Faith, Doubt, and My Decision to Leave the Church

To my mom and dad,

I hope this helps you understand why.

I was raised in an intensely religious environment shaped by Roman Catholicism, the dominant faith tradition in Venezuela and much of Latin America due to Spanish colonial influence. My early education took place at Colegio Mater Salvatoris in Caracas. The school is an all-girls Catholic private school administered by nuns, which I attended from kindergarten through junior high school (Grade 9). The institution emphasized discipline, uniformity, traditional gender roles, obedience, and religious observance, marking it my first sustained exposure to organized religion. Later, I transitioned from Catholicism into Evangelical Christianity following my mother’s increasing involvement in an Evangelical church in Caracas. While my mother found a sense of belonging and emotional fulfillment within her new found church, I experienced a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. Over time, the church came to occupy a central role in both our personal lives and family dynamics.

I continued to identify as a Christian throughout high school in Sherwood Park, Alberta, Canada, where I attended a Christ-centered school affiliated with a church which I attended from Grade 9 (yes, I had to re-take Grade 9 because of the "language barrier") until graduation. Religious practices such as prayer and devotion were integrated into the curriculum and daily school life. Within this educational setting, the primary emphasis was placed on modeling an idealized Christian life. However, I soon observed a disparity between this institutional ideal and the behavior of some students, whose actions often diverged from the moral standards the school sought to promote. It was within this educational environment that I first encountered the reality that intimacy exists on a continuum rather than as a simple division between innocence and sexual activity. Ironically, this awareness emerged rapidly during my early months at a Christian school, where such dynamics were highly visible despite the institution’s emphasis on moral restraint and purity culture.

Following graduation, I began to critically examine the church, its belief system, priorities, and the behavior of its congregation. I observed discrepancies between the values promoted by the church and my own developing perspectives. This process of reflection marked the emergence of my critical thinking skills and ultimately led me to disengage from the church almost entirely, as I consciously chose to move away from patterns of unquestioned belief and conformity. This period represented a “mirror-shattering” moment, in which my prior understanding of myself and the moral environment I inhabited was irreversibly fractured.

Religion has been a central theme throughout my life, as it has been for many individuals raised within faith-based environments. From an early age, I was socialized into one religious belief system and was taught to accept biblical scripture as absolute truth, discouraging questioning or critical interpretation. Any attempt to question these norms was often dismissed with the assertion that they were rooted in “the word of God,” effectively foreclosing further discussion or critical engagement. To my surprise, I encountered the same issue within Christianity. Within both the Catholic and Evangelical Christian traditions, but mainly within the Christian faith, I encountered a range of religious practices and phenomena that sometimes made me feel uncomfortable, these included: communal rituals, speaking in tongues, and embodied forms of worship in which individuals appeared to collapse following pastoral or divine intervention. As a child, I also witnessed events regarded as miraculous by believers, such as a statue of the Virgin Mary reportedly exuding oil. Certain experiences from my religious upbringing remain difficult to fully explain or categorize, contributing to an ongoing struggle to define my personal belief system following my departure from the church. While I no longer identify with institutional religion, I continue to hold a belief in a higher power. At times, I refer to this entity as “God,” though this terminology often reflects habit rather than a fully articulated theological commitment.

Catholic church in my neighborhood of Manzanares, Caracas, Venezuela.

Religious Life in Venezuela

Catholic Background

The nuns at Colegio Mater Salvatoris regulated students’ appearance and daily conduct while integrating Catholic doctrine into nearly all aspects of school life. Furthermore, they were demanding and, at times, austere, though they were also consistently kind, caring, and committed to their students’ moral and academic development. As a child and early adolescent, I often viewed their strictness critically and occasionally took pride in small acts of defiance. However, with maturity and distance, particularly after relocating to Canada and enrolling in a markedly different educational system, I came to appreciate the structure, consistency, and intentional discipline that characterized the nuns' pedagogical approach. I took the education I received in Venezuela for granted and I did not realize this until my immersion into the Albertan education system.

