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Bruce, Are Your Wife and Children Atheists?

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gerencser children 2023

Republished. Edited, corrected, and expanded.

Bob asks:

I had been wondering about this question and since you touched on it in this blog I wanted to ask, and it is about your wife’s stand on Christianity in general and her standing today for herself.

You mention that she walked away from church when you did. So my questions are:

Has she turned towards atheism as well? If she did, was it at the same time as you or later on?

If she did turn away from Christianity, how much of an influence were you with her denying her faith in Christ?

If she has become an atheist, doesn’t it seem odd that two completely committed Christians in the same family like this would just walk away and become atheists? I can see one, but I think the odds of two would be very high. I’m thinking this only because of the depth of commitments people make to their Christian faith. Walk away from church? Yes. But both turn to atheism?

These questions are only being asked if she has become an atheist.

Also, where do your kids stand with Christianity at this point?

Typically, I don’t answer questions about what my partner and children believe about God/Jesus/Christianity/Atheism. This blog is simply one man with a story to tell — and that’s me. Where the lives of my family intersect with telling my story, I am comfortable writing about them. However, when it comes to what they specifically believe and how they live out those beliefs, I leave it to Polly and our children to tell their own stories. (The same applies to our older grandchildren.) And the same goes for me too when they are asked about or confronted over something I have said or written. My family has been accosted at work, college, and while shopping by Christian zealots demanding that they answer for something I have written on this blog or for the local newspaper. Typically, my family tells such people that they don’t answer for me, and the best way to get their questions answered is to contact me directly.

That said, I would like to answer Bob’s questions briefly.

Yes, Polly and I walked away from Christianity together. This should come as no surprise since Polly and I have been doing virtually everything together for the past forty-eight years. We not only love one another, we also really like each other, 98.9 percent of the time, anyway (inside joke).

We have been married for more than forty-six years. I can count on two hands the days we have been apart. While each of us has hobbies and the like that the other isn’t interested in, for the most part, we have shared interests. Polly is my best friend. Why would I want to spend time with anyone else? Our marriage certainly isn’t perfect. Stick around for a fight and you’ll think we really don’t like each other. 🙂 However, disagreements quickly come and go, and then we sit down, eat dinner, drink a glass of wine, and watch whatever TV show is our favorite. The Bible says to not let the sun go down on your wrath, and we have practiced this maxim for almost five decades.

Thus, when we began to seriously question the central claims of Christianity, we spent countless hours talking about our beliefs and the Bible. I would read passages from books and we would discuss what I had read. While I certainly read a lot more books than Polly did — which has, until recent years, always been the case — she did a good bit of reading herself.

Our discussions were honest, open, and forthright. No demands were made of the other. Neither of us, at first, knew exactly where we were headed. We knew we were done with organized Christianity, but the future remained volatile and uncertain.

A week or so after we left the Ney United Methodist Church, we gathered our children together to talk with them about where we were in life. Remember, our six children were raised in a devout Evangelical Christian home. Their father and mother had been in the ministry their entire lives. Their father was the only pastor they had ever known. When we told our children that we were leaving Christianity, they were aghast over what that meant. I had been the family patriarch. Our children never had the freedom to decide whether or not to go to church. It was expected. Now they were being told that there were no expectations; that they were free to go to church, not go to church, worship God, not worship God, etc. In other words, I cut my children loose from their ties to their patriarchal father (though our three oldest sons had already begun to move away from the control I had over their lives).

I must admit that those first few months after this meeting were difficult, as our children tried to imagine life for their parents post-Jesus. Seventeen years later, everyone has gone their own way spiritually, and there’s little contention over matters of religion or lack thereof.

In early 2009, I sent out the widely circulated letter, Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners. Here’s what I wrote:

Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners,

I have come to a place in life where I can no longer put off writing this letter. I have dreaded this day because I know what is likely to follow after certain people receive it. I have decided I can’t control how others will react to this letter, so it is far more important to clear the air and make sure everyone knows the facts about Bruce Gerencser.

I won’t bore you with a long, drawn out history of my life. I am sure each of you has an opinion about how I have lived my life and the decisions I have made. I also have an opinion about how I have lived my life and decisions I made. I am my own worst critic.

Religion, in particular Baptist Evangelical and Fundamentalist religion, has been the essence of my life, from my youth up. My being is so intertwined with religion that the two are quite inseparable. My life has been shaped and molded by religion and religion touches virtually every fiber of my being.

I spent most of my adult life pastoring churches, preaching, and being involved in religious work to some degree or another. I pastored thousands of people over the years, preached thousands of sermons, and participated in, and led, thousands of worship services.

To say that the church was my life would be an understatement.  As I have come to see, the Church was actually my mistress, and my adulterous affair with her was at the expense of my wife, children, and my own self-worth.

Today, I am publicly announcing that the affair is over. My wife and children have known this for a long time, but now everyone will know.

The church robbed me of so much of my life and I have no intention of allowing her to have one more moment of my time. Life is too short. I am dying. We all are. I don’t want to waste what is left of my life chasing after things I now see to be vain and empty.

I have always been known as a reader, a student of the Bible. I have read thousands of books in my lifetime and the knowledge gained from my reading and studies have led me to some conclusions about religion, particularly the Fundamentalist, Evangelical religion that played such a prominent part in my life.

I can no longer wholeheartedly embrace the doctrines of the Evangelical, Fundamentalist faith. Particularly, I do not believe in the inerrancy of Scripture nor do I accept as fact the common Evangelical belief of the inspiration of Scripture.

Coming to this conclusion has forced me to reevaluate many of the doctrines I have held as true over these many years. I have concluded that I have been misinformed, poorly taught, and sometimes lied to. I can no longer accept as true many of the doctrines I once believed.

I point the finger of blame at no one. I sincerely believed and taught the things that I did and many of the men who taught me were honorable teachers. I don’t blame those who have influenced me over the years, nor do I blame the authors of the many books I have read. Simply, it is what it is.

I have no time to invest in the blame game. I am where I am today for any number of reasons and I must embrace where I am and move forward.

In moving forward, I have stopped attending church. I have not attended a church service since November of 2008. I have no interest of desire in attending any church on a regular basis. This does not mean I will never attend a church service again, but it does mean, for NOW, I have no intention of attending church services.

I pastored for the last time in 2003. Almost six years have passed by. I have no intentions of ever pastoring again. When people ask me about this I tell them I am retired. With the health problems that I have it is quite easy to make an excuse for not pastoring, but the fact is I don’t want to pastor.

People continue to ask me “what do you believe?” Rather than inquiring about how my life is, the quality of that life, etc., they reduce my life to what I believe. Life becomes nothing more than a set of religious constructs. A good life becomes believing the right things.

