I am often asked why it took me so long to deconvert. Some people suggest that I must have really been stupid to have spent most of my life believing in a God that doesn’t exist. People who have always been atheists, in particular, have a hard time understanding how anyone could spend fifty years believing a book of fairy tales — the Bible — is real. Sometimes people can be downright cruel, suggesting that there must have been some sort of ulterior motive that kept me believing all those years. Money? Power? Prestige?
Most Evangelicals-turned-atheists deconvert in their twenties and thirties. Ministers, in particular, tend to deconvert when they are younger. Rare is the pastor who waits until he is in his fifties or sixties before he abandons the ministry and Christianity. Part of the reason for this is because older ministers have economic incentives to keep believing, or at least to give the pretense of believing. I know of several pastors who no longer believe, yet they are still doing through the motions of leading churches, preaching sermons, and ministering to the needs of parishioners. Their reasons for doing so are economic. Quitting the ministry would cause catastrophic economic and marital harm, so these unbelieving pastors continue to play the game.
Now to the question, why was I an old man before I deconverted? First, let me tell you that economics played no part in my commitment to Christianity. The most I ever made as a pastor was $26,000. I spent twenty-five years pastoring churches that paid poverty wages and provided no health insurance or benefits. I always made significantly more money working outside of the church — especially when I was managing restaurants. In retrospect, I wish I had made money more of a priority. I wish I had put my family’s welfare first. But I didn’t. I was quite willing to work for poverty wages. Why? I thought God had called me to the ministry and he alone was in charge of what churches paid me. I learned late in the game that churches are often sitting on large sums of money. These caches of money are often accumulated through paying their pastors welfare wages and providing no benefits.
I grew up in an ardent Fundamentalist home. My parents were hardcore right-wing Christians. They were also supporters of groups such as the John Birch Society. From the time I was a toddler until the age of fifty, I attended church several times a week. After my parents fell in with the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church movement, it was normal for me to attend church three times a week — plus Sunday school, youth meetings, revivals, mission conferences, youth rallies, youth events, church league sports, prayer meetings, visitation, soulwinning, preachers’ fellowships, music concerts, conferences, and bus calling. For many years, I attended 200-300 church services and events a year. While I had some social connections outside of the church, my best friends and girlfriends attended the same churches I did. The church was the social hub around which my life revolved.
By time I enrolled at Midwestern Baptist College — an unaccredited IFB institution — I had spent my life deeply immersed in IFB beliefs, practices, and methodology. It was impossible, then, for me to turn out any other way. It would take me thirty more years before I admitted that what I once believed was a lie.
I was what people call a true believer®. True believers continue to believe until something catastrophic causes them to doubt. In my case, I became tired of the church grind. Weary of low wages, poverty, seven-day workweeks, endless conflicts, and a lack of personal satisfaction, I decided to leave the ministry and seek out a church where I could be a help without being its pastor. I left the ministry in 2005. Between 2005 and 2008 Polly and I visited churches in Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Arizona, and California — seeking to find a church that took seriously the teaching of Christ. All told, we visited more than 125 churches. (Please see But Our Church is DIFFERENT!) We concluded, that regardless of the name on the door, Christian churches were pretty much all the same. Polly and I made a good-faith effort to find a Christianity that mattered. In the end, all we found was pettiness, arrogance, internecine warfare, and indifference. Less than 10% of the churches we visited even bothered to touch base with us after we visited. Half of those who did, came to our home to visit because we asked them to. If I had to sum up this period, I would say this: We found out that churches didn’t give a shit. And then one day, neither did we.
It was these experiences that cracked open the door of my mind. I guess I should thank these Christians for showing me the bankruptcy of modern, Western Christianity. Once I began to doubt whether the church that Jesus built in fact existed, I was then free to examine my beliefs more closely. This examination ultimately led me to renounce Christianity and embrace secularism, atheism, agnosticism, and humanism. I remain a work in progress.
While it certainly would have been better for me if I had deconverted in my twenties or thirties, I didn’t, so it is a waste of time for me to lament the past. One positive of my long, storied experience with Evangelical Christianity is that I know Evangelicalism and the IFB church movement inside and out. This is why many Evangelical pastors think I am a “dangerous” man and warn people to steer clear of my writing. I write not from ignorance, but from a lifetime spent loving and serving Jesus, pastoring churches, and winning souls. I know things, as an informant says on TV. I know where the bodies are buried. I know about what went on behind closed church, bedroom, and motel room doors. This knowledge of mine makes me dangerous. It is also the reason doubters are attracted to my writing. As they read, my words have a ring of truth. Here’s a guy who understands, they say, a man who has been where I am now.
I can’t do anything about the past. It is what it is. If my past experiences can keep people from following a similar path, then I am happy. If I can help those who are trying to extricate themselves from Evangelicalism’s cult-like hold, then I have accomplished what I set out to do. I know I will never reach those who cannot or will not see. But for those who have doubts or questions, I hope to be a small light at the end of a dark tunnel. By helping Evangelicals see the light of reason, I can help break the generational hold of Christian Fundamentalism. Atheism is not the goal; skepticism and reason are. Once people start thinking for themselves, Fundamentalism will lose its power and control. Every person extricated from Evangelicalism is one more nail in Fundamentalism’s coffin. As long as I am numbered among the living, I plan to keep on driving nails.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
The early days of Fall have arrived and the young preacher boy busily loads his possessions into a dilapidated, rusty Plymouth. It’s time for me to go, he says to his mom. He wonders what she thinks, her oldest son heading off to college, the first in their family to do so. They embrace, a rare expression of emotion, and the preacher boy quickly turns away, not wanting her to see the tears running down his face.
Soon the preacher boy is headed north and then east of Bryan, Ohio. Two hours later he arrives in Pontiac, Michigan, the community he will call home for the next three years. Midwestern Baptist College, A Character Building Institution, says the sign along Golf Drive. The preacher boy had planned to attend Prairie Bible Institute, but God had other plans for him.
The preacher boy parks his car in front of the dormitory, John R. Rice Hall, and quickly unloads his meager possessions. Tall and lean, the red-headed preacher boy, wearing a blue shirt with the number 75 and the name Rev. on the back, moves his possessions into room 207. The dormitory has two floors and a basement, with wings on either side of a common meeting room. The top floor houses the women. The first floor has two wings, one to each side of the meeting room. Students call one wing the Spiritual Wing, the other the Party Wing. The basement, for obvious reasons, is called The Pit.
The preacher boy lives on the Party Wing. There, he soon meets like-minded young men, filled with God, life, and recklessness. The preacher boy settles into the rhythm of dorm life at an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) college. Rules, lots of rules, and just as many ways to bend the rules to fit the desires of a youthful heart. The preacher boy would live in the dorm for two years, and in that time he would repeatedly run afoul of the rules. Told by many that he is brash and rebellious — a fitting description — he is said, by those who know him, to do his best to outwardly conform to the letter of the law.
The blue shirt the preacher boy wore when he arrived at the college was given to him by a girl who hoped he would remember her while he was away. Not long after, the shirt disappeared, as did any thought of its giver. If there is one thing that the preacher boy loves almost as much as God, it is girls. And here he is, enrolled at a college that will provide him ample opportunity to ply his charm. Little does he know that fate has a different plan.
The week before the official start of classes, a young, beautiful seventeen-year-old girl from Newark, Ohio moves into the dorm. The preacher boy mentions the girl to his roommate. Stay away from her, the roommate replies. Her father is Pastor Lee Shope. Unfazed by the stern warning, the preacher boy decides to introduce himself to the dark-haired beauty. He quickly learns she is quite shy. Not one to be at a loss for words, the preacher boy takes the girl’s backwardness as a challenge, one that he successfully conquers over the course of a few weeks.
Soon, all thoughts of the field fade into the beauty of the pastor’s daughter. The preacher boy quickly finds himself smitten. Come spring, he proposes and she, despite her mother’s adamant disapproval, says yes. Having known each other for two months short of two years, the preacher boy, now 21, and the pastor’s daughter stand before friends, family, and strangers and promise to love one another until death severs their bond.
Forty-three years have passed since the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter pledged their troth. Under the proverbial bridge has flowed a shared life, one that has blessed them with a quiverfull of children and grandchildren. The grand plans of an idyllic pastorate, two children (a boy named Jason, a girl named Bethany), and a country parsonage with a white picket fence, perish in the rubble of the hard work necessary to parent six children and pastor churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Twenty-five years of working in God’s vineyard have left the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter with deep, lasting scars. They have learned what it means to do without and suffer loss. Yet, they have endured.
Stoicism now defines them. As life has poured out its cruelties and left them wondering why, the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter continue to hold one another tight, refusing to let adversity win. When their love for God wavered and then died a death of a thousand contradictions, the preacher boy and pastor’s daughter, now aged friends and lovers, joined their hands once more and walked into the dark unknown.
The full moon sits high above his home on this cold winter’s night. The clock on the nightstand clicks as each second passes by, a reminder that life is fleeting. The preacher boy, now a sixty-four-year-old atheist, turns his thoughts to the beautiful, dark-haired girl he met so many years ago. Who would ever have thought we would be where we are today? he says to himself. Yet . . . here we are, survivors, taking each and every day as it comes, without a prayer or a God to smooth the way. He wonders what tomorrow will bring, safe in the knowledge that whatever might come their way cannot defeat the enduring love of the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
At the age of fifty-four, my mother turned a .357 magnum Ruger revolver toward her chest and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore a hole in her heart and in a few moments she was dead. Mom had tried to kill herself many times before. This time she succeeded (please see the post Barbara).