Religious practice was deeply embedded in the school curriculum. During junior high, the school scheduled confession every two weeks, sometimes replacing academic classes entirely. In Grade 9, for instance, confession was held during Math class. Students lined up to confess individually to a priest and afterward knelt in a semicircle to pray before an image of the Virgin Mary. In addition to these practices, Mass was celebrated monthly, with additional services held to observe Catholic holidays. One of the most significant religious milestones of my childhood was my First Communion, which took place in Grade 3. The event was treated with great formality and care by the nuns and by default, us. My dress was custom-made by a seamstress provided by the school to maintain uniformity, and my family invested considerable effort in selecting appropriate gloves, tights, and shoes. In preparation, the nuns required frequent prayer and rehearsal for the ceremonial Mass. On the day itself, students assembled in alphabetical order and processed on foot from our school to a nearby church affiliated with another school that was ran by priests. Along the way, a homeless man paused to admire the group and offered us kind remarks, a brief but memorable human interaction that stood out amid such a ritualized setting. During the ceremony, I tasted red wine for the first time as part of the Eucharist and found the experience rather unpleasant. While seemingly minor, this moment has remained vivid in my memory and serves as a subtle marker of the complex and sometimes ambivalent relationship I developed with religious practice.

Christian Background:

During my junior high years, my mother became acquainted with a group of Evangelical Christian women, an encounter that marked a significant shift in our family’s religious life. Through these relationships, she underwent a personal religious conversion and began attending Evangelical church services with increasing regularity. Eventually, I was introduced to this church community and to her new social circle. The transition from Roman Catholic Mass to Evangelical Christian worship was initially disorienting and uncomfortable. Unlike the highly structured and ritualized nature of Catholic services, Evangelical sermons emphasized spontaneity and emotional expression. Congregants occasionally engaged in behaviors unfamiliar to me at the time. Lacking a clear understanding of these practices, I often felt confused and awkward during my first few services.

Despite this initial unease, I was able to establish a strong sense of belonging within the church’s youth group. I formed close attachments to the members and looked forward to attending youth meetings every Saturday. These gatherings provided a space for social connection and emotional development, including early romantic interests that were not always reciprocated but were nevertheless formative experiences of adolescence. As time progressed, my mother’s devotion to the church intensified, and religious participation became increasingly central to our family routine. Initially, she and I attended services together, but my father eventually began to join us. The shared practice of attending church as a family on Sundays became one of the few consistent activities we engaged in collectively. As such, these experiences remain particularly meaningful to me, not only for their religious significance but also for the sense of familial cohesion they fostered.

My mother’s conversion was not met with universal acceptance within her close-knit family. Although the shift from Roman Catholicism to Evangelical Christianity may appear minor from a theological standpoint, it was nevertheless sufficient to provoke criticism and ridicule from some of her siblings and family members, who often made jokes at her expense. Observing this lack of support was deeply disappointing, particularly given that my mother had found a sense of belonging, affection, and understanding within her new religious community. At the same time, the church played a significant role in my family’s internal dynamics. My parents’ marriage had long been marked by unresolved tensions and communication difficulties, many of which had persisted for decades. Through their involvement in the church, they were encouraged to confront these issues more openly and engage in difficult but necessary conversations in order to break the cycle. In this way, religious participation functioned not only as a spiritual framework but also as a form of emotional and relational support. Additionally, my mother experienced a profound personal transformation following her conversion. She successfully quit smoking, an addiction she had struggled with for years, without experiencing noticeable withdrawal symptoms, a change she attributed to divine intervention. Regardless of interpretation, this experience further reinforced her faith and solidified the central role of religion in her life.

As my involvement in the Evangelical church deepened, I developed a personal and intentional relationship with God that I experienced as profoundly transformative. At the age of fourteen, I chose to be baptized as a conscious expression of my Christian faith and my love for Jesus Christ. The baptism ceremony included both adults and members of the church’s youth group and was held at a private residence. Dressed in all white, each participant entered a pool individually to meet the pastor, marking a public affirmation of faith and commitment. My mother had been baptized approximately one year prior, and my father followed sometime later. Together, we embraced a shared religious identity grounded in the desire to live a life perceived as godly, moral, and dignified. During this period, I devoted significant time to prayer and active participation in church life, committing myself not only to religious practice but also to the broader spiritual process encouraged by the community.

During this period, religious life became all-encompassing, shaping not only my spiritual practices but also my social world. Nearly all of my extracurricular activities and social interactions outside of school were connected to the church, particularly through organized outings and group events. Over time, my involvement deepened further, and I participated in missionary trips within Venezuela. Although my recollection of these trips is limited in terms of specific details, but I distinctly remember experiencing a sense of enjoyment and fulfillment. I valued the opportunity to connect with others and to share the sense of care, purpose, and compassion that I personally obtained from my faith. These experiences reinforced the communal and relational aspects of religion that I found most meaningful.

