They died in a car crash.

One very tragic night that lives with me forever, two people who meant the most to me in this human world gone forever. No matter how much time elapses, the raw pain of this ordeal does not seem to decrease.

My life has never been the same. In some ways, it was the best thing that could have happened to me, which sounds odd and certainly twisted. They were my best friends on earth–a 60 year age difference did not matter at all. As soon as I got my own car aged 16, I started driving the 60 miles to visit them more often. I brought all my puppy-love boyfriends to meet them. They served a unique purpose in my upbringing–my parents were pretty unstable and frankly unsuited for the task at hand, so my grandparents were in some ways more like my parents.

When they died, my parents became more religious. When they died, I walked away from Christianity.

When they died, I learned how to live. The cliche is to live like each day was your last, and that I really believe and I feel that I learned it the hard way. No regrets, no qualms, embrace this opportunity we have been given. Now I live enthusiastically and encourage others to do so because the alternative is the place that I come from. I used to be frightened of so many things. Of flying, of strangers, of walking around alone at night. I have learned to embrace the fear as part of the sensation. Recklessness is bad, but overly cautious behavior is equally diabolical.

The best Christians I knew died a horrific death and left behind a huge mess. Although for me, the mess has been the most beautiful thing I could imagine. It was this even that catalyzed my getting out of an abusive marriage and embarking on life with a new spirit. Without such a shake-up I would likely still be where I was, or dead myself as I sank lower and lower into depression.

Music saved me in some ways. They loved music and our shared passion carried me forward. Gardening helped too, they were farmers in the early days and my tending to my plants also felt reverential.

But it was also ironically enough the death of my beloved and most admired Christians that probably at least a little bit caused me to question Christianity. And not in the manner of “if God could let them die like that how can we believe?” but more generally in the sense of questioning everything when the senseless takes place. I don’t blame God directly for what happened, but I do see a random, human element in the world that did not appear to me before. And I don’t feel the need to attribute all, good and bad, to God.

I had odd premonitions that someone close to me would die in a car accident, although in my childhood dreams it was my father, not my grandparents. I was very upset when a plane would crash, that being similar, and I was oddly distracted by the death of princess Diana even though at the time I had never stood on English soil. The element of sudden-ness, of surprise, was a constant fear and theme in my life.

When your worst nightmare takes place in the flesh, and is worse than you actually feared, then you learn to move on. You find solace in the fact that you are still alive, and so are many people around you. You reassure yourself that your grandparents knew how much you loved them even if you missed their last phone call before their death. You cling to a voicemail message from a voice that no longer exists, a letter from someone who can no longer put pen to paper. You move on with your life but you’re changed forever. You no longer see the world as intrinsically good.

When I found the courage to leave my ex-husband, and get out of a nasty abusive situation, even though my grandparents were gone it was their legacy to which I turned. I spent four months living in the basement of my uncle, another in the family who had been divorced and eventually found love and life again. He had stayed in the spare room at my grandparents’ home when he got divorced, so it was strangely comforting to me to know that they would have understood what was going on with me and supported my staying in my uncle’s home.

I miss them. I know that, they being old when they died in the car crash, I was spared seeing them decline and die the way that most elderly people do. But the rational knowledge of that does not make it any easier. Yes, their lives influenced me profoundly when they were living and again in their demise, but I would give back some of the knowledge I have now to have them back again.

- ExEvangel

I am a scientist first and foremost, and my life is defined by the concept of falsifiable hypotheses. Religion is not falsifiable, and therefore it can never be consistent with science. We can try to explain things, either in a Christian sense or an Atheist sense, but they will never be proven. I disagree with Dawkins in some aspects of this, as I don’t believe we can claim the non-existance of God any more than we can prove it. I am not interested in fundamental research trying to “prove” the origins of life are purely biological any more than I try to prove that they are not. I am mystified by the fuss over “Expelled” right now since anything designed to preach to the converted is destined to do only that. I don’t believe that scientific evidence is the key in the religious debate.

In some ways I fall into a distinct minority within atheist and agnostic circles, in that I have no interest in an emphasis of proof. I concur with the concept that the relationship between belief and knowledge is impossible. My goals as a scientist and a de-convert do not include trying to “prove” anyone right or wrong, but only to open a discourse about what may or may not be felt as part of the human experience. I am interested in epistemology but there are few concrete answers, few defined intersections between truth and belief. The range of truth is narrow, the range of belief is large. Therefore the range of knowledge is indefinable.

