It’s early spring in northwest Ohio, the year is 1972.
A fourteen-year-old boy is playing with his Lionel trains in the basement of a rented house on Cherry St. in Findlay, Ohio. He loves playing with the trains, a love acquired from working at his dad’s hobby store, G&B Trains.
The boy hears footsteps coming down the basement stairs. It’s his dad.
His dad says, I need to talk to you.
This is strange, the boy thought. Dad never talks to me about anything.
Your Mom and I don’t love each other anymore, says the boy’s dad, and we are getting a divorce.
And just like that, whatever shred of family the boy had was destroyed.
It wasn’t long before the divorce was final.
The boy is in ninth grade, and it is graduation time. His parents both want to come to his graduation but the boy says, I am not going to graduation, and that was that.
Tenth grade. High School. All the ninth graders from Central, Donnell, and Glenwood would join the older students at Findlay High School, making the school one of the largest in Ohio.
The boy’s friends would all be there, his school friends, his church friends, and the boys he played baseball and basketball with.
The boy’s dad remarried — a 19-year-old girl. She has a baby. In a few short years, the boy would be dating women the age of his dad’s new wife. She was never more than dad’s new wife to him. The boy had a mother, and he only needed one of those.
Fall turned to winter, and then one early spring day the boy’s dad says, We are moving to Arizona.
What? the boy thought. You can’t do this to me. All my friends are here. You promised, no more moving. Two and a half years, the longest the boy ever lived in one place, and now he has to move.
Upset, angry, bitter, and no one seemed to care.
On a Saturday in March, 1973, the auctioneer’s voice rings out, and everything but essentials are sold to strangers who came to gawk at household goods. And with auction proceeds in hand, the Gerencsers pile into two cars and move to Tucson, Arizona. Later the finance company would track down the boy’s dad and repossess the cars. When the boy became a man, he then understood why he had to move so suddenly and quickly 1,900 miles from his home.
The boy, despite hating his dad for taking him away from his friends, is excited about the prospect of traveling across the country. So many things to see, so many new experiences to be had.
The Tucson Baptist Temple is a large church pastored by Louis Johnson, a preacher from Kentucky. The boy joins the church and starts attending youth group. But, try as he might he can’t make friends. It isn’t like his church home in Findlay where the boy had all kinds of friends, and even a few girlfriends. He feels very much alone.
With the move, the boy has to ride a city bus to his new school, Rincon High School. Right away he notices that some of the kids from the youth group attended Rincon, but they pretend they don’t know him. He feels quite alone.
Rincon has what is called open lunch. Every day the boy would go outside and sit on the grass and eat his lunch. One day, a beautiful, tall Asian girl comes near the boy and sits down to eat her lunch. She is warm and friendly, and treats the boy as if she has known him for years. And for the next ten weeks, on most days, she eats lunch with the boy from Ohio. Outside of the fat boy everyone made fun of who rode the bus, this would be the only friend the boy would make.
And then came summer, and the boy hopped a Greyhound bus and moved back to Ohio. With the help of his church and friends, the boy can go back to his old school, his old church, with his old friends. Life for the next year is grand, just as if he had never left.
Unfortunately, the boy would have to move to his mom’s home at the end of the school year. This move brought great unrest and turmoil to the boy’s life, but that is a story for another day.
The boy is an old man now, and as he watches a musician on a reality show, he sees a girl that brings to his mind a time long ago when a beautiful young woman took the time to befriend a friendless boy from Ohio. It reminds him that moments of kindness are often remembered for 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 thirteen 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.
Repost from 2015. Edited, rewritten, and corrected.
Have you ever read an Evangelical or Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church advertisement or sign that says, First Baptist Church, The Friendliest Church in Town or We LOVE People? No one ever bothers to ask, so are all the other congregations in town churches that hate people and are unfriendly?
Churches who talk about their love for people and how friendly they are sincerely think these advertising slogans are true. To them, shaking hands with visitors, making them feel at home, and letting them know where the nursery and bathrooms are shows that they are a people-loving, friendly church. The question I ask is this: WHY does this or that church love people and befriend newcomers? What is their motive for being so loving and friendly? Most often, their motive is to win lost souls to Jesus, resulting in increased attendance. And more people=more money in the offering plate. Like any business, their goal is to gain customers, increase revenues, and expand the business.
Ask any Evangelical pastor or church member if their church loves people and they will say, Of course we do! We love people like Jesus loved people. We love our neighbors just like we love ourselves. But this is no disinterested love. This is a love that has an ulterior motive. It is a love that has conversion and assimilation as its goal. Just ask them if a lesbian woman in a same-sex marriage can join their church or teach Sunday school and you will find out quickly how little they actually love other people.
Their Jesus is a Jesus who loves people so much that he does not leave them where they are or as they are. Their Jesus changes and transforms people, so their objective is to love and befriend people so that they might be saved (changed and transformed) and become a part of their church. That’s what their Jesus is all about, making more church members. (Matthew 28:19,20) Sounds crass, but any Evangelicals pastor who tells you church attendance numbers don’t matter is lying.
Compare Evangelical love for people to love that accepts people as they are, where they are. There’s a big difference between the Evangelical love for people and loving and befriending people with no expectation of return. In some liberal/mainline churches such an approach to love and friendship exists, but I’ve never seen it in Evangelical or IFB churches. And I just know a commenter is going to scream that THEIR church is different. Sure it is.
Once an unaware newcomer is friended and loved to Jesus and made a part of the church, it is on to new people to pretend-friend. For those taken in by the friendliest church in town advertising campaign, they quickly learn that the church is no more or less friendly than any other church or social group. In every church there are kind, decent, friendly people. There are also people, sometimes the pastor, who are mean, nasty, and unfriendly. Sadly, in churches that are Fundamentalist, their initial friendliness quickly dissipates and is replaced with legalism, demands to conform, and a quick unfriending if you do not fall in line. Ask anyone who has deconverted: what happened to all the friends they had while attending the friendliest church in town? Once people leave their churches, they often find out how unfriendly their churches really are. They find out that friendship was a lure, a scam. The true nature of a church is revealed by how it treats those who leave the church, regardless of their reason for leaving.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Several times a month I receive emails from Evangelicals wanting to be “friends” with me. These emails invariably say that the writer is Evangelical, but not like the Evangelicals I focus on in my writing. Often, these writers attempt to “hook” me by saying that they “totally” understand why, based on reading about my past experiences, I would walk away from the ministry and Christianity. They too, I am told, would have done the same. Usually, these emails are filled with compliments about my transparency, openness, and honesty. These Evangelicals promise me that their motives are pure, and that they have no desire to try to win me back to Jesus. All they want is an opportunity to show me “true” Christian love and friendship.
I also get Facebook friend requests from Evangelicals who, again, promise that they have no ulterior motive for friending me. Years ago, one such person friended me on Facebook. He knew “everything” about me, having read my blog and talked to his sister who was, at one time, a member of one of the churches I pastored. So, I friended him, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was different from other Evangelicals. And for a while he was, but one day he became inflamed with righteous indignation over something I had written about Christianity. Our discussion quickly spun out of control, and the man unfriended me. He warned his sister about me, saying that I was satanic and Christians should avoid me lest I influence them with my demonic words.
These days, I simply do not respond to Evangelical friendship requests, be they via email or on social media. Several years ago, the president of a Christian college attempted to goad me into having lunch with him by appealing to my desire for openness and understanding. This man told me that he just wanted to share a meal and hear my story. I told him, as I do anyone else who takes this approach, Look, I have written more than four thousand blog posts. I have written extensively about my past and present life. If you really want to know about my life, READ! If, after reading my writing, you have questions, email them to me and I will either answer them in an email or a blog post. Of course, this is not what these “friendly” Evangelicals want. They want a face-to-face meeting with me so they can probe my life, hoping to find that wrong beliefs led to my deconversion. Never mind that I have written numerous posts about my past beliefs. Everything someone could ever want to know about my life and beliefs can be found on this blog.