However, I also experienced discomfort with certain expectations associated with missionary work, particularly the emphasis on evangelization. Sharing the gospel in a manner intended to persuade others to adopt specific beliefs conflicted with my personal disposition. I have never been comfortable with rejection, nor with pressuring individuals to accept viewpoints they may not share. As a result, these interactions often made me feel less like a participant in a mutual exchange and more like an underage salesperson tasked with promoting a predetermined message. While I found fulfillment in service and community engagement, this aspect of religious practice remained a source of internal tension.

This phase of religious devotion coincided with increasing political and social instability in Venezuela. As conditions within the country deteriorated, prayer became a means through which I articulated hope, fear, and longing for change. I frequently prayed for the possibility of leaving Venezuela, associating emigration with safety, opportunity, and personal growth. At the same time, I became increasingly drawn to the idealized notion of the “American Dream.” I imagined myself attending an American school, complete with lockers, school dances, and other cultural symbols that represented normalcy, freedom, and aspiration. Ultimately, my prayers for immigration were realized, though not in the manner I had originally envisioned. Rather than relocating to the United States, my family immigrated to Canada. While this outcome diverged from my idealized expectations of the “American Dream,” it marked a profound turning point in my life. The move introduced new cultural, social, and educational frameworks that challenged many of my assumptions and reshaped my understanding of identity, belonging, and opportunity. In this sense, the fulfillment of those early prayers was both an answer and a reinterpretation; one that required adaptation, resilience, and a redefinition of what aspiration and success would come to mean in a new national context.

Religious Life in Canada

Christian Background:

After immigrating to Canada, our family’s religious devotion continued to serve as a central force in our lives. My parents enrolled me in a Christian school located in a suburban area outside of Edmonton, where our family ultimately settled. While this decision was grounded in continuity and familiarity, the transition to life in Canada proved far more challenging than I had anticipated. The experience of migration involved a profound sense of loss and dislocation. Leaving behind my home country, family, and established friendships created an enduring sense of loneliness and unbelonging. These feelings were compounded by linguistic barriers, as I struggled with English proficiency and became acutely aware of my status as a visible minority. The school environment and living area were predominantly white, and I was the only student at SCA who was foreign-born. As a result, I often felt scrutinized and positioned as a novelty rather than fully integrated into the school community.

Institutional support for my transition was limited at SCA. The school appeared ill-equipped to address the academic and emotional needs of an immigrant student, leaving me with the impression that I had been placed in an environment without sufficient resources to succeed. This sense of isolation manifested acutely during the school day; I frequently retreated to the locker room of the school gym during lunch periods, where I cried in private. During this time, prayer remained as a coping mechanism, particularly as I asked for emotional relief and rapid improvement in my English language skills. In addition to these challenges, I was subjected to teasing because of my accent and exposed to classroom discussions in which peers expressed anti-immigration sentiments. These experiences intensified my sense of marginalization and reinforced feelings of vulnerability. I often felt misunderstood by my peers and their parents. I eventually sought out a change in the form of diminishing myself, culture, and customs to fit into my new environment. I assimilated while leaving behind pieces of my Latina identity and I stripped myself away from my Spanish accent and heritage.

Compounding these difficulties was the temporary separation from my mother, who arrived in Canada approximately two months after my dad and I. This period of separation had an overwhelming emotional impact on me. Upon her arrival, my mother struggled significantly to adjust to the new environment, experiencing many of the same challenges I faced, though to a far greater extent. Together, these experiences underscore the layered emotional and social costs of migration, particularly for families navigating cultural, linguistic, and institutional barriers simultaneously. Despite the difficulties my family and I encountered, our faith continued to provide a source of comfort and stability. The church we initially attended in Canada was affiliated with my school and conducted its services in English. While this arrangement offered continuity for me, it proved uncomfortable for my mother, who struggled to feel fully at ease within an English-speaking congregation. As a result, our family began searching for a Spanish-speaking Christian church that could better meet her linguistic and cultural needs. During this period, I continued to attend services at SPAC, as the majority of my classmates were members of that congregation. I joined the youth group and actively participated in its activities, deriving enjoyment and social connection from these experiences. Nevertheless, I remained conscious of my difference within the group and often felt positioned at the margins. Despite this lingering sense of otherness, I made deliberate efforts to integrate, forming friendships and gradually establishing a sense of social belonging. Over time, this integration extended into my personal life, culminating in my first official romantic relationship.