When I was eleven, Dad had to call for an emergency squad because Mom had taken several bottles of prescription drugs. They rushed her to the hospital and pumped her stomach, and she survived to die another day. Later in the year, Mom and the neighbor lady were in a serious automobile accident in Lima. I say accident because it is possible that Mom pulled into the other lane of traffic, allowing the truck to hit them.
Mom made a third attempt on her life that same year. I came home from school and found Mom lying unconscious on the floor with blood pooling around her body. She had slit her wrists. Yet again, the emergency squad came, and her life was saved.
As best I can tell, Mom had mental problems her entire life. She was bright, witty, and well-read, but Mom could, in a split second, lapse into angry, incoherent tirades. Twice she was involuntarily committed to the Toledo State Mental Hospital, undergoing shock therapy numerous times. None of the treatments or drugs worked.
In the early 1960s, my parents found Jesus. Jesus, according to the Bible, healed the mentally ill, but, for whatever reason, he didn’t heal Mom. The mental health crises I have shared in this post, and others that I haven’t shared, all occurred after Mom put her faith and trust in the loving Jesus who supposedly had a wonderful plan for her life. Mom died believing Jesus was her Savior. To this day, I lament the fact that I didn’t do more to help her. Sadly, I saw her mental illness as an inconvenience and an embarrassment. If she just got right with God, I thought at the time, all would be well. If she would just kick her drug habit, I told her, God would be there to help her. What she really needed was for her eldest son to pick her up, hold her close, and love her. I will go to my grave wishing I had been a better son, that I had loved Mom and my family more than I loved Jesus and the church.
Mom, Bruce, and friend, Findlay, Ohio, summer 1971
Mom was quite talented. She played the piano and loved to do ceramics. Her real passion was reading, a habit she happily passed on to me. (Mom taught me to read.) She was active in politics. Mom was a member of the John Birch Society, and actively campaigned, first for Barry Goldwater, and later for George Wallace.
My parents divorced when I was fourteen. Not long after the divorce, Mom married her first cousin, a recent parolee from a Texas prison (he was serving time for armed robbery). He later died of a drug overdose. Mom would marry two more times before she died. She was quite passionate about anything she fixed her mind upon, a trait that I, for good or ill, share with her. In the early 1970s, Mom was an aide at Winebrenner Nursing Home in Findlay, Ohio. Winebrenner paid men more than they paid women for the same work. Mom, ever the crusader, sued Winebrenner under the Equal Pay Act and the Civil Rights Act. The Federal Court decided in her favor.
We moved quite often, and I have no doubt this contributed greatly to Mom’s mental illness. She never knew what it was to have a place to call home. Our family lived in one rental after another, never stopping long enough to buy a home. I lived in sixteen different houses by the time I left for college at the age of nineteen.
I have always wondered if my parents were ever happily married. Mom and Dad were married by an Indiana Justice of the Peace in November 1956. At the time of their marriage, Mom was eighteen and pregnant. I learned a year ago that Dad was not actually my biological father. Dad meant well, but the instability of their marriage, coupled with us moving all the time, caused my siblings and me great harm. Dad thought moving was a great experience. Little did he know that I hated him for moving us around. New schools (seven different school districts). New friends. Never having a place to call home. No child should have to live this way.
From the time I was five until I was fourteen, my parents were faithful members of a Baptist church in whatever community we lived in. The Gerencser family attended church every time the doors were open (I have attended over 8,000 church services in my lifetime). Mom would play the piano from time to time, though she found it quite stressful to do so. One time, much to my embarrassment, she had a mental meltdown in front of the whole church. She never played again. For a time, Dad was a deacon, but he stopped being one because he couldn’t kick his smoking habit. I suspect the real reason was that he was having an affair.
No matter where we lived or what church we went to, one thing was certain: Mom was mentally ill and everyone pretended her illness didn’t exist. Evangelical churches such as the ones we attended had plenty of members who suffered from various mental maladies. For the most part, those who were sick in the head were ignored, marginalized, or told to repent.
In 1994, I co-pastored a Sovereign Grace Baptist church in San Antonio, Texas. (See the I am a Publican and a Heathen series.) One day we were at a church fellowship and my wife came around the corner just in time to hear one of the esteemed ladies of the church say to her daughter, you stay away from that girl, she is mentally retarded. “That girl” was our then five-year-old daughter with Down syndrome. This outstanding church member’s words pretty well sum up how many churches treat those with mental handicaps or illness. STAY AWAY from them!
Many Christians think mental illness is a sign of demonic oppression or possession. No need for doctors, drugs, or hospitals. Just come to Jesus, the great physician, and he will heal you. After all, the Bible does say in 2 Timothy 1:7: For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. If someone is mentally unsound, it’s the person’s fault, not God’s. Get right with God and all will be well.
I have suffered with depression for most of my adult life. I am on the mountaintop one moment and in the valley the next. Plagued with a Type A personality, and being a consummate workaholic, I am often driven to despair. Work, Work, Work. Go, Go, Go. Do, Do, Do. I have no doubt that the way I lived my life as a Christian contributed to the health problems that now plague me. While I was busy burning the candle at both ends for Jesus, my body was screaming STOP! But I didn’t listen. I had no time for family, rest, or pleasure. Work for the night is coming, the Bible says. Better to burn out for Jesus than rust out, I told myself. And now, thanks to living this way for much of my adult life, I am a rusting 1957 Chevrolet, sitting on blocks, awaiting the day when the junkyard comes to tow me away.
For many years, I hid my depression from the outside world. While Polly and my children witnessed depression’s effect on their husband and father, church members never had a clue. I have often wondered how parishioners might have responded had I told them the truth. I suspect some church members would have seen me as a fellow depressive, but others would likely have questioned whether I was “fit” to be a pastor.
In 2008, a few months before I deconverted, I told a pastor friend that I was really depressed. Instead of lending me a helping hand or encouraging me, he rebuked me for giving in to the attack of Satan. He told me I needed to confess my sin and get victory over it immediately. A lot of Christians think just like this (former) pastor friend of mine. (Please see Dear Friend.) Depression is a sign of weakness, and God only wants warriors and winners.
Barbara Gerencser, 1956
Going to see a counselor was the single most important thing I have done in the last ten years. It took me leaving the ministry and departing from Christianity before I was willing to find someone to talk to. Several times, while I was still a Christian, I made appointments with counselors only to cancel them at the last minute. I feared that someone would see me going into the counselor’s office or they would drive by and see my car in the parking lot. I thought, My God, I am a pastor. I am supposed to have my life together.
Indeed, it took me leaving the church, the pastorate, and God to find any semblance of mental peace. I have no doubt some readers will object to the connection I make between religion and mental wellness, but for me, there was indeed a direct correlation between the two.
I still battle with depression, but with regular counseling and a (forced) slower pace of life, I am confident that I can live a meaningful, somewhat peaceful life. As many of you know, I have chronic, unrelenting pain. I have not had a pain-free day in over twenty years (my days are counted as less pain, normal pain, more pain, and off the fucking charts pain). The constant pain and debility (I was diagnosed with gastroparesis, an incurable stomach disease, last year) certainly fuel my depression. My counselor says she would be surprised if I wasn’t depressed from time to time. Embracing my depression and coming to grips with the pain and debility is absolutely essential to my mental well-being. This is my life. I am who I am. I accept this, and I do what I can to be a loving, kind, and productive human being.
To my Christian readers I say this: sitting near you in church this coming Sunday will be people who are suffering with mental illness. Maybe they are depressed. They hide it because they think they have to. Jesus only wants winners, remember? Pay attention to other people. The signs are there. Listen to those who you claim are your brothers and sisters in the Lord. Embrace them in the midst of their weakness and psychosis. While I don’t think a mythical God is going to heal them, I do think that loving, understanding friends can be just the salvation the mentally ill need.
It is not easy being around those who are mentally ill. Let’s face it, depressed people are not fun to be with. We are not the life of the party. When I am in the midst of mental and emotional darkness, I am not the kind of person most people want to be around. I become withdrawn, cynical, and dark. These attributes, coupled with the physical pain I endure, can, at times, make me unbearable to be around. It is at these moments when I need the help of others. Sadly, most people, including my family and friends, tend to pull away from me when I need them the most. I understand why they do so, but the loneliest place on earth is sitting alone in the darkness of night wishing you were dead.
How do you respond to people who are mentally ill? How do you respond to those who are depressed? Perhaps you suffer from mental illness or depression. Do you hide it? How are you treated by others? If you are a Christian, how are you treated by your church and pastor? Please share your thoughts in the comment section.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Another day, another post written by “Dr.” David Tee (David Thiessen, Theologyarcheology, TEWSNBN) detailing his objections to something I have written or his continued hemorrhoidal inflammation over my writing style. If I responded to Tee every time he mentioned me on his blog, I wouldn’t write on anything else. So, I only respond to the fake doctor when his words are so egregious that I cannot ignore them.
One of the first things we are going to say is, if BG does not want to be disagreed with, he should stop putting his content out in public. He doesn’t like it when we use his words as teaching moments and trashes us every time that we do.