I can tell you this…I believe God is…and that is the sum of my confession of faith.

A precursor to my religious views changing was a seismic shift in my political views. My political views were so entangled with Fundamentalist beliefs that when my political views began to shift, my Fundamentalist beliefs began to unravel.

I can better describe my political and social views than I can my religious ones. I am a committed progressive, liberal Democrat, with the emphasis being on the progressive and liberal. My evolving views on women, abortion, homosexuality, war, socialism, social justice, and the environment have led me to the progressive, liberal viewpoint.

I know some of you are sure to ask, what does your wife think of all of this? Quite surprisingly, she is in agreement with me on many of these things. Not all of them, but close enough that I can still see her standing here. Polly is no theologian, She is not trained in theology as I am. She loves to read fiction. I was able to get her to read Bart Ehrman’s book Misquoting Jesus and she found the book to be quite an eye opener.

Polly is free to be whomever and whatever she wishes. If she wants to start attending the local Fundamentalist Baptist church she is free to do so, and even has my blessing. For now, she doesn’t.  She may never believe as I believe, but in my new way of thinking that is OK. I really don’t care what others think. Are you happy? Are you at peace? Are you living a good, productive life? Do you enjoy life? Yes, to these questions is good enough for me.

I have six children, three of whom are out on their own. For many years I was the spiritual patriarch of the family. Everyone looked to me for the answers. I feel somewhat burdened over my children. I feel as if I have left them out on their own with no protection. But, I know they have good minds and can think and reason for themselves. Whatever they decide about God, religion, politics, or American League baseball is fine with me.

All I ask of my wife and children is that they allow me the freedom to be myself, that they allow me to journey on in peace and love. Of course, I still love a rousing discussion about religion, the Bible, politics, etc. I want my family to know that they can talk to me about these things, and anything else for that matter, any time they wish.

Opinions are welcome. Debate is good. All done? Let’s go to the tavern and have a round on me. Life is about the journey, and I want my wife and children to be a part of my journey and I want to be a part of theirs.

One of the reasons for writing this letter is to put an end to the rumors and gossip about me. Did you know Bruce is/or is not_____________? Did you know Bruce believes____________? Did you know Bruce is a universalist, agnostic, atheist, liberal ___________?

For you who have been friends or former parishioners I apologize to you if my change has unsettled you, or has caused you to question your own faith. That was never my intent.

The question is, what now?

Family and friends are not sure what to do with me.

I am still Bruce. I am still married. I am still your father, father in-law, grandfather, brother, uncle, nephew, cousin, and son-in-law. I would expect you to love me as I am and treat me with respect.

Here is what I don’t want from you:

Attempts to show me the error of my way. Fact is, I have studied the Bible and read far more books than many of you. What do you really think you are going to show me that will be so powerful and unknown that it will cause me to return to the religion and politics of my past?

Constant reminders that you are praying for me. Please don’t think of me as unkind, but I don’t care that you are praying for me. I find no comfort, solace, or strength from your prayers. Be my friend if you can, pray if you must, but leave the prayers in the closet. As long as God gets your prayer message, that will be sufficient.

Please don’t send me books, tracts, or magazines. You are wasting your time and money.

Invitations to attend your Church. The answer is NO. Please don’t ask. I used to attend Church for the sake of family, but no longer. It is hypocritical for me to perform a religious act of worship just for the sake of family. I know how to find a Church if I am so inclined, after all I have visited more than 125 churches since 2003.

Offers of a church to pastor. It is not the lack of a church to pastor that has led me to where I am. If I would lie about what I believe, I could be pastoring again in a matter of weeks. I am not interested in ever pastoring a church again.

Threats about judgment and Hell. I don’t believe in either, so your threats have no impact on me .

Phone calls. If you are my friend you know I don’t like talking on the phone. I have no interest in having a phone discussion about my religious or political views.

Here is what I do want from you:

I want you to unconditionally love me where I am and how I am.

That’s it.

Now I realize some (many) of you won’t be able to do that. My friendship, my familial relationship with you is cemented with the glue of Evangelical orthodoxy. Remove the Bible, God, and fidelity to a certain set of beliefs and there is no basis for a continued relationship.

I understand that. I want you to know I have appreciated and enjoyed our friendship over the years. I understand that you can not be my friend any more. I even understand you may have to publicly denounce me and warn others to stay away from me for fear of me contaminating them with my heresy. Do what you must. We had some wonderful times together and I will always remember those good times.

You are free from me if that is your wish.

I shall continue to journey on. I can’t stop. I must not stop.

Thank you for reading my letter.

Bruce

This letter, of course, caused a firestorm of epic proportions, one that is smoldering to this day. My life and career went up in smoke, with countless Evangelical friends, family members, and colleagues in the ministry, standing on the sidelines cheering as I burned. Polly’s Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) parents have both died since I first wrote this post, so the tensions with them no longer exist. What does remain is sadness over being unable to reconcile with them before they died. We were willing, but their Fundamentalist beliefs kept them from doing so. In the end, Jesus won.

As you can tell from the letter, I still believed in some sort of deity — a deistic God, perhaps? However, by the end of 2009, I was calling myself an atheist. Polly, on the other hand, embraced agnosticism. Her reasons for leaving Christianity are very different from mine, but that story is hers to tell.

I read in Bob’s question an accusation of sorts, one I have heard countless times: that Polly doesn’t think for herself; that she is an unbeliever today because I am. Out of all the things people have said about us over the past seventeen years, this by far is the most offensive (and perhaps Bob didn’t mean to be offensive, so I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt). For the record, Polly is a college-educated woman. She graduated second in her high school class. To suggest that she is a lemming following in my footsteps is absurd. Granted, Polly is quiet and reserved, and I am not. This fact might lead people to false conclusions. Here’s what I know: Polly knows exactly why she no longer believes in the Christian God. Her reasons for deconverting are somewhat different from mine, but she is far more hostile towards organized religion than I am. Again, perhaps she will share why this is so someday.