As a scientist, I wonder if we try too hard. If we are too concerned with general relativity or the origins of life to see the fine details exploding right in front of our faces. A classic “missing the trees for the forest” problem. My own branch of science concerns human suffering, and I worry that we don’t know why babies are born prematurely or why cancer kills people in the prime of their lives. We get distracted with the grand problems and miss the opportunities to solve the local ones. We miss the opportunities that we have to influence local human suffering, in the hopes of achieving fame and fortune in developing a theory of everything.

The theory of everything that we try to develop includes either God or the Lack-Thereof, depending on the philosophical bent of the “scientist” in question. We want to prove God exists or doesn’t exist, we want to prove life originates with God or independently of God. We therefore are biased before ever entering the problem, and it takes away the best part of science (not to mention the fundamental tenet). We miss surprise. We miss the opportunity for discovery. For shock. For the joy in the unexpected. This is my greatest criticism of both the confirmed Christians and the devout atheists. We do not leave ourselves open to possibility, we think we know it all a priori.

My de-conversion story includes a realization that I could leave the fold and find greater happiness than when I behaved in a “Christian” manner, at least according to my Evangelical family and friends. The surprise element of this was fantastic. The ability to question everything was fundamental. Certain aspects of my Christian upbringing have stayed with me–I do indeed enjoy watching the service from the Vatican on Christmas Eve, I find great peace in singing in Evensong in an Anglican service, but I do not restrict my life to the “commandments 11-102″ mentality that dominated my early Christian existence. Contrary to popular Christian belief, this “liberation” has not involved debauchery or a lot of “sin”, just more a freedom to enjoy the windy road of life as it comes. And that is particularly related to the bliss associated with the element of surprise. When life throws you lemons, make lemonade. Or lemon cheesecake. Or hollandaise sauce. The possibilities are endless. The problem with Christianity is the lack of creativity and unexpected results. Dictation of behavioral norms ruins the ride that is life. Instead, enjoy the ride. And don’t be scared to be surprised by the results. Humans can live as scientists do, with theories but open minds about the outcome of the study. A negative result is still a result. We have still learned something. You only lose when you try to force the outcome.

- ExEvangel

My only parental guidance on this subject was Josh McDowell’s book from the “Why Wait” series. My youth pastor at church referred to losing one’s virginity as analogous to a baseball crashing through a plate-glass window: you were left to pick up the pieces and you could never reclaim what you once had.

The problem is, and I’m far from the first person to notice this, that it is then hard to turn overnight from an angel to a vixen. The whole thing is tainted–and I don’t buy the Born Agains who claim that they can get the guidance they need to make this transition through prayer and study of the gospels. Yes, you need to study. No, I don’t think the information you need is in the words of Paul. Nor is it in pornography, another Christian favorite (for reasons that boggle the mind).

I know this one far too well and from painful personal experience. I was the good girl who got married too young as a dressed-in-white virgin, in a wedding doomed for failure involving another (technical) virgin. I was then harshly mistreated by said husband, who seemed to think sexual intercourse was an inalienable right and my participation was optional. I blame him but I don’t–his problems were the result of his own Christian upbringing. Yes, he should have known better or learned better, but then again, I should have worked at this one too. I was frigid and scared and unwilling to do what is required in the context of really great sex: to get messy, to laugh together, to revel in sharing the things that you keep from other people.

When I finally escaped the marriage and began the slow recovery from Evangelical Christian-ness, I learned about sex the way normal (non-Evangelical) women do. I watched every episode of Sex and the City at least three times. I read “Glamour” and “Cosmo” every month to recalibrate my ideas about normal. I bought books–manuals, you could say–about how to please a man. I bought every chick-lit novel I could afford and re-read them until the pages were worn. What I did not do was become promiscuous: the legacy of being sexually mistreated by a spouse is that you have to work really hard on the trust issue. But at least now, in my middle thirties and continuing the long recovery from this particular brand of Christianity, I have learned how to have a normal adult relationship including intimacy of both the sexual and non-sexual sorts.

