Originally published July 2017.

“From the Depths of Deconstruction”

by Emily Dobberstein

 

There are moments of frustration

when nothing makes much sense,

as your foundation breaks below you,

and the fog it gets more dense

around your mind that seeks to kill you

in one moment, but the next,

it seems as if it is your friend,

a Savior, nonetheless.

 

But how could this be so,

when both exist in the same moment,

when each attacks the other,

and seems to find enjoyment

in leaving you in chaos

and existential angst,

where thinking of a loving God

brings you none but pain.

 

For how was it so clear,

in the days you lived before

your brain fell and shattered

into pieces on the floor? 

 

They used to work so well,

those glasses that you wore.

They helped you see the world

through a lens that showed the Lord

and His hand in what brings joy,

and His will in what brings pain,

but now you put them on and see,

that only doubt remains.

 

You believed that God could see you,

and when you prayed to Him you thought

that surely he was listening

and would give you what you sought.

But you could not understand

how your prayer could be heard

over cries of starving children

and diseases still uncured.

 

For how could a Father choose

to answer you, and not them?

Does He really save the sinner?

Can He truly raise the dead?

 

Now you’re not so sure,

for you see the contradictions,

the holes in your faith

that for so long were deeply hidden

behind church pews filled with lies,

and under pulpits spewing hate,

in the classrooms where you learned

how to lock you mind up safe.

 

But what could you do now

that you no longer knew the Way?

When no path was set before you,

but you knew you could not stay

in this desert where you stumbled,

over questions, over shame.

You cried out and begged for answers,

but no answers ever came.

 

Once you see you can’t un-see,

and there is no going back

to the faith you once believed

before your sight was painted black.

And you’re tortured by those around

who seem so confident

that they have the ultimate truth,

and that you’re the one that should repent.

 

But how can someone claim

that God fits in a box,

so small that nothing more will fit

but Christian orthodox?

 

You aren’t so sure about salvation

that is earned in a simple prayer,

for how do a few words

somehow make your soul spared

from fire and eternal torment,

trapped within the gates of hell,

where redemption, grace, and love

are homes in which you will never dwell?

 

For how could there be

only one interpretation?

One Way, one Truth, on Life

that must be brought to the nations

 

Whose cultures are invaded,

and whose tribes are damned to hell

unless they say the sinner’s prayer

and put on the Christian shell?

And does not Jesus lose his meaning

when we manipulate his words

to line up with our agendas

and make evil acts affirmed?

 

For they say God is a potter,

and we are the clay,

but this unfortunately is not

what reality conveys.

 

Is not God the one who’s shaped

to fit into our molds,

and used to justify our actions,

and to support the stories told

by those too scared to admit

the doubt and fear that lie behind

the fact that nothing can be known

for certain in this life?

 

For we hold on to simple answers

that enable us to breathe,

and we hear a culture’s song

that lulls us right to sleep,

where we never have to question,

and we don’t admit our doubt,

and we never say what we think,

for the church might cast us out.

 

But should not the church be

The place for honesty,

where you challenge, ask, and grow

together by vulnerability,

instead of ostracizing those

who think differently than you,

and banning anyone or anything

that questions your view?

 

Because what about creation?

Was it really seven days?

Or is Genesis a poem,

where time is in a haze?

Could not God be in the bang

from the singularity

that is claimed to have birthed

all reality?

 

How is the Bible the only Word

that God can speak through?

Is the text between its covers

the only source of Truth?

Or is the Bible one of many ways

to experience the Divine?

Might it be yet another finger

pointing to the moon in the night?

 

And what happens when we die?

Is Heaven a real place?

Or is Heaven here and now,

a present choice to embrace,

in every second of every day,

choosing life over death;

can we bring it to Earth,

and find meaning in each breath?

 

For how does one find light

in a world that seems so dark?

Is the world void of meaning,

or can we find a loving spark?

 

Though I may not ever know,

the Journey never ends.

Despite the lack of answers found,

in the meantime I’ll defend—

that there is meaning in suffering,

you must know darkness to see light,

you find freedom in ambiguity,

and to resurrect, you must first die.

 

_________________________________________

Cheers to the Journey, and may your Spirit always reside in a state of wonder.