Matt W Cook

writer.former fundamentalist.christianly fellow

Tag: faith

September 30, 2013

My Journey #1 – Purpose

Sept 29, 2013 015(2)

My name it Matt. I used to be a Christian. I’m not anymore, and I want to tell the story about how that happened.

Topics like these are controversial because most of us are intensely invested in our worldviews. It would be easy to misunderstand the purpose of my telling.

I am not telling the story to defend myself. As an evangelical I would never have been convinced to justify the moves of someone who left the faith. If there was no spirit of Christ, it did not matter how heavy the evidence or profound the experience. No Christ = no good. So I know that no one from where I’ve come from will be able to consider my path as legitimate. I understand that and I don’t begrudge it. I did the same when I heard of brothers and sisters who abandoned Christianity.

I’m not telling the story to draw anyone away from their own faith. Jesus gives the world one of the most powerful ethics I’ve ever seen. If everyone were to adopt his way of doing life, we would have world peace tomorrow. Sure, his ethic generally takes a backseat in the lives of his devotees, but every once in a while someone appears in the Church that takes Jesus’ way of life seriously, and the world is better for those people. I’d hate to pull someone away from that.

Part of the reason I’m telling the story is that everyone wants to be understood. It sucks when the people you love don’t understand you. It sucks when they look at your path, with all its complexities and struggles and nuances, and write it off without understanding how it all happened. And even though I know most of my friends will not understand even after I’ve told my story, heck, at least I tried.

The next four posts will highlight the major signposts in my journey. It is all from my perspective, because that is the only perspective I have the right to speak from. Take it as that. Or don’t. I don’t care, in the end. It is enough that I have had my say.

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September 23, 2013

The one about Ruth

This is a guest post from my wife, Ruth.  She’s awesome and everyone ought to love her.

Sometimes when there is a huge change, it threatens to taint our love and we accidentally suppress the love that Jesus gives us. But when there is change and differences, that is when our love and support ought to be strongest. It’s easy to cling to and support and love someone like you—so easy that it’s hardly worth anything. Luke 6:32

Matt and Ruth

Matt’s announcement was, obviously, not a surprise for me. Matt has always been utterly open and honest about his journey with me. Yes, when he first started realizing that he was leaving Christianity, it was a bit of a shock and even sad. But even though I have not made the same choices as Matt—I am still a committed Christian-we both have buckets of love bursting from our souls for each other and our relationship is still the best relationship I’ve ever seen. If anything he had only grown more gentle and kind in these last years and months.

The biggest question I’ll be getting is now, how am I taking all this? I’m taking it the same way I’ve been taking our relationship for nearly ten years: through struggles that always fall away in the massive waves of our love. I’m happy and blessed by awesome kids and a husband who is my role model regarding love and gentleness. If I believed in reincarnation, I’d want to be reborn as his wife in every life, haha.

Anyway, if anyone wants to drop me a line to ask questions or whatnot, I’m just as open as Matt.

And that’s the end.

:)

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September 19, 2013

The one that clarifies things

I’ve written quite a few drafts of this over the summer. They were mostly long and had all manner of shiny points and quips. I didn’t really like any of them. Some of them were preachy and others sounded snarky. One of them read like a guy desperate to avoid misunderstanding, and so the text was long and meandering and sure to cause misunderstanding. So the best way, I decided this morning, is to keep things tight and brief.

I am not a Christian.

It’s partially my fault that even this statement needs a bit of clarification. As an evangelical I tried to distance myself from words like Christian and religion because I felt they had been hijacked by systems that did not represent Jesus in the way I saw him. So there needs to be just a little more clarity.

I think Jesus was an amazingly insightful man.
I think the Bible is an important piece of literature.
It’s been a long and complex road from where I was to where I am.

Only the tiniest tip of my walk has been expressed on-line. In the weeks to come I’ll use this blog to unpack some of my thoughts on the journey and how I look at the universe now. But it’s important to be brief when talking about big heavy things, so I won’t say much more right now.