We have six children and sixteen grandchildren. One son attends the Catholic church with his family, and the rest of our children are largely indifferent towards religion. I suspect the NONE label best describes them. While none of our children has publicly said they are agnostics or atheists, they are certainly anti-Evangelical and generally adverse to the machinations of American Christianity. Politically, most of our children are progressives and liberals, with a smidge of conservatism and libertarianism stirred in. This is as specific as I can be without trampling on their right to control their own storyline. I respect the boundaries we have set, and if one of them ever decides to tell their story, I hope they will let me publish it here.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

What Fans, Parents, and Coaches Teach Children and Teen Players When They Scream at Officials

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fairview vs defiance basketball game january 20 2018 (10)

Before the COVID-19 pandemic, I attended forty or so High School basketball games a year – both boys’ and girls’ games. In the process of doing so, I shot thousands of photographs. I have attended games at every school in the Buckeye Border Conference, the Green Meadows Conference, and games at schools affiliated with the Northwest Ohio Athletic League, Western Buckeye League, and the Three Rivers Athletic Conference. (I also attend numerous tournament games.) I could spend the next hour or two critiquing the various facilities, including how suited they are for photography. I have watched dozens of officials work these games. Some of them are consummate pros skilled at their craft. Others, not so much. Some officials have rabbit ears, reacting negatively to coach or fan criticism. Other officials are stone-cold killers, indifferent to critics in the stands. I guess what I am saying is this: I know a fair bit about Northwest Ohio basketball.

 Coaches

High school basketball coaches come in all shapes, sizes, and forms. Some of them are teachers of the game, patient with their players, and rarely raise their voices. Others are Bobby Knight-like screaming psychopaths. These screamers constantly berate their players and officials. On more than a few occasions, I’ve watched verbally assaulted players stop listening to their coaches. I am surprised that school boards think it is still okay to employ coaches who treat players this way. I can’t think of a thing such behavior accomplishes that couldn’t be accomplished with a lower voice raised from time to time as needed. The best coaches in the area are men and women who know how to motivate their players to play better and harder, all without psychologically brutalizing them. These screamers are throwbacks to the days when I played basketball. I have been screamed and hollered at more times than I can count, often deservedly so. That said, I had far greater respect for coaches who were passionately firm, men who kept their emotions in control, even when the play on the court was dismal.

Officials

I was taught that you never allow a game to get to the place where the officials determine the outcome. Officials are going to miss calls. They are human, and will, at times, have a bad night. Smart players discern how the officiating crew is calling the game. Sometimes, officials let players play, rarely calling fouls. Others call everything, even nit-picky fouls. My coaches frequently reminded me that “if it looks like a foul, it is a foul.” Players have to play smart. In doing so, they keep the officials from being the deciding factor.

Some coaches allow their players to question or talk back to officials. In my playing days, such behavior would have gotten you a technical foul and a quick trip to the bench. Several years ago, I attended a boys’ game where one of the players screamed at one of the officials, when are you going to call a fucking foul? The young man rightly received a technical foul and his coach took him out of the game for a couple of minutes. He should have been tossed out of the game and suspended for the next game. Should the official have called a foul? Maybe. It doesn’t matter. Respect for officials and opponents is a crucial part of the learning experience; a fact often forgotten is that high school sports are meant to teach teenagers life lessons. When coaches, fans, and parents are screaming at the officials, is it surprising that players think it is okay to do the same?

Fans and Parents

in 2020, I attended girls’ basketball games (both the JV and Varsity games) where a man and his wife spent the entire night berating and badgering the officials. These fans were able to see from 90 feet away that the official standing two feet away was making the wrong call. Traveling was their favorite complaint — all directed at the opposing team, of course. (The opposing team won both games, with the varsity team winning by 40.) During the JV game, the clock hadn’t ticked off 30 seconds before the home team coach was screaming at the officials for “missing” a foul. She was so abusive that one official went to her and said, I’ve heard enough. Sit.

One thing I have noticed over the years is that screaming coaches beget screaming fans. Fans smell blood in the water and go after the officials. Did the officials miss some calls during the aforementioned game? Sure, but they were hardly the reason the home team received a forty-point beat-down. Lazy defense and poor shooting, and not the officials, cost the hometown girls the game. As the game got into the fourth quarter, local fans started grousing about the visiting team’s players. They seemed to think that the opposing team should have stopped playing hard. One girl shot a successful three-pointer and one fan said the girl lacked class. Don’t want the girl to make the shot? Try playing defense. Play harder, play better, realizing that on some nights you are just going to get your ass whipped. (This is the same school where fans several years ago ridiculed an opposing player for being fat. Talk about class.)

Fans think their $6-$8 ticket gives them the right to be an asshole, and to some degree they are right. I wish they would, however, consider what they are teaching children and players alike with their behavior. Some fans act as if the most important thing in the universe is their team winning the game — an event that will long be forgotten weeks or years later. One Saturday, Polly and I attended a boys’ basketball game where a man in his sixties sitting two people away from us spent the entire night — with a blood pressure-raised red face — hollering at the officials. He was quite entertaining. He was also a buffoon.

The worst fans are the parents who spend their time constantly coaching their children from the stands or verbally disciplining them for not playing harder, making the shot, defending the opposing player, or countless other offenses. These parents, intentionally or not, embarrass their children. I’ve seen more than a few players cringe when Mom, Dad, or Grandpa hollers at them from the stands. These players have coaches, so there is no need for parents to be coaching them from the stands. Let the coaches do their jobs.

What is it we want high school players to learn from the game?  Sports are meant to teach life lessons; lessons such as life is hard and sometimes the best team doesn’t win the game. Sports teach players that life isn’t fair, and that sometimes no matter how hard you work, you are going to fail. These life lessons and others prepare teenagers for the real world, a place that will eat them alive if they aren’t prepared. Facing adversity is essential to future success as an adult. I mentioned in a post titled Dear Bruce Turner one such experience I faced as a tenth-grade basketball player:

You were my basketball coach. Trinity sponsored a team in the ultra-competitive high school age Church Basketball League. One game I had a terrible night shooting the ball. I was frustrated and I told you I wanted out of the game. You refused and made me play the whole game. My shooting didn’t get any better, but I learned a life lesson that I passed on to all my children years later.

I learned on that night to never quit. Play hard, even when it seems everything you do is failing. Teenagers need to learn these kinds of lessons if we expect them to grow up into mature, responsible adults. What they don’t need to learn is that it is okay to yell, holler, scream, berate, and ridicule people who do something you disagree with. Coaches and fans alike do a great disservice to players when they go after officials and the opposing team’s coaches and players. The game’s importance will quickly fade away, but the lessons taught to players and children in the stands last a lifetime.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Home

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gerencser family 1950s
Paul and Marry Gerencser and Children, 1950s. My father, Robert, sits next to his Dad. Only my Aunt Helen, back row, far right. is alive today.

I was born in Bryan, five miles from where we live today. We live a few miles south from what was the Gerencser family farm on County Road A. We often travel down Route 15 to Bryan to shop, eat, and receive medical care. As we pass the 100-acre farm my grandparents once owned, my mind romantically turns to thoughts of Grandpa plowing and discing the ground, hoping for a harvest of beans, corn, or wheat. I think about their hard life as immigrants; no indoor plumbing and a single pump handle for water in the kitchen. My roots run deep into the rich farmland of rural Ohio. This is my home.