Perhaps the question these Evangelicals should ask is this: why would I want to be friends with you? What would a friendship with you bring to my life that I don’t already have? It’s not like I don’t have any friends. I do, and I am quite happy with the number of friends I have, both in the flesh and through the digital world. Not only that, but my partner of forty-five years is my best friend, and I am close with my six children and their families. I have all I need when it comes to human interaction. Why, then, would I want to be friends with Evangelicals who, as sure as I am sitting here, want to evangelize me? Friendship Evangelism remains a tool churches and parachurch ministries use in their evangelistic efforts. Friendship becomes a pretext. The real goal is to see sinners saved. Promoters of “Friendship Evangelism” know that befriending people disarms them, making them more sensitive and receptive to whatever version of the Christian gospel they are promoting.
As long-time readers of this blog know, I am pretty good at stalking people on the internet and social media. I have learned that you can tell a lot about people just by looking at their Facebook wall, along with the groups they are a part of and the pages they like. Recently, a local man contacted me, offering to buy me dinner with no strings attached. What, no expectations of sex after the date? Consider me a doubter. I decided to check out the man’s Facebook profile. I found out that he voted for Donald Trump and supports most of the Evangelical hot-button issues. He opposes same-sex marriage and abortion. We have nothing in common socially or politically. Why, then, would I want to be friends with him?
Friendships are generally built around shared beliefs. I don’t have any interest in being friends with people who voted for Donald Trump or support political views I consider anti-human, racist, bigoted, and misogynistic. And I sure as hell don’t befriend people who root for Michigan. I have standards, you know? Seriously, most of us have friends who hold to beliefs similar to our own. We might have a handful of friends who differ from us, but we find ways to forge meaningful relationships with such people. I am friends with several Evangelicals, but the main reason I am is that our friendships date back to the days when we were walking the halls of Lincoln Elementary. We’ve agreed not to talk about religion or politics. We share many common connections that make such discussions unnecessary. I am sure they fear for my “soul” and pray that I would return to the fold, but these things are never voiced to me. If they did attempt to evangelize me, it would most certainly put an end to our friendship.
To the man, these friendly Evangelicals believe that my life is missing something — Jesus — and is empty, lacking meaning, purpose, and direction. In their minds, only Jesus can meet my needs. Without him, what is the point of living another day, right? In their minds, Jesus is the end-all. Why would I want to trade the life I now have for Jesus? What can Jesus — a dead man — possibly offer me? Well, Bruce, these Evangelicals say, Jesus offers you forgiveness of sins, escape from Hell, and eternal bliss in Heaven. Surely, you want to go to Heaven when you die? Actually, I am content with life in the present. Threats of Hell or promises of Heaven have no effect on me. Both are empty promises.
Why would I ever want to be friends with someone who believes that, unless I believe as they do, their God is going to torture me in a lake filled with fire and brimstone for eternity? This same God — knowing that my present body would, in hell, sizzle like a hog on a spit — lovingly plans to fit me with a special fireproof body that will be able to feel the pain of being roasted alive without being turned into a puddle of grease. What an awesome God! No thanks. I have no interest in being friends with anyone who thinks that this is what lies in the future for me. I can’t stop (nor do I want to) such people from reading my writing, but I sure as hell don’t want to “fellowship” with them over dinner at the local Applebee’s.
I would like to make one offer to Evangelicals who want to be friends with Atheist Bruce. Fine, let’s go to the strip club and have drinks, and let’s do it on All Male Revue Night. I’m not all that interested in seeing males strip, but I thought taking these Evangelicals to such a place would help them see how I feel when they view my life as lacking (naked) and in need of clothing (Jesus).
My life is what it is. True friends accept me as I am, no strings attached. Evangelicals, of course, have a tough time doing that. In their minds, Jesus is the end-all, the answer to all that ails the human race. Life is empty without the awesome threesome — Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I spent fifty years in the Christian church. For half of those years, I was preaching the Evangelical gospel. I was, according to all who knew me, a devoted, zealous follower of Jesus. Whatever my faults may have been (and they were many), I loved Jesus with all my heart, soul, and mind. Deciding to walk away from the ministry and Christianity were the two hardest decisions I have ever made. Yet, my life, in virtually every way, is better today than it was when I was a Christian. Quite frankly, Christianity has nothing to offer me. I am content (well, as content as a perfectionist with OCPD can be, anyway) with life as it now is. Sure, life isn’t perfect, but all in all, I can say I am blessed. Yes, blessed. I am grateful for my partner, six children, and thirteen grandchildren. I am grateful that I can, with all the health problems I have, still enjoy their company. The advice I offer up to people on my ABOUT page sums up my view of life:
You have one life. There is no heaven or hell. There is no afterlife. You have one life, it’s yours, and what you do with it is what matters most. Love and forgive those who matter to you and ignore those who add nothing to your life. Life is too short to spend time trying to make nice with those who will never make nice with you. Determine who are the people in your life that matter and give your time and devotion to them. Live each and every day to its fullest. You never know when death might come calling. Don’t waste time trying to be a jack of all trades, master of none. Find one or two things you like to do and do them well. Too many people spend way too much time doing things they will never be good at.
Here’s the conclusion of the matter. It’s your life and you’d best get to living it. Someday, sooner than you think, it will be over. Don’t let your dying days be ones of regret over what might have been.
For me, the game of life is late in the fourth quarter. Time is literally running out. I must focus my attention and energy on relationships that are mutually beneficial, relationships that offer love, kindness, and acceptance. No Evangelical worth his or her salt can offer me such a relationship. Lurking below the surface will be thoughts about how much better my life could be with Jesus and thoughts of what will happen to me if I die without repenting of my sins. Evangelicals who really believe what the Bible says can’t leave me alone. They dare not stand before God to give an account of their lives, only to be reminded that, when given the opportunity to evangelize the atheist ex-preacher Bruce Gerencser, they said and did nothing. And it is for these reasons that I cannot and will not befriend Evangelicals.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
If you have not done so, please read the previous post on this subject here.
After posting Bruce, I Want to be Your Friend — Part One, I read a perfect illustration of what I was talking about in this post.
Writing for A Clear Lens — an Evangelical apologetics blog — Nate Sala wrote:
A lot of people in the Church seem to be asking the same question more and more these days: How do I talk to people about my faith in Christ? This is an excellent question to ask! Particularly considering the current climate of tribalism, whataboutism, and the outrage culture, how are Christians supposed to navigate often difficult conversations in order to get to the Gospel in the 21st century?
I’ve spent the last nine years formulating an effective method of communicating why Christianity is true; and a lot of this has been through trial and error. And I do mean, a lot of error! But now I see that the difficulty in sharing our faith with folks is not rooted in whatever is happening in the news or academia or political correctness or even atheist websites. I am convinced that the difficulty in sharing our faith stems from our having forgotten how to be in relationship with each other.
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We need to stop making speeches and start making friends. Evangelism and apologetics is only as effective as the authentic relationship you have with folks. Let speeches be for political venues or TED Talks or even the pulpit. But for us, when we want to communicate to people about our faith, we need to begin with real relationship. That means asking questions to get to know people. In other words, treat your interactions with folks like you would a first date.
We all know (at least I hope we all do) the dos and donts of dating. Don’t dominate the conversation with long-winded speeches about yourself or your views. If you do that there won’t be a second date! Instead ask questions about your date in order to discover who they are and show them that you are genuinely interested in them. And then just listen carefully to what they say. This is no different when it comes to evangelistic or apologetic conversations. Don’t begin with an agenda where three steps later you’re asking someone to say the sinner’s prayer with you. Just start off by getting to know the person you’re talking to. Treat your interactions like a first date with an important person. And, when the person you’re speaking to feels comfortable, ask them about their faith. Let me say that again: When the person you’re speaking to feels comfortable, then ask them about their faith. As a matter of fact, J Warner Wallace has a great question you can ask them: What do you think happens after we die?
Friends, if you try to treat people like a checkmark on your agenda, you will come across as an inauthentic used-car salesman. Instead, if you treat your conversations like a first date with an important person, you will find the path to evangelism and apologetics so much easier!
Read carefully what Sala says: friendship is a tool to be used in evangelizing non-Christians. In other words, it’s friendship based on deception, not honesty. Imagine if Evangelical zealots were honest and said, look I want to be your friend, but I only want to do so because I see you as a hell-bound, sin-laden, enemy of the Evangelical God, who is headed for Hell unless you buy what I am selling. Why, I suspect most people would say fuck off. Few of us want friends who can’t love and accept us as we are, where we are. And don’t tell me Evangelicals love everyone, loving them so much that they just have to tell them the truth — JESUS SAVES! Who wants friends who see them as defective in some way; friends who view them as broken; friends who see them as purposeless and empty; friends who cannot and will not love them as is, without conditions?