Sunshine

Source: ruthconscious.tumblr.com

I’m open and approachable and would love to hear from you, either in public comments or private messages. I know a lot of folks don’t like using the Internet for important talks, but I think with care and mindfulness any medium can be awesome for clear, friendly communication, even when dealing with subjects as heavy as this one.

One last thing: I love you. I may be out, but I don’t even have a drop of negative feelings toward where I’ve come from or the people and institutions that have shaped me. I am happier than I have ever been in my life, both in magnitude and consistency, and that would never have been possible without my past.

Looking forward to many wonderful talks,

Matt

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September 18, 2013

The thing about religion

The best, most exciting questions of the universe are the ones that can’t be figured out empirically.  Is there a God?  What is morality?  Who am I?  Why?  Why?  Why?

Unless I’m religious.  Then there’s a book for that.

Is there a God?  Look it up.
Who am I?  Look it up.
How shall I treat my neighbour?  Look it up.
Who can I love?  Look it up.

Even when the answers don’t make sense, with religion they are still, somehow, true.

The thing about religion is that it tries to convince me that the best questions of life, the most exciting ideas, are empirical.  That they are waiting for me in a book, if only I’d read it.

The other thing about religion, is that I’m done with it.  Finally and joyfully done.

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October 2, 2012

Heroes and Villains

John Calvin was a hero, they told me.  I didn’t argue.  It wasn’t my place to argue.  It was my place to listen.  And so John Calvin was a hero.

He was clever, you see.  A pioneer of sorts.  One of the first and brightest to read the Book the way they told me it was meant to be read.  He was a hero.  Like Martin Luther.

It bothered me that he killed a man, though.  Bothered me that he thought folks who disagreed with him ought to die.  But he was a product of his culture.  He can’t be fully blamed.  He just used worldly weapons in a spiritual war.  When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal.

Though I bet Michael Servitus thought it was a big deal.

And, sure, Martin Luther was a misogynist and anti-semite.  Well, he was a product of his culture, too.  Can’t be too harsh on him.  Or on Jonathan Edwards for his owning of slaves for that matter.  Products of their culture.  Innocent, in their own ways.  Heroes still, I suppose.

Mother Theresa, on the other hand, was not a hero, they said.  Sure she poured herself out for the ‘least of these’.  Sure she inspired millions and eased the sufferings of countless invisible people.  But she was the wrong kind of Christian.  Roman Catholic.  Damned.  In hell, despite her service.  That’s what they said.

Gandhi is another one who isn’t a hero.  Sure, he championed non-violent resistance against the forces of evil.  Sure, he fought against oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression.  But, like Theresa, he was one of ‘them’, not ‘us’.  Hindu.  Blind.  Damned and in hell, despite his service.  That’s what they said.

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder they talk about us like they do?

Is it any wonder I felt the need to [………]?

We forgive the murderers and slave owners because they thought like we do.

We condemn the compassionate souls because of a rosary and a dash of vermillion upon the forehead.

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October 2, 2012

Heroes and Villains

John Calvin was a hero, they told me.  I didn’t argue.  It wasn’t my place to argue.  It was my place to listen.  And so John Calvin was a hero.

He was clever, you see.  A pioneer of sorts.  One of the first and brightest to read the Book the way they told me it was meant to be read.  He was a hero.  Like Martin Luther.

It bothered me that he killed a man, though.  Bothered me that he thought folks who disagreed with him ought to die.  But he was a product of his culture.  He can’t be fully blamed.  He just used worldly weapons in a spiritual war.  When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal.

Though I bet Michael Servitus thought it was a big deal.

And, sure, Martin Luther was a misogynist and anti-semite.  Well, he was a product of his culture, too.  Can’t be too harsh on him.  Or on Jonathan Edwards for his owning of slaves for that matter.  Products of their culture.  Innocent, in their own ways.  Heroes still, I suppose.