I don’t care one way or another if people disagree with me. What I do care about is when Fundamentalist Christians such as Tee lie about me, misrepresent my beliefs, or attack my character. Tee does these three things so often, it is safe for us to assume that doing so is just a part of who he is.
I am concerned that Tee has an unhealthy obsession with me. Even after I sent him scantily-clad pictures of me pole dancing at Santa’s Workshop, Tee continues to obsess over me. Maybe he wants an enlarged photo of me nekkid he can tape to the ceiling over his bed. (This is all sarcasm and snark, by the way. I charge big bucks for my stripper photos. No freebies, David.)
We wonder about him as he keeps mentioning the number of years he has spent in the ministry, the number of years he has believed in God, the Bible, and many other Christian activities.
I have explained “why” numerous times to Tee. The things mentioned by him are relevant to the work I do. Continuing to whine about it just makes Tee look jealous and petty.
Why he does it we do not know because he is not the first to do it and he is not the only one to spend decades believing in Christ. We are coming up to our 57th year. So he is not special nor is his story unique.
Tee knows exactly why I do it. I have politely explained it to him several times. His continued obsession with this is baffling.
I don’t believe I have ever said I am “special.” That said, my story is most certainly “unique.” Most clerics who leave the ministry or deconvert do so when they are younger. Rare is the pastor who walks away from twenty-five years in the ministry. It happens, but it’s not common.
There have been many more people who have turned from the faith and they did it long before he did. His deconversion is not the first nor is it unique; nor is his story something worth hearing.
Here, I believe, is Tee’s motivation for his continued personal attacks — jealousy. Tee toils away day after day writing blog posts few people read. (In his mind, God reads them and that’s all that matters.) Yet, the Evangelical-preacher-turned-atheist has thousands and thousands of readers — 750,000 page views this year. I have attracted loyal readers, many of whom regularly leave comments. Tee? Most of the comments on his blog come from readers of this site. Try as he might, he’s been unable to build a following. No longer a pastor or involved in any meaningful ministry, Tee’s only way of preaching is his blog. Thus, it is hard not to conclude that Tee is envious, bitter, covetous, and resentful over my success. Why doesn’t God bless and use his writing? Why does God allow a vile atheist to attract a large following, yet he labors in obscurity?
The information is all the same. In his post that we will look at here or at least key parts, he says nothing of value, nothing new, and nothing unique. Why he thinks people need to hear his story is beyond us. He is no one of note but just one of the many fools God spoke about when they say he does not exist.
Did you notice Tee spent the first five paragraphs trying to discredit me and make me look insignificant?
I am not, by nature, a prideful man. All I try to do every day is be open, honest, and authentic. While I don’t share every minute detail of my life, I have tried to be an open book. I think it is important for me to be as transparent as possible. I am accessible. Anyone who wants to contact me can easily do so.
Let me see if I understand Tee’s thinking here. He thinks my story is uninteresting, not worth telling, yet he blogs about things that Christians have been “blogging” about for 2,000 years. SMH.
It is up to readers of this blog to decide whether my story is “interesting.” I have been blogging since 2007. My deconversion story quickly caught the attention of Evangelicals and atheists alike. Is it my fault that people find my writing engaging and helpful (much as church members did with my preaching)? Millions of people have read my writing, many of whom are Evangelical or Independent Fundamentalist Baptist Christians. What Tee should be asking himself is why my story resonates with so many people –Christians and atheists alike.
“One of the hardest things for me to admit is that I, at one time, believed things that I now know to be untrue.”
We hear this a lot when we have discussions with atheists. They keep telling Christians that their God is not true, their Bible is a myth and their faith is based on nothing. However, not one atheist has provided any physical evidence to support their claims.
Not one. They just do not believe and then make these declarations like they are saying something that is powerful, unique, and wonderful. We have been told constantly by different atheists that the onus of proof is on us because we make extraordinary claims about God, Jesus, and the Bible.
I chose not to excerpt all of Tee’s word salad. I will say this: extraordinary claims required extraordinary evidence. Tee believes ghosts rape teen girls, virgins have babies, and humans walk on water, teleport, turn water into wine, and heal blindness with spit and dirt. Tee also believes there’s a Heaven and Hell, the universe was created in six twenty-four-hour days, and the earth is 6,024 years old. And then there’s his belief that a dead human named Jesus resurrected from the dead and ascended to the International Space Station. All of these claims are extraordinary in nature; claims which Tee provides no evidence for outside of quoting an ancient, errant, fallible religious text.
Memo to “Dr.” Tee: I don’t believe because the claims of Christianity make no sense to me. Want me to believe? Provide better evidence. (Please see The Michael Mock Rule: It Just Doesn’t Make Sense.) The ball is in your court.
If anyone is living a life of folly, it is the atheist as they have nothing to look forward to, nothing to rely on, and nothing to share with anyone else. In other words, they are the fools for they think they have something when they have nothing at all.
Again, I chose not to excerpt parts of Tee’s word salad. In the deleted paragraphs, he repeatedly calls atheists “fools.” Aww, he hurt our feelings. Isn’t this the first slur Evangelicals go to when they have no answer to the claims of atheists? Tee sure spends a lot of time reading and responding to a fool, in direct disobedience to the Word of God. The Bible says Christians are not to answer a fool according to his folly.
I would rather follow the Bible and all of its commands than live a life like that. As you have noticed, we are not taking apart BG’s article sentence by sentence. he is really saying nothing new so we do not have to.
At least Tee admits that his post is a personal attack, not a response to something I wrote. How could he possibly take apart my post? It was a personal list of beliefs I held as an Evangelical. That’s it. A short reflection on crazy beliefs I once held.
You can click on that link and read them for yourselves [sic]. The key point is, he says those things are not what they claim or do not exist. BG and other atheists are great at making these comments but they all have one thing in common.
When you read his article, you will notice that he does not even attempt to support his claims. Not one shred of evidence is given that can be verified and double-checked for accuracy.
Sigh. The post was a list of ten beliefs I once held — most of which Tee himself believes. All Tee needs to do is use the search function on this site to find the plethora of words I have spilt on these subjects. Tee is being disingenuous when he says ” he does not even attempt to support his claims. Not one shred of evidence is given that can be verified and double-checked for accuracy.”
In danger of repeating ourselves, we do not know why he and his wife took that sudden turn to unbelief. Maybe he was like us and was treated poorly by other Christians.
Tee is not in danger of “repeating” himself. He crossed that line long ago in this post and other posts on his site. Tee knows EXACTLY why Polly and I aren’t Christians. To feign confusion on this issue is dishonest, to say the least.
Further, I have repeatedly addressed the claim that we were “hurt” by other Christians. Hurt played little to no part in our deconversions. Tee knows this, yet he continues to misrepresent my story and that of my wife. Again, it is obvious that the purpose of his post was to belittle and discredit me. That he felt the need to drag my wife Polly into his attack is reprehensible, to say the least. (David, if you read this post, Polly wants you to know you are a fucking asshole. Her words, not mine. Good job!)
We cannot say for sure but his decision to do so makes us sad every time we read some of his content. How can one be happy when another believer gives up his salvation for lies.
It is impossible to be cheerful when one thinks about it. We wish he could change back and then we could be happier knowing he will make it to heaven. But he has made up his mind and we are not going to press him on this issue.
Tee is “sad” that I am an atheist. Okay . . . don’t read my writing if it makes you sad. Tee’s feigned compassion and concern have never rung true with me. He routinely trashes me, yet he wants me to believe he is a kind, caring person. Behavior matters. I”m not buying what he is selling.
If Tee’s goal is to reclaim me for Jesus, he might want to rethink his tactics. His words have produced great harm to the cause of Christ. Forget what I think. Just ask the atheists and agnostics who read this blog what they think. Better yet, ask Evangelical readers what they think. I doubt Tee will find one reader of this blog who agrees with his approach to me personally and my writing.
Here’s what I know about the afterlife, if there is one. I want to be as far away as possible from the David Tees of the world. Hell is being in the same room with David Tee.
BG and the other atheists are wrong, of course. The Christian life is not folly and the atheist does not have some secret knowledge letting them know that the Bible is not true or that God does not exist.
It is the Christian that has the truth because Jesus exists, he did die for us and he did rise again. We have hope, love, and guidance along with something better than what the atheist offers.
Atheists don’t claim to have secret knowledge. It is Tee who claims he has secret knowledge, that which can only be known by saved, baptized, circumcised, and caramelized Christians. He is the one that says he “knows” the mind of God; that he “knows” exactly what the Bible teaches (even though 2,000 years of church history suggests otherwise).
Atheists have all that Evangelicals have and more. We have freedom. And that, above all else, is why atheism is superior to Christianity.
Saved by Reason,
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Polly and Bruce Gerencser, Our Father’s House, West Unity, Ohio Circa 2000
Several years ago, Kenneth asked:
I am currently married to a Southern Baptist woman who is likely never going to change her mind about her beliefs. I deconverted late last year and am now an atheist. I’m curious as to how your wife ended up an atheist seemingly around the same time as you? I guess deep down I want her to see my views as an atheist but if anyone knows how hard it is to talk to a Christian as an atheist, it is you. My question is, can you tell us more about how Polly came to the same conclusions as you during the time of your deconversion? Maybe she can give us some input too. In a lot of scenarios, one spouse is still stuck as a believer while both the atheist and theist struggle with now being in a “mixed” marriage — I’m in one of them now. Thanks!