Conditions within our household gradually became increasingly strained. Both of my parents faced significant personal and relationship challenges, and the process of immigration intensified preexisting tensions within their marriage. Migration required a fundamental reinvention of identity and purpose, an aspect often overlooked in dominant narratives that frame immigration primarily as opportunity. My father, who had previously worked as a chemical engineer, encountered persistent rejection in the Canadian job market, largely due to his lack of what employers termed “Canadian experience.” This professional displacement had a profound impact on his sense of self, self-worth, and stability. My mother, meanwhile, struggled with acute loneliness, a loss of independence, and the emotional toll of unresolved marital conflict. These difficulties were exacerbated by the move, leaving her increasingly withdrawn and emotionally depleted. She often expressed a desire to return to Venezuela, signaling a deep sense of dislocation and grief over the life she had left behind. In many ways, she became a diminished version of herself, shaped by isolation and unmet expectations. Collectively, these factors led my parents and me to diverge significantly in our perspectives, resulting in considerable relational strain.

In response to these challenges, my parents sought refuge within the Latino Christian church they had found. The congregation offered cultural familiarity, linguistic comfort, and emotional support. The pastor, in particular, became a trusted confidant and played a significant role in helping my parents navigate longstanding marital issues. During this period, religion took on an even more central role in their lives, serving both as a coping mechanism and a stabilizing framework amid uncertainty. However, this intensified religious commitment also altered family dynamics. My father, in particular, adopted a more rigid interpretation of faith that increasingly manifested as control and judgement. By this stage, I was approaching eighteen years old, yet I found myself subject to stricter curfews and increased regulation of my appearance, including directives about what I was permitted to wear to church. These changes marked a shift in parental authority and highlighted the ways in which religious conviction, stress, and displacement intersected to reshape power relations within the household. His intensifying religious conviction coincided with my increasing assertion of personal autonomy, ultimately contributing to a growing sense of distance between us. My father’s deep religious convictions and strong connection to the church have increasingly shaped our relationship in complex ways. As my own outlook on life has become more liberal and exploratory, I have found myself distancing from what I perceive as the more rigid, rule-based interpretations of the Bible and Christianity as a whole that he values most. This divergence has prompted moments of tension, not only because of our differing beliefs, but also because it has required me to reflect on how faith, authority, and personal autonomy intersect within family relationships. Navigating these differences has been challenging, yet it has also encouraged a deeper examination of my own values and the role I wish faith to play in my life.

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The school I attended was extremely Christian, and rules governed physical contact and dress codes. Hugging was discouraged, and teachers often instructed us to use “side hugs,” reminding us to “leave room for Jesus” or even “room for the Bible” between our bodies. Girls were not allowed to show their shoulders, and skirts or shorts had to reach knee length. These rules were frequently justified by saying they existed to prevent girls from distracting boys. At the time, I did not question these expectations; obedience was emphasized, and compliance was simply assumed. However, as I grew older, I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable with these rules and the reasoning behind them. Assault against women and girls is often framed through a discourse that links harm to fashion choices, implicitly shifting responsibility away from perpetrators. This perspective fails to acknowledge that sexualization persists irrespective of clothing and operates across both secular and religious contexts. During my time in school, I recall a teacher whose conduct caused discomfort among several female students, thereby reinforcing the sexualization of adolescent girls. In one notable incident, a close friend was instructed to wear an apron to cover her chest because the teacher described her appearance as “distracting,” effectively placing responsibility on the student rather than addressing inappropriate adult perceptions.

I often relegated school-related issues to the background, as I had not yet developed the capacity or inclination to critically evaluate my environment. I enrolled in Leadership class in both Grade 10 and Grade 12 seeking more religious closeness. The students in this class were expected to be the most devout. In Grade 10, we traveled to Tijuana, Mexico, at a time when Canadians were permitted to travel there. During the trip, I was used primarily as a translator because of my Spanish background. While there were a few meaningful moments where I was able to connect with children at the orphanage, the majority of my experience was shaped by this responsibility. I also became extremely ill during the trip. I did my best to participate, but my body eventually needed rest. One morning, after breakfast, I fell asleep instead of attending prayer. My Leadership teacher noticed my absence and reprimanded me rather than checking on my health or acknowledging my fever. I resented him deeply for this. A man who claimed to be godly showed no concern for the wellbeing of a student under his care, rather he focused on the mere inconvenience that I was not present at prayer. I returned to Canada with bronchitis. Handing him the doctor’s note confirming my illness brought me a sense of validation. It proved that I had not been lying and cleared me of his unfounded suspicions. That experience was one of the reasons I chose not to enroll in Leadership class in Grade 11.