Evangelicals feign friendship so they can evangelize. True friends, on the other hand, enjoy your company and accept that differences are what make each of us special. Evangelicals look to convert, adding more minds to the Borg collective. Conformity, not diversity, is the goal. Doubt that this is so? Ask your new Evangelical “friend” if, after you get saved, you can continue having gay sex and continue working for Planned Parenthood. Ask him or her if you and your significant other can have your same-sex wedding at their church. Ask if you, as a gay man, can teach Sunday school or work in the nursery. Absurd, right?
I have no doubt Sala and other Evangelicals will object to my characterizations of their intent. However, I spent a lifetime in Evangelicalism. I know how Evangelicals operate. I know what lurks behind their “friendliness.” I know that they use friendship as a means to an end, much like foreplay before sexual intercourse. Evangelicals fondle and caress your emotions, hoping that you will spread your legs wide so they can penetrate you with their slick gospel presentations. No thanks.
For all I know, Nate Sala is a nice guy, as are many Evangelicals. I just wish they would all be honest about their intent when they lurk in the shadows hoping to befriend unwary “sinners.” While this might not generate as many club members, there will be no regrets come morning.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
If there’s one subject I have written about numerous times it is how Evangelicals almost always have ulterior motives when it comes to their interaction with the unwashed, uncircumcised Philistines of the world. Evangelicals are taught from an early age to be aware of the unsaved people around them; to always be looking for opportunities to sell them a new sweeper, uh, I mean share the gospel with them. In many Evangelical churches, congregants are reminded of the importance of daily seeking out sinners in need of salvation. Keep in mind Evangelicalism is an exclusivist sect which believes that many of the people who lay claim to the Christian label are actually unsaved. The average American Evangelical has been told that the vast majority of their fellow citizens are headed for Hell, and that it is their duty to keep that from happening.
I attended an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) in the 1970s. One song we frequently sang in chapel went like this:
Souls for Jesus is our battle cry
Souls for Jesus, we will fight until we die
We never will give in while souls are lost in sin
Souls for Jesus is our battle cry
For most of my Christian life, my concern for lost souls was an ever-present reality. Everywhere I looked I saw lost people, similar to Haley Joe Osment in the movie The Sixth Sense where he said “I see dead people.” I saw “dead” people everywhere I looked; people dead in trespasses and sin; people standing on the precipice of Hell and eternal damnation. I thought at the time, how could Christians NOT be passionate about winning souls? While my zeal certainly waned as I aged (and became more cynical), as a young preacher, I was in the soul-saving business.
The problem with being so zealous is that it perverts your view of the world and how you interact with unbelievers and even Christians not of your tribe. It becomes hard to just love people as they are without thinking of what they could be if they only knew the wondrous, matchless grace of Jesus. That’s why when Evangelicals contact me offering friendship I always decline, knowing that lurking behind their offer is their pathological need to evangelize me. I know who and what I am. I know everything I need to know about the Bible, God, Jesus, and salvation. I don’t need to hear the gospel again. What could someone possibly say that I don’t already know? I am not an atheist because of a lack of knowledge. I’m an atheist because I don’t think the central claims of Christianity are true.
I suppose I could befriend an Evangelical if he or she were content to let me go to Hell in peace. This would require compartmentalization; not talking about Christianity (or atheism, for that matter) unless asked. I am sure that some Evangelicals and I have many things in common. You know, the stuff we all have in common. Unfortunately, hardcore religious beliefs, along with right-wing political beliefs, make such friendships impossible. I am capable of compartmentalizing my beliefs for the sake of maintaining friendships, but the Evangelicals I have met so far are not. (I am talking about real friendships here, not acquaintances or Facebook “friends.)
Recently, John MacFarlane, the pastor of First Baptist Church in Bryan, Ohio, recently wrote a daily devotional titled Like a Good Neighbor. I have known John most of his life. He was raised in First Baptist, attended an IFB college, and has spent his entire adult life working for IFB churches. It is likely that John will be a cradle-to-grave Fundamentalist Baptist. I read his devotionals and follow his ministry from afar. I have seen nothing that suggests John had moderated one bit over the years.
John wrote:
State Farm Insurance has the motto, “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.” Good neighbors are what we are supposed to be. As Christians, we have been given a very clear instructions concerning this.
Matthew 7:12 says, “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.” The Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. This is the simplest thing to figure out. Perhaps a person says, “I just don’t know what to do for my neighbor.” Yes, you do. If you were in their situation, what would you want done for you? Now, go do it for them.
This is a great opportunity to create open doors for sharing the Gospel. When people see the love of Jesus coming out in our actions, while they may not understand our motivation, they can see that something is different. The more we DO for someone, the more we can build a sidewalk from our house to theirs. Eventually, the ends connect, a friendship and trust have been established, and the door bursts open to share about the Lord and His saving grace.
John started out well, telling readers to follow the Golden Rule; doing unto others as you would want done to you. That’s a principle we should all live by. Where John goes off the rails is when he says that the motive for doing unto others as you would want to be done to you is their salvation; that treating others as you would want to be treated is just a means to an end. Good deeds become a lure on the end of a fishing line. The fisherman keeps gently pulling on the string giving the appearance of food to a fish, hoping the fish will bite. The “food” if swallowed, is anything but. It’s death, fileted and fried for the fisherman’s family.
That’s what good deeds become for many Evangelicals; bait used to attract and hook unwary fish. Instead of offering genuine friendship, Evangelicals offer friendship with strings attached. They aren’t interested in who and what people are. They are interested in what they can become if they only swallow the bait.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Evangelicals talk a lot about loving their neighbors and doing good to others. Pastors and parachurch leaders encourage Evangelicals to befriend their neighbors, workmates, and anyone and everyone they come in contact with. Sounds like a good idea, right? I am all for kindness and compassion toward others. I am all for doing good and loving my fellow humans (and dogs, cats, possums, squirrels, and raccoons). We only get one trip through this thing we call life, so why not be a good person, help others, and make the world a better place to live? The problem when it comes to Evangelicals doing these things is that they almost always have an agenda. Lurking behind practically every act of kindness lies an ulterior motive. That’s not to say that non-Evangelicals, including atheists and agnostics, don’t do the same, but Evangelicals have turned subterfuge into an art form.
Every year, thousands of American Evangelical churches have what is called Friendship Day (or Friend’s Day). Held on a Sunday, Friendship Day is an evangelistic effort meant to inspire Evangelicals to befriend their neighbors and invite them to church. The goal is not to meet new friends, but to evangelize people who have been labeled as “lost.” Congregants are encouraged to scope out their neighborhoods and workplaces, looking for people who need to be born again. Once targeted, church members are asked to invite these sinners to the Friendship Day service. Unwary “lost” people will be told that the church is having a special day just for them, complete with food and entertainment. What they won’t be told is that while they are there, the pastor of that church will preach AT them about their need for salvation. You see, the offer of friendship isn’t genuine. Evangelicals, according to their interpretation of the inspired, inerrant, infallible Protestant Bible, believe they are commanded by God to distance themselves from the “world.” James 4:4 says:
Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God? whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God.
Befriending the unwashed, uncircumcised Philistines of the world for friendship’s sake is a sin. Christians are commanded to not be yoked together with unbelievers.
Evangelistic endeavors such as Friendship Day have one goal in mind: evangelizing non-Evangelicals. And once someone is successfully won to Christ, the next step is to incorporate them into the Borg collective, also known as the church membership; and once made part of church, they will be taught that the God who saved them expects them to attend church on Sundays, daily read the Bible and pray, and donate a portion of their income to “the church that loved them enough to tell them about J-E-S-U-S.”
You see, the goal was never for Evangelicals to be friends with non-Christians. In their minds, Jesus and his gospel are so important that it is okay to act deceitfully towards their neighbors. If, through outreaches such as Friendship Day, souls are saved, what’s a little deception among friends, right? The end justifies the means.
When Christians fail to show up, those around us remain unreached. Complacency is a sickness that keeps us from loving our neighbors. In fact, we misrepresent the gospel when we fail to bring it to our unbelieving neighbors. This proves our lack of love for them, our lack of gratitude for our own salvation, our underestimation of its primacy in our lives, and our rejection of God’s call to go.