After we decided in 2005 we no longer wanted to be Pastor and Mrs. Bruce Gerencser, we spent a few years trying to find a church that took seriously the teaching of Jesus. Not finding such a church frustrated us and led us to conclude that the Christianity of Jesus no longer existed, and most churches were just different flavors of ice cream; same base ingredients with different added flavors. (Please see But Our Church is DIFFERENT!) The last church we attended was Ney United Methodist Church, four blocks from our home
For most of 2008, I had been doing quite a bit of reading about the history of Christianity and the Bible. From Bart Ehrman to Robert M. Price to Elaine Pagels, I read dozens of books that challenged and attacked my Christian beliefs. Polly and I spent many a night discussing what I had read. I often read large passages of this or that book to her and we would compare what we had been taught with what these books said. While Polly was never one to read nonfiction, she did read several of Bart Ehrman’s books. Over time, both of us came to the conclusion that what we had been taught wasn’t true. We also concluded that we were no longer, in any meaningful sense, Christian. The last Sunday in November 2008, we walked out of Ney United Methodist, never to return. Several months later, I wrote the infamous Dear Family, Friends, and Former Parishioners, which I sent to hundreds of Evangelical family members, friends, and former church members.
For a time, both of us were content calling ourselves agnostics. I soon realized that the agnostic label required too much explanation, so I embraced the atheist label. While Polly is hesitant to use the atheist moniker, her beliefs about God, Christianity, and the Bible are similar to mine. She’s not one to engage in discussion or debate, content to go about her godless life without having to define herself. I often wish I could be like her.
When we left Christianity, I feared that Polly’s deconversion was a coattail deconversion; that she was following after me just like she was taught to do in the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church. Some of my critics, unwilling to give Polly credit for doing her own thinking and decision-making, have suggested that Polly was/is being led astray by me. Fundamentalist family members have voiced their concern over Polly being drawn into my godlessness, rarely giving her credit for being able to think and reason for herself. Their insinuations only reinforce her belief that she made the right decision when she deconverted. Polly graduated second in her high school class and has a college degree. She is quite capable of thinking for herself. Granted, this ability was quashed for many years thanks to being taught that she should always defer to me as the head of the home. That I was also her pastor only made things worse. I can confidently say that Polly is her own person, and her unbelief is her own.
Where our stories diverge a bit is the reasons why we deconverted. While both of us would say we had intellectual reasons for abandoning God and Christianity, Polly’s deconversion had a larger emotional component than mine did. We’ve spent countless hours talking about the past, this or that church, and the experiences each of us had. Polly spent most of her married life under the shadow of her preacher husband. I’m amazed at how differently she views our shared past, now free to speak openly. While I was the center of attention, heaped with praise and love, she was in the shadows, the afterthought, the one who had to do all the jobs church members had no time for. It should come as no surprise that her view of the 25 years we spent in the ministry is much different from mine.
As I’m writing this post I am thinking to myself, Polly needs to be telling this story. I can’t tell her story. While I can give the gist of it, I think it is better if she tells her story, that is if she is willing to do. I do know that she has no desire to relive the “wonderful” ministry years. She’s quite content to be free of God, the church, and the Bible, free to just be Polly. Not Polly, the pastor’s daughter, not Polly, the preacher’s wife, just Polly. And I can say the same for myself. While I am noted for being a preacher-turned-atheist, an outspoken critic of Evangelicalism, I am content just to be Bruce. Most of our life was swallowed up by the ministry, so we are quite glad to be free and we enjoy the opportunity to live our lives on our own terms.
In many ways, our story is not typical. I’ve received scores of emails from people who deconverted and are now in mixed marriages. Like Kenneth, they want to share their unbelief with their spouses, but are unable to do so because of their spouse’s Christian beliefs or because they fear outing themselves will destroy their marriages. (Please see Count the Cost Before You Say I Am an Atheist.) Polly and I fully realize that if one of us had remained a Christian it could (would?) have ended our marriage. We are grateful that we’ve been able to walk this path together hand in hand. The farther away we get from the years we spent in the ministry, the more we realize how good we have it. Our deconversion could have destroyed our marriage and alienated us from our children, but it didn’t. Instead, we’ve been given a new lease on life; the opportunity for each of us to seek our own path. We deeply love one another, have six wonderful children and thirteen grandkids, and are, in every way, b-l-e-s-s-e-d.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Son number four stopped over after work and he is sleeping on the couch. He is babysitting Bethany so Polly and I can go to Grand Rapids and eat pizza at a restaurant for which we have a Groupon.
Son number three dropped off his two youngest so we could babysit them for a bit. He knows that we are going out tonight and he said he would be on time to pick them up. I thought, sure you will. Five p.m. and son number three walks through the door. He’s early. I make a mental note to put a gold star beside his name. Maybe he has finally learned to tell time.
Polly and I both scurried around getting ready for our big night on the town. As we got ready to walk out the door I said to Polly, I am driving tonight. She said, really? I gave her THAT look and took the keys. She is likely wondering if this will be her last day on earth.
After we picked up our mail, we drove east on Route 15. As I put the turn signal on to turn left at The Bend Road, Polly said, what are you doing? I replied, I am going up to Route 6. Polly: No we need to take old Route 24. I said, I really think we need to take Route 6. No, she was certain we needed to take old Route 24. So we took Route 24.
I was right.
And we didn’t even fight about it.
Maybe there is hope for our marriage.
The pizza joint only had one waitress on the floor and was totally unprepared for the extra customers the Groupon would bring. It took her 20 minutes to get our drinks. The owner finally came out to help her take orders and proceeded to service the three tables that were seated after us. The pizza was okay, nothing special, and I doubt that we will drive 40 minutes to eat it again.
Before going home we decided to stop at Meijer in Defiance. Polly needed a belt and I needed acetaminophen to replace the government-mandated acetaminophen reduction in my Vicodin prescription.
As we walked in the door, I looked down the long main aisle by the registers and I saw Bob, a former church member. I thought, Oh shit. I told Polly, hurry . . . there’s Bob and I don’t want him to see us. If it were just him, all would be well, but I knew his wife Margo would not be far away (names changed to protect the guilty),
I met Bob and Margo almost 20 years ago when I pastored Olive Branch Christian Union Church in Fayette. When I left Olive Branch and moved five miles south to West Unity to start a church, they came along with me.
Bob is a quiet man, content to sit in the background and not say a word. Margo more than makes up for him, a constant talker regardless of whether she has anything to say.
Margo’s sister attended the church when she could. She was home-bound most of the time and couldn’t drive. Countless times we picked her up for church or took her to a doctor’s visit an hour away in Toledo. Her sister? Margo couldn’t be bothered and would demand gas money for every trip she made to her sister’s house.
Bob and Margo attended the church infrequently and never could get there on time. It was not uncommon for them to arrive at the morning service 20 minutes before it was over. I often wondered why they bothered.
When we remodeled the church nursery, Margo bought some Jesus Junk® to hang on the wall. (I could write a whole post on Jesus Junk® donated to the churches I pastored over the years. Lighted velvet Jesus anyone?) She wrote her name on the back of the plaque she paid a dollar for at a garage sale and told me she wanted it back if we ever stopped using it. When we closed the church, with great delight, I threw the plaque away.
Somewhere in the late 1990s Bob and Margo stopped attending the church. According to Margo, I committed a terrible sin by allowing the women of the church to have a rummage sale IN the church building. Bob? He never said a word and followed Margo out the door.
Good riddance.
When I saw Bob I knew we needed to run as fast as we could. If they saw us they would — well she would — want to talk to us. Then we would have to spend 20 minutes pretending that we were friends.
I didn’t like Margo when I was her pastor. She was a gossipy, self-centered narcissist. I may have had to be her pastor, but I didn’t have to be her friend. So, when I saw Bob I knew we had to practice our avoidance technique, a skill we have honed to perfection since leaving the ministry and Christianity.
We got all of our shopping done and made our way to the checkout. As I looked down the long aisle I saw that Bob was still sitting there. I thought, nothing has changed. Still waiting on her to talk her way through the store. I told Polly, we need to check out on this end. Bob is still there. She replied, are you sure it is Bob? I said, yes I am sure. So we used the self-checkout, bagged our purchases, and started to make our way out of the store . . .
I looked up for a moment and there were Bob and Margo. I thought, shit. I said to Polly, there they are . . . hurry. I DON’T want to talk to them. We quickly made our way out the door and into the parking lot, avoiding having to play the Fake Friends Game® for the umpteenth time.
I used to feel guilty when I avoided former church members in the store, but I don’t anymore. Most of them aren’t like Bob and Margo, but coming face to face with them still requires us to make polite talk without mentioning the horns that are on our heads. Everyone knows that Pastor Bruce Gerencser is now an atheist. They read the letters in the paper and they have bumped into other Christians who have said, DID YOU KNOW? By now, I assume everyone knows.
So we avoid people. This is not the kind of people we are, but we hate chit-chatting and pretend-we-are-friendsconversations. It is not that we hate them personally or dislike them. It’s just that we don’t have anything in common with them any more. I am sure some of them have done the same thing when they see Polly and me in the distance at one of the local stores.