In Grade 12, I enrolled in Leadership class again because the teacher leading it was my very first homeroom teacher, whom I genuinely adored. Mr. M has always meant a lot to me. That year, we traveled to Belize, and the experience was significantly more positive overall. While there, we went door to door in a local community to share the gospel. I found this challenging, as I had during a similar experience in Venezuela. However, despite its challenges, the trip fostered growth in both my personal and religious life. I was able to connect meaningfully with the people we were trying to help. Both before and after the Belize trip, I was at the height of my religious devotion. I took my faith and spiritual life as seriously as I could. However, after returning from Belize, I began experiencing unsettling changes. For months, I woke up almost every night between 3:00 and 3:30 a.m. Each time, I would instinctively look toward the same corner of my room and feel as though something else was present. I also suffered from extremely vivid nightmares involving an evil entity that seemed intent on reaching me. These experiences persisted for months and coincided with ongoing struggles in my family life. I recognize that this may sound difficult to understand, but within religious belief systems, being taunted or tested by THE enemy (aka Satan) is not an uncommon experience. These experiences were often scary and I do believe this was also a factor as to why I also moved away from the church. I let myself get intimidated rather than standing strong in my faith.

The Beginning of the End

The subsequent reasons outline the process through which I began to distance myself from religious doctrine.

Reason 1:

Some things appear to be performative or disingenuous

1.1

At the height of my beliefs, I began to question certain aspects of the church. Rather than blindly following, my critical thinking skills started to develop. Throughout high school, chapel services were held frequently. During one chapel, when I was in Grade 11, a Grade 12 student took the stage and spoke at length about her volunteer work and the many things she was doing to demonstrate that she was a good Christian. She framed her message in a way that suggested everyone should be doing the same in order to prove their faith. Internally, I found myself questioning this mindset. I remember thinking, Why would I need to do things to prove that I am indeed a good Christian? If I were to volunteer, it would be because I genuinely wanted to help others and found fulfillment in doing so, not to gain approval or validation. I felt no need to prove to anyone within the church or the school that I was a “good Christian.” The entire message felt performative and deeply unsettling to me causing a small fracture in my faith.

In that moment, a Bible verse came to mind:

Matthew 6:3

But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing

After reflecting further on the Bible verse, her actions continued to trouble me. It felt as though she was boasting and, in doing so, making the rest of us feel guilty by positioning herself as a kind of poster child for Christianity. At the time, I was volunteering on Sundays to help feed the homeless, and I had also volunteered with Catholic Social Services, assisting immigrant children with their homework and English. I never felt a need to share this beyond my closest friends. I volunteered because I enjoyed the experience and because I wanted to help visible minorities like myself, without any desire for recognition or status. These volunteer opportunities provided me with a profound sense of fulfillment, as they reminded me that despite my family’s financial challenges, I still occupied a position of relative privilege.

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1.2

In many cases, pastoral care and guidance offered within church settings may be perceived as disingenuous or insufficiently responsive to individual circumstances. Personal experiences of seeking counsel from youth leaders or church authorities often reveal a gap between institutional guidance and lived reality. When advisors lack experiential understanding of the challenges being discussed, their responses may feel dismissive or inadequate. Frequently, such guidance emphasizes continued prayer or spiritual endurance without accompanying practical strategies for personal growth or situational change. While prayer holds an important place within Christian practice, reliance on spiritual platitudes in the absence of concrete support can contribute to feelings of alienation. For individuals navigating complex social, emotional, or developmental contexts, effective guidance often requires empathetic engagement and actionable support tailored to their lived experiences.

This disconnect between institutional counsel and personal need may further reinforce perceptions that church leadership is ill-equipped to address the realities of congregants’ everyday lives, particularly among younger members seeking meaningful growth within their own social and cultural environments. In my case, this disconnect was closely tied to feelings of alienation experienced as an immigrant during adolescence. Navigating the social, cultural, and linguistic challenges of immigration compounded the difficulty of seeking meaningful guidance within church environments. Youth leaders and church authorities, many of whom had not encountered comparable experiences of displacement or cultural transition, were often unable to fully grasp the complexities of this identity formation process. As a result, the support offered frequently failed to address the structural and emotional realities of immigrant life, instead relying on generalized spiritual counsel. This lack of contextual understanding contributed to a sense of isolation, reinforcing the perception that institutional religious spaces were inadequate to support individuals negotiating multifaceted identities shaped by migration, culture, and adolescence.