When we first married, we lived in rural northwest Ohio for less than a year. We then spent the next 14+ years living in central (Newark, Buckeye Lake, Frazeysburg) and southeast (Somerset, Mt Perry, Glenford, Junction City, New Lexington) Ohio.

In 1995, we returned to northwest Ohio. I pastored two churches, one in Fayette, and another in West Unity. In 2002 we left, and in 2005 returned to stay. Here I was born, and here will I die. This is home.

Eighteen years ago, we bought a ramshackle two-story house in the one-stoplight-two-bars-and-one gas-station town of Ney — population 354. We live in Defiance County — a static/declining county. I went to usafacts.org to check how Defiance County demographics have changed throughout our marriage. I found our population is declining, older, and slightly less white. I see nothing in the numbers that suggests these things will change any time soon, if ever. Remove Defiance College from the demographics, we are older and whiter. This is just how it is. You accept that you live in a largely aging, white community — one that is largely Christian and Republican. Only in who we root for — Michigan or Ohio State? Bengals, Lions, or Browns? Reds, Tigers, or Guardians? —do we find diverse demographic splits.

Polly and I are liberals; socialists; pacifists; atheists; humanists; and cat lovers — me outwardly so, Polly quietly so. Our values say we should be living somewhere on the East or West Coast, but here we are. This is home. We know that most of our neighbors disagree with us. Even in the Defiance County Democratic Party — to whom we committed to support and become more active — we are to the left of most of our fellow Democrats. We accept we will always be the black swans in a bevy of white ones. So why do we stay?

First, our six children, their spouses, and our sixteen grandchildren live here. We want to be involved in their lives as much as possible. Living here allows us to do this. We don’t want to be long-distance grandparents. Family matters to us. If it didn’t, we would still be living in Arizona.

Second, we love the slow — watch paint dry, corn grow, farmer Joe slowly walking across the road to get his mail — pace of life. When we get a hankering for good food, entertainment, etc. we drive to Fort Wayne, Toledo, or Findlay — all three are about an hour away. Then we come home to nothing-ever-happens-here-and-we-like-it-that-way Ney. Honk when you drive by and we will wave, even if we don’t know you.

Third, rural northwest Ohio is familiar to us; it’s home. Even Polly, a convert from Bay City, Michigan calls this place home. We have planted our roots here and they have grown deep. Wendell Berry often talks about the importance of place. I agree with him. On one hand, I have wanderlust, having moved countless times over my sixty-seven years of life. On the other hand, I value what we have planted, grown, and cultivated as a family here in farmland country.

A gospel song says “I’ve come too far to look back.” So it is for Polly and me. This is home, and here we will one day draw our last breath. We embrace Defiance County as it is, while at the same time working to make our home more diverse, tolerant, and kind. Many days, this goal seems hopeless, but we don’t give up.

This is home.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Bruce, Were You Ever a “Real” Christian?

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real christian

One of the common lines of attack Evangelical critics use against me is what is commonly called the “No True Scotsman” fallacy.  Rational Wiki explains the “No True Scotsman” fallacy:

The No True Scotsman (NTS) fallacy is a logical fallacy that occurs when a debater defends the generalization of a group by excluding counter-examples from it. For example, it is common to argue that “all members of [my religion] are fundamentally good”, and then to abandon all bad individuals as “not true [my-religion]-people”.

….

NTS can be thought of as a form of inverted cherry picking, where instead of selecting favourable examples, one rejects unfavourable ones. The NTS fallacy paves the path to other logical fallacies, such as letting the “best” member of a group represent it. Thanks to these remarkable qualities, the NTS fallacy is a vital tool in the promotion of denialism.

Simply put, “No matter what you say, Bruce, you never were a REAL Christian.”

I was part of the Evangelical church for fifty years. I spent twenty-five of those years pastoring Evangelical churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. At age fifteen, I made a public profession of faith at Trinity Baptist Church in Findlay, Ohio. Coming under the Holy Spirit’s conviction, I went forward during the invitation, knelt at the altar, repented of my sins, and asked Jesus to save me. Several weeks later, I went forward again and professed publicly to the church that I believed God was calling me to preach. From that time forward — until I walked away from Christianity in November 2008 — my heart and mind were set on worshipping, serving, and following Jesus. I committed myself to daily prayer and reading and studying the Bible. At age nineteen, I enrolled for classes at Midwestern Baptist College in Pontiac, Michigan. While at Midwestern, I met and dated the beautiful dark-haired daughter of a Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) preacher. We later married, had six children, and invested our lives in building churches, helping others, and evangelizing the lost. Simply put, we loved Jesus, and whatever the Holy Spirit led us to do, we did it — even if it cost us socially or economically.

That’s not to say we were perfect Christians. We weren’t. Speaking for myself, I was temperamental, prone to mood swings that ranged from palpable excitement to brooding darkness. I now know that I was dealing with undiagnosed depression; that what I really needed was competent professional help. It took more than a decade for me to see a therapist once I realized I needed help. Why so long? I grew up in a home with a mother who had serious mental health problems. (Please see Barbara.) I knew the shame that came from having a loved one who was viewed by others as “nuts” or “crazy.” I certainly wasn’t my mother — as my counselor has frequently reminded me — but I didn’t want my wife and children to have to bear the stigma of having a husband/parent who had mental problems. It was enough that they had to bear the brunt of my mood swings behind closed doors. I didn’t want them to bear that burden in public.

I am sure an Evangelical zealot or two is itching to ask, “Bruce, did you ever “sin” against God?” Silly boy, of course I did. I daily sinned in thought, word, and deed; sins of omission and commission. Let me ask you the same question, “Have you ever sinned against God?” That’s what I thought. Of course, you have. Whatever failures I had in my life, and they were many, doesn’t negate the fact that I loved Jesus (and the church) with all my heart, soul, and mind. I spent the prime years of my life — ruining my health in the process — laboring day and night in God’s vineyard. I chose a life of poverty so I could provide the churches I pastored with a full-time preacher. There’s not one former congregant who can say of me that I didn’t give my all to the church; to preaching the gospel to sinners, and teaching the saints the Word of God. Critics will search in vain for anyone who knew me at the time who would say of me, “Bruce was not a real Christian.” Several years ago, a woman who knows me quite well, told a family member, “If Butch (my family nickname) wasn’t a Christian, no one is!” And that’s my testimony too. There’s nothing in my story, when taken as a whole, that remotely suggests that I wasn’t a real Christian.