How about you? How do you deal with running into people from your Christian past? Do you avoid them? Do you feel uncomfortable talking to them? Please share your thoughts in the comment section.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Over the weekend, I received the following email (sent twice) from an Evangelical man named Bill Clark. Clark is a Christian psychologist at Valleydale Christian Counseling in Birmingham, Alabama. (Clark is a recommended counselor on Focus on the Family’s website.) His business bio states:
Dr. Clark’s experience is unique in that he worked simultaneously in a community mental health center as the Clinical Director/Assistant Executive Director and in private practice as a professional Christian counselor since 1983. His knowledge of psychological and spiritual issues has allowed him to integrate both disciplines into a holistic approach that addresses the body, mind, and soul.
Dr. Clark has been a Licensed Professional Counselor in the State of Alabama since 1985. He specializes in a variety of problem areas: mood and anxiety disorders, marital and family conflict, anger management, domestic violence, and stress management. He is certified by the National Board of Certified Counselors. Dr. Clark is also a Counseling Supervisor in the State of Alabama. He provides supervision to those seeking licensureas professional counselors.
Dr. Clark has a Ph.D. in Psychology from North Central University, a Doctor of Ministry degree (D.Min.) in Christian counseling from Luther Rice Seminary, a Master’s degree in Christian counseling from Trinity International University, a Master’s degree in Psychology from Eastern Kentucky University, and a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from the University of North Alabama.
In March 2015, Dr. Clark retired from community mental health with over 32 years of service. In September of the same year, he relocated his private practice to Huntsville, Alabama and was there for 4 years. In September 2019, he retired again and moved to Birmingham to be closer to his children. In December 2020, he came out of retirement and opened Valleydale Christian Counseling.
Clark makes all sorts of claims, so I thought I would respond to him with a post. My response is indented and italicized.
I find it quite interesting that your 25 years of pastoring is strewn with multiple resignations and even one excommunication.
Pastors typically change churches every three or four years. The reasons for this are many, but there’s nothing nefarious about my ministerial record. I have openly admitted that I have wanderlust; that I bore easily. I make no apology for being who I am. Most people change jobs numerous times over their lifetime. Why should I be faulted for doing the same?
The first church I worked for was Montpelier Baptist Church in Montpelier, Ohio. I was the church’s assistant pastor — an unpaid position. After seven months, I resigned and we moved to Newark, Ohio.
The second church I worked for was Emmanuel Baptist Church in Buckeye Lake, Ohio. This was a new Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) church my father-in-law and I planted. I served as Dad’s assistant for two and half years, working primarily with the church’s youth. In June of 1983, I resigned from the church to go start a new church in Somerset, Ohio.
The third church I worked for was Somerset Baptist Church — a new church plant in Somerset, Ohio. I pastored Somerset Baptist for eleven years, resigning in 1994 to become the co-pastor of a Sovereign Grace Baptist church in Elmendorf, Texas.
The fourth church I worked for was Community Baptist Church in Elmendorf, Texas. I was the church’s co-pastor. After seven months of conflict between my fellow pastor, Pat Horner, and me, I resigned. Horner refused to accept my resignation, saying the church had to grant me permission to leave. Days later, we packed up our belongings and returned to Ohio. The day we were leaving, the church held a business meeting and excommunicated me. (Please see I Am a Publican and a Heathen — Part One.)
The fifth church I worked for was Olive Branch Christian Union Church in Fayette, Ohio. I resigned after seven months.
The sixth church I worked for was Grace Baptist Church, renamed Our Father’s House, in West Unity, Ohio. I pastored Our Father’s House for seven years. I resigned in 2002, and did not pastor again until 2004. We spent most of 2003 in Yuma, Arizona, hoping the weather would bring improvements to my health.
The seventh church I worked for was Victory Baptist Church in Clare, Michigan — a Southern Baptist congregation. This would be last church I pastored. I left Victory Baptist after seventh months. We moved to Newark, Ohio to live near Polly’s parents, and in 2005 we returned to northwest Ohio where we remain to this day.
Every church is a different chapter in my life. (Please see What Happened to the Churches I Pastored?) I had successes and failures at every church I pastored. All of them grew numerically, yet with four churches I had seven-month tenures. Why is that? I have often wondered about significance of seven months. Coincidence? I still haven’t come to a satisfactory answer.
In the case of Olive Branch, an old, old, old established denominational church (the only such church I pastored), I grossly underestimated how dysfunctional and entrenched the congregation was. I was not the man to lead them. All of the men who pastored the church after me were retired ministers, elderly men content to maintain the status quo. I was thirty-eight, a man with a church planting background; a man with an entrepreneurial spirit; a man who had grand plans for an old, inwardly grown church. The church and I were a bad fit.
I never should have pastored Victory Baptist Church. I had numerous opportunities to pastor, yet because Victory contacted me first, I felt obligated to become their pastor. (I have a hard time saying no.) The church was, by far, the most dysfunctional church I ever pastored. I thought, at the time, I can “fix” this church. I naively saw myself as a man who could ride in and rescue dying churches. I now know better. Dysfunctional churches know they need to change, but cannot or will not do what’s necessary to do so. Many of them should be left along the side of the road to die. Such churches go through pastors one after another, chewing them up and spitting them out (with the blame always being ascribed to the chewed up pastors).
Things came to a head at Victory over some toys that a church member (who wanted to be a preacher) put in the nursery. I asked her not to put the toys in the nursery. They were unsafe. She ignored my request, so I took the toys out of the nursery. This led to conflict. A church meeting was called to settle the conflict. The meeting quickly became heated. I had told the church before I became their pastor that I had no heart for conflict. I was flat worn out. Conflict came anyway, and at the conclusion of the meeting where it was decided the unsafe toys had to be returned to the nursery, I resigned. Two years later, the church closed, unable to find anyone to pastor them.
The circumstances surrounding my resignation (and excommunication) from Community Baptist Church are explained in the series I Am a Publican and a Heathen.
And finally, I left the first church I worked for, Montpelier Baptist Church, primarily for financial reasons. Unable to secure a good-paying job (the church refused to help us financially in any way), we decided to move to Newark, and live with Polly’s parents for a few months. I secured employment with Arthur Treacher’s as a general manager. Polly took a job at Licking County Christian Academy, teaching third grade. Leaving Montpelier Baptist was the best thing for me to do for my family. I make no apology for doing so.
I am now sixty-four years old, an atheist, and a humanist. I have had fourteen years to reflect on the twenty-five years I spent in the ministry. Counseling has helped me take inventory of my ministerial career, and life in general. I have made a lot of mistakes, but who hasn’t, right? I have tried to be open and honest about my past, owning my mistakes and poor decisions.
Your behavior was characterized by being blunt, abusive, arrogant, temperamental, and unteachable.
Characterized by whom? Temperamental and direct? Sure. But abusive, arrogant, and unteachable? Nope. Who is making these claims? If Clark is going to make provocative claims such as these, he needs to provide evidence for them. Not a disgruntled member here and there — every church has them. I know of no former church member who has said these things — and I have interacted in recent years with scores of people who once called me Preacher or Pastor.
I am certain that no evidence from Clark will be forthcoming.
Those watching on the sidelines correctly predicted that you would eventually spin out.
Who predicted I would “spin out” (whatever the hell that means)? If people predicted I would “spin out,” I would love to know who they are; people who at the moment believed I would one day lose my faith and become an atheist? Much like the people who claim I was never a Christian, there’s no evidence that I was anything but a devoted follower of Jesus; a man who loved the people he pastored and tried to minister to their needs.
As I stated above, I am certain that no evidence from Clark will be forthcoming.
Unfortunately, it did happen and you appear to have carried all of the psychological baggage with you.
The reasons for how I have lived my life are many. Live long enough and you will have baggage. My life is what it is. Would I do some things differently? Of course. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, right? Unfortunately, there are no do-overs in life. I own my life, as it is, hoping to do better every day.
You have just switched sides and maintained the same character defects.
At this point, I am ready to sigh. Clark only read a handful of posts on this site, so it’s evident that he hasn’t read most of my autobiographical writing. Would it have made a difference if he had? Probably not. Clark “knows” what he knows. He has weighed my life in the balance and found it wanting. That’s the price I pay for being transparent about my life.
Maybe it runs deep, Bruce and you ought to drill down on your family of origin issues.
What runs deep? Family of origin issues? What do I need to know about my family that I don’t already know? Again, I have been open and honest about my upbringing. What does Clark know that I don’t? Or is he just making shit up, hoping to cause me psychological harm?
Honestly, no one cares to read or listen to your rants anymore. You have become irrelevant.
Finally, we get to Clark’s motivation for writing what he did about me. He doesn’t like my writing. I suspect it angers and upsets him. And instead of asking himself why that is, Clark attacks the messenger — a classic Evangelical tactic.
Clark says that no one cares to read my writing anymore; that I have become irrelevant. This site’s traffic numbers suggest otherwise. Another classic Evangelical tactic: try to minimize my influence, suggesting that no one reads my blog, when, in fact, this site will serve up 750,000 page views this year. I have done more newspaper, podcast, and video interviews this past year than any other time. Evidently, I am not as irrelevant as Clark says I am.
Give it up.
Not a chance. As long as I am physically able to write, I will continue to do so.
Postscript
After sending this post off to Carolyn, my editor, to edit, I decided to see if I could find “Bill Clark” online — which took me all of ninety seconds. Clark used the email address associated with his business to email me, and since it was listed on his website, he was not hard to find.
