Confessions of a recovering activist

Mustering the courage to say, "I don't believe that anymore," and no longer attempting to save the world

“I don’t believe that anymore.”

The words fell from my tongue before I had time to think about them.

My therapist, being the talented practitioner she is, paused.

“Say that again,” she told me.

“I don’t believe that anymore,” I said.

I repeated the words for her. But in truth, I was repeating them for myself.

It was one of the bravest confessions I’ve ever made.

For months, my therapist and I had been untangling the many old religious stories I was still carrying with me, even though, when asked directly, I didn’t actually believe them anymore. I was holding onto beliefs about marriage, gender roles, vocation, money and more.

When you inherit a religious system from your family or from your culture, it shapes every aspect of your life. This isn’t a bad thing, of course. We need structures for living, and a religious upbringing can provide direction, safety, and sense of meaning. But there comes a time when we have to choose our beliefs for ourselves. This can be terrifying, of course. What we believe shapes how we live. The responsibility that comes with decision-making is weighty. And yet, I can hardly think of anything more terrifying than getting to the end of my life and realizing I didn’t really live my life at all, but instead played a role scripted for me by others.

I’m writing about shifts in my religious beliefs because one of the most unexpected casualties of my ever-evolving spiritual trajectory has been the belief that we have a duty to save the world. I don’t believe that any more. Do we have a duty to be a good neighbor? Yes, I believe so. Do we have a duty to love our bodies, to care for the poor, to know and steward land well? Yes, I believe so.

But to change the world? I don’t know, friends.

When I first joined the Christian tradition, one of the major refrains I often heard was, “Go into all the world and make disciples.” Saying those words now feels strange on my tongue, because it reeks of imperialism to my modern sensibilities. But at the time, it was simply a call for good Christians to heed. Answering this call looked like convincing my friends to come to youth group or Bible study. It looked like building relationships with people just so that I could find a window to tell them about my faith. It looked like going on mission trips to city centers around the world in hopes of spreading “good news.” It also meant learning about injustice and teaching others how to reconcile across lines of racial difference.

While some of those efforts were definitely coercive and unloving, others were profound and transformative. I won’t paint my experience of evangelical Christianity with a broad stroke of disdain, because it was not all bad. Over time, however, I began to sense that perhaps underneath the impetus to “go into all the world" was this unseemly thread of a quest for social, cultural and religious domination. It’s as though our efforts to “change the world” were actually just a cover for exerting influence over other people and places.

As I’ve fallen away from this particular expression of the Christian tradition, and as I’m exploring the more mystical, wild, and contemplative strands of the faith, my notions of grand impact have also fallen by the wayside.

I recently had the opportunity to facilitate four workshops on diversity and organizational culture for a company with offices located all over the world. And yet, in between teaching moments, while folks were in their Zoom breakout rooms, everything in me just wanted to shut down my computer and go outside. I wanted to water the fruit trees my husband recently planted. I wanted to scope out the best place to put our new willow tree into the ground. I wanted to run with my dogs and feel the breeze on my skin. I wanted to just be here. All the way here.

Not out there changing anything. But right here, in my real life, breathing and playing and reveling in the goodness of just being a part of it all.

There have been times when being here, in my real life, was not enough. I spoke to this many weeks ago in a post titled Saying goodbye to our former selves. For years, my public facing life seemed to the the only life that mattered. But I’m discovering a more beautiful way as I embrace simplicity and smallness. I’m finding satisfaction, instead of self-exploitation for whatever cause has captured the moment. I’m making peace with my limits. We all have them: limited compassion, limited energy, limited focus, limited resources. To be a created being is to have limits, despite what the overculture of endless output and productivity would have us to believe.

Pushing and striving to change the world, in my observation, seems to require a great deal of overextension. Yes, if we build community and invite others to carry the ambitions of change with us, it lightens the load. But even still, world change seems to demand that we live in a constant state of striving.

I step outside and look at the tallest trees in my little patch of forest and I can't help but wonder:

If the trees don’t have to struggle and strain to reach for the sky, why do I?

Is it not more sustainable, and perhaps even more beautiful, to cultivate a life within the true limits of our capacity instead of always pushing to do more?

When I stopped believing the specific religious convictions that led me to pursue a life of grand missional impact, I found that my very sense of vocation and of what made for a good life began to change too. With support and curiosity, I’m learning to welcome these shifts instead of resisting them.

When our foundational belief systems move, like tectonic plates underneath the surface of our lives, all of the structures we’ve built on top of that foundation start to move too.

Maybe you used to believe that marriage was forever because that’s what your Bible said; now you believe marriage is part covenant, part social and economic contract, open to renegotiation at any time. Or you used to believe that to be a good woman was to bear children; now you believe that motherhood is a choice that is not necessarily for everyone. Or maybe you used to believe that to be a faithful and good person was to set your sights on building a life of positive global impact; now you believe that being faithful means tending well to the people and places within your arms reach.

We change. It is often disruptive and scary, which is why having the support of a therapist, spiritual director, or just a good and wise friend is essential. But when we learn how to face these alterations and embrace them for what they are, ironically, they do have a way of changing the worlds—yes, worlds—right in front of us.

I’m a recovering activist, y’all. Bear with me as I continue to shed old stories and sort this out. You are welcome to join me.

I’m curious to know: what foundational belief systems have changed for you over the years and how are those changes shaping your everyday life? I look forward to hearing from you in the comments below.

Thank you for reading and reflecting with me.

Bethaney