Deconstructing in 400 SF

#fulltimerv #rvlifewithkids #downsizing #Deconstructing

Have you heard this term?

Deconstruct

verb

gerund or present participle: deconstructing

1. analyze (a text or a linguistic or conceptual system) by deconstruction, typically in order to expose its hidden internal assumptions and contradictions and subvert its apparent significance or unity. "she likes to deconstruct the texts, to uncover what they are not saying"

When I first heard this term in relation to faith or religion, specifically Christianity, I thought it was a modern misapplication of a term to a popular cultural phenomenon. How does one deconstruct their faith? But after reading this definition, and after moving away from everything that was comfortable in my life, including “church” as I knew it, deconstructing is exactly what I ended up doing. I also came to realize that this deconstruction did not start two years ago when we moved into full-time RV life, it started many years before when I began to question the division between what I knew in my heart to be True about God and what the modern, American church culture was trying to tell me.

After years of frustration and anxiety in every single church setting that I experienced, short and long-term, I am finally feeling some freedom from the pressure to conform my actions and behaviors to a list dictated by man. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Let me begin by explaining that my deconstruction is from the perspective of someone who grew up in the church in the south. Going to church was normal, expected, and consistent. I got saved, baptized, rebaptized, and considered myself a Christian for most of my life. I never stopped believing in God, even when I “backslid” into adulthood, but I stopped considering myself worthy of God’s acceptance. Early in my thirties, I decided I wanted my children to be raised with Christian principles so back to church we went. I recommitted myself to the Christian life and thus received acceptance through Jesus and His forgiveness of my sins. This is where my work was cut out for me because I had a lot of behavior modification to do. The church was very helpful in this and I was offered every opportunity to learn how to become the best version of myself through programs, adult Christian education, and peer review. Mission trips, Bible studies, women’s ministry events, serving, volunteering, you name it. I did them all and then some, all in an effort to earn my right (dare I say righteousness?) to go to heaven.

About eight years into this process of self-sanctification our family went through a crisis. It was not a health crisis or a financial crisis, you know, one of those acceptable issues in the eyes of our church family. No, we went through a crisis with our son, who was not behaving the way that we had taught him. He had struggled for years against the tight ropes of behavioralism that we had bound him with and things had come to a head. We had received promises of prayer and recommendations for counseling from our church family, but when push came to shove, this kind of crisis was not something that anyone wanted to step into with us.

My subsequent crisis of faith in the institution of church had been building for a few years already, but sending our son away to a military-style addiction program for fifteen months was my breaking point. Compound that with the fact that every single one of my church friends dropped us like hot rocks and it is easy to picture a pretty broken woman. I went from a stay-at-home homeschool mom to a work-at-night homeschool mom; from teaching Bible study every week to waiting tables; from having at least twenty “close” church friends to having zero. The amazing part of the next two years was God’s overwhelming financial provision, which served as both a confirmation of our decision and affirmation that, even though we had lost our “church family,” God was still good and He had not turned His back on us.

Fast forward a few years and we actually made it to the other side of that low point in our lives with our faith intact, maybe even stronger. But our family life now looked very different. I kept looking for a church and we tried several over the next six years, but my trust in the institution of church was shattered. I wanted to find a place to heal, to rebuild a sense of community, but the lights had been turned on and, real or imagined, I could see the dust mites in every corner. Instead, I threw myself into a ministry in Africa. An old friend from church, who happened to attend the same mega-church that I was hiding in, invited me to join a group of doctors who were planning a clinic in Uganda. I signed up immediately, despite having zero medical background, purely out of a selfish desire to go to Africa. Back in my Super-Christian days, I had gone on a short-term mission trip to South Africa and it really opened my eyes to the dichotomy between the American Christian life and how it does not translate outside of the US. I loved South Africa and experienced God in a way that I do not think is possible in America, with all of our noise.

So, off to Uganda I went. I absolutely loved it and was completely and utterly devoted to this ministry for the next two years. Unfortunately, my time serving with this ministry ended in heartbreak and more questions. Why is it so hard for the people of God to come together and serve? Why does ministry usually end in burn-out? I have spent years searching for answers to these questions and many more. I have talked to other leaders who have burned out, other missionaries who have had their hearts broken by their peers and sending organizations, and friends who have been asked to leave their church amidst controversy. The one consistent theme throughout all of the stories is that everyone involved is just a broken human being in need of Jesus. But we forget that. We forget that Jesus had to die for us too.