I was surprised to learn that Clark is a licensed counselor with over thirty-five years of experience. I have been seeing a secular counselor for years. I can’t imagine my counselor ever writing an email such as the one Clark sent me. Not only is Clark’s email judgemental and ill-informed, it is also unprofessional. I can’t remember a time I have ever written a stranger such an email. Instead of attacking my character, perhaps Clark might want to look in a mirror. As a supposed follower of Jesus, he might want to ask himself if Jesus would have sent such an email. WWJD! Perhaps Clark would like me to list all the teachings and commands found in the Bible he broke with his email to me, you know the verses about how to treat your enemies, or the verses about lying and corrupt communication, or the verses about the fruit of the Spirit. Maybe, Clark was just pissed off over my writing and responded accordingly.
Long-time readers know about the dysfunctional home I grew up in. They know about my Mom’s mental health problems, drug addiction, multiple suicide attempts, and eventual successful suicide. They know that my dad was not my biological father (which I learned a year ago). They know I moved numerous times as a child, attending a new school every year or two. They know I grew up in poverty, experiencing things no child should ever have to experience. They know my life is messy and complex. Yet, they continue to read my writing. Some readers have been following me for fourteen years — Loki bless them. 🙂 Why do so many people read my writing? Why do scores of people email me each year asking for my help? I suspect people read my writing because it resonates with them. Why do so many people thank me for being a help to them? I suspect my story rings true to them; that my story gives authenticity to their own. They see a preacher who is willing to be honest about what really goes on in Evangelical churches, a pastor who dares to share club secrets. And that’s always been my goal: to help other people. I don’t care one wit about what the Bill Clarks of the world think about me. Such people are buzzing gnats around my head on a warm summer day. Annoying to be sure, but a quick swat puts an end to that. Consider yourself swatted, Dr. Clark.
Let me conclude by talking about the successes I have experienced in life: forty-three years of marriage to a beautiful, wonderful heathen; six grown children who are gainfully employed and think for themselves; thirteen wonderful grandchildren (all of whom live twenty minutes or less from our home). We own our own home and drive a 2020 Ford Edge. After retiring, I returned to a hobby from my youth: collecting O-gauge Lionel trains. I am a professional photographer. I look like Santa Claus (or an Amish man, Jewish Rabbi, or an Italian mobster, depending on the coat and fedora I’m wearing). Man, I am b-l-e-s-s-e-d. Ho! Ho! Ho! I am also proud of all this blog has become over the years. Millions and millions of pageviews, countless new acquaintances, and a bushel or so of people I consider friends. I am grateful that I have had such wonderful people come alongside me as I struggle with chronic pain and illness; people who love me as I am and respect the work I do.
And now, it’s time for me to tell Bill Clark to fuck off. 🙂
Thank You!
After this post went live, Clark took down his business website.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Elmer Gantry, played by Burt Lancaster (1960), preaching on the evils of evolution
I was a part of the Christian church for fifty years. I made a public profession of faith at age fifteen, attended an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) college in the 1970s, married a preacher’s daughter, and spent twenty-five years pastoring Evangelical churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. In 2008 I left Christianity, declaring that I was no longer a believer. Since then, Evangelical family members, former congregants, ministerial colleagues, and countless Evangelical zealots have tried to square my story with their peculiar theologies. Some people think I was a true Christian, but fell from grace. Others think I am still a Christian — saved, but backslidden. And then there are those who think I was a false convert; that I never was a Christian; that I spent most of my life living a lie. What better way to dismiss my story out of hand than to say that I was a fake, a fraud, a deceiver.
Jordan Standridge, an Evangelical missionary in Italy, recently wrote an article detailing four characteristics of a “false convert.”
Over the years I’ve seen that one of the most powerful moments in a new believer’s life is the realization that there is such a thing as a false convert. The sudden realization that salvation is not dependent on a prayer, a baptism or family history propels true believers to a whole other dimension in their walk with Christ. They begin to examine themselves properly (2 Cor 13:5), they become more evangelistic, they care more about theology and they appreciate being at church so much more. Understanding the fact that false converts are a reality is so important for those who call themselves Christians.
As we saw last week, there are few things more disappointing than when someone from our church walks away from the Lord. Especially when you’ve spent countless hours not only teaching and discipling that person, but you have shared a myriad of hours of ministry with him.
….
Of course, no amount of time spent discipling people is wasted time, but there is a sense in which we want to use our time wisely and be able to water where the grass is green, rather than spend our time watering dead grass. Is there a way to tell? Is there a way to be able to recognize the sheep from among the goats in this life? Well, Simon had four red flags that Luke points out in the short story of Acts 8:9-24 which we can apply to all false converts. These don’t encompass all the red flags, but they are a helpful start. So, here are four characteristics of a false convert.
They are man-centered
In other words, they like to be exalted by others. They are all about seeking attention and wanting to be noticed.
….
False converts don’t truly love God and don’t care if He ultimately receives the glory from their life; rather, they are simply after the cheap thrills of recognition and attention. A lack of love for God’s glory shows up in a lack of evangelism, and a lack of speaking about God at all. Those who are man-centered only care about how God can affect them and improve their life and aren’t interested in picking up a cross to follow Christ (Luke 9:23).
They are not devoted to Jesus
Simon seemed to just go through the motions in Acts 8. As we’ve already seen, he was simply after holding on to his influence and adapting to what the culture around him wanted. Most people in his cult were giving their lives to Jesus, and so, in order to fit in, he also sought to accept Christ. He didn’t truly love Jesus, he simply wanted Jesus to give him what he ultimately sought– the desires of his carnal heart. He completely misunderstood salvation. I mean, he did it all: he believed, was baptized, and followed Philip.
But, as we know, salvation is not actions, but rather, it is a heart change that God does to a person. Ultimately it takes Peter one conversation to realize that this man hadn’t truly been saved. False converts completely misunderstand salvation and think that it is through their actions that they are saved. They might say that salvation is not through works with their lips, but their hearts declare something completely different. They don’t truly love Jesus in their hearts and are only after the benefits of what Jesus can bring to their life.
They have a selfish attitude
This is where Simon’s motives become clear. Acts 8:18-19 shows us Simon’s heart. He offered Peter and John money to be able to have the Holy Spirit and do the miracles that they were doing. Of course, this is silly to us and shows us a deep misunderstanding of how the Holy Spirit works. But, if we go beyond the surface, we will notice an even greater red flag.
Notice why he wanted the spiritual gifts. He wanted spiritual gifts so that he could be noticed and feel good about himself. He had completely selfish reasons for them. But, a simple reading of the New Testament will teach us that spiritual gifts are only given to us to be able to serve those around us. Their only goal is to serve the other members of the Church.
Today, so many churches promote certain spiritual gifts as more important than the others, and they also encourage those in their congregations to experiment with spiritual gifts that were not intended for them. Even if they do so unintentionally, they are setting up their congregations to see spiritual gifts as a way to promote themselves in front of the eyes of the church. This is a complete misunderstanding of spiritual gifts and it shows a love-of-self that is dangerous at best.
Christ, on the other hand, teaches his disciples that in order to be great one must be willing to serve. He then, through the Holy Spirit, gifted each member of the church with spiritual gifts intended to bless the whole body. The Christian life is a life of self-sacrifice, each Christian is called to put selfish desires to death and be willing to put the interest of others above their own (Gal 5:13).
They misunderstand repentance
Ultimately, Simon showed a lack of understanding of what repentance is. First of all, he got rebuked by Peter. Peter exposed his heart’s intentions and called him out on his sin. Simon’s response is telling. He cared about what Peter said, but not because he displeased his Savior, but because he was concerned about the consequences. He didn’t want what Peter said would happen to Him. This is worldly sorrow. Look at his response, “Pray to the Lord for me yourselves, so that nothing of what you have said may come upon me.”
Not only was he more worried about his consequences, but he also misunderstood how repentance works. He asked them to pray for him. Repentance is a constant desire to be pure in front of God. Repentance doesn’t need others to intercede for them, but, instead, it is the act of a person who humbles himself before his Father and requests forgiveness and desires to change. And this doesn’t just happen at the moment of conversion. This is continual each and every day.
….
Jesus’ parable of the unforgiving slave (Matt 18:21-35) teaches a simple fact, and that is if you are unwilling to forgive, then you probably haven’t truly experienced grace. You could also say that someone who doesn’t repent of sin after he becomes a Christian probably isn’t a Christian. A Christian’s humility doesn’t go away at conversion, but rather continues on into his sanctification. As his love for Christ increases, his hatred for sin will increase as well, and it will show itself in a desire to admit sin and continue to repent daily.
On the other hand, false converts hate confrontation. They close up and defend themselves, or, better yet, attack back in order to keep the confronter at bay. They can’t possibly believe that they could have sinned in some way. False converts are prideful and don’t ever own up to sins that they have committed. In other words, they are blind to their sin.
Of course, this must have been eye opening to the early church. Most churches would be ecstatic to have a guy like Simon proclaim Christ and join the church, and maybe Philip was blinded by this as well. But, Simon had all the wrong motives in coming to Christ, and, even though it wasn’t evident at first, his true colors came out in time. Having someone walk away can be extremely painful, but each time it happens, we can be thankful that God has changed our hearts and given us new life. I think that when false-converts walk away, we are also more likely to value the seasoned saints in church around us who have been so faithful to follow Christ for so many years, and who have said, perhaps thousands of times, no to the world and yes to Christ.