What happens, of course, is that my Evangelical critics skim over the book of my life, choosing instead to just read the last chapter; the chapter where Bruce, the Evangelical pastor is now Bruce, the atheist; the chapter where Bruce rejects, criticizes, and stands against everything he once believed; the chapter where it is clear to Bruce’s critics that he is a reprobate and apostate. After reading the last chapter, my critics conclude, “Bruce, you never were a real Christian.” Once critics come to this ill-informed conclusion, it is impossible to change their minds (and I no longer try to do so).

The biggest problem my critics face is their theology. Most Evangelicals, particularly Baptists, believe that once a person is saved, his salvation cannot be lost. Once adopted into the family of God and married to Jesus, you are forever a member of the Christian family. The Apostle Paul makes this clear in Romans 8:31-39:

What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us? He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things? Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Jesus himself said in John 10:27-29:

 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand.

Did my long years as a Christian show that I was a sheep who had heard the voice of Jesus and followed him? Of course, they did. If that is true, and it is, then based on the inspired, inerrant, infallible Word of God, I was a born-from-above child of God who had been granted eternal life by God himself.

Many of my critics can’t bear to admit that I was ever a “real” Christian. They can’t bear to think of spending eternity in Heaven with me, an avowed atheist. So they take a lice comb to the hair of my life, looking for anything in my beliefs, practices, or conduct that reveals that I was not, according to their peculiar standard, a real Christian. Their minds are made up: I was a fake Christian. I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Never mind that the evidence of my lived life suggests otherwise. Instead of admitting the obvious, these keepers of the Book of Life strain at the gnat and swallow a camel finding ways to “prove” I wasn’t a real Christian.

On the one hand, I agree with them. It is absurd to think that I am now a Christian, and that Heaven awaits me after I die. There’s nothing in my present life that remotely suggests that I am a follower of Jesus. A few critics, unable to square their theology with the sum of my life, take a different approach. According to them, I am still a Christian, and there’s nothing I can say or do to change that fact. This line of argument is equally absurd.

It is not up to me to help my critics make their theology fit the narrative of my life. All I know is this: I once was a Christian, and now I am not. I think of my life this way: At the age of fifteen, I married Jesus. We had thirty-five years of blissful marriage. However, at the age of fifty, I divorced Jesus, and fell in love with rationalism and freedom. When asked about my marriage to Jesus, I say, “All in all, we had a good life together.” There are times when I wistfully look at my marriage to Jesus and yearn for the “good old days.” Stupid thoughts, to be sure, knowing that humans tend to sanitize their past, ignoring or blocking out the bad things that happened. Sure, Jesus and I had a good life together, but he’s no match for my current lover. I could never go back to the leeks, onions, and bondage of Egypt, having tasted and enjoyed the wonder and freedom of the Promised Land.

Some readers, particularly lifelong atheists, often ask, “Why does this matter to you, Bruce? The Christian God is a myth. Christianity is built on a foundation of lies. There’s no judgment, no Heaven, no Hell. Your life as a Christian was built on a fairytale!” As a godless heathen, I certainly agree with these sentiments. However, I WAS a devoted Christian for many years. I WAS a committed, sacrificial pastor for decades. It’s impossible to honestly and faithfully tell my story without sharing the fifty years I spent in Evangelicalism. Years ago, I had a social worker offer me some advice on how to write an effective résumé. She thought that my religious education and ministerial job history were turnoffs or red flags to many prospective employers. She suggested leaving these things off my résumé. I replied, “So what do you want me to do with the huge holes in my work history? Should I just put “I was in prison for twenty-five years?” She was not amused.

My past is part of who I am. I can’t and won’t ignore the “Christian years” to make my story more palatable. Nor can I ignore the chapters that are presently being written. Are not all of us the sum of our experiences? Why is it we have no problem when someone says, “I was married and now I am divorced? Several months ago, I met someone who might be the right person for me.” That’s my life. I was married to Jesus, divorced him, and seventeen years ago I met someone new; someone who has become just the right person for me. All I ask from Christians is that they accept my story at face value; and that they allow me to tell my story honestly and openly without attempting to deconstruct my life. When Christians comment on this blog, I accept their claims of faith without question. Even when they promote bad theology or say contradictory things, I allow them to tell their stories on their own terms. If I have learned anything over the years it is this: there are millions of Christianities and millions of Jesuses. No two Christians believe the same things or worship Jesus in the same way. To discern who is and isn’t a “real” Christian is an impossible task. Who am I to say to a follower of Jesus: you are NOT a real Christian? All of us bring unique books to storytime. Mine just so happens to be one of devotion to Jesus and loss of faith. Regardless of what my critics say about my past, I know what I know. After all, who knows my life better than I do? And so it is with you.

Several years ago, I had a Christian contact me, asking for advice on how to set up a blog and how to rank well with search engines such as Google and Bing. I gave him some general advice. The first thing I told him is this: “I encourage everyone, Christian or not, to tell their story. Blogging is an excellent way to do so.” I am convinced that the best way to help others is by telling our stories. Sure, there’s a time and place for polemical writing; attacks on the text and teachings of the Bible. I am certainly more than willing to take an axe to the roots of Christianity and the Bible. However, I have learned, as a public speaker and writer, the most effective way to reach people is by telling my story. As such, this blog will always remain “one man with a story to tell.”

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: 1970s: Junior High Gym Class

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The black framed glasses? Welfare glasses. As soon as I saved up enough money to buy wire-rimmed glasses, I ditched the glasses.

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I have spent a good bit of my life moving, either from town to town or house to house. In 1971 my Dad moved us from Deshler, Ohio to Findlay, Ohio. I lived in Findlay from 1970-1974. I say “I lived,” because my parents divorced in 1972 and my Dad moved us to Tucson, Arizona in the early spring of 1973. I finished my tenth grade year at Rincon High School in Tucson, and once school was out I moved back to Findlay to live with several families in the church I attended. For a few months in the fall of 1973 I attended Riverdale High School in Mount Blanchard, Ohio, and then I transferred back to  Findlay High School and finished out eleventh grade.

Got all that? Here’s my point in giving you a Bruce Gerencser geography lesson. From 1970-72, eighth and ninth grade, I attended Central Junior High School (which has since been torn down) in Findlay. Two school years, my longest consecutive stretch at one school without a move to a new school district (though we did live in 3 different houses during this time); when I actually had time to make a few friends.

While I am now a 6-foot, 325-pound man, during the two years I spent at Central Junior High, I was 5 foot 2 inches tall and weighed a little over 100 pounds. I was a late bloomer, not reaching my current height until the end of eleventh grade. Needless to say, I was quite conscious of my diminutive size.