Reason 2:

Some things appear to be about money

I attended church throughout high school and continued to do so after I graduated. I believe it was sometime after graduation that a particular moment stood out to me. I had gone to church and sat in my usual pew when, during the sermon, the pastor asked the congregation for additional offerings. The church wanted to renovate either the atrium, the sanctuary, or possibly both. In addition, there were plans to build a coffee bar, with the proceeds supposedly going to support efforts in Burundi. For reasons I could not fully articulate at the time, this request deeply unsettled me. I was aware that the church already generated a substantial amount of money. The suburb I grew up in was and continues to be quite affluent, and I personally knew many families who gave well beyond the ten percent encouraged by the church and scripture. In my mind, it felt that any funds raised under the premise of helping Burundi should have been sent there in full. Instead, the church moved forward with the renovations and built the coffee bar. I did not remain involved long enough to see whether the proceeds were ever sent to Burundi.

Deuteronomy 14:22

Make an offering of ten percent, a tithe, of all the produce which grows in your fields year after year

The reason this troubled me so deeply was that churches do not pay income tax, yet many generate millions of dollars each year. Given this, it seemed likely that the renovations could have been potentially funded through the church’s existing resources alone. Instead, the pastor asked the congregation to contribute additional offerings. I am aware of how some members follow the church’s teachings, so deeply, in fact, that they are willing to put themselves into debt to comply with what their pastor encouraged. While these contributions are technically voluntary, I knew that, in practice, such situations do occur. In contrast, many families continued to struggle financially while the church accumulated significant wealth. Within that context, I found it troubling that the church had the audacity to ask for even more money from the congregants.

More broadly, financial capital often exerts a significant influence on institutional behavior. As religious organizations expand, the accumulation and management of financial resources can introduce ethical vulnerabilities, including the temptation to prioritize growth, revenue, and public image over spiritual integrity. While many churches originate with the sincere objective of sharing the Christian gospel, a purpose that is widely regarded as commendable, organizational expansion can, over time, alter institutional priorities. In the context of megachurches, this shift is particularly visible. These large-scale religious institutions frequently operate as complex enterprises, where worship services may adopt the characteristics of staged performances. Sermons can become increasingly theatrical, emphasizing production value and entertainment alongside, or sometimes in place of, substantive theological reflection. Although such approaches may appeal to certain congregants, others experience a sense of disconnection, perceiving that the central purpose of worship has been displaced. For many individuals, participation in religious services is motivated by a desire for spiritual intimacy, theological understanding, and communal reflection. When worship environments prioritize spectacle over spiritual formation, the original intent of fostering closeness to God may become obscured. This perceived shift can contribute to disillusionment and disengagement, particularly among those seeking depth rather than performance.

Reason 3:

Some things appear to be about hypocrisy & double standards

3.1

There was no single defining incident that prompted my departure from the church; rather, it resulted from an accumulation of observations and experiences over time. Central among these was my growing awareness of hypocrisy within the church community. While the institution consistently emphasized adherence to biblical teachings and moral conduct, I frequently observed a disconnect between the devout behavior displayed within church spaces and the actions of individuals outside of them. Many peers who appeared deeply religious during services engaged in behaviors that contradicted the values they publicly professed. Importantly, I recognize that I was not exempt from this pattern. For a period of time, I engaged in similar forms of concealment, outwardly conforming to religious expectations while privately acting in ways that conflicted with them. Eventually, this dissonance became unsustainable and I preferred to live in "sin" rather than live under a lie. I have not been inclined toward identity performance, particularly when it requires incongruence between publicly expressed commitments and privately held beliefs. The growing dissonance between institutional expectations and my internal convictions became increasingly untenable, and this lack of coherence played a significant role in my decision to leave the church.