Standridge believes True Christians® can ferret out false converts in their churches. False converts:
Are man-centered
Are not devoted to Jesus
Have selfish attitudes
Misunderstand repentance
I know scores of people who Standridge would label false converts. However, his four characteristics of a false convert don’t ring true. Standridge is looking for easy explanations to explain the mass exodus from Evangelical churches. Pastors, evangelists, missionaries, elders, deacons, youth directors, worship leaders, and other committed followers of Jesus are walking (or running) out the back doors of churches never to return. How does Standridge explain an increasing number of Evangelical clergy and church leaders who are embracing atheism, agnosticism, or non-Abrahamic religions? Are they all “false converts”?
Instead of addressing the stench arising from Evangelicalism’s corpse, Standridge uses worn out tropes to marginalize and dismiss people who once loved and served Jesus with all their heart, soul, and mind. I challenge Standridge to carefully read my story and see if he can find a whiff of his “four characteristics of a false convert.”
Stories such as mine and yours remain a conundrum for Evangelicals. Our testimonies suggest that we were once followers of Jesus, and now we are not. We once loved God and his church, and now we don’t. We once believed the Bible was the Word of God, and now we don’t. We were, in every way, true converts, and now we are not.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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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I had the honor of speaking at the monthly meeting of the Atheists of Florida this past Sunday, August 29, 202 After my speech, I answered questions from the crowd. Several friends and family members attended the meeting, including some of you. Thank You! for your support.
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Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Recently, an Evangelical preacher had this to say about me:
Yes, we called BG [Bruce Gerencser] a quitter as that was a common theme throughout his life. He quit on high school, college, his church, Jesus, and, as we see. anything to do with Christian behavior towards others.
When they quit, they spend their time hiding from God, and the truth no matter who brings it across their path. They are all the same and if you want to understand why Jesus said not to cast pearls before swine, it is because they will trash and reject it without using an open mind.
This so-called man of God, a defender of the One True Faith®, loves to call me a “quitter.” According to him, “quitting” is leaving. This preacher is my age, and I know he has, using his definition, “quit” a few times himself. This man has combed through my life with a nit comb, finding every time I left _________, seeing this as proof I am a quitter. In his mind, a “quitter” is a failure; one who has failed to run/finish the race (as determined by this preacher).
As a ministerial student at Midwestern Baptist College in Pontiac, Michigan — an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) institution — I heard countless sermons on “quitters.” Dr. Tom Malone, the chancellor of Midwestern, was famous for lambasting quitters in his chapel sermons. Other chapel speakers did the same. The message was clear: don’t be a quitter; God doesn’t use quitters; your life will never amount to anything; you are a failure if you quit.
One chapel speaker, “Dr.” Charles Whitfield, even called me out personally for quitting. I had dropped his hermenuetics class, and that — for some inexplicable reason — infuriated him. While he didn’t mention me by name, the details of his harangue made it clear who he was talking about.
Infamous IFB pastor, the late-Jack Hyles, wrote a poem titled “Don’t Quit.” It said:
When the cup is turned to wormwood, And the wormwood turns to gall; When your walking turns to stumbling, And the stumbling to a fall; When you’ve climbed above the mountains, Yet the Alps rise rough and tall; DON’T QUIT.
When the path ahead is crooked, And the road’s too rough to tread; When the best upon the table Is replaced by sorrow’s bread; When you’ve crossed some troubled waters, Yet a Marah’s just ahead; (Exodus 15;16) DON’T QUIT.
When the vultures have descended And disturbed your downy nest; When sweet fruit has changed to thistle, While the thorns disturb your rest; When a deep to deep is calling, And when failure seems your best; DON’T QUIT.
When the Lord has cleansed the table; Then He takes away the fat; And the best wine has been taken, Till you find an empty vat; When another fills the throne room Where once you proudly sat; DON’T QUIT.
When your health is feeling sickly, And the medicine tastes bad; When your fellowship is lonely, And your happiness is sad; When your warmth is getting colder, And in clouds your sunshine’s clad; DON’T QUIT.
When you find your wins are losses, And that all your gains are lacks; When ill things never come alone, And your troubles run in packs; When your soul is bruised and battered From the Tempter’s fierce attacks; DON’T QUIT.
Be not weary in well doing, For due seasons bring the grain; He who on the Lord hath waited Shall never run in vain; The just man falleth seven times, Yet riseth up again; DON’T QUIT.
We left Midwestern in early 1979. As we were loading up our Uhaul trailer, preparing to move to my hometown, Bryan, Ohio, a dorm roommate of mine stopped by and pleaded with me not to “quit,” saying, “God will NEVER use you!”
Seven years later, Dr. Malone was preaching at the Newark Baptist Temple in Newark, Ohio — an IFB church pastored by Jim Dennis, Polly’s uncle, a 1960s Midwestern grad. (Please see The Family Patriarch is Dead: My Life With James Dennis.) My father-in-law, a 1976 Midwestern grad, proudly told Malone about the church I was pastoring; how fast it was growing; how souls were being saved under my ministry. Before starting to preach, Malone recognized several notable preachers in the crowd — a common practice at IFB conferences and preacher’s meetings. Malone told the crowd I was in attendance, saying, “If Bruce had stayed any longer at Midwestern, we would have ruined him.” Everyone laughed, and I took his words as validation of the work I was doing for God.
With these things in mind, let me circle back around to what the aforementioned preacher said about me:
[Bruce] quit on high school, college, his church, Jesus, and, as we see. anything to do with Christian behavior towards others.
This preacher mentions five things I have done and experienced in my life that justify him calling me a “quitter.” I want to respond to each of these things, showing the context behind these events. I will then add a sixth point.
High School
Did I graduate from high school? No. My parents divorced when I was fourteen. Two months later, both of them remarried. Mom married her first cousin, a recent parolee from the Texas penal system. Dad married a nineteen-year-old girl with a toddler. In the spring of 1973, hoping to avoid bill collectors, Dad had a household goods auction, packed up our clothing and meager belongings, and moved us to Tucson, Arizona. After finishing tenth grade at Rincon High School in Tucson, I hopped a Greyhound Bus and moved back to Bryan, Ohio to live with my mom. Two months later, I moved to Findlay, Ohio so I could attend Findlay High School and Trinity Baptist Church, both of which were places of happiness, security, and safety for me. After living with a church family in Mount Blanchard for a couple of months (and attending Riverdale High School) I started living with Gladys Canterbury, a matronly woman at the church. I became a ward of the court so Gladys could receive money for keeping me and I would have medical, dental, and vision insurance. I was sixteen.
In May of 1974, weeks before I turned seventeen, I decided to move back home. I missed my mom. Knowing that Gladys (and the church) would not allow me to move, I secretly planned my escape. For a week, I would, unknown to Gladys, stay home from school and plan my move. Finally, the day arrived. Mom pulled into the driveway of Gladys’s southside home, got out of the car, and helped me load my few worldly possessions into her car. Ninety minutes later, I was back home, ready to enroll for my senior year at Bryan High School.
As a student at Findlay High, I didn’t miss one day of school. In fact, I got out of school every day at 11:30 am, and walked or rode my bike to my job as a busboy at Bill Knapps on West Main Cross St. I would work the lunch shift and then sit in the side dining room eating my employee meal — man, I loved their burger basket — and then working on my homework. Afterward, I would work the evening shift. I worked 25 or more hours each week.
In August of 1974, Mom and I went to Bryan High so I could enroll for school. Two weeks later, the school called to inform us that Findlay High was denying me credit for eleventh grade; that I would have to enroll as a junior, not a senior. Findlay High said that because I missed the last two weeks of school, they were denying me credit for my junior year. Never mind the fact that I never missed a day of school up until moving home. Never mind the fact that I was a good student. Mom and I consulted a local attorney, David Newcomer. We thought at the time, “surely Findlay High School can’t do this.” Newcomer told us that we could sue the school, but it would take years to settle such a lawsuit.
Livid over the prospect of having to retake eleventh grade, I “quit” school. My dear friend Dave Echler had also quit school. This certainly played a part in my decision to quit. Mom pleaded with me not to drop out of school, but after seeing my mind was made up, she signed the necessary form so I could quit.
Yes, I am a high school dropout, but a “quitter” in the sense that this Evangelical preacher is using the word? No.
College
Polly and I married in the summer of 1978, between our sophomore and junior years. Polly started attending Midwestern while she was a senior at Oakland Christian School. Polly was one smart cookie, a pretty cookie, a sexy cookie, okay, a “Godly” cookie too. 🙂 Polly, who would soon graduate second in her class, was permitted to attend Midwestern the second half of her senior year.
After getting married, Polly and I moved to an upstairs apartment on Premont St. in Waterford Township. In September, we started classes at Midwestern, excited that we were halfway through college. In less than two years, Mr. and Mrs. Bruce Gerencser would move to a town somewhere in the United States and start a new IFB church, planning to spend our lives winning souls to Christ and teaching Christians the inspired, inerrant, infallible Word of God. Remember what they say about best-laid plans?