Mother Theresa, on the other hand, was not a hero, they said.  Sure she poured herself out for the ‘least of these’.  Sure she inspired millions and eased the sufferings of countless invisible people.  But she was the wrong kind of Christian.  Roman Catholic.  Damned.  In hell, despite her service.  That’s what they said.

Gandhi is another one who isn’t a hero.  Sure, he championed non-violent resistance against the forces of evil.  Sure, he fought against oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression.  But, like Theresa, he was one of ‘them’, not ‘us’.  Hindu.  Blind.  Damned and in hell, despite his service.  That’s what they said.

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder they talk about us like they do?

Is it any wonder I felt the need to [………]?

We forgive the murderers and slave owners because they thought like we do.

We condemn the compassionate souls because of a rosary and a dash of vermillion upon the forehead.

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April 20, 2012

He Who Loves

     I read, many years ago, that real, lasting happiness is only found in the worship of God. John Piper calls it Christian hedonism. I latched onto this idea immediately. I had just become a Calvinist and Piper was one of my heroes. Not only that, but the concept looked sound, according to the Bible, which I viewed as a sort of instruction book for life at the time.

     So I set about trying to find happiness in the worship of God. I was told, and I believed, that the two most important ways of touching God were reading the Bible devotionally and praying.

     I gave it my all. I got up at six every morning to spend the first dark hour of the day ‘alone with God.’ I said prayers and wrote prayers and sang prayers. I tried all the spiritual disciplines. I fasted once every couple months. I preached in churches and on street corners. I studied old and new theological books. I did it all.

     None of it worked.

     Oh, I had some good times. Prayer would sometimes lift me into a deep level of connection with the divine. The Bible, especially the words of Jesus, would sometimes enrich my soul and wake up my spirit. But those times were exceptional. Rare. Adrenal, not coronary.

     It became hard, so I tried harder. I did street evangelism and vowed to become a missionary to a scary Muslim country. But that made things worse.

     I was not a hypocrite. I was honest. I honestly thought that true happiness could only be found in the ‘Christ centered’ life I was living. And that was my message as I preached in the churches and streets of Peterborough, Toronto, Welland, and, eventually, Pakistan. But I wasn’t experiencing it. I promised others that they would, and I made them believe I was. But I was mostly empty.

     I don’t know when it changed. I don’t know when I started drifting away from the evangelical Calvinism I had so loved. But I eventually came to a startling realization.

     He who loves, knows God.

     Connection to the joy-giving source of life does not come from reading holy books a certain number of times. Spirituality is not measured by how many prayers you utter in the dark mornings while the world sleeps so sinfully. It does not come through sermons or songs or having the right theology or going to the right churches or temples or mosques. It comes from love.

     And not just a general love. Not the effortless love that everyone has. Not the love that is willing to protect friends and family. It comes from the powerful, Christ-borne love that strives to protect enemies. The love that is never willing to punish, but to forgive and reconcile an infinite amount of times. The love that paves the narrow road that leads to life.

     And then what happened?

     When most people talk about their Christian journey, they usually emphasize their struggles. How they still fight against depression and sin and their commitment to live a Jesus life. How they still can’t seem to hold into the joy of God in a consistent way.

     I don’t talk like that anymore. Because my happiness is finally real. I found it buried in a field, and I went out and sold everything I had for it. I took it home and put it in my heart. I no longer experience long periods of darkness and depression punctuated by flashes of joy. Now it’s long, extended flashes of joy, once in a while punctuated with down-time. It wasn’t religion or Christianity or positive thinking that changed me. It was love. Just love. It makes many of the old songs I sang in my fundamentalist Sunday School so much more powerful than I could have ever imagined:

And I’m so happy,
So very happy,
I’ve got the love of Jesus in my heart.

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February 3, 2012

Maybe I Can’t

     Maybe I never will.

     Maybe my dreams will be stillborn. Maybe I’ll be a wage-slave for the rest of my life.