But Christ’s love is the antidote to complacency, and it compels us to go to the lost. Jesus spent his life among the needy, and that’s where he sends us (John 17:18). We shine his light in the darkness. We speak up where the truth is silenced. We welcome when the world abandons.
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We think strategically about how we can live out our mission to make disciples of the nations (Matt. 28:19). The global refugee crisis has, in many cities in both the United States and across the world, brought the nations to our neighborhoods. They’re coming to us. We have an unprecedented opportunity to show up.
My local church, Imago Dei Raleigh, cares for refugees who live in an apartment complex in our city. We seek to build friendships as these families transition to life in Raleigh. Recently we facilitated a vacation Bible school inside the complex. The gospel was shared with the children and their parents through Arabic and Burmese translators. My boys played soccer with new friends who speak multiple languages and have multiple skin tones.
I also met a Syrian woman with her four children. She lives in isolation, because she speaks little English. One tangible way I can love her is to help her practice conversational English. We exchanged phone numbers so that we can make plans to visit together. I’m committing to show up—not to exegete Romans, but to love her by helping her to learn English. Hopefully, as we become friends, I’ll have the opportunity to share Christ with her.
God orchestrates the placement of his people for his purposes. Our presence in our neighbors’ lives creates space for us to share the gospel. Engage your relational networks with gospel intentionality. Who’s better equipped to reach your neighbor than you are?
We’re not bound by one playbook for how to reach our neighbors. Be creative! For example, my friend hosts a neighborhood book club. Ladies come to her house to spend time with their friends as they discuss the latest bestseller.
Over time, as they get to know each other better, the group begins to see the genuineness of my friend’s affection for them and her love for God. They see gospel fruit displayed in and through her life. Planting a church presents opportunities to think creatively about reaching the lost. It forces us to ask questions that push us to create new spaces for people to encounter Christ.
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We don’t show up to invest in the lives of others because we’re “do-gooders” or “super Christians.” We invest in people for their good and God’s glory. As churches are planted across the globe, God’s kingdom advances, and God’s fame is magnified.
Britton succinctly illustrates what I call agenda-driven evangelism. She makes it clear that the motive for Evangelicals engaging non-Christians is not to be “do-gooders,” but to give them what they need — Jesus. Never mind what non-Christians might really need physically, emotionally, financially, or socially. These things are but red meat waved in front of hungry lions; distractions meant to soften unbelievers up for evangelization. The agenda, as Britton makes clear, is to evangelize the lost.
Over the past decade, I have had numerous Evangelical pastors, evangelists, college presidents, and Holy Spirit-led laypeople attempt to befriend me. (Two people just today.) They have offered me breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, and/or beer (but no sex). Some of them have even sent me generous donations through PayPal. In every instance, these friendly Evangelicals had an agenda: to win me back to Jesus. They weren’t interested in me as a person. All these evangelizers saw was a man in need of saving; and if they could win the former Evangelical-preacher-turned-atheist Bruce Gerencser back to Jesus, why, they could then put another notch on the wooden grip of their gospel revolver. These deceivers never wanted to be friends with me. Their goal was evangelization, not friendship. One preacher swore up and down that he just wanted to be friends with me. After repeatedly saying his motives were pure, I said, fine. Let’s meet for dinner at the strip club in Fort Wayne. Just two guys out on the town, right? Of course, he declined my invitation. I suspect he knew that semi-nude women dancing near us might negate his attempt to evangelize me. Jesus can’t compete with naked women. 🙂
I have no problem befriending Christians, even Evangelicals. I have plenty of things in common with Evangelicals: family, grandchildren, sports, good food, to name a few. If a prospective Evangelical friend is willing to not speak of Jesus/Christianity unless I ask them to do so — and I will do the same with my atheistic beliefs — then we can be friends. I want to be left alone. I know almost all there is to know about Jesus/Christianity/the Bible. I am a godless heathen by choice. I have weighed Christianity in the balance and found it wanting. If an Evangelical is willing to let me go to Hell in peace, then maybe, just maybe, we can be friends. Unfortunately, Evangelical zealots have a pathological need to talk about Jesus; to share the “good” news; to evangelize anyone and everyone deemed unsaved. This need to proselytize keeps Evangelicals from being friends with people just for friendship’s sake.
I want friends who love and accept me as I am. I want friends who can revel in the things we have in common and ignore the things we don’t. I want friends who see me as a good person; as a man who loves his family, neighbors, and friends. That’s why Evangelicals can’t really be friends with me “as I am.” The Bible tells them that I am broken; an enemy of God; a man whose father is Satan. Ponder all the atrocious things the Bible says about non-Christians. Why would I want to be friends with someone who thinks I am fundamentally a bad person; a man whose behavior warrants eternal punishment in Hell? No thanks.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Several years ago, Will Cunningham, the marriage pastor at Mission Hills Church in Denver, Colorado sent me an email. Yes, another one of THOSE emails. Yes, another one of those emails, written by an Evangelical who can read, yet who ignores what he has read because of, well because of J-E-S-U-S. Evidently, Cunningham must have thought I was ignorant of who this Jesus was, or — better put — that I was ignorant of his human-crafted version of the man, the myth, the legend — Jesus, the Christ.
Every Evangelical who contacts me is asked to READ and THINK before he or she does so. The contact form for this site says, in part:
If you are an Evangelical Christian, please read Dear Evangelical before sending me an email. If you have a pathological need to evangelize, spread the love of Jesus, or put a good word in for the man, the myth, the legend named Jesus, please don’t. The same goes for telling me your church/pastor/Jesus is awesome. I am also not interested in reading sermonettes, testimonials, Bible verses, or your deconstruction/psychological evaluation of my life. By all means, if you feel the need to set me straight, start your own blog.
If you email me anyway — and I know you will, since scores of Evangelicals have done just that, showing me no regard or respect — I reserve the right to make your message and name public. This blog is read by thousands of people every day, so keep that in mind when you email me whatever it is you think “God/Jesus/Holy Spirit” has laid upon your heart. Do you really want your ignorance put on display for thousands of people to see? Pause before hitting send. Ask yourself, “how will my email reflect on Jesus, Christianity, and my church?”
Thanks for your honest and vulnerable opinions on Christianity, Jesus, pastors, etc. I stumbled on your site by entering, “What happens when pastors become arrogant?”, and (an hour later) found myself still reading. Finally, I just decided to write you. My response is not an attempt to sway you back to faith in Christ. I simply want to connect.
Your blog, “I Hate Jesus”, obviously caught my attention. As I read it, I found myself agreeing––not because I share your atheist views, but because I believe we have constructed a terrible and tragic caricature of Jesus, and have forced him upon the gullible masses.
The real Jesus is worth loving, though.
The Jesus I love is the one who, from the beginning, made men and women equal––not just in essence, but in authority, as well. His earliest instructions to them were twofold: reproduce and rule, TOGETHER! The first time we see or hear anything that suggests patriarchal rulership, it is spoken in the form of a curse to Eve… “Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.” The Jesus I love is grieved at churches that prohibit women preachers, and households where men lord their assumed positional power over their wives.
The Jesus I love is completely comfortable in the presence of homosexuals, adulterers, porn stars, divorcees, and people of who hold non-Christian beliefs. And he is especially fond of atheists.
The Jesus I love is also fond of presidents, popes, kings, queens, and assorted politicians. And he loves pastors––even the arrogant assholes that you mentioned in your writings. Saul was once an arrogant asshole, until he saw the light and became a pretty decent fellow. The Jesus I love knew just what Saul needed in order for him to change his arrogant ways. And He waited patiently, until just the right moment came along… then He helped Saul see things as they really were. Now, we know him only as the Apostle Paul.
The Jesus I love made mountains, oceans, sunsets, birds, wine, sex, and more. All for our enjoyment! If He was here today, I think He’d probably dig Zagnuts, too. And I’m sure He would approve of deep dish pizza.
The Jesus I love hates certain things, for sure. He hates dishonesty. He hates pride. And He is especially grieved when His own children don’t love each other.