Matthew 6:5

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others

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3.2

At present, I am increasingly attentive to patterns of hypocrisy and double standards within religious institutions, particularly the dissonance between public moral performance and private conduct. While members of the congregation often fall short of the ideals promoted by the church, these contradictions are especially troubling when they emerge among individuals in positions of religious authority. Within the Catholic Church in particular, numerous documented cases of sexual abuse perpetrated by priests against minors have been reported globally in the last century, revealing systemic failures in accountability and institutional transparency. Similarly, during the operation of the Canadian Residential School system, Indigenous children were subjected to widespread physical, emotional, and sexual abuse as part of an assimilation agenda carried out by clergy, including priests and nuns acting under church and governmental authority. These historical and ongoing abuses highlight profound ethical contradictions within institutions that claim moral and spiritual leadership. Such patterns raise fundamental concerns about the legitimacy of religious authority and moral instruction. When those entrusted with upholding and teaching religious doctrine repeatedly violate the very principles they espouse, the credibility of the institution itself is called into question. This institutional hypocrisy has played a significant role in shaping my critical perspective toward organized religion and its claims to moral authority.

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3.3

In contemporary social and religious contexts, a significant number of individuals who identify as Christian exhibit patterns of judgmental behavior that appear inconsistent with the ethical teachings attributed to Jesus Christ. Despite professing adherence to Christian doctrine, such individuals frequently assess and criticize others on the basis of race, sexual orientation, and personal life choices. It is important to note that self-identification as a Christian neither confers moral infallibility nor grants authority to pass judgment on others.

Furthermore, scriptural texts, particularly passages from Leviticus, are often invoked to justify the denial of basic human dignity. This selective application of scripture raises serious theological and ethical concerns, especially when such interpretations are used to marginalize or delegitimize the lived experiences of others. The elevation of one’s religious identity as evidence of moral superiority contradicts core Christian principles of humility and compassion. This raises a critical interpretive question: where, within Christian scripture, is the entitlement to judge others explicitly sanctioned? On the contrary, the New Testament contains multiple passages that caution against judgment and emphasize self-reflection, mercy, and love as central components of Christian ethical practice.

James 4:12

There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to save and to destroy. But you—who are you to judge your neighbor?

Matthew 7:1-2

Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you

Reason 4:

Some things appear appear to be about ties to far right-wing ideology

With the rise of Christian nationalism, particularly within right-wing movements in both Canada and the United States, I have increasingly struggled with the instrumental use of the Bible to advance specific political narratives. Biblical passages are frequently interpreted selectively and taken out of historical and cultural context in order to justify positions related to race, family structure, exclusionary practices, gender roles, abortion, sexuality, and even violence and domestic violence. Additionally, scripture is often employed to promote the notion that a nation is divinely chosen or ordained by God, thereby blurring the boundary between religious faith and political identity. This conflation of church and state has contributed to significant social and political tensions. By framing political positions as biblically mandated, Christian nationalist rhetoric discourages debate and critical inquiry; opposing viewpoints are not treated as legitimate political disagreements but rather as moral or spiritual failures. In this framework, religious texts are positioned as the ultimate authority over democratic deliberation, undermining pluralism and critical engagement. An example from the Bible is:

Romans 13:1-2

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established

In contemporary society, certain right-wing media figures and influencers have positioned themselves as both political commentators and religious evangelists, thereby closely linking political ideology with religious belief. Frequently, these figures employ scriptural passages selectively in order to support and legitimize divisive political narratives. This trend is particularly concerning because it challenges the principle of separation between church and state. These individuals frequently present their religious convictions as if they were synonymous with patriotic duty, and in some cases this rhetoric has contributed to political polarization and extremism. Prominent examples in the United States include Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson, Nick Fuentes, Ben Shapiro, Megyn Kelly, and the recently assassinated Charlie Kirk (RIP 1993-2025). The rhetoric disseminated by these figures, amplified by large audiences and social media platforms, often promotes exclusionary or divisive narratives. By framing political objectives as moral imperatives grounded in religious doctrine, they can discourage critical inquiry and elevate partisan loyalty to a quasi-theological status. Furthermore, Christian nationalism has been widely examined as a socio-political ideology that can intersect with, and in some contexts reinforce, white supremacist sentiments. By conflating religious identity with national identity and patriotism, Christian nationalism often promotes an exclusionary vision of citizenship that privileges whiteness, heteronormativity, and cultural conformity. This fusion of theology and nationalism can legitimize racial hierarchy under the guise of religious tradition, thereby contradicting the inclusive and universalist principles emphasized within Christian ethical teachings. It has been noted that such frameworks frequently instrumentalize religion not as a vehicle for moral reflection, but as a means of preserving social power and cultural dominance.