Even though I was slight of build, I played city league baseball and basketball. I am left-handed, and being a southpaw gave me a decided advantage when it came to playing sports. Even though I loved playing, gym class at Central Junior High was one of my least favorite classes.

As I mentioned above, I wasn’t very big, and puberty came quite slowly for me. I enjoyed playing the various sports in gym class, but when games were over, came the dreaded mandatory shower. Here I was, a small boy with little underarm or pubic hair, among, what seemed at the time, giants. When I took off my clothes and glanced at other boys in the class, it was quite evident to everyone that I was in every way on the small side. Needless to say, I became quite self-conscious about my body.

The gym teacher was also a coach. He was a rough-and-tumble, crude man, typical of many of the coaches I played for. One day, he walked into the shower room where all of us were showering and he surveyed the mass of the nakedness before him and said, Well, I can tell who is having sex and who isn’t. His inference was clear; those with bigger penises and testicles were the ones having sex. Since I was one of the smallest boys in the class — and I mean small in every way — I was quite embarrassed. I am sure some of the boys thought, and we know who ISN’T having sex.

I was also the only redhead in the class. At the time, I had bright, flaming orange hair that definitely made me stand out. My gym teacher called me Carrot or Carrot Crotch. This only added to my self-consciousness.

One week for gym class, we square danced. The male and female gym classes joined together for dance lessons. I thought, This will be my chance to touch one of the cheerleaders. Typical, self-conscious boy’s dream, right? Well, my dream became a nightmare because my pastor, Gene Milioni, pastor of Trinity Baptist Church, came to the school and raised a ruckus about the dancing. As a result, my parents would not allow me to square dance. Later in the year, Pastor Milioni would complain about the choir singing Jesus Christ Superstar. I was in the choir, and as a result of his complaint, my parents wouldn’t allow me to sing. (Please see Good Independent Baptist Boys Don’t Dance.)

I still remember to this day sitting at the top of the gym bleachers watching my classmates square dance. Next to me were two boys who were believed to be homosexuals. The proof of their homosexuality? They refused to take a shower at the end of gym class. Remember, it was the 70s . . . So there I was with the two “fags” who wouldn’t take a shower.

While I eventually grew up to be a physically fit 6-foot man, endowed well enough to father six children, I have been self-conscious about my body my entire life. Once free of junior high gym class, I never took another communal shower. When it comes to using the bathroom, I always try to use a stall. Just the thought of using a public urinal is enough to shut off the flow. If I have to use a urinal, I make sure no one is nearby. And if a man uses the urinal next to me? It’s like a vise grip on my urethra. It ain’t gonna happen. I have often wondered if my experiences in junior high gym class play a part in my inability to urinate when someone is standing next to me.

I do know that my religious training resulted in an unhealthy view of the human body and sex. The Fundamentalist churches of my youth spent significant time preaching against short skirts, pants on women, long hair on men, and premarital sex. Even masturbation was considered a sin. The body — the flesh — was sinful and corrupt and in need of salvation.

How about you? Were you body self-conscious in school? How did your religious upbringing affect how you viewed your body? Please share your experiences in the comments section.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: The Day My Wife was Sued for $2.6 Million

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My wife taught one year of third grade at Licking County Christian Academy in Newark, Ohio — 1980-1981. The unaccredited school was operated by the Newark Baptist Temple — an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) congregation pastored by Polly’s uncle, the late James (Jim) Dennis. (Please see The Family Patriarch is Dead: My Life With James Dennis.)

As Polly will admit, she was grossly unprepared and unqualified to teach school, but LCCA needed a teacher and we needed the money, so Polly dutifully tried to manage a class of third graders. (Polly was paid less money because she was a woman; not her family’s breadwinner.)

After Polly left LCCA, we helped her father start an IFB church in Buckeye Lake, Ohio. In the spring of 1983, Polly learned that a student of hers, Eddie Linders was alleging that he had suffered serious physical injuries after being beaten up by fellow student, Stan Toomey. Linders’ parents sued LCCA, the Baptist Temple, Toomey’s parents, and Polly — as the boys’ teacher.

The 1983 lawsuit was dismissed. I was unable to find any news report on the original suit. The lawsuit was refiled in 1985.

The Newark Advocate reported on April 5, 1985 (behind paywall):

Lawsuit seeks $2.6 Million in Damages

A former Licking Countian has filed a $2.6 million suit in Common Pleas Court, seeking damages from the family of a boy she claims beat her son several times during April and May of 1981. Patricia Nelson, of Brooksville. Fla., filed suit Thursday on behalf of her 14-year-old son, Edwin. Ms. Nelson alleges Stan Toomey of Alexandria beat her son up while they were both students of the Licking County Christian Academy, run by the Newark Baptist Temple. She filed an earlier version of the suit in 1983, but it was dismissed March 15 of this year. Ms. Nelson seeks $1.6 million in compensatory damages and $1 million in punitive, damages from the Toomey youth and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Earl Toomey, of 4472 Lobdell Road, Alexandria, and Polly Gerencser, of the Emanuel Baptist Church, Buckeye Lake. Ms. Gerencser was a teacher at the school at the time of the alleged incidents and should have controlled Toomey’s behavior, Ms. Nelson said. She also seeks to hold his parents responsible While Thursday’s suit does not enumerate Linders’ injuries, the first claim said he suffered from dislocation of the vertebra, swollen legs, bruises and head injuries. Ms. Nelson seeks a jury trial.

This suit was also tossed out of court. According to Polly, she wasn’t even in the classroom when the alleged assaults occurred, and best she can remember, all the Toomey boy had was a bloody nose. Besides being sued for $2.6 million, what was most irritating about this lawsuit was the fact that Pastor Dennis — remember, he’s Polly’s uncle — didn’t bother to tell us about the suit. We read about it in the newspaper. Needless to say, we weren’t happy.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

The Only Reason I’m Still Alive

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Yesterday, I saw a neurosurgeon affiliated with ProMedica in Toledo, Ohio. Over the past three years, I have been dealing with increasing pain in my neck and spine. MRIs revealed numerous herniated discs, arthritis, and other structural deficiencies. While these scans didn’t do anything to help with my pain and debility, they did provide reasons for my suffering.

Three or four months ago, I started having severe pain in my lower back. An MRI two weeks ago — which I had to pay for myself since my insurance company refused to approve the test — revealed that I have disc problems in my lower back too, along with a Tarlov cyst in the sacrum area of my back. From neck to tailbone, my spine is a mess. And it is likely that my disc problems are congenital. Gotta love DNA. As things stand, I am unable to stand straight, or walk more than a few feet at a time, and I have lost bowel and bladder control. Just when I thought things were bad enough . . .