The Jesus I love IS love. If the cross proves anything, it proves this. Thus, I can be confident when I say that He also loves Bruce Grr-in-Sir and his lovely wife, Polly. Perhaps we will meet someday, Bruce. Until then, I am your friend…
Will Cunningham Marriage Pastor at Mission Hills Church in Denver, CO And former asshole
Cunningham is a staff member at a multi-campus megachurch in Denver. The church has over one hundred staff members and elders. Astoundingly, ninety-eight percent of staff members and elders are white. That said, women are well represented, though none of the elders or top-shelf pastors is female, so I question Cunningham’s commitment to an egalitarian view of women and marriage. According to the church’s EFCA page, its annual income exceeds $13 million.
I searched in vain for a doctrinal statement, but as I browsed the church’s website it became clear that Mission Hills is an Evangelical church holding to typical Evangelical beliefs and practices. It’s not uncommon these days for Evangelicals to omit or hide their doctrinal statements. The reason, of course, is to get people to attend without having preconceived ideas about the church. However, at Mission Hills, beliefs matter, so why not put them out there for all to see? How is it not bait and switch to lure people into your church with promises of love and acceptance, only for them to find out that full admission into the fellowship of the ring requires fealty to the Bible and its teachings (or, more properly, the church’s peculiar interpretation of the Bible)?
More and more Evangelical churches are presenting themselves as LGBT friendly congregations. Come to our church, they say. We will love you exactly as you are. Here’s what’s not said: We believe homosexuality is a sin. We oppose same-sex marriage. Our goal is to present LGBT people with the life-changing gospel of Jesus in the hope that they will repent of their sins and follow Jesus. And in following Jesus, they will need to, at the very least, live a celibate life. Better yet, embracing Evangelical heterosexuality would be da bomb!
It’s really easy for LGBT people to test whether a church is actually as gay-friendly as its members say they are. Go to the pastor and ask the following:
Pastor Craig, my gay wife and I really love attending Mission Hills Church. We both are followers of Jesus, and we would love to renew our wedding vows in church. Would you be willing to let us do so? We would also like to become members of the church and begin serving in some capacity — say on the worship team or starting a new class for LGBT people. Wouldn’t that be awesome, Pastor Craig? Imagine how our class could be used as a way to say to the LGBT community that Mission Hills really does love them as they are and has no interest or desire in changing them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful for LGBT people to learn that Mission Hills supports them fully regardless of their sexual orientation?
Let the stammering, stuttering, and ‘splaining begin. Churches such as Mission Hills may, in a warped way, “love” LGBT people, but over the long term that “love” will be used to bring change and conformity. After all, isn’t that what the Bible says? That humans are broken sinners is need of “fixing,” and the only person who can fix them is Jesus. Those who are born again, the Good Book says, become new creations in Christ. The old life passes away and all things become new — including whom you have sex with and whom you are married to.
Cunningham believes that many Evangelicals have constructed a false Jesus; the Jesus featured in my post, Why I Hate Jesus. (This post, by the way, is the most widely read post on this site.) In his mind, this Jesus is a false Jesus. I will assume, then, that the millions and millions of people following this false Jesus are not Christians. A false Jesus is, according to the Bible, an antichrist. Thus, the rational conclusion of Cunningham’s claim is that these Evangelicals are following an antichrist. Is this really what he wants to say? If yes, then how is his narrow, defined view of Jesus and Christianity any different from the beliefs of other sectarians? Isn’t the real truth here that all Christians create a God/Jesus in their own image; that, in fact, there are as many Jesuses as there are Christians; that the Jesuses of today are very different from those years ago; that Evangelical Jesuses bear little or no resemblance to the Jesus who walked the dusty roads of Palestine?
Cunningham would have me believe that his Jesus is LOVE. I will assume Cunningham is Trinitarian. If he is, then he believes that Jesus is God. And if Jesus is God, then he is culpable for all the things God did in the Old Testament, the New Testament, and will yet do, according to the book of Revelation. Let’s take, yet again, Cunningham’s theology to its logical conclusion:
It’s the Jesus-is-Love God® who drowned millions of humans in Noah’s flood, including children, pregnant women, and unborn fetuses. This God saved eight people out of the millions he suffocated with water. Where, pray tell, do we find LOVE in this story? If I set the entire world on fire, killing everyone except Polly and me and our six children, would future generations say of me that I murdered the human race because I loved them? Of course not. I would rightly be remembered as a maniacal psychopath. And let’s not forget the uncounted millions of innocent animals who perished, all because God was pissed off at humans. The Jesus-is-Love God® killed puppies and kittens, dammit! What does that say about him?
It’s the Jesus-is-Love God® who killed Uzzah, a devoted follower of his, all because, with good intention, he dared to touch the Ark of the Covenant to keep it from falling. It seems, then, that the Jesus-is-Love God® is quite similar to Fundamentalists with their strict rules and subsequent punishments for failure to obey. (There are 635 laws in the Old Testament.)
It’s the Jesus-is-Love God® who, during his time on earth, allowed Herod to slaughter all the male children under the age of two. The Jesus-is-Love God® sure loves the little children, all the children of the world, right? I mean, look at all the children who are starving and living under threat of violence and death? If the Jesus-is-Love God® truly loves the little bitty babies in his hand, why does he ignore their plight?
It’s the Jesus-is-Love God® who did nothing when his people, the Jews, were slaughtered during the siege of Jerusalem in 70 CE. It was the same the Jesus-is-Love God® who took a vacation and couldn’t be reached when Hitler and Nazis murdered six million Jews.
It’s the Jesus-is-Love God® who will one day rain down on earth the violence, savagery, and death recounted in the book of Revelation. Revelation reads like a book co-authored by Dexter and Hannibal Lecter. Why, if HBO produced a TV series on Revelation, it would require an NC-17 rating for blood and gore. Yet, the Jesus-is-Love God® is reputedly a man of love, peace, kindness, and Snickers bars.
Despite all the murderous violence perpetrated by the Jesus-is-Love God®, Cunningham would have me believe that this Jesus indeed loves me and has a super-duper, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious plan for my life.
I assume Cunningham believes in the existence of Heaven and Hell and believes that all humans will stand before God one day and give an account for their lives. In my mind, this is where the proverbial rubber meets the road. As I bring Cunningham’s Jesus-is-Love God® before the throne of Bruce Almighty, all that matters to me is what Cunningham believes about Hell. This is, for me, the test of tests, that which shows the true nature of Will Cunningham and Mission Hills Church. The Bible is clear on who created Hell — the Jesus-is-Love God®. The Bible is also clear on who puts people in Hell — the Jesus-is-Love God®. The Jesus-is-Love God® will torture the inhabitants of Hell for eternity all because:
They worshiped another God besides the Christian God
They were born in the wrong geographical location to the wrong parents
They had the wrong Evangelical beliefs and worshiped the false Jesus
They loved whom they loved and had sex with them, despite what the Bible said about their sexuality
They were atheists, agnostics, Pagans, humanists, Buddhists, Muslims, etc.
According to orthodox Evangelical theology, far more people will be in Hell (Lake of Fire) than Heaven (the Eternal Kingdom of God). The Bible says the path to Heaven is a straight and narrow way and few people will make it through the pearly gates. The Bible also says Jesus is THE way, THE truth, and THE life. The definite article makes it clear that there is only one way, truth, and life, and, according to Cunningham and the Mission Hills church, the Jesus-is-Love God® is the only way, the only truth, and the only life. If all roads lead to Heaven, Cunningham wouldn’t have bothered to email me. He sincerely believes my wife and I are on the wrong path, a path that ultimately leads to eternal damnation.
What I want Cunningham to understand is that from the unbeliever’s perspective, his view of love is anything but. As long as there is a Hell and non-Christians end up in that Hell, it cannot be said that Jesus is l-o-v-e. Now, perhaps someday Evangelicals will take Thomas Jefferson’s scissors to the Bible and cut out the pages and pages of things that offend. Until then, unbelievers such as myself will continue to see the Bible God as anything but a God of love.
