What now? Life after desconstruction.

BY HEIDI PRAHL

Lover of Jesus, my family, really good coffee, and all things Chicago. I’m a living, breathing paradox.

Almost ten years ago, I started on a journey that would later be called a dirty word in church circles: deconstruction. At the time I didn’t know there was a name for it, nor did I know anyone else was wrestling with the same things I was. I just knew my soul felt restless, so I set out searching for peace.

Contrary to a popular misconception that people deconstruct because they’re looking to indulge in sin, it was actually the practice of picking up my Bible every morning that set this journey in motion. I no longer felt like the words in my Bible matched with what was happening on Sunday mornings.

As Shane Claiborne says, I sensed there was more to this Christian faith than just being born-again-again every time we were encouraged to raise our hands at the end of a service.

I had no idea what was in store for me, which was probably best. Had I known, I would probably have pulled a Jonah, and run as far and fast as possible.

It’s weird to me now, because I later learned that people think those who are deconstructing are looking for loopholes to sin or that we no longer believe the Bible. Quite the opposite was true . . .I wanted MORE of Jesus, I just wasn’t finding Him in the church.

Deconstruction is quite terrifying, actually. You find yourself in a strange land where all the things you’ve ever known (and parroted) about “backsliding” or “losing your salvation” play out like the preview to the most terrifying psychological thriller, on repeat. You’ve shed the layers of who you used to be, and you can’t step back into that person, but you really wish you could, because it would be so much easier. Add in the voices of those who are “concerned.” These voices are loud, and they want nothing more than for you just to conform.

Every person’s journey is different, and if you’re currently on your own deconstruction path, just know you’re not alone. I wouldn't expect your journey looking like mine, but I will stand beside you as you work out your faith with fear and trembling. And I can tell you that there’s beauty and peace and freedom and the biggest exhale of the soul waiting on the other side.

When you finally embrace this new way of faith, one question remains…what now? What does the Re-construction process look like? I can’t answer that for you, but I can share how things have changed for me (in no particular order):

I continue to remind myself that it’s for freedom’s sake that Christ set us free. The newly minted freedom I’ve stepped into is priceless, which feels accurate based on how much it cost Jesus.

I didn’t always realize it, but I now see that my church years were filled with fear and anxiety. It felt like my faith was always up for grabs—if I watched the wrong thing or read the wrong authors. I’ve come to find that I’m learning so much more about the heart and character of God when I engage with things that challenge my belief system, and especially when I embrace and welcome people into my life that I was once taught to fear. I’ve learned that my faith is not that fragile.

I’m reading the Bible with a new set of eyes. It occurred to me that in my church experience we never really embraced the truly magical nature of the things that happen in the Bible. When you stop to think about it, and consider if we were around to witness these things, we’d probably live out our faith a whole lot differently. People step out of the intense heat and fire of a furnace—no burns, not even smelling like smoke. An entire sea is split down the middle and a huge group of people pass through on *dry* ground. Jesus shows up, after His death, into a crowded room where all the doors have been locked, talks with people, and then, just like that, disappears again. Barrels of plain water become transformed into the finest wine. A donkey talks. People pick flakes of food off the grass each morning for nourishment, and the next morning, fresh flakes of food appear again...and these stories are just a fraction of what happens in the Bible. If we really believe this Book is true, how can we not sit in absolute wonderment of the sheer magic of it all? How can we not live differently because of it?

Stories like the Prodigal Son remind me that I don’t need to chase after anyone who chooses to leave. I just need to love them and celebrate them when they come home.

I think about the Proverbs 31 woman, but now I also think about the verses right before the description of a noble wife. The verses that call us to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, to demand justice for those being crushed, the poor and helpless.

We say over and over that God is the creator of all things, yet, I’ve only recently begun to unravel what that really means. Since God created all things and all people, His fingerprints are on everything. His handiwork is everywhere. Why should I fear anyone just because they believe differently, live differently, or have a different theology? They are God’s creation, too. Same as me. God took the time to knit them together, fearfully and wonderfully made. How can I not believe that they have something to teach me about the heart of God?

Instead of shame, I now feel pride if someone refers to me as a “bleeding heart liberal.” I believe that’s exactly who God created me to be. (I never understood why this was a bad thing to aspire to, but add that to the list of a lot of things I complied with, but never understood). I’m believing that the person I am is exactly who God had in mind when He created me.

Most importantly, I’m learning to listen to the Holy Spirit. It occurred to me that in my church experience we didn’t really acknowledge the Holy Spirit much (strange, being part of the Trinity and all). Jesus says He will give us the Holy Spirit as His gift when He leaves this earth. The Bible mentions all kinds of situations where people act on a nudging from God, whether it’s Peter’s vision to eat what is unclean, which ultimately led to the sharing of the Good News with the Gentiles, to those who had unknowingly prepared a room for a Passover meal that would ultimately be where Jesus could eat what would become the Last Supper. Sometimes God asks us to do things that don’t seem to make sense. I’m learning that through the promptings of the Holy Spirit, my faith will look different than yours. In fact, it’s supposed to. Jesus never used a one size fits all approach to anything, yet I felt like that was the church’s goal: to produce a congregation of people whose faith was very similar. But that’s not what we see in the Bible.

Fr Greg Boyle quotes a Jesuit friend who says, “We need a better God than the one we have,” which sounds like a provocative statement until you realize it’s not about God at all. It’s about us —me—and my understanding of God. I think about that statement a lot. It keeps me centered in the fact that my human understanding of God is so limited. My human tendency is to create Him in my own image, which makes for a not very impressive God.

I’m reminded that my worldview is continually being shaped and shifted as various events unfold. Why shouldn’t my belief and understanding of God continue to change as I experience more of Him through His Word, through the people and their stories that I encounter?

Today, I am no longer interested in a faith that is static. I’ve given myself permission to accept that my beliefs will be molded and shaped as I evolve and grow. As my perspective shifts, so will my knowledge of Who God is. I no longer try to fit Him in a box or believe that if I don’t have all the answers my faith will be on shaky ground. I commit over and over to the promise of working out my faith with fear and trembling. And it just so happens that all of this has led to a faith that is truly my own.