I grew up in a Southern Baptist church that was heavy on evangelizing. You're probably at least loosely familiar with what I'm talking about: man is inherently sinful (even though God made man in his image? and also, God is a man??) and God sent Jesus down here to Earth to die on the cross as a way of paying for our sins. If you believe this and admit to all of it (whether you only have to do it once or it's a regular basis kind of thing depends on the situation), God forgives you and allows you into heaven. If you don't, hellfire awaits.
On top of believing all this yourself, you’re supposed to spend lots of time telling everyone else in your orbit that they should believe it too. If your friends or co-workers or anyone else you witness to don’t buy it... again, hellfire.
I internalized a lot of this from the time I was a baby to when I was 14—both the theology and the mental framework that underwrites it. And now, as an adult, here I am, trying to navigate my path, and I have these moments where I wonder whether my internal compass works. My religious upbringing can make it hard to see myself objectively.
.
On the drive back from Seattle after my dad died, I kept seeing Jesus billboards and hearing radio ads about getting right with God before it was too late. Part of me thought they were silly, or at least nothing to pay attention to. Just some loonies with money to spend, all caught up in a fairytale that, sadly, is what they turn to for meaning. But another part of me was scared.
As a kid, I was told over and over again, on Sunday mornings and Sunday nights and Wednesday nights and at summer camp, that God was watching me, and that I was always in danger of spending eternity in hell. I took in so much about being bad at my core and how the only hope was to spend my life repenting and striving to fall in line.
We're social, cooperative animals. Acceptance is a critical piece of the survival puzzle, and rejection is an awful premise, just generally speaking. But rejection from God? From the supposed heavenly parent who made you and who holds your fate in his hands (again with the God being a man thing...)? That's on another level.
To this day, it’s hard for me to shake the sense that I'm being watched, along with the fear that I'm heading for a final judgment. Sometimes, when I meditate or read, monks and sages and mystics come to mind not because of their peacefulness or wisdom, but because I don’t measure up to them. My choices aren’t as good, my thoughts not as pure. Spirituality itself can be a vehicle for falling short.
.
Beyond the explicit religion, there's the logic it stands on. I recently caught up with a childhood friend who was there with me for most of Sunday school and youth group, and he put it well: it was like there was a big spreadsheet with a list of facts, and our sect (and only our sect) was privy to the whole thing. Our job was to download it all and live accordingly. The church offered a right/wrong, good/bad, true/false binary as well as a path to the more desirable side of the line.
Rigid thinking and not feeling good enough has been a theme in my writing lately, and part of why I've chosen a frisbee-adjacent approach is that competition can offer such an easy stage for reenacting harmful, self-punishing paradigms from childhood. But before sports, the church was what provided a neat and tidy filter by which to judge myself and others, as well as constant reminders to do so.
I’ve felt a lot of jealousy toward the many people I’ve met who weren't instilled with the same outlooks that I was. There are shades of fear and shame that are as natural to me as speaking English, and I wonder what it would have been like to have simply not been introduced to that.
.
Within ultimate, I’ve mostly observed the public discourse on Christianity to operate from the same two extremes that I see in greater society: at one, there’s Kurt Gibson on the cover of Skyd Magazine with verses from Hebrews painted on his eye black, and at the other there’s a Fools Fest team themed around the mocking gospel of Raptor Jesus. While I’ll now happily pass on piety, I don’t feel at home in irreverence, either. (A note of context: I played ultimate competitively for a long time, and this newsletter began as an effort to examine life through the lens of the sport.)
In that same conversation with the childhood friend, he asked whether I was thankful for growing up in our church. My answer was an easy yes. Today, I really don't feel much active negativity toward the place or its people. While I was exposed to lots of stuff I'd rather not have been, and I now see much broader and more open ways of experiencing Christianity, what I was given when I was young laid the foundation for a spiritual life that I find strength in every day.
Painting in broad strokes, I'm eternally grateful to have been taught about faith and the idea that I'm part of all creation. I’m happy that I feel an awareness that the same life energy that turns raindrops and sunshine and bulbs into tulips is running through me. At this point, I understand God as another word for the room of existence that everything—everything—resides in. There are plenty of doors leading in.
Another caveat: neither of my parents ever really espoused the original sin thing. My mom is the kind of person who simply lives by the love and grace that Jesus taught, and my dad was deeply reverent of life, its underlying mystery, and the goodness that's there. I actually think that a lot of the prevailing narratives I took in from the church came from an outspoken few who, deliberate or not, kind of preyed on everyone else's yearning for order and sensemaking. So it goes.
One more thought I want to add is that our culture's secular institutions often aren’t much different from organized religion. The news, mainstream sports, politics, consumption, social media... these are all churches with massive congregations, too.
.
About a year ago, I discovered this thing called the exvangelical movement. It's what it sounds like: people leaving evangelical belief systems for something else. I feel a kinship with the basic premise, for obvious reasons. You could say that the words here are an effort to add my voice to that chorus.
Also, I recently listened to this episode of Blake Christian’s Exvangelical podcast, and it hit some personal nails directly on the head. Among them is the idea that while it's normal to feel anger and spite once some kind of veil is lifted, there comes a time when you either put your energy toward the reality you actually want to live in or you get stuck wallowing in the one you were given.
To anyone who grew up in similar shoes as mine, I feel ya. Solidarity. And to anyone who aspires to a more beautiful, shame-free, life-affirming spirituality, where we spend our time knowing and celebrating love and connection, may it be so.
In the least Judeo-Christian-normative sense possible, happy late Easter.
Much love,
Jonathan
Upcoming offerings
Men, Let’s Talk about Anger in Ultimate - I facilitate groups of men who are interested in diving into anger’s place in sports and our lives. Anger is kind of everywhere– what’s that about? Can we be intentional about our relationship with anger? What do others have to say about this? Registration for a group that meets May 9, May 23, and June 6 is open now.
Expressive writing groups - I host writing groups where we show up, write about whatever we want for a few minutes, share, and repeat. Modeled after Valley Haggard’s wonderful Life in 10 Minutes classes, these are a fun and freeing experience. I don’t have any upcoming sessions scheduled, but if there’s interest, I’m happy to change that. You can voice yours via the form at the bottom of this page.
Share this with someone else?
You spreading the word goes a really long way. If you want to help out, forward this along to your friends and teammates, tell them what you think of my writing, and encourage them to subscribe.