Lastly, I want to address Cunningham’s benediction:
The Jesus I love IS love. If the cross proves anything, it proves this. Thus, I can be confident when I say that He also loves Bruce Grr-in-Sir and his lovely wife, Polly. Perhaps we will meet someday, Bruce. Until then, I am your friend…
Cunningham is confident that the Jesus-is-Love God® loves Bruce and Polly Gerencser. How could he possibly know this? There’s nothing in the Bible that says he loves us. In fact, I could make a persuasive argument from the inerrant Word of God that Cunningham’s Jesus-is-Love God® does not, in fact, love us. Whether due to us not being numbered among the elect, or us committing an unpardonable sin, it seems to me that we have crossed the line of no return. We have done despite to the Spirit of grace, and we have trampled under our feet the blood of the covenant. We not only reject the teachings of Christianity, we are as confident as Cunningham is with his Jesus-is-Love God® that the Christian God is a work of fiction, and that the “resurrected” Jesus does in fact lie buried somewhere in the sands of the Middle East. We are also confident that the Bible is not a supernatural book written by a supernatural God, and its teaching are largely irrelevant, and at times harmful, for twenty-first century dwellers. Fourteen years ago, we walked out of the Christian church, never to return. We left the bondage of Egypt and are on a journey to the Promised Land — a land where love, kindness, peace, and reason prevail. We are now in our sixties. Soon, death will come knocking on our door. While neither of us wants to die, we are ready to face life’s end, confident that once we draw our last breaths the only thing that will remain is our ashes, the memories people have of us, and the mark we made while living. We will, if death claimed us today, be grateful for the forty-four years we have spent together. We will also be grateful for our children, grandchildren, daughters-in-law, extended family, friends, and our two cats. While we wish we hadn’t wasted so much of our lives serving a non-existent deity, we know those experiences have made us who we are today, and they allow us to provide compassionate help to those trying the extricate themselves from the hands of the Jesus-is-Love God®.
Cunningham speaks of meeting us someday. Is this his passive-aggressive way of reminding us that we will only meet him if we come to love and know his Jesus-is-Love God®? Or, perhaps he thinks we will run into each other in Ohio or Colorado. We live twelve hundred miles from each other, so it is unlikely that our paths shall ever cross. Besides, Cunningham is assuming that Polly and I would want to meet him. Why would we? What in his email says to either of us, this is a man whom we would love to have over for dinner or go to strip club with? As many pastor-Evangelical interlocutors have done, Cunningham presumes he can, without my participation, be my friend. Evidently, the word friend doesn’t mean much to him. I actually have very few friends: my wife, children, Polly’s parents, my siblings, a man I have known since third grade, my editor, and a handful of people I have met over the years through this blog. I have scores of acquaintances, some of whom are closer than others, but friendship? I zealously protect the word “friend,” reserving it for the people who would stick by my side no matter what. Cunningham is my age, but perhaps he has been infected by the Facebook spirit of the age and everyone he comes in contact with is his friend. I choose, instead, to insist that the word friend has meaning, and those I call “friend” are special people who have embraced me as I am, and I have done the same for them. Cunningham and I will never be friends. First, I don’t want to be friends with him, and second, we have very, very little in common. I am not trying to be mean here, but I don’t want the good pastor to think that because he sent me an email, we are, in any way, friends. We are not.
Nothing I have said in this post will keep Evangelical zealots from sending me email. In their minds, the will of God as perceived by them supersedes my personal desires, and click, off goes another email to the former Evangelical pastor turned atheist Bruce Gerencser. Such is the nature of having a widely read public blog.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
One thing being a part of a church does for us is give us a community through which we find meaning, purpose, and identity. I spent the first fifty years of my life in the Christian church. For many years, I attended church twice on Sunday and on Wednesdays or Thursdays for prayer meeting. These church families I was a part of were central to my life. Most of my friendships were developed in connection with the church and my work as a pastor. I spent twenty-five years pastoring Evangelical churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. I developed scores of friendships, not only with congregants but also with colleagues in the ministry. As a pastor, I would attend pastor’s conferences and meetings. It was at these meetings that I had opportunities to talk with my preacher friends, sharing with them my “burdens.” We would laugh, cry, and pray together, knowing that the bond we had as fellow followers of Jesus and God-called preachers of the gospel was rooted in loving each other as Christ Jesus loved us. A handful of preachers became close, intimate friends with my wife and me. Our families would get together for food, fun, and fellowship — hallmarks of Baptist intimacy. We saw vulnerabilities in each other that our congregants never would. We could confide in each other, seeking advice on how to handle this or that problem or church member. When news of church difficulties came our way, we would call each other, or take each other out for lunch. These fellow men of God were dear to my heart, people that I expected to have as friends until I died.
As a teenager, I had lots of friends, male and female. Most of my friends were fellow church members, though I did have, thanks to playing sports, a few friends in the “world.” I always found it easy to meet new people and make friendships. I had no qualms about talking to complete strangers, a gift that suited me well as a pastor. As a nineteen-year-old boy, I enrolled in classes at Midwestern Baptist College in Pontiac, Michigan. I quickly made a lot of new friends, including one who sleeps beside me to this day. I lived in a dorm room with three other men. Virtually every waking hour of my life was spent with fellow students — at church, school, and social events. As anyone who has ever lived in a college dormitory will tell you, dorm life is busy and full of activity. Practical jokes were an everyday occurrence, and, as a consummate jokester, I found great satisfaction in pulling one over on my fellow students. I lived on a dormitory wing that was labeled the “party” wing. The other dormitory wing was called the “spiritual” wing. My fellow party-wing residents loved Jesus, but they loved having a good time too. The spiritual wing? They loved Jesus too, but frowned on doing anything that might be perceived as bawdy or mischievous.
One day, a pastor by the name of A.V. Henderson preached at chapel (students were required to attend chapel five days a week). I have preached and heard thousands of sermons in my lifetime. I remember very few of them. I do, however, vividly remember Henderson’s sermon, even forty-five years later. Henderson was the pastor of Temple Baptist Church in Detroit. Temple was an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) megachurch founded by Baptist luminary J. Frank Norris and later pastored by G.B. Vick. The 1970s were the zenith of the IFB church movement. Most of the largest churches in the United States were IFB churches. Churches such as Temple Baptist were pastored by men who were great orators and pulpiteers. Henderson was no exception. Henderson’s chapel sermon was from the book of Job. It was, by all counts, a thrilling, rousing sermon. However, Henderson said something during his sermon that I didn’t, at the time, understand. He said, with that distinct Texas drawl of his, that people will go through life with very few true friendships; that most people were fortunate to have two or three lifelong friends. I thought at the time, what’s he talking about? I have lots of friends! Forty years-five later, I now know that A.V. Henderson was right; that true friends are rare indeed; that if you have two or three such friends, you should consider yourself fortunate.
It has been almost fifteen years since I last attended church; fifteen years since I have listened to preaching; fifteen years since I have sung the hymns of the faith; fifteen years since I have dropped money in an offering plate; fifteen years since I broke bread with people I considered my family. In early 2009, I sent a letter to my family and friends detailing my loss of faith. You can read the letter here: Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners. I grossly underestimated how people would respond to my letter. In a matter of days, I received angry, venomous emails, letters, and phone calls. One ministerial colleague drove four hours to my home, hoping to turn me back towards the faith. You can read the letter I sent to him here: Dear Friend. I was shocked by how hateful and vitriolic my friends were to me. And here I am fifteen years later, and I still, on occasion, hear from someone who knew me and is shocked over my betrayal of all that I once held dear.
The friendships of a lifetime are now gone — all of them, save my friendship with an Evangelical man I have known for fifty-seven years (we walked to elementary school together). A.V. Henderson’s words ring true. I have one friend who has walked with me through every phase of my life. The rest of my “true” friends have written me off (2 Corinthians 6:14), kicked the dirt off their shoes (Mark 6:10, 11), or turned me over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh (I Corinthians 5). I was naive to think that it could be any other way.
Many people believe in unconditional love. I know, at one time, I did. I have learned, however, that unconditional love is largely a myth. (Please read Does God Love Us Unconditionally?) Unconditional love suggests that nothing we do to those we love can break the bond we have with them. Many people carry the notion of unconditional love into their friendships. We think, these people love me, no matter what. They will always be my friends. And then something happens. In my case, I spit in the face of God, pissed on the blood of Jesus, and used the pages of the Bible to wipe my ass, so to speak. I repudiated everything I once believed, and in doing so called into question the beliefs of my friends. The glue that held our friendships together was our fealty to a set of theological beliefs. Once these beliefs were questioned and discarded by me, that bond was irreparably broken. If the connection Christians have with their churches is akin to family, then when people walk away from the beliefs and practices of these families, they are, in effect, divorcing themselves from their families.
Marital divorce tears the bond between husband and wife. When Christians divorce themselves from Jesus, the bonds they have with their friends are ripped asunder. While this divorce can be amicable, most often it is not. My divorce from Jesus and the church was very much like a high-profile tabloid divorce. And even though the judge signed the divorce decree fifteen years ago, repercussions remain to this day.