We planned to wait until we were out of college to have children. But, unfortunately, “God” had other plans. Six weeks after we married, Polly informed me that she was pregnant. That’s what you get when two young, immature virgins marry, having little information about how “things” work. Eschewing birth control pills and condoms, Polly used an ineffective spermicidal foam.
Polly cleaned the homes of a Bloomfield Hills rabbi and their daughter, that is until brutal morning sickness made that impossible. I worked a full-time job at Deco Grand, making parts for GM’s diesel motors. Keep in mind, we were carrying a full load of classes at Midwestern, along with attending church three times a week and fulfilling the required evangelism requirements for students. I also taught Sunday school and held church services Sunday afternoon at a drug rehabilitation center in Detroit.
In January 1979, I was laid off from my job at Deco Grand. I had not worked there long enough to draw unemployment. Unable to find employment that would allow us to stay in school, we decided to drop out for a semester, hoping to reenroll after our son was born in May. We went to the school to talk to “Dr.” Levy Corey about dropping out. We thought Corey, one of our favorite preachers would understand. Instead, he counseled us NOT to leave school. “Just trust God. He will provide,” Corey said. Several weeks later, behind on the rent and facing threats of having our utilities shut off, we decided to leave Midwestern and return to Bryan. We lived, for a time, with my sister. I took a job with General Tire, and when they moved me to third shift, I “quit” and took a union job at ARO. I made $8 an hour, with superb insurance. When Jason was born in May, we didn’t pay a dime.
One month after we moved to Bryan, my sister’s pastor, Jay Stuckey, offered me an unpaid job as his assistant. I worked my ass off helping the church grow, reaching a high attendance of 500 our last Sunday there.
Yes, I didn’t graduate from Midwestern. But, was I a “quitter” in the sense this Evangelical preacher uses the word? No. Life happens, and after Polly got pregnant and I was laid off, we did what we could to keep a roof over our head and the lights on. We may have left college, but we spent twenty-five years serving congregations in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan.
Churches
This preacher writes as if I pastored one church and then quit. Instead, I pastored seven churches. One church I pastored for eleven years, another for seven. I also worked as my father-in-law’s assistant for two years, growing the youth department to fifty students (over half of the church’s Sunday attendance). I also pastored four churches for short periods of time. (Please see What Happened to the Churches I Pastored?) Interestingly, every one of these pastorates was seven months long. I know, odd, right?
Was I a “quitter” in the sense that this preacher is using the word? Of course not. Pastors leave churches all the time. The reasons for doing so are many. Sure, some of my departures were acrimonious. Could I have done better or been more patient? Absolutely. I have never denied that certain character traits of mine made it difficult for me to work with bullheaded, argumentative, controlling church members. I warned the last church I pastored, Victory Baptist Church, a Southern Baptist church in Clare, Michigan, that I would not fight with them. Five months later, my hope for love, joy, and peace turned into ugly, soul-killing warfare. I left this church for the sake of my mental health. I was burned out, tired of endless conflict and pettiness. Did I “quit”? No, I resigned. You know, like people do when they leave a job for another one. Wait until this preacher finds out how many jobs I have worked over the years. 🙂 I have an advanced degree in leaving jobs and finding another. Could I have done differently? Sure. But a “quitter”? Nope.
Jesus
Did I “quit” on Jesus? Perhaps the real question is this: “did Jesus quit on me”? Did the church quit on me? Did my family, former parishioners, and colleagues in the ministry quit on me after I left the ministry and later left Christianity? Or maybe, just maybe, I decided that the central claims of Christianity weren’t true; that Jesus was not virgin-born, did not work miracles, and lies buried in a grave somewhere near Jerusalem. Or maybe, just maybe, I decided the Bible was not the inerrant, infallible Word of God; that the Bible is littered with mistakes, contradictions, and errors. Or maybe, just maybe, I visited 125 Christian churches and concluded that the teachings of Jesus were nowhere to be found; that churches were social clubs instead of places that ministered to the “least of these.” Or maybe, just maybe, I divorced Jesus. Having given him thirty years to show up and reveal himself, I decided that Jesus wasn’t walking through the door. Wanting to move on in my life, I divorced Jesus and entered a polyamorous relationship with reason, skepticism, and common sense.
To Jesus, I say, “Here I am, Lord. You know where I live. Show up on my doorstep, invite me to lunch (and pay the bill), and show me your miracle-working power, and I will believe.” I suspect Jesus ain’t coming to my house and hanging out. How can he? He’s dead.
Christian Behavior
This Evangelical preacher thinks I have “quit” on “anything to do with Christian behavior.” Of course, I have. I’m not a fucking Christian. “Language,” Bruce. Fuck off, asshole. 🙂 That said, I am a loving, kind, thoughtful person. Ask Polly, our six children, or our thirteen grandchildren. Ask my lifelong friend mentioned above. The only people who think I am a bad person are those who can’t square my story with their theological beliefs. Unable to do so, they attack my character. Those who matter to me know what kind of man I am. I am confident that Bruce, the Atheist is a far better “Christian” than this Evangelical preacher. I don’t go to Christian blogs or websites and attack their owners. I have NEVER engaged Christians outside of this blog or on social media after they have left a comment.
I make no apology for operating this blog. I make no apology for what I write. Have I become less polite and longsuffering towards Evangelical zealots? Guilty as charged. (Please see I Make No Apologies for Being a Curmudgeon.) After thousands of emails, blog comments, and social media messages from Evangelicals, I am tired of their attacks and character assassinations. I try to ward off their emails, comments, and messages (please see Comment Policy and Dear Evangelical), but they continue to harass me anyway. The contact form for this site states:
If you would like to contact Bruce Gerencser, please use the following form. If your email warrants a response, someone will respond to you as soon as possible.
Due to persistent health problems, I cannot guarantee a timely response. Sometimes, I am a month or more behind on responding to emails. This delay doesn’t mean I don’t care. It does mean, however, that I can only do what I can do. I hope you understand.
To help remedy this delay in response, my editor, Carolyn, may respond to your email. Carolyn has been my editor for five years. She knows my writing inside and out, so you can rest assured that if your question concerns something I have written, Carolyn’s response will reflect my beliefs and opinions — albeit with fewer swear words.
I do not, under any circumstances, accept unsolicited guest posts.
I am not interested in buying social media likes, speeding up my website, or having you design a new blog theme for this site.
I will not send you money for your ministry, church, or orphanage.
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 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?”
Outside of the exceptions mentioned above, I promise to treat all correspondence with you as confidential. I have spent the last fourteen years corresponding with people who have been psychologically harmed by Evangelical Christianity. I am more than happy to come alongside you and provide what help I can. I am not, however, a licensed counselor. I am just one man with fifty years of experience as a Christian and twenty-five years of experience as an Evangelical pastor. I am more than happy to lend you what help and support I can.
Thank you for taking the time to contact me.
Yet, Evangelicals send me emails anyway. I am grateful that what I have written above on the contact page has warded off many blood-sucking vampires. But, I still get lots of emails from fangers (shout out to True Blood fans). Further, zealots ignore my commenting policy. After I ban them, they continue to try to comment. Take Elliot. While he has stopped trying to comment or email me, he had tried to access this site 386 times since July 9, 2021 — more than six times a day. Elliot can’t read this, but maybe someone will tell him, Nah, baby, Nah.
Have I ever gone too far when responding to arrogant, nasty, self-righteous Evangelicals? Yes. Readers who have been with me since 2007 — looking at you Michael, Zoe, and Andrew — remember my oh-so-famous response to Iggy of Montana. Iggy told me that he “knew me better than I knew myself.” After a contentious back and forth, I blew up. Scorched earth time. Some people will say I have gone too far when I rewrite the deleted comments of the Evangelical preacher who thinks I am a quitter. (He is permanently banned, yet he still tries to comment, ignoring my commenting policy.) Other people love my rewrites. Sometimes, humor is all you have left when dealing with smug bullies.
Death
I am sick. Really, really sick. I have fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and osteoarthritis. In late July, I wrote a post titled Health Update: I’m F**ked:
Over the past four months, I’ve had excruciating pain in the middle of my back, left side, and under my left arm, into my shoulder, and down my arm. The pain is so severe that it affects everything I do. Some days, I can hardly use my left arm (and I’m left-handed)
I had X-rays. Normal. CT scan. Normal. And now an MRI of my thoracic spine. NOT normal. I have:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
Every day is a struggle. Some days, I wonder if I can go on. So far, my reasons for living (my family, writing, and the Cincinnati Reds) give me the strength to live another day. There might, however, come a day when I can no longer endure the pain. And when that day comes, I may choose to end my life. Am I “quitter” for saying, “I’ve had enough. I can’t bear the pain any longer”? I am sure that If I take the death with dignity path, the Evangelical preacher who is the focus of this post will likely write a post that says, “Bruce Gerencser, The Quitter is Dead. Now He Knows Hell is Hot, God is Real, and I’m Fucking Right.” I hope the readers of this blog will give him a collective middle finger. I hope you will tell people that Bruce Gerencser was a survivor, that he did what he could. Finally, I will leave it to my family, friends, and the people who have walked the path with me to measure my life, to give testimony of how the “quitter” Bruce Gerencser made a difference in their lives. (This last section is not a plea for help. This is just me talking out loud with my friends.)
This Evangelical preacher means for the word “quitter” to be a pejorative term; to cause psychological pain. What he calls “quitting,” I call life. A well-lived life? That story is still being written.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 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.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
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