sent in by Chris
There I was, toting my bible around, believing with all my heart it was true. How could it not be true? The whole universe had to have a plan; I had to have a plan. Someone loved all of us enough to create this all for us. This someone was God. The one who loved us so much to send his only son to die for our sins so that we may someday join him in heaven. I was ready to preach about his love, maybe even someday pursue a career in His field.
Then it happened.
I felt evil; I could never be good enough for God. Masturbation weighed on my life, indebting me in sin forever, corrupting my very soul. My body changed as did my way of thinking. I wanted to have fun, to join in normal teenager things. I enjoyed the "devil's music" and began to like "worldly" things. The church looked down on my actions, looked down at me for listening to non-gospel music and for loving the color black. I felt guilty, that no matter what I did would never be good enough. So I just stopped. I ignored God, in hopes that I could feel better about it all. This continued for a couple of years, I just pretended he wasn't there, watching me. However, I could never shake the fear of the end. The rapture. When all infidels would be punished. I was terrified that I would go to hell, so I tried to get back into it. I started paying attention again in church, I started reading the bible again, but the book just became more and more confusing. I dismissed these questions, believing that God would reveal it all to me in time.
There was a boy named Charlie who lived beside my Dad's church. I was never friends with Charlie; actually I never even really liked him much. We, the church, were constantly trying to bring Charlie from his pained life and convert him to Christianity. Sometimes it would seem we had him, sometimes it seemed we were losing him. A few years ago, Charlie was diagnosed with cancer. It was all ok though, it was god’s will. We all prayed for Charlie, there were nights when the entire church would be at the front, the older people openly weeping for this young man. Charlie kept getting worse, no matter how much we prayed. Finally, Charlie died.
The church accepted it quite well. No more crying, no more praying, it was all forgotten. God had taken Charlie from all of his pain. All of the church rejoiced, except for me. Why did God do this? Why would God put a child through all of this pain? Most importantly, what good does prayer do?
If God has an unalterable plan, then praying is worthless. You will either go with his original plan or against it. In both cases, God will do what he intended to do in the first place. If there is that chance that you will convince God to change his mind, then he couldn’t possibly be perfect. He couldn’t possibly be omniscient, if he was, then he would know he was going to change his mind later and would have made it his original decision.
This thought tormented me. I lost all faith I had. I finally decided that even if there was a God, that I was a much better person than she/he was. I stopped being afraid of God. When I had let my faith go, (what little I had) Christianity and religion as a whole began to unravel right before my eyes. That moment was both frightening and exhilarating, the first time I walked outside and looked at nature as nature and not as being a gift, I felt so...alive.
I am alive, and that is all I need.
Became a Christian: around 10 or 11
Ceased being a Christian: 15
Labels before: church of god, church of christ, a real christian
Labels now: Militant atheist
Why I joined: raised in church, didn't want to burn forever
Why I left: Many reasons, pull one card out and the hole house will crumble
Email Address: whoreinchurch at yahoo.com
Online Reading List
- An Outline of Intellectual Rubbish by Bertrand Russell (1943)
- Bible Teaching and Religious Practice by Mark Twain
- God is Imaginary
- Is there an Artificial God? by Douglas Adams (1998)
- Skeptics Annotated Bible
- The Age of Reason by Thomas Paine (1795)
- Which Way? by Robert Ingersoll (1884).
- Why I Am Not A Christian by Bertrand Russell (1927)