I have learned that few friendships last a lifetime. Most friendships are dependent on time and location. Remember all your friends who signed your high school yearbook? Are you still friends with them today? Remember the best-buds-for-life from your college days? What happened to those friendships? Were these relationships true friendships? Sure, but they weren’t meant to last a lifetime. And that’s okay.
I don’t blame my former friends for the failure of our friendships. I am the one who moved. I am the one who changed his beliefs. I am the one who ripped apart the bond of our friendship. I do, however, hold them accountable for their horrendous treatment of me once I deconverted. They could have hugged me and said, I don’t understand WHY you are doing this, but I appreciate the good times we had together. I wish you, Polly, and the kids well. Instead, I was treated like dog shit on a shoe bottom; a person worthy of scorn, ridicule, and denunciation. By treating me this way, they destroyed any chance of restoration. Why would I ever want to be friends again with people who treated me like the scum of the earth?
I have spent the past decade and a half developing new friendships. These days, most of my friendships are digital — people who I will likely never meet face to face. This has resulted in Polly and me becoming closer, not only loving each other, but also enjoying each other’s company. For most of my marriage, Jesus, the church, and the ministry were my first loves. (Please see It’s Time to Tell the Truth: I Had an Affair.) It’s not that I didn’t love my children and wife, I did. But they were never number one in my life, and Polly and the kids knew it. I was a God-called man who devoted his life to Jesus and the church. Polly knew that marrying a preacher meant that she and the kids would have to share me with the church. (And her teachers in college and fellow pastor’s wives told her that’s how it had to be. God came first.) Little did she know that she would spend way too many years getting leftovers from a man who loved her but was worn out from burning the proverbial candle at both ends. Now that religion no longer gets between us, Polly and I are free to forge an unencumbered relationship. We have always loved each other, but what has now changed is that we really like each other too and are best friends. And in Polly, I have found one of the true friends A.V. Henderson preached about forty-five years ago. I am indeed, blessed.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
It is not uncommon for me to receive emails from Evangelicals who really, really, really want to be my friend. These What a Friend We Have in Jesus Christians think that the reason I am no longer a follower of Jesus is that I never had good Christian friends. In fact, during my fifty years as an Evangelical church member and pastor, I had countless friends, including several men I would have considered my BFFs — best friends forever. (These best friends of mine had a different definition of forever, abandoning me once I started having doubts about Christianity and my faith.)
In November 2008, my divorce from Jesus was final, and those who once called me friend turned to praying for me, preaching sermons about me, gossiping about me, and sending me caustic, judgmental emails. Into this friendless void jump Evangelicals eager to be “real” friends with Bruce Gerencser, the Evangelical pastor-turned-atheist. Why do these friendship seekers want to be friends with me?
Some of them naïvely think that if I am just willing to be exposed to their kind, compassionate, loving version of Christianity, I will somehow, some way, be drawn back into the Evangelical fold. Their goal is the restoration of Bruce Gerencser. In other words, their offer of friendship has an ulterior motive — to win me back to Jesus.
Such attempts to be friends with me irritate the hell out me. I hate it when people, regardless of the reason, have ulterior motives when contacting me. Generally, I can spot ulterior motives a mile away. Depending on my mood, I might respond to these secret agents for Jesus by asking, what is it that you REALLY want? Cut the bullshit and tell me what it is you really want from me.
I have zero interest in having meaningful friendships with Evangelicals. I am fine with being acquainted with or doing business with Evangelicals, but I have no desire to have them over for dinner or to get our families together on the Fourth of July. And the reasons for this are not what Evangelicals might think. No, I don’t hate God, Christianity, or the Bible. None of the reasons Evangelicals think atheists are “unfriendly” apply here. Not that I am unfriendly. People who know me — saved or lost — know that I am a kind, compassionate, loving man with, when provoked, a bit of a quick-to-rise-and-recede redheaded temper. I am kind to animals, don’t step on ants, and don’t kill spiders. I lovingly endure my grandchildren jumping on me as if they are fighting in an MMA match, even though my body screams in pain. I love my friends, neighbors, and family. I get along well with others, even when put in circumstances made difficult by the airing of political and religious viewpoints I oppose. Simply put, on most days, I am a good man, brother, husband, father, and grandfather. Like everyone, I fall short in my relationships with others. When I hurt those who matter to me, I do my best to make things right. So whatever stereotype these friendship seekers might have of atheists, I don’t fit the bill.
The one and only reason I don’t befriend Evangelicals is their belief about Hell. Evangelicals believe that all humans are sinners, and without putting their faith and trust in Jesus Christ they will go to Hell — a place where all non-Christians spend eternity suffering eternal damnation in utter darkness and searing flames. Knowing that the high temperatures in Hell (and later, the Lake of Fire) would turn unsaved humans into sizzling grease spots, the Evangelical God of “love” gives them bodies capable of enduring never-ending pain and suffering. What a wonderful God, right?
I will soon be sixty-five years old. Sometime beyond this moment, I will draw my last breath. According to Evangelicals, the very next moment after I close my eyes in death, I will awake in Hell, ready to begin my eternal sentence of unimaginable pain and suffering. (A theological point in passing: most Evangelicals believe what I just wrote; however, according to orthodox Christian theology, God doesn’t give the saved and lost new bodies until Resurrection Day. So, I am not sure what it is that suffers when I land in Hell, but it won’t be my body. Maybe my suffering will come from my mind being subjected to a never-ending loop of Evangelical sermons and praise and worship ditties.)
Why, you ask, will I be tortured by God in Hell for eternity? One reason, and one reason alone — I do not believe Jesus is anything Christians say he is. And since Jesus is not God, not a Savior, and not divine in any way, and I see no evidence of his eternal existence in the present world, I have no reason to worship him. No matter how good a man I might be, all that matters when it comes to an eternity spent in Heaven or Hell is if I have checked the box on the Evangelical decision card that says: Yes, I prayed the sinner’s prayer and asked Jesus to forgive me and save me from my sins.
So, I ask you, WHY in the names of all humanity’s gods would I want to be friends with anyone who thinks I deserve to be put on the Evangelical God’s rack and stretched for years without end? You see, dear friendship seeker, it is your belief about Hell and my eternal destiny that makes it impossible for me to be your friend. No, Hell isn’t real, and I don’t fear what may come of me after death, but you believe these things to be true and they stand in the way of us having a meaningful friendship. I am thoroughly convinced that in this life and this life alone I have immortality. Once death claims me for its own, I will cease to be. Those who were friends with me will hopefully toast my life, telling their favorite Bruce stories. In time, as is the case for all of us, I will be but a fading memory, a mere blip on the screen of human life.
Bruce, surely you can ignore their beliefs about Hell and accept their offer of friendship. Sure, I could, but why should I? Why would I want to be friends with someone who thinks I deserve eternal punishment, who thinks I have done anything to deserve being endlessly tortured by God. Life is too short for me to give my friendship to people who believe their God plans to eternally roast me in the Lake of Fire if I don’t believe as they do.
Well, fine, Bruce, I WON’T be friends with you!!! Okey dokey, smoky, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out. I am too old to care whether someone is my friend or likes me. These days, my friend list is short, but those who are on it love and support me “just as I am,” and I am grateful for them being in my life. To Evangelicals who are butt-hurt because I won’t play in the sandbox with them, I say this: pick a new God who is not a violent, murderous psychopath and worship her. Then maybe, just maybe, we can be friends. As long as you hold the company line concerning sin, death, judgment, and Hell, I will not be your friend.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
Many of the readers of this blog are former Evangelical Christians. Some readers find themselves somewhere between faith and faithless, while others label themselves as spiritual, pagan, agnostic, or atheist. One thing is for certain, many of us are far, far away from the Evangelical churches we once called home.
As we move away from Evangelical Christianity, we leave behind family and friends who are still Christians. One of the most difficult things we face is how to deal with Christians family and friends now that we are no longer a part of the Christian faith. Is it possible to have Christian friends? Is it possible to maintain good, mutually satisfying relationships with Christian, particularly Evangelical, family members?