     Maybe all the shiny, happy things that dance in my head will stay in my head and never come out. Maybe all the naysayers are right. Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I’m not smart enough.

     But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

     It’s hard. But I refuse to utter that God-damned word – can’t.

     Because can’t, like death, is so final. But life, like try is so full of possibilites. So full of hope.

     So there, naysayers. So there, thou fel voices in my head. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ll point your fingers at me in twenty years and laugh and say ‘Told you so! Told you so!’

     But when you do, I’ll smile back and say ‘I’m still alive, silly. Point your fingers at me once I am dead, because I’ve not given up yet!’

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May 26, 2011

Short Story – The Sodomite

This is a new one. I’ve been wanting to write it for a while but was never really able to make it work until just now. And I think it works now. It’s a bit of an exercise in trying to understand myself and my thoughts about life, Jesus and everything good. I was raised in a very conservative religious environment and have been moving toward something different over the past few years. The Sodomite is a bit of a parody of some very popular modern Christian parables linking the idea of substitutional atonement with a judge condemning a guilty crook and then serving his sentence. Anyway, enjoy it and pass it alone!

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May 12, 2010

C’mon Kids

I can remember parts of an argument I had while in a church (not my own) years ago. I can’t remember the topic, but I remember one guy getting owned. His opponents kept pushing him further and further back, forcing concession after concession. Finally they asked, “So why do you believe this at all?” The guy beamed in response and said with the pride of a triumphant lion, “Because I have the faith of a child!”

The argument fizzled at that point.

Growing up in religious circles I, like that guy, had always thought faith like a child meant unquestioning acceptance. But these days, I gotta say, unquestioning belief doesn’t seem like much of a virtue, does it? Do you think that’s what Jesus really meant when he told us that we needed to be like children (Matt. 18:1-3)?

And then I had kids. And let me tell you, there is nothing unquestioning about them.

What are children like?

  • Children are relentless. They don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Heck, half the time they won’t even take ‘yes’ for an answer. You can’t dissuade them. You may be able to distract them, but you can’t just turn them off.
  • Children cannot tell the difference between sacred and secular. The world is one to them. There is no dualism. There is no high vs. low. There is only reality. It seems irreverent, but it’s honest. And, I wonder, maybe honesty is better and safer than reverence. Reverence has stopped us from asking too many important questions. And it’s funny, because I don’t remember God ever zapping someone for asking the wrong questions.
  • Children don’t know when they are asking inappropriate questions. The other day Joseph saw a large woman in the grocery store. He turned to me and asked, very loudly, ‘Papa, why is she so fat?’ Did she hear? You bet! Her response: ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’ Joe didn’t know he did anything wrong. And, when I think about it, I don’t think he did. It gave me a good opportunity to talk about sedentary living and poor diet (in private). And these days, he turns away cookies because he says he wants to grow up strong. Good thing he asked that inappropriate question.
  • Children change. One day the boy says ‘Girls are yuck!’ The next day…well, watch out! Kids never arrive. They are never static. And growing is not just more of the same with them. The boy doesn’t go from saying ‘girls are yuck’ to ‘girls are yuck for the following exegetical reasons…’ He turns completely around and starts liking girls. He contradicts his previous beliefs altogether. And no one thinks him deceitful for it because he is growing. Heck, if he didn’t change his views on girls we would be concerned.
  • Children can play with anyone. A Christian kid with a Muslim kid. A Republican kid with a Democrat kid. A kid from a homosexual home with a kid from a straight home. A fox with a hound. It’s only after we grow up that we accept the dark fact that we are only supposed to play with people who are similar to ourselves.
  • Children do not acknowledge, they exult. A child would never pray that typical prayer: ‘Lord, we acknowledge this, that, and the other truth about you.’ Even as an adult, it seems like a strange prayer. Instead, if the child is thinking about some wild and wonderful truth, he’ll get giddy and won’t shut up about it.

    • Is that what Jesus meant? I dunno. I’m still a kid in all this.

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