear a deconversion story that is simply, “I believed, then I didn’t.” There is almost always a powerful (and usually negative) inciting incident that pushes someone to finally deconstruct their faith.
Your deconversion story is your new testimony, no matter how tragic or painful. Own it. Tell people when they ask. It is uniquely yours and everyone’s is equally as valuable. Your story deserves to be heard. Pretty much everyone you meet who has deconverted from religion will be very eager to hear your deconversion story.
Christian testimonies pretty much all end the same. “I found Jesus, accepted him as my lord and savior, and I’ve lived happily ever after since then.”
Does your deconversion story have a happy ending? If not, then your story might not yet be over. I’ve said before that your life should improve after your deconversion. If it feels like it hasn’t, that’s normal, because it does take some time to put the pieces back together after leaving your religion.
But ultimately, in time, you should start to see a stark difference in the person you are today and the person you were when you in the Church.
My work here on this blog and in my book is meant to help practically guide you through this tumultuous deconversion period. To share with you what worked for me so you can pick out what resonates with you and your own unique personality.