Over the past seventeen years, I have received thousands of emails, phone calls, text messages, social media messages, and snail mail letters from (primarily) Evangelical Christians. When I first started blogging in 2007, I decided to use my real name and make myself available to anyone who wanted to contact me. I have, on occasion, regretted doing so.
The majority of the emails and messages I receive are hostile, violent, and argumentative. Laden with personal attacks, these contacts are meant to judge, correct, belittle me, or put me in my place. Seventeen years of such emails and messages have left me largely immune to such ill-bred, brutish behavior. I read every email I receive, answering them as I can. (Currently, I am three months behind on answering emails.) I pay close attention to emails from family, friends, former parishioners, and regular readers of this blog. I feel a sense of obligation to these folks, so I try to prioritize their correspondence.
Some emails and messages warrant a public response, as I will give with the message I received today. The following Facebook Messenger message came from a man who was a teen and young adult in two different churches I pastored: Emmanuel Baptist Church in Buckeye Lake, Ohio (1981-1983), and Somerset Baptist Church in Mt. Perry, Ohio (1983-1994).
I am generally polite and patient in my responses to former church members. I am well aware of how my story and deconversion trouble and upset people who once called me “Preacher” or “Pastor Bruce.” They know me from a time and place long ago that is very different from where I am today. Not morally or ethically; not personality-wise. I was twenty-four years old when I met Terry; now I am almost sixty-seven. Lots of water under, over, and around the metaphorical bridge, but to a large degree I am the same person today as I was forty-plus years ago. I am a kind, decent, and thoughtful man. Not perfect. I can be temperamental, argumentative, and opinionated, but I have become less so, telling Polly, my partner, the other day, in a moment of deep, dark depression, that most of the things I obsess over or that aggravate me really don’t matter. The danger, of course, for depressives, is “nothing matters” can quickly turn into suicide. That, so far, has not been the case for me, but I do recognize that not much matters beyond the people we love.
In the early days of this blog, I took to heart the nasty, hateful things Evangelicals said to me. Their words caused deep wounds, so much so that I would stop blogging. I would delete my social media accounts and even change my email address so people couldn’t contact me. Thanks to extensive and ongoing therapy, I have (most of the time) learned to handle such people. I no longer let people such as Dr. David Tee, whose real name is Derrick Thomas Thiessen, Elliot, Revival Fires, Silence of Mind, and other caustic, abrasive so-called Christians like them get under my skin. I don’t know them; they don’t know me; their words really don’t matter. They can go fornicate with themselves for all I care. They are little more than pissants, quickly dispatched with little thought or concern. However, when it comes to people with whom I had a significant personal relationship, I try to hear them out and respond accordingly. So it is with Terry, whose message I respond to below.
Here’s what Terry wrote to me (all spelling, grammar, and punctuation in the original):
Hey Bruce I’m not sure why u unfriended me. I still respect you and love u in Christ. I’m saddened you turned your back on Christianity. You know what Jesus did for us on that cross. Maybe u unfriended me because my bible versus was talking to your heart and the adversary turned u against me. I’m praying for you and Polly. God Bless
Dear Terry,
You and I go way back. I first met you in the early 1980s when you were a sophomore student at Lakewood High School and I was the assistant pastor of Emmanuel Baptist Church in Buckeye Lake. My primary responsibility was working with junior high and high school students. I have many fond memories from the three years I spent at the church. As you may remember, the youth department quickly grew, reaching a high attendance of 90 people. The majority of church attendees were youth group participants. Unfortunately, when Polly and I left Emmanuel to start a new church in Somerset, attendance dropped by seventy percent. I always felt bad that this happened, but many of the teens had a close attachment to me. One of the reasons for this is that Polly and I, along with our two young sons and foster son (and later foster daughter) moved to Buckeye Lake to be close to the people we were pastoring. We moved into a ramshackle cottage a few blocks from where you lived at the time. Buckey Lake wasn’t the greatest place to live, but I felt it important to live with and among the people I ministered to. Polly’s mom refused to move from Newark to Buckeye Lake, not wanting to live around poor people or “welfare bums.” (Note for readers: Buckeye Lake, a community of around 3,000 people, was once home to an amusement park. Most of the housing was originally meant for seasonal use, but during WW II, much of it was converted to year-round use. Most of the homes were small, and of poor construction. The poverty rate was quite high compared to the surrounding area.)