Many of us remember the exuberance we had when we first trusted Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. New converts often have a spiritual high that lasts for a long time. New converts are much more likely to witness to non-Christians than people who have been Christians for a long time. So it is when a person leaves the Christian faith. Often they are angry, filled with regret. Many times they have been spiritually abused by a pastor or a church. Sometimes, after careful study of the Bible, they come to the conclusion that they have been lied to, that the Bible is, at best a work of fiction, and at worst a book that has been used to manipulate, harm, and destroy. To some degree, the new non-Christian has had a born-again experience. I tell people that I have been born again into humanity. Often, people are excited about their newfound non-faith faith. And just like newly-minted Christians, they want to share their newfound unbelief with others.
Granted, there are some differences between the new Christian and the new non-Christian. The new Christian believes in Heaven and Hell. The new Christian believes there is one God, one book, and one salvation, and unless unbelievers embrace the new convert’s faith Hell awaits them. The new non-Christian has a broad worldview. It is a “live and let live” worldview. While the new non-Christian is excited about what they have come to believe, they don’t think people who believe differently will be eternally punished for believing the wrong things. There’s no atheist hell, or heaven, for that matter.
The Christian, young or old, is duty-bound to share their faith with others. Jesus told his disciples to go into all the world and preach the gospel to EVERYONE, and everyone includes those who used to be practicing Christians. The non-Christian is not under any compulsion to evangelize. The non-Christian is often quite content to live out their life without ever sharing what they believe. The Christian often shares their faith whether asked or not, but as long as Christians do not force their beliefs on the non-Christian they often are not likely to say a word. Each to his/her own, the non-Christian says.
Unfortunately, Christians are often not content to live and let live. Believing they have a mandate from God, they push their religious beliefs into every sphere of life, public and private. Many Christians are theocrats. They believe America is a Christian nation and that the Bible should be the divine law-book for all — including atheists, agnostics, and other non-Christians.
Thanks to the U.S. Constitution, church and state are separate. Non-Christians usually demand that Christian beliefs play no part in government. While many Christians, in public, support the separation of church and state, in private they espouse a no king but Jesus worldview. While they dare not expose their theocratic intent, behind the scenes they work to dethrone the God of this world and establish the Kingdom of God on earth. As one who follows the Evangelical church scene closely, I find the abandonment of the separation of church and state by Evangelicals and the rise of dominion theology to be quite troubling and dangerous.
It is in the arena of church and state issues that non-Christians and Evangelicals butt heads. Non-Christians are determined to keep the Christian beliefs out of government, while many Christians think that there is not enough Christianity in government. The non-Christian desires a secular state where everyone is free to worship any god they wish, or worship no god at all. Many Christians believe a secular state is an abomination and an affront to God. So the battle lines are drawn. As much as non-Christians just want to live and let live, they are forced into a battle with Evangelical, Conservative Catholic, and Mormon Christians. They cannot idly sit by while Christians attempt to turn the United States into a Christian theocracy. And for this reason, it is very hard to maintain productive relationships with Christian family and friends once we leave the Christian faith.
I am pro-choice. I support gay rights. I oppose the teaching of creationism in schools. I oppose teacher-led prayer in public schools, and I oppose the recitation of the pledge of allegiance. I oppose Presidents and government officials being sworn in with their hands on the Bible. I am a democratic socialist and I oppose consumer-driven capitalism. I support stripping churches and pastors of their tax exemptions. I oppose the posting of the Ten Commandments in schools or government buildings, and I oppose any and all attempts to make the Bible the law of the land.
I am a liberal and a progressive. I support the ACLU, Americans United for Separation of Church and State, and the Freedom From Religion Foundation. I am so far to the left that I often meet the ghost of Jerry Falwell coming around the corner. Yet, I support religious freedom. I want every person to be free to worship or not worship according to their conscience.
As you can see, my life is an affront to Evangelicals. No matter how they look at me, my life is in direct contradiction and opposition to what they believe and practice. This is why it is very hard for a non-Christian such as myself to have meaningful relationships with Evangelical family and friends.
Several years ago, a friend of mine from many years ago found my blog. I met this man in the 1990s when he became a member of an Evangelical Christian Discussion mailing list, CHARIS, that I sponsored and moderated. I had not heard from him in a long time. He left a comment for me. He didn’t try and be nice. He didn’t try to find out how I was. There was no attempt to catch up. Nope, he just left me two questions:
Is Jesus Christ the Son of God?
Is there any other way to God?
And so it goes . . .
Personally, I have given up any hope of trying to maintain relationships with Evangelical Christian friends and family. Those who read this blog see the emails/comments that are sent to me by Christian family and friends of mine. After fourteen years of emails and comments from arrogant, self-righteous, closed-minded Evangelicals, I am flat worn out by their words.
It seems that many of my Christian family and friends can’t or won’t leave me alone. They think they can somehow, someway, win me back to Jesus. They think if they argue with me long enough I will see the “light.” They seem to think that after twenty-five years in the ministry, I am still lacking some sort of knowledge about the Christian faith, and that if they share that with me, I will come running back to Jesus.
A decade ago, I had one friend try to bully and badger me back to Jesus. Those who read my blog at the time likely remember what I call the Iggy Meltdown. This so-called friend bullied and badgered me until I finally had an epic emotional meltdown. I proceeded to launch an f-word laced tirade that left the air quite blue. Readers might remember that Iggy was the man who repeatedly told me that he knew me better than I knew myself. It never dawns on some Christians that their abusive behavior is anything BUT Christ-like. They try to win me back to Jesus using methods that Jesus would not approve of. And even if Jesus did approve of these methods, most thoughtful, decent people don’t. Badgering and bullying someone is never appropriate and it typically angers people and drives them away.
I am very pessimistic about being able to maintain relationships with Christian family and friends, especially those who are Evangelical or part of the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church movement. Over the past thirteen years, I have lost every Christian friend and ministerial colleague save two. I didn’t leave them, but they sure left me.
From time to time, former parishioners will contact me, wondering what Polly and I are up to. When they find out we are no longer Christians and I am an outspoken public atheist with a blog dedicated to exposing and critiquing Evangelicalism, they often are so traumatized by this that they unfriend us on Facebook or never talk to us again. One former church member told me that she couldn’t be friends with me because she found my story too disconcerting. This is a common response to hearing of my unbelief.
Years ago, I scanned a number of old photographs from several of the churches I pastored. I put them up on Facebook and tried to let those who were in the photos know that I had posted them. Only one person bothered to respond to me. I suspect some of them didn’t even view the photos. These were people I often had a very close relationship with. With some of them, I had relationships that went beyond the professional pastor/parishioner relationship. Why didn’t they respond? While I can’t say for certain, it is well-known that the Evangelical pastor named Bruce Gerencser is now an atheist, an enemy of God, and I suspect many of them have done a web search on my name and found this site or the other sites for which I have written guest posts. I can only imagine their shock when they find out I am an atheist.
Having said all of this, it is theoretically p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e to have meaningful relationships with Christian family and friends. The only way such relationships work is if there is mutual respect and there are no attempts to evangelize. Honest, open discussion is one thing. I am quite open about my unbelief. I enjoy talking about the Bible, God, Jesus, theology, atheism, agnosticism, and politics. But, when discussions turn from friendly banter to attempts to convert me or reclaim me for Jesus, I quickly lose any interest in talking to such people. Time to get the check and go home.
I am quite willing to accept Christians where they are and as they are. Rarely can Evangelical Christians do the same. As I have said before, I want friends who are willing to let me go to Hell in peace. I want relationships based on honesty, openness, and mutual respect. If I can’t have that then I really don’t want to be someone’s friend. While family relationships are a bit more dicey, okay A LOT more dicey, I am at a place in life where I am quite willing to distance myself from family who can’t go five minutes without putting in a good word on for Jesus or trying to win me back to Jesus.
Life is too short, and since this is the only life I will ever have, I want to spend it doing things that matter and doing things that I enjoy. Arguing with Christians is not on my list of things I enjoy. I realize, at times, my blog provokes and angers Christians, and I know my words can be sharp and to the point. That’s the how I write, It’s who I am. That said, I am not looking for an argument. This blog is my attempt at sharing with others my journey. Those who find my blog most helpful are those who are on a similar path.
To my Christian family and friends, I say this:
If you want to be my friend, if you want me to be a part of the family, then you are going to have to take me as I am. Just as I am, without one plea from you. And If you can’t do that? It’s been good knowing you.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen 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.