I found the surgeon to be personable, patient, and to the point — traits I admire in a doctor (besides being proficient and competent, of course). He told me that my problem was in the L4-L5 area of my spine. The damage is such that there is pressure on the nerves; the only fix is surgery. Not having surgery is not an option; that is, unless I want to be an incontinent invalid for the rest of my short life.

That said, this 2-3 hour surgery is not without risk. The surgery has a 90 percent success rate, with a 2-3 percent mortality rate. Factor in the fact that I have several comorbidities, my concern about the outcome is warranted.

I have had problems with my lower back my entire adult life. I was 20 when I saw a doctor for the first time about my back, and since then I have seen other doctors who pointed out the narrow disc space in L4 and L5. My mother and father both had back surgery to “fix” low back problems — Dad in 1969, at age 33, and Mom in 1979, at age 43. Both of my siblings have had back surgery, with a varying degree of positive outcomes. My sister is facing more surgery on her neck. Several years ago, we had a friend — who has since died from COVID — who was left crippled and unable to work from low back surgery. It’s hard not to think about these people and their experiences when considering my own back surgery.

Today was my scheduled appointment with my therapist. We talked extensively about my pain, suffering, and prospective surgery. She said, “Bruce you have two choices. Either you have the surgery or you don’t. I replied, “Actually, I have three choices.” I can choose to have the surgery, not have the surgery, or end my life. “Oh, Bruce, that’s not a choice.” Sure it is. It is a choice that I always have as long I am in my right mind and have access to the means of my demise.

There are moments when I want to end my life. I am flat worn out from the constant pain and suffering. (And just because you see me in public smiling or interacting with my family doesn’t mean my pain has suddenly gone away. It hasn’t, and when you see me, I am likely gritting my teeth and crying inwardly as I try to enjoy life and my family as much as possible.) Currently, my pain levels are top-of-the-chart awful. I can, at best, take two or three steps before I feel biting pain in my back, hips, buttocks, hamstrings, and calves; so much so that it doubles me over and takes my breath away.

My therapist asked why I didn’t kill myself, probing for the reason or reasons why I still find life worth living. This question led to a lengthy discussion. My answer was short and to the point; one word, to be exact: FAMILY! The only reason I choose to press forward is Polly, our six children, and sixteen grandchildren. I am ready to die. I am flat worn out from the pain, incontinence, and lack of sleep. I am tired of my wheelchair, my cane, and the struggle to do simple things like taking a shower and brushing my teeth. This sort of life is not worth living, if not for my family.

So why don’t I kill myself?

First, I know what suicide does to those left behind. My mother’s repeated suicide attempts and successful bullet to the heart left deep, lasting scars on my psyche. I would never, ever want to do this to my family.

Second, Polly doesn’t know how to operate the TV or remote control. She needs me. 🙂 (I thought this dark post needed a bit of humor.)

I said to my therapist, “If my family was gathered together at my house and an asteroid hit our home, killing everyone but me, I would have no reason to live.” While it is unlikely that this will happen, my point was this: Family is the reason I get up in the morning. While I love writing and sundry other things, they are not enough to keep me among the living — though $1,000,000 in blog donations might change my mind. 🙂

In recent weeks, I have seen a grandson graduate from kindergarten, and two granddaughters graduate with honors from high school. On Sunday, I am taking my 6-year-old grandson to his first baseball game in Toledo. Two of my granddaughters will be spending the weekend with us, and on Friday, we are going out to eat and then to a baseball game in Fort Wayne with our oldest son and his family. “But, Bruce, what about your pain and other health problems?” Oh, they haven’t gone anywhere. When I do things such as those mentioned above, I take extra pain medication, hoping that will get me through the night. Regardless, I know pain and suffering is the price of admission, and I am willing to pay the price. One thing I know: when I am with family or when they stop by for a visit, I feel better. There are scientific reasons for why this is so, but all I know is that when I see them, I am given strength to push through to another day.

I am not trying to guilt my children into seeing me more often. I know they are busy with life, jobs, and responsibilities. All I am saying is that when I DO see my children, their spouses, and my grandchildren, it makes a difference when it comes to my will to live. I am grateful that I am not a sick, elderly old man whose family never makes time to see him. I always want to see my grandchildren more often, but I am glad that I see them as often as I do. Even when it hurts me to touch or hug them, I still want to see them. When one of my young grandsons runs into the living room to hug me and inadvertently smacks me in the nuts, I still want their hugs and silly words. If you haven’t figured it out yet, pain is not as much of a problem as loneliness is. For me — and I ONLY speak for myself — family matters. I know that may not be the case for some readers. Family can cause pain, and people rightly distance themselves from their families, choosing loneliness or other social connections instead.

As things stand, I plan to have surgery on August 19. I hope when I awake from anesthesia that the first faces I see will be family. If so, it will be another day worth living.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Finding Common Ground With People Who Hold Views Different From Ours

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Lifewise Academy is an Evangelical parachurch organization currently operating release-time Bible education classes in 170 Ohio school districts, including most rural northwest Ohio districts. Our grandchildren all attend local schools that offer Lifewise classes, though most of them decline to attend for various reasons.

I oppose all release-time programs — religious or not. I have been vocal about my opposition, although I am cognizant of the fact that many, if not most, of my neighbors disagree with me. This is not surprising since my neighbors are overwhelmingly Christian, and a sizeable percentage of them are Evangelicals. Seventy percent of locals voted for Donald Trump in 2016 and 2020. Their moral and ethical beliefs are standard fare for rural Midwestern communities. These are my people even though my political, religious, and social beliefs differ from theirs. I’m a country hick, and this is “home” for Polly and me and our children and their families. As a liberal/progressive/socialist/atheist/pacifist, I’ve diligently worked to live true to my beliefs while at the same time interacting with people whose beliefs are different from mine. I want to be known by my neighbors as a kind, thoughtful, respectful person; a conundrum for them to wrestle with as they try to understand what they see and know about me in light of what their pastors say about atheists; that we are immoral haters of God who lack purpose and meaning in their lives. The only way I know to change their opinions about atheists is to model decency, kindness, and compassion. If I have learned anything in my sixty-seven years of life it is this: we will be judged by how we live, not by what we believe.

