Sent in by Not Sure Anymore Image by ஐ★ღ§wêê†Båbίί®åєღ★ஐ via Flickr I grew up as a Catholic in a Hispanic family, my mom was seriously into the church while my father just followed her along. As I grew up, I had questions about the bible, god, I didn't understand the trinity, why Jesus had to die and this sin that was committed years and years ago by two people…why was it my fault? There were never any answers or usually my mom would say, “You can’t read the bible because you don’t understand and you’re not close to god like a priest is, ask him and let him guide you.” (what?!) I did my first communion, my first confirmation, all of the catholic crap (sorry I believe that's what it is) I had to go through. I had crosses of every shape, color and different metals. I proudly fixed it on my chain and made sure it showed in all my pictures or when I went out, after all, I wanted everyone to know that “I believed”. I struggled with the catholic views, god and my mother. I g

Sent in by Matt So here is my story in short. I was raised Catholic in the Midwest -- mostly going to church on holidays and random Sundays here and there. In high school some friends invited me to an Evangelical nationwide youth group called Young Life . I went, thought it was completely cheesy, but went again every now and there because the girls were cute and pretty sweet. One summer they talked me into the one week summer camp up in Minnesota and I decided to go, a little apprehensive about what they'd do to me. Aside from the weird spiritual AA type meetings each night before bed, it was actually a decent time. And, eventually, they broke down the gospel via the bridge diagram at the end of the week. Many kids "accepted Christ" then and there, but I held back. It was the first time I had heard The Message , and though it certainly made more sense than the random monk-type songs I heard at mass, I thought the idea of the vast majority of humans burning forever

Image via Wikipedia Sent in by rasputins love child Brothers and sisters, I have hesitated writing my testimonial as I'm afraid I will be identified by my family. I now feel the people here deserve to hear my story, especially after I have ruffled so many feathers. What you are about to read is a mere thumbnail as time and space don't allow me to fully disclose my past. I have never told anyone this story. You are the first. I was born into a Russian religion called Molokan which means in Russian "Milk drinkers". My father was born in America but his heritage is 100% Russian. My mother, however, is not. She is a mixed race American of English, Italian, Cherokee and who knows how many other influences. This was a major problem growing up as the Molokan religion, while they claim to be christian, clearly is different than your run-of-the-mill Christians. It is a closed religion. You couldn't join if you wanted. You wouldn't even be allowed inside the church. Th

by Shelby Overview : I will relate some life experiences that helped shape my conclusions about religion and the natural world around me. All personal anecdotes are factual to the best of my knowledge, taking into consideration that some events occurred nearly 50 years ago. My parents are still living and are fundamentalist Christians to this day. I love and respect them very much and understand that they raised me under a belief system that they sincerely thought to be true. There are all sorts of people in this world, good and bad, Christian and Atheist, and no one should be judged solely by their religious beliefs or lack thereof. Introduction: Hello, I am 55 years old and an atheist. I was married to the same woman for over 33 years, lived in the same house for 12 years and my taxes are paid. My wife and I raised two sons who are both college graduates and doing well. The last 37 months of her life I was a full-time caregiver for a wife who was unfortunately diagnosed with an incu

By iwishihad2000feet Image via Wikipedia Standard story: Born into a Christian family, raised a Christian. Evidently, it didn't occur to my parents that my mind wasn't fully mature and I had no idea what the hell they were getting me into. It didn't occur to them to ask what I wanted -- they just presumed upon me that I naturally wanted to be a Christian too. Oh, I knew my parents had good intentions. But that's just what's so sinister about it. When you're brainwashed into thinking that non-believers are headed for the great gas cooker down below, you'll certainly want to punch your son's ticket out A-bloody-SAP. But, ironically, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. These "good intentions" are a significant part of how this virus/cancer spreads itself. Yes, you heard me. I used "virus" and "cancer," because Xtianity is a vile pestilence bent on propagating itself while destroying all forms of unbelief, peaceful

by Stephen F. Uhl, Ph.D. Image by George Eastman House via Flickr On Mothers Day , 1967, my eight siblings and I circled the huge table at Mom's place. No one there knew my hypocrisy when I, the family priest, blessed that heavy table as requested. No one yet knew my secret. Mom had given me a very early priestly vocation. My oldest brother would run the family farm, and I would be the family priest. Period. Twelve years of seminary and almost nine years of priesthood went swimmingly--until one fateful morning in meditation I saw how St. Thomas Aquinas ' "causality proof" failed. He concluded: 'Since an infinite regression of secondary causes is impossible, there must be an uncaused First Cause, God.' Seeing how gratuitous his assumption was, my faith began to waver. My agnosticism then grew during two challenging years. Debating if I should leave the priesthood, I feared I might be kidding myself when admitting I was agnos

Sent in by Stephen Image by Edward Dullard via Flickr I’m an exChristain. I’m very pleased to have escaped from the lies of religion, but the price of freedom from religion has been a very, very expensive price for me to pay. I am 46 years old and for nearly all of those 46 years I was a Christian of the Roman Catholic variety. I was born in Dublin, Ireland , but I grew up in Manchester, England. In the Republic of Ireland being Catholic is more than a religion; it is part of your national identity. Growing up in England where the majority of people are non-practicing Protestants, where religion is not very important, the Irish community was probably even more fervent than those back in Ireland. Being Catholic was natural and we went to Catholic schools and went to church every Sunday. Not to go to “Mass” would be a sin. In my late teens I stopped going to church because my two older brothers stopped going and I didn’t want to be the odd one out. But within a few years I wanted a c

By Finally Done I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian church, graduated from an *extremely* fundamentalist college, and for several years "served" in full-time fundamentalist Christian ministry as a missionary wife overseas and then as a small country church pastor's wife in the U.S. More recently, I was a regular Sunday School teacher and a columnist for a national fundamentalist Christian magazine -- and yet I never felt at peace, and I always had questions (apparently too many and too critical for anyone's listening pleasure). For the last six years, while still "in" the church, I have been searching for real answers -- answers that make sense and satisfy me. I've read and read, books and articles from all perspectives, and I came very close to leaving my childhood faith behind me several times, but always I pulled back from fear of the consequences that had been pummeled into me my whole life. Every person I know well is a Christian (and 99%

Image by lincoln-log via Flickr Sent in by Brian I was raised Catholic though my parents were hardly devout. Looking back, I sometimes wonder why they brought us to church at all. I can only assume it was out of some kind of unspoken obligation to their parents. I received my first communion, was an altar boy and felt a certain degree of closeness toward God. At the very least I never questioned that He was real, even though I frequently got into trouble for acting out in Sunday school. My family attended church dutifully, if not faithfully, until I was confirmed in sixth grade, at which point we stopped going altogether. I tell you this so you’ll know, I didn’t de-convert because of overbearing parents who left a bad impression of my religion. Even though I was initially “forced” into the church, when I started going back at the age of seventeen, it was entirely my decision. An easy one at that. Fear of Hell drove me into the pews. That’s the one thing Catholics (and later, I would