The thing that really confuses me is the group of “Born Again Virgins.” I truly don’t know what to make of it. Was the effort never made by these people to have truly great sex when it was on the “allowed” list? That’s the only logical explanation I can think of, that the people who advocate this movement never really enjoyed it in the first place. Or perhaps they were in unfulfilling relationships that otherwise lacked intimacy. Perhaps by very nature of their backgrounds, they too were wracked with guilt or other negative feelings. Surely not all BAVs had religious upbringings, but maybe the very nature of the personality type that joins this sort of ‘club’ predisposes them to have had unfulfilling sexual experiences and struggles with sexual guilt.

This seems to be a uniquely Evangelical thing. Although I try to stay away from anyone who professes a Born Again mentality, I do in fact still feel stirrings of Christian faith in my soul. Shockingly, I attend church on a regular basis, although it’s one of those churches where they chant things and follow a rigorous and long-established service order (no rock bands, choruses that don’t rhyme, or dramas). In other Christian crowds, while promiscuity is discouraged, there is no condemnation for thoughtful sexual relationships between consenting adults trying to establish the partnership.

From all I’ve seen, the bottom line is simple. The only cure for abstinence is education. And that means raunchy, explicit education, both of the book-learning variety and of the “laboratory experiment” type. With a lot of education, and a lot of effort, you too can recover from a puritanical upbringing and learn to have a healthy attitude towards lawful carnal knowledge.

- ExEvangel

Question 1: What is the point of the Christianity in secular society? In a world where neither morals nor ethics require a religious connection, where atheists exhibit both, and where laws exist to keep a society in check, where personal fulfillment is associated with achievement in the workplace or otherwise, how does the Christianity fill a necessary role?

The answer presented (and I apologise that I cannot recall which Archbishop said it) was that a Christian faith presents the “forgiveness of sins” and that this was fundamental. It immediately brought to mind the idea of a snake-oil salesman, uttering the conversion tactic used by evangelicals, “you have a problem… SIN! But I have a cure! Christ.”

Sentamu, had very interesting things to say about Africa but it wasn’t clear to me that his words reflected the current state of right and wrong. As regards many of the atrocities that take place in modern society, including especially in Africa, people either don’t know something is wrong or they know it is wrong but they know they can get away with it. Where does Christianity fix this? By being up-front about the issue of “what is wrong, what is sin” it defines things better, and provides a mechanism to ask for forgiveness, but is it really a qualitative difference?

If sin is the big thing, then that has to go with guilt over sin. If the quest for being a “better person” is the role of Christianity, then is God the answer, or is therapy the answer? If learning to love yourself is the greatest problem, then surely that can be learned without having to rely on a supreme being? I walked away from the evening completely unclear as to how Christianity was a necessary thing aside from the fear tactics “you’re going to hell!” that are common amongst the more fiery evangelicals.

This question arose when Archbishop Rowan was asked about whether he finds it easy to believe. He stated that yes, he had never not believed, and he found this easy and that he found living a life worthy of his belief was the more difficult task. This is interesting, and immediately begs the question of, “what is wrong with us that don’t find this baseline faith to be so simple?” He went on to discuss the potential tactics for those who do not find it so easy to believe, and claimed that faith was potentially for everyone, not just those who had his lucky doubt-free existence. The direct statement was that someone who is having doubts should continue to immerse themselves in a Christian experience and that eventually they would come to faith. I’m sure many of us on the de-conversion path would question this, and would feel as though our further researchers have left us further than ever from the faith, in light of rational thought and considerations.

I grew up in a world where the “born again” emotional experience was essentially the “have an epiphany” moment that was supposed to sustain you for the rest of your Christian days. I have, in rational days, been extremely cautious about “road to Damascus” moments just as I have been hesitant to believe the hormone-fuelled words of someone who claims to have fallen in love. All important transitions in life are processes, which involve baby-steps taking place over the course of years. I can recall the day I met my partner without claiming that our relationship today is the same as it was the day we met; there was attraction at first, then over many years there was true love, that of the “I would die for you” sort. The same thing is true of many conversions to Christian faith, there is an infatuation phase, especially in those raised outside the church when they first discover it, and then over time there is a gradual acclimatization to the Christian life. But I remain extremely skeptical of anyone who claims a never-ceasing faith that arrived from nowhere and has never wavered. I guess if I was the Archbishop I would say so in public as well, although perhaps that turns off more confused people than the number of the devoted that it reassures.

What exactly is going on with those people who would like to have faith but cannot seem to reconcile it with their own experiences? Is this the fault of the modern church for not being approachable? The fault of the person who is not somehow opening themselves up to the experience? The fault of the Christian community who are like a bad high school “mean girls” clique existing solely for their own benefit?