I am a member of several private anti-Lifewise Facebook groups. Most participants are either non-believers, atheists, or liberal Christians. I find their hostility towards local people involved in the Lifewise program troubling. One woman, an atheist, asked if it would be okay to flip off the driver of the Lifewise bus while he was hauling children from the school to the program meeting place? I thought, are you fucking kidding me? What do hope to accomplish by telling the bus driver to fuck off? And what will the kids think of you as a person as they see you flip off the driver? Passive-aggressive, childish behaviors accomplish what, exactly? Oh, doing so feels good at the moment — I know, I have done it myself — but if the goal is to challenge Lifewise, what is gained by waving your middle finger outside the passenger window of your automobile? That’s a rhetorical question. Nothing is gained by such actions, and they often either fuel persecution complexes in believers or paint unbelievers in a negative light. If our goal is to make a difference, we must carefully consider how our words and behavior are viewed by those we disagree with.

Many non-Christians, especially those who read sites such as this one, think the apologists and zealots who email me and comment on my writing are normative; that their words and behavior are normal for Evangelical Christians. They are not. Such behavior is actually atypical, even when it comes to preachers. I have one Facebook friend who spends his waking hours railing against and condemning Evangelical preachers. In his uninformed mind, all preachers are evil, lazy money grubbers. He wrongly thinks televangelists and megachurch pastors are representative of all Evangelical preachers. This is patently untrue. Evangelicals can have bad beliefs, irrational beliefs, and still be good people. When my friend rails against Evangelical preachers, portraying them as evil monsters, I want to say to him: you do know I was an Evangelical pastor for twenty-five years. Do you think I am an evil monster; a bad person; an indolent person who takes advantage of others? I hope not. I may have had ignorant beliefs, but I genuinely loved and cared for others. And so do most preachers.

Earlier today, Polly and I were working in the yard. One of our neighbors pulled up in his truck to say hi. Jake is a local school teacher and the coach of the high school basketball team. He’s involved with both Lifewise Academy and Fellowship of Christian Athletes. He is a committed Christian. Should I treat him as my enemy? Should I flip Jake off as he drives by? Jake and I have a lot of things in common. Yes, we differ when it comes to religion and politics, yet we have had numerous discussions about education, sports, and family. Both of us choose to focus on our common experiences instead of the things that divide us. I have never felt Jake was trying to evangelize me. He’s a decent man I genuinely enjoy talking to, even though we disagree on numerous political, religious, and social issues.

My primary care doctor is an Evangelical Christian, as both of us were when we met twenty-eight years ago. He knows my religious and political beliefs have changed over the years, yet we have been able to maintain a healthy relationship. At my last visit, my doctor told me, “I know your beliefs have changed, but I want you to know that I still consider you a friend.” His words meant the world to me.

I am at a strange place in life. I deconverted sixteen years ago. I went through the angry atheist phase, but these days I don’t have it in me to constantly fight with people about religion and politics. Certainly, I am more than willing to excoriate people such as Revival Fires, Charles, James, Dr. David Tee, and others. I have no tolerance for such people: bullies for Jesus who only want to harm others. That said, I know that these miscreants are not representative of Christianity. As much as lies within me, I want to live in peace with my neighbors. I want to enjoy their company at ballgames and local social events. I don’t want to be known as an angry, argumentative atheist. I want to take the higher ground, even when others don’t.

How do you interact with your Evangelical neighbors and fellow workmates? Please share your experiences in the comment section.

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.

Short Stories: My First Gun, A Mossberg .410 Shotgun

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mossberg 410 shotgun

In 1966, the Gerencser family moved from Bryan, Ohio to a rural home outside of Harrod, near Lima. Our house was a brand new trilevel home Dad rented for $200 a month, with the understanding he would buy the house once the lease was up. I attended part of the fourth and fifth grades at Harrod Elementary School. Once the lease was up, Dad was unable to buy the house, so we were forced to move to Farmer where I attended fifth and sixth grades.

Our house near Harrod was in a subdivision on old Route 30, near the road that ran north to Layfayette and our swimming hole, Silver Springs. Dad worked for Combined Insurance Company. By this time, Mom had serious mental health problems. Over the year or so we lived near Harrod, Mom tried to kill herself three times, once by slitting her wrists, another time by overdosing on medications, and finally by driving her car in front of a truck. She survived all three attempts. But the day I came home from school as an eleven-year-old boy and found my mom lying on the kitchen floor unconscious in a pool of blood left a permanent imprint on me — even to this day. (Please see Barbara.)

While living near Harrod, I learned that Dad had embezzled thousands of dollars from his employer. I found a letter he had written to Combinde admitting his crime and promising to repay the money. Surprisingly, Combined did not fire him. This explained how Dad could afford the brand-new Pontiac convertible in the garage, the huge HO train layout, complete with expensive brass engines, that took up most of the space in the finished basement, and dozens of firearms in the cabinet in Dad’s office.

Dad bought and sold firearms — lots of them. In 1968, Dad was investigated for violating the Gun Control Act. He had been making illegal firearm sales at gun shows. He was not charged with a crime but was told he would be if he didn’t stop selling guns. Dad complied — I think. Two years later, I remember him shooting a fully automatic military rifle in our backyard outside of Farmer. I also remember Dad converting semi-automatic rifles to automatics. So, did Dad really stop his illegal gun trade? I have my doubts.

One Sunday, Dad took me to the gun show with him. I was almost twelve. I had been hunting with Dad since I was a young child, and I was looking forward to one day owning my own gun. This was the day. Dad bought me a bolt action (with a modified choke) .410 Mossberg shotgun. Boy, was I excited. I loved to hunt, so it was not long before I was hunting on my own or with my school friends. Yes, I was only twelve, but guns and hunting were part of the fabric of rural life. I would NEVER think it okay today to let my twelve-year-old grandchildren not only own a firearm, but also go hunting without an adult present. Different times . . .

At the age of eighteen, I had a serious accident with this gun. One day, I was out and about outside of Hereford, Arizona with my girlfriend’s brother. We both had shotguns, and were horsing around as boys often do. At a gun show, I had purchased some reloaded .410 shells. I racked one of the shells into the chamber, but the shell seemed too large for the gun. I ignored this, forcing the shell into the chamber, and pulled the trigger. Boom! The double-loaded shell exploded, blowing the action out of the gun and splintering the stock by the barrel. The wood from the stock cut my abdomen and then injured my girlfriend’s brother. A piece of the receiver buried itself deep into my hand, so much so that it would be three years before I even knew it was there. (It worked its way to the surface while I was in college. I pulled it out of my hand with a pair of pliers.)

The shotgun was salvageable. I bought a new bolt for the gun and refinished the stock. I married, had children, and lost interest in hunting. The gun sat for years in my closet and later in a cabinet. In 1996, during a time when I felt I should sell everything for the sake of the gospel, I sold all of my firearms. At the time, I thought I was doing what Jesus wanted me to do. Boy, do I regret listening to Jesus. 🙂

Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.

Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.

You can email Bruce via the Contact Form.