You and I spent a lot of time together. You attended church every week, often bringing friends to the services. You were active in the youth group. I have many fond memories of you personally, and the youth group as a whole. I am sure you remember the lock-in we held at the Newark Y. You and your schoolmates worked hard to invite your unchurched friends and acquaintances to the event. If I remember correctly, more than 200 students bought tickets for the lock-in. The bring-your-own-team basketball tournament was the highlight of the night, for me.
So many memories . . . hunting rabbits together, the basketball program I sponsored at Jacktown Elementary School, playing tackle football and softball, attending your baseball games, and trying the best I could to help you navigate life. I performed your wedding ceremony — a double wedding at the Dawes Arboretum pond. After you got married and Polly and I moved on to a new church, you and your family attended Somerset Baptist occasionally, but distance prevented you from being a regular attendee, and eventually, we drifted apart. That said, I always considered you a friend.
I have given you this short history lesson to remind you of all the shared experiences we have. It would have been wonderful to talk with you about these things. I would have loved to hear about your family; your children and grandchildren. It would have been nice if you had asked me how I was doing, or inquired about Polly, our six adult children, or our sixteen grandchildren. Instead, you decided to skip the pleasantries and polite discourse and go on a religious rant, complete with a conspiracy theory about why I unfriended you on Facebook. You could have asked all sorts of questions about my deconversion, but you didn’t. Imagine if we had met face-to-face somewhere in Newark, after not seeing each other in over thirty years. Would you have said these things to me? Of course not. We would have talked about old times, sharing a warm embrace — a reminder of the friendship we once held dear. Evidently, all that matters to you is passing judgment on my life and putting in a word for Jesus.
Concerning Facebook, we may have been “friends,” but I don’t remember it. Two years ago, I pared over a thousand people from my friends list, choosing only to befriend people with whom I had regular interaction. I suspect you were one of many people I unfriended. I assure you that my unfriending you had nothing to do with your content or the fact that you posted Bible verses to your wall. What I find amusing (and oh so sad) is that you think that your posted verses were “talking to my heart,” and that I couldn’t handle the conviction, so I unfriended you. First, I don’t have a heart, and neither do you — at least not the one mentioned in the Bible. Second, why would words from an ancient religious text — one that I know inside and out and have read cover to cover numerous times and spent 20,000+ hours studying — bother me in the least? Third, I am an atheist, so I don’t believe in the existence of gods, including yours. It stands to reason, then, that I also don’t believe in the existence of “the adversary” (Satan). That you think I “turned against you” is silly. Few friendships last a lifetime, ours included. I haven’t talked to you in years, yet, suddenly, your Bible verse memes were used by Satan to turn me against you? Surely, you can see how silly this is. You are trying to judge my motivations when you have no reason or warrant to do so.
Terry, you say you love and respect me, in Christ. All I hear is the tired, worn-out Christian cliches I have heard countless times before. What in your message is loving and respectful? So many things you could have said or asked, but, instead, you chose to preach at me and remind me of what “Jesus did for us on the cross.” Did you think I didn’t know that already, or consider the fact that I don’t believe as you do; that, to me, Jesus is a dead man who lies buried somewhere in an unknown Judean grave?
People change. Beliefs change. I once was a Christian, and now I am not. If you really want to know why I am no longer a Christian, please check out the posts found here. Better yet, ask me. Don’t preach at me or condemn me. Ask . . . Better yet, dwell on the fond memories of yesteryear; of the times spent playing basketball or hunting rabbits; of the times we spent talking about life and the challenges you were facing. So many good things to remember and talk about. Why choose to preach at me about the one thing for which we have no common ground? Did you think your words would convict me of the error of my way or magically bring me back to Jesus? If so, you missed the mark. I am fully persuaded that the central claims of Christianity are untrue. If that means you can’t accept me as a fellow human being, someone who befriended you and always treated you well, so be it. I’m content to remember the times we once had.
I wish you and your family well, Terry.
Bruce
Other letters to former parishioners:
Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners
Bruce Gerencser, 66, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 45 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.
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