Brian D. McLaren - Faith after Doubt: Why Your Beliefs Stopped Working and What to Do about It

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It was as though he had been hurtling toward this point for weeks, months, maybe even years, but now he had come to an abrupt halt, run out of road.

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Its Sunday night, and a fourteen-year-old boy named Jordan is lying on his bed, his face buried in his pillow so his family wont hear him cry, his shoulders heaving in long, heavy sobs. He recently joined a youth group at a local megachurch where the handsome young pastor just gave a talk about sin, and especially sexual sin, and most especially the lifestyle choice of homosexuality, which is never Gods best for anyone. Of course, Jordan has never told anyone his secret, the secret he has known since he was twelve. Nor has he ever told anyone his more recent secret, that he has a head-over-heels crush on his youth pastor. At the end of the sermon just a few hours ago, Jordan walked down the aisle and asked to receive deliverance from lust. The pastor laid hands on him, rebuked the devil, and shouted and shook as he prayed. On and on he prayed, his volume rising, rising, rising, then falling to a whisper. But nothing happened. Nothing. And at this moment, Jordan cant stop thinking about how good it felt to have the pastors warm hands on his shoulders as he knelt before him. Whats wrong with me, God? he sobs in his cracking, almost-baritone voice. Do you even hear me? Why dont you answer my prayer? Why you dont change me? Are you even there? Are you even real?

Its Monday morning, and across town, Meg, a young pastor of thirty-two in her first appointment, is pacing her office in a Methodist church, back and forth, like a wild animal in a cage. She picks up her phone and begins to make a call but then quickly punches End. She begins the call again and again ends it before it rings. The third time, she lets the call go through. Jack, she says, its Meg McDaniel over here at First. I need to tell you something. Its not good news. I think I need to resign. Theres a pause as her district superintendent responds, and then Meg replies, No, no. Its not that. Its that well, I might as well just say it. I think Im losing my faith. I cant do this anymore. I cant preach things I no longer am sure I believe. She lets out a long sigh and then adds, There. I said it. Theres another pause, as Jack asks a question. No, no. I still feel my call to ministry. Its just Im having a problem with certain doctrines you know, hell, atonement, even miracles and prayer, to be honest. And lately, I wonder sometimes if I even believe in God, at least, the Supreme Almighty Father in the creeds.

Fast-forward to Tuesday afternoon, and Sharon, a first-year college student, is taking notes in her Biology 101 lecture hall. The lights are dim as the professor talks through a slide presentation about evolution. Suddenly Sharons face flushes red, her eyes brim, and her pulse pounds in her ears. Her hands start shaking, and she drops her pen as she holds her hands over her heart, as if to keep its thumping from disturbing her fellow students. Another panic attack, she thinks. She has been having a lot of them lately, especially in biology and English classes. Her Pentecostal pastor taught her that evolution is a lie from the devil, intended to undermine her faith in a literal six-day creation as taught in the inspired and inerrant Word o God. She thinks back to her senior thesis at Victory Christian Academy, which she wrote to disprove evolution. Mr. Hunt, her science teacher, gave her an A, but she can still see the handwritten note at the bottom of the page: This is well-written and your arguments are well-constructed. But I do hope youll keep an open mind when you go to college. She showed that note to her parents, they called the principal, and Mr. Hunt was almost fired for advocating open minds. Do I dare to do it now? she asks herself in the dark lecture hall. Do I dare to open my mind as Mr. Hunt said, even though my faith might escape me forever if I let some new ideas in? She looks around. Her fellow students seem bored, looking at their phones, a few quietly napping. How strange that this is just another class for them, she thinks, but for me, this dark classroom is a spiritual battleground, and I feel I have to choose between opening my mind and saving my soul.

Its Wednesday night, and Evelyn, a real estate agent by day and a lay leader at St. Francis parish by night, is sitting on a metal folding chair beside a plastic folding table in the drafty, poorly lit church basement. Rumors have been swirling for weeks now, but tonight the truth has come out: Father Ron has admitted to a long-term affair with a woman in the church. Evelyn has never told anyone of her own affair with Father Ron several years ago. She remembers Rons tears as he pleaded with her not to destroy his ministry by revealing their secret. Hes at it again, she thinks. I wonder who fell for him this time? She feels ashamed, yes, but another feeling suddenly slides down her neck like a chill: disgust bordering on nausea. None of this is real, she thinks. The hymns, the offerings, the sermons, the prayers its all a front, a facade. This church is Rons harem. Its Rons personality cult. Its a chance for Ron to dress up, be the center of attention, and make us all love him and give him power over us. Were all an accessory to Rons narcissism. She tries to pay attention to the conversation but cant. Im through, she whispers to herself. Through with this whole damned thing. She gathers her things, gets up, and quietly leaves.

On Thursday afternoon, a seminary professor realizes in the middle of a lecture that he used to believe what he taught. Somewhere along the way, though, that changed without him even noticing. His faith evaporated quietly, hardly leaving a trace. In a split second between sentences, he realizes that even though his faith is gone, it doesnt really matter. Hes a teacher and this is his subject and hell still get paid, either way. He doesnt know whether to laugh, cry, curse, or sigh.

At a restaurant on Friday, a nun in her seventies confides to a niece over lunch that she stopped praying years ago. I just didnt really see the point of it anymore, she says. God never seems to answer, at least not in the way I was taught.

On Saturday evening at bedtime, an eight-year-old boy asks his mom why it was OK for God to kill all the animals on earth in Noahs flood when they hadnt done anything wrong. His mom thinks, Whats wrong with me that I never asked that question myself? Suddenly, her whole religious lifethe church, Christianity, God, the Bibleseems like an elaborate fairy tale that even a child should see through.

The next morning, another week begins, and in big cities and small villages around the world, a new batch of stories like these unfolds. I know, because for twenty-four years I was a pastor in whom thousands of people confided. And in the fourteen years since leaving the pastorate, thousands more people who have heard me speak or read my books have reached out to me. They write long and anguished letters or emails, full of apologies for taking so much of my time, or they approach me after speaking engagements, daring to trust me with their secret, often with tears. To protect their privacy, Ive changed many names and details in this book, and on some occasions, I have combined elements from multiple stories into one. When I have created specific details and dialogue (such as the specific words of a prayer), I have tried to do so in ways that will help readers imaginatively enter the real experiences of others. Of course, that shouldnt be hard for them to do, because many readers will be brimming with stories of their own, full of resonance.