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child deconstructing faith

My daughter was highlighting my hair (yes, from a box. Yes, to cover the gray that’s laying siege to my scalp) when she told me about a friend who’s not sure if she identifies herself as a Christian anymore.

As when I hear about anyone who’s deconstructing faith, my chest tightened at the sternum. It’s painful for the person, and it’s painful for those who love them.

Someone pointed out that church hurt (in part the cause of this friend’s pain), and often deconstruction, typically results from emotional trauma.

So often, deconstruction happens because of what’s happening in our stories. Something has become more than we can process.

What gave me hope: My daughter was working hard to create emotional space for her friend to grieve. Feel angry. Ask questions.

And those are meaningful in part because in the past—and her present, though less so—my daughter’s needed the same.

Why a Child Deconstructing Faith Doesn’t Always Have to Freak You Out

Perhaps accelerated by my family’s return to America from the mission field and other difficult experiences we encountered here, three of my four kids at this point have needed to army-crawl through painful seasons in their faith.

I’ve hit my knees hard for each of them. And sometimes their questions have felt–do feel–threatening.

But there with my daughter, as I perched on a stool in my bathroom, I showed her this video from my friend Tony.

It encapsulates much of what I believe about deconstruction: It can be devastating, or it can be one of the best things that happen to them—or it can even be both.

In fact, what if we should all be deconstructing at some level?

I say this because deconstructing happens when something about our relationship with God or our faith paradigm collides with a part of real life that doesn’t fit–like a too-small pair of shoes you’re hobbling around in. Something’s gotta give.

For my kids, asking the right questions has formed a significant part of owning their faith as they come into young adulthood—coincidentally, another significant prayer request of mine.

(A missionary once told me that when his kids turned about 11, he realized how little control he had over them choosing God for themselves.)

I wouldn’t wish my kids’ pain on a snake. And no one wants a child deconstructing their faith. But like a butterfly from a chrysalis, they needed to acquire this faith-muscle on their own.

Why your kids need to ask the hard questions

To put a finer point on it—if my kids aren’t asking tough questions, I’m asking how deeply they’re interacting with their faith. They need a faith as robust as life’s most terrible crises, most searing nightmares, most harrowing ethical dilemmas.

And that’s not born. It’s forged. David, Job, and John the Baptist are just a few of the Bible’s deconstructionists.

Pastor and author Tim Keller observes about doubt,

A faith without some doubts is like a human body without any antibodies in it.

People who blithely go through life too busy or indifferent to ask hard questions about why they believe as they do will find themselves defenseless against either the experience of tragedy or the probing questions of a smart skeptic.

A person’s faith can collapse almost overnight if she has failed over the years to listen patiently to her own doubts, which should only be discarded after long reflection.

…Only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide the grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself, that are plausible rather than ridiculous or offensive.

He points out that this process also makes us more compassionate and curious when someone else struggles with doubt.

What Not to Do When a Child is Deconstructing Faith

Having three kids who have walked through that gut-wrenching season—and having edited a few of the resources I’m suggesting below—I’ve gathered a few basic don’ts.

Try not to…

Freak out.

Instead, spend a lot of time in prayer for your kids. Prayer when a child is deconstructing faith  is a valuable time for God to help me understand my kids’ hearts, the questions they’re asking, the reasons beneath their pain, the values generating friction with faith.

Luke 15 proved a vital passage to camp out on when my kids were asking tough questions. Tremendous wealth can be mined there about our “search-and-rescue God”, as Dr. Juli Slattery calls him.

One of my primary takeaways from the story of the prodigal son (vv. 11-32) is that the younger son’s heart as far from the father before he asked for the money and went to a “far country.” We can tell because of the disrespect he shows his dad just in asking: Let’s pretend you’re dead and I get my part of the money.

The father could have been like, “Hey, I know how this ends. Let’s just save my money and cut to the party. I’ll throw in a fattened calf and we’ll call it good!”

But the son needed to travel through the foreign land and eventually end up eating with the pigs, longing to be home with his dad. He needed to see his dad running from his lookout post, needed to feel his father exchanging the rags of a pig herder for the robe of a son.

It’s possible your child needs this dark season to develop a genuine love for and trust in God.

Be okay with God’s long game. 

Spout immediate answers.

I was once told that someone’s hurt points to their heart, which becomes holy ground. Yes, there is definitely a place for apologetics or the right Bible verse, and sometimes it’s just the right time for truth and wisdom.

 But in my limited opinion, part of the problem of the American church in the 90’s was our collective opinion that (misquoting Field of Dreams here), “If we speak truth, they will come.” We believed (a bit one-dimensionally), If people hear the truth, that’s what they need most.

Time and again—Zacchaeus, the woman at the well, lepers—I see Jesus asking questions and/or entering into people’s story first. He leads with love.

(Interestingly, Mary and Martha are both leading and struggling with faith when Jesus, on purpose, doesn’t show up before their brother dies. They ask the exact same question, but Jesus answers Martha with truth, Mary with shared tears.)

Our kids’ questions are often the result of deep pain. So maybe invite your child out to coffee, or to a place where you need to drive awhile, and can cultivate conversation.

Then reverently, intentionally make time to listen, listen, listen. Say, “Tell me more.” Ask questions. Seeking to truly understand may be of more value than snuffing out kids’ soul-questions.

Respond with platitudes or minimizing.

This may not be the time to roll out a chipper rendition of Romans 8:28.

When your child’s asking questions about faith, they may just be questions. Or they may be the tip of a significant iceberg. So first, you could ask:

  • How would you answer that question?
  • Would you feel comfortable telling me more about why you’re thinking about that?
  • How does that issue make you feel?

Freaking out? Try these resources instead.

Wanting alternative ideas for how to respond ? Check out these articles, downloads, and podcasts.

 

 

 

 

 

  • Christianity Today’s addictive limited podcast series The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill. Host Mike Cosper details the story of the birth and collapse of a megachurch in Seattle—but far more than this, elements baked into the culture of American Christianity that set our churches up for failure and alienation. If you’ve had difficult church or parachurch experiences, you might find this consoling and eye-opening, as I did. And ever-so-subtly, you might just find it an eye-opener about the current evangelical/political scenario.

 

Most of all: Don’t lose hope

The “messy middle” parts of your kids’ stories can be downright terrifying. Frankly, I’m glad my kids at this point have deconstructed while under my roof, where we can still perch on a couple of barstools in the kitchen, eye-to-eye. Where they can see the compassion my husband and I feel when days feel dark.

If your child is deconstructing faith, I’m praying for you as I type. Maybe, like my daughter, someday they’ll be the one midwifing a friend’s pain.