I walked away, as I do from most religious events these days, with more questions than answers. I am no longer an evangelical middle-American Christian, but in my new incarnation I had held out hopes at being an Anglican chorister with some remnants of my Christian faith retained. Unfortunately, the more I delve into this, the harder I find it to maintain any sense of allegiance to the gospels of Christ.

- ExEvangel

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. How was I any different?

I stumbled upon, and was drawn to, this particular community because it’s been hard for me to “come out” as an agnostic to my family and to some of my friends. Many hours of my life are spent dressed up as a good Christian by implication and in the absence of evidence to the contrary. I simply have not been able to face them all with the, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe what you believe anymore” line.

What makes it so difficult to truthfully acknowledge a new agnostic view to Christians around you? Obviously there must be a strong fear of judgement that is all-consuming. I’ve read quite a lot about the inconsistencies between the Christly idea of unconditional love and the Christian reality of “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15 and a beautiful choral anthem by Thomas Tallis). I certainly feel as though my Christian upbringing was far more of the latter than the former; my continuing struggles with perfectionism have been linked back to an upbringing characteristic of conditional love. My fear of being truthful with my family is certainly associated with a fear of being unlovable by them.

That perhaps explains aspects of my difficult relationship with my Christian family. What is less clear is how this translates into new relationships. I still have a tendency to mask my developing inner agnostic behind a vaguely Christian world-view. Part of it is a fear and dismay at losing the ritual in my life, a theme that I have heard echoed by other de-converts. Part of it is the fundamental human difficulties associated with being different and not “fitting in” with everyone around you.

The irony, of course, is that my greatest growing pains in the Christian church (midwestern Evangelic sort) came as I was getting older and realized that I did not fit well into their club. The strident and career-oriented feminist in me ran into the female majority of the Evangelical church–happy housewives and young mothers–and realized that I was playing the childhood game of “one of these things is not like the others.” Fortunately since the scientist in me was also simultaneously questioning the prevailing views in other aspects of the faith, I did not feel the need to try to force myself into their mold. That really would have been serious cross-dressing!

What I need to learn now is how to be proud of myself and my new identity. I don’t know how to “come out” to my family and some friends as an agnostic. I don’t know if the current situation–with me quiet and often fuming at the things said and implied–is better or worse than what would or could happen if I just told them the truth. Fear keeps me from being as bold as the cross-dressing person in the bookstore.

- ExEvangel

Given that this little ritual seems to be quite popular in some circles, it becomes important to consider what to do with your status as a conscientious objector when the time arises. How should you conduct yourself if someone in your dinner party assumes that it’s time for public prayer and does the “grab hands bow heads start reciting” thing in your presence? There is substantial peer pressure to participate. Yet, I really want to not participate.

At some basic level, I postulate that it relates to another issue which I find is quite pervasive in my family of Evangelicals. There is a tacit assumption that everyone in the room always agrees. There are a set of suitable beliefs, including megachurch-style Evangelical Christianity and a deep admiration for George Bush, and everyone is expected to have these beliefs. The participation in public prayer is just another of the unwritten behavior rules that govern the pack. Nod your heads, don’t question, vote as you are told.

I find the assumption of agreement quite surprising. My professional self would never assume anything about a room of people in terms of their religious or political beliefs. I tend to be quite cautious approaching these subjects except with my closest friends–and I mostly know their views on sensitive subjects.

This implies one of two things, either my relatives assume that we do all agree, or they know we don’t but they are purposefully ignoring the deviation. Is it simply that by saying these things as statements instead of questions, as definitive conclusions instead of open topics, that they are trying to reinforce the idea that their mores are incontrovertible truths? Is there some message they are sending each other about their Christian-ness by participating in the public prayer ritual? Or are they trying to demonstrate to the waiters and waitresses at the restaurant that they are pious? If so, why? What good does it do?

The fact of the matter is that the public prayer thing makes me twitch. I don’t really admire our current president. I have some real problems with the views of my family members especially as concerns this particular sect of Christianity. I value diversity of opinion and enjoy and encourage lively discussion. I believe in the validity of a conclusion to “agree to disagree”.

When dealing with my blood relatives, I feel under tremendous pressure to agree with them, including the enthusiastic participation in public prayer. And I don’t know how to stand up for my beliefs in the midst of this sort of pressure.

- ExEvangel