In January of 2020, I was sitting in the dark in that mega-church I mentioned, listening to the same misogynistic jokes and thumbing through the latest capital campaign booklet. This was the second one in two years, totaling almost one hundred million dollars. Yep, you read that right. I had been to Uganda five times in just over two years and had seen firsthand the effects of life-long poverty. I sat there reading the full-color, heavy cardstock booklet that outlined all the amazing things that were going to be accomplished with the capital funding, and all I could think about was how wrong it all was. New campuses that would attract more people to leave their current churches and attend that new hip church; streamlined services with the best childcare that money could buy; a full staff at each location, despite the fact that only one man preached on a jumbo screen every week; professional grade musicians at every location; programs for every member of the family. And for what? A thousand people attended the church service that we attended every week. We walked in the same door and said hello to the same greeters every week, but we never got past hello. My kids attended the youth group and I went inside to pick them up. I never had a single person show any interest in anything beyond a casual exchange of pleasantries. We were all there just checking those boxes.

I left church that January morning and never went back. Two months later my husband called me from the office and told me he had just been fired. One week later the entire country, and then the world, shut down due to a global pandemic. Just a few months later we sold our house and most of our belongings and moved into a 400-square-foot RV. Covid created a bit of a vacuum in the church world, with every church shutting its doors for some period of time. This worked perfectly for me and I had a nice break from the pressure to attend church. Once we moved into the RV and started traveling, we found church services on YouTube that we watched together each week. It felt very forced, but it was a relief not to be in an actual service. That lasted about a year before the pastor of those services started calling everyone back to attend in person, which was not an option for us. They needed people back in those empty buildings, giving money to pay the bills and the salaries of all those staff members. I don’t remember when we gave up the farce of attending remote church, but it probably coincides with the completion of my deconstruction.

You see, I don’t think I have ever questioned if God is real or if He loves me. However, I had started to wonder if I could ever really call myself a Christian, because I no longer believed in the message of the church. The Truth of Jesus seemed lost in the business of disciple-making. The Good News felt more like a yoke of slavery, accompanied by a to-do list and a don’t list. God’s goodness seemed conditional and His will for me illusive and dependent on my own ability to understand and do everything right.

When I read the Bible on my own and really listened to His Spirit, I never once felt condemned or ashamed, only love and kindness, which led to repentance. But “conviction” was around every pew and program in almost every church I ever attended. It’s not like I never heard any Truth at church, it was just wrapped in a package of works. Jesus loves you and forgives you, now go do better and serve and give and earn your free gift. God is merciful and gracious, but once you are saved you better not mess up too badly. Decades of sermons, Bible studies, small groups, and ministry had created layers of beliefs that do not line up with the Good News of Jesus. Culture, upbringing, my parent’s beliefs, my husband’s beliefs, and more had all contributed to my understanding of scripture and so much of it was contrary to what I really believed in my heart to be the Truth about God and His Son.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16 (I have no idea why I have this verse memorized in the KJV)

This verse cannot be true if God is expecting something from me in return.

…..Whosoever believeth in Him…..

Believe.

He gave His only Son first.

So that….WHOEVER BELIEVES can have life everlasting.

Thanks to a random Instagram post I saw earlier this year from a fellow RV’er, I read a book called “Reclaim” by Russ Johnson and Tony Sorci. I have read a lot of amazing books over the years that identify the problems in the church and attempt to redefine church in our culture. “Reclaim” does not attempt to define or solve the American church problem or explain the decline in church attendance. Instead, the authors focus on the words of Jesus and explore His parables through the lens of who Jesus said He was. I warn you, it is extremely controversial. They actually contend that Jesus was not about winning, He was not interested in reforming us, and He did not come to make us into better people. Jesus was, is, and always will be only interested in saving us from living all eternity separated from His Father. And He accomplished that, once and for all, when He lived, died, and rose from the grave. Nothing I can do will ever deserve that and no amount of behavior modification will ever be enough to make me worthy. Period.

Exposing the hidden internal assumptions and contradictions [deconstructing] that have informed my entire Christian life has been the most liberating and amazing experience. Doing that in 400 square feet with my husband and teenagers along for the ride has been the greatest gift and biggest challenge. For most of my life, I have operated under the misperception that pursuing God is figuring out what He really wants from me and doing exactly that. Instead, I am learning that a life of faith should be always asking, “What is God really like?” and then responding to life through that lens. God is not dependent on me figuring Him out, but He delights in revealing Himself to me through His Spirit.

My identity as a Christian cannot be tied to my behavior, it must rest only in the perfection of Christ.