Reason 5:

Some things appear to be about organized religion

The primary concern is not limited to the church as an individual institution, but extends to the broader framework of organized religion. While specific churches may vary in doctrine and practice, organized religion as a system often involves hierarchical authority, codified beliefs, and institutional norms that can constrain individual expression and lived experience. These structural features may create tensions between personal spirituality and institutional expectations. This distinction is important, as it shifts the critique away from isolated organizational failures and toward systemic dynamics inherent in organized religious structures. For some individuals, these dynamics can result in feelings of alienation or disconnection, particularly when institutionalized belief systems struggle to accommodate diverse identities, experiences, and evolving social realities.

Religion, as an organized system, is administered and sustained by human beings, creatures who are inherently fallible and susceptible to bias, self-interest, and contradiction. As a result, religious institutions may diverge from the ethical principles they claim to uphold, reflecting human limitations rather than divine intent. Furthermore, it is important to acknowledge that the Bible, which many regard as an ultimate source of religious authority, is a text produced within specific historical, cultural, and political contexts. Written and compiled mainly by men, the scripture reflects the social structures and power dynamics of its time. From a critical perspective, the Bible can be understood not solely as a spiritual document, but also as a political text, one that has historically functioned to reinforce patriarchal norms and male-dominated systems of authority. This interpretive framework does not necessarily negate the text’s religious or moral significance for believers; rather, it situates scripture within the broader realities of human authorship and institutional power, allowing for critical examination of how religious texts have been used to legitimize social hierarchies.

Matthew 15:8-9

These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules

I have undertaken a personal process of deconstructing my religious faith, a journey that has been complex and emotionally demanding given the central role religion played in my upbringing. Over time with the critical thinking that God gave me, I have developed significant disagreements with certain core themes within Christianity and the Christian church along with organized religion as a whole. These unresolved conflicts have accumulated and, in some cases, led to deep resentment toward particular factions of the church and toward organized religion more broadly. From my perspective, the current system is fundamentally flawed and requires substantial transformation. The existing structures often function to reinforce exclusionary norms and to legitimize political narratives rather than fostering spiritual growth or ethical development. Consequently, there is a need for a comprehensive reconstruction of religious institutions, one that prioritizes inclusivity, empathy, and genuine moral reflection. Ultimately, human communities would benefit from moving beyond using religion as a divisive instrument. If religious belief is to remain socially meaningful, it must be reoriented toward promoting mutual understanding and shared humanity rather than serving as a vehicle for ideological, social, and political conflict. My decision to leave the church does not signify an abandonment of belief or a rejection of spirituality. Rather, it reflects a shift away from a particular institutional and doctrinal framework. I continue to hold a belief in a higher power, grounded in the conviction that there exists a reality greater than and transcendent of the individual self. My departure from organized religion represents a reorientation of faith, not its negation.

Reason 6:

Some things appear to be about Christian Zionism

Throughout my religious life, I have been taught about Israel and how, for some individuals, it is understood as automatically equivalent to the Promised Land. In certain religious circles, including among Evangelical Christians, there is a belief that the modern return of Jews to this land fulfills biblical prophecy and signals the eventual return of the Messiah to earth. However, this prophetic framework often overlooks the existence and longstanding residence of Palestinians on the same land. For Palestinians, this region represents their ancestral homeland. In contrast to religious interpretations of the “Promised Land,” the modern Zionist movement developed primarily as a secular and political project rather than a religious one. In simple terms, Zionism is the belief that Jews have a right to self-determination in their historic homeland, known as Israel. In its contemporary form, Zionism is often critiqued for undermining Palestinian existence and for legitimizing the use of force, land seizure, and the displacement of Palestinian communities in the West Bank and Gaza. As it currently stands, I do not agree with Christians who support the displacement and mass killing of Palestinians on the belief that Jewish control of the land will hasten the return of the Messiah. The idea that the suffering and death of thousands of people could be justified in order to bring Jesus Christ back to earth is, to me, morally and theologically indefensible and abhorrent.

Ezekiel 37: 21-22

God promises to gather the children of Israel from among the nations, bring them into their own land, and unite them into one nation

Modern-day Israel is historically and conceptually distinct from what “Israel” denoted in the biblical period. In the Hebrew Bible and related ancient Near Eastern sources, “Israel” referred primarily to an ethnoreligious community understood as the descendants of the patriarch Abraham through Isaac and Jacob (Israel), and secondarily to the territorial polities associated with that population. In the Iron Age (c. 1200–586 BCE), Israel emerged as a highland society in the southern Levant and later developed into monarchic structures traditionally described as the United Monarchy and, subsequently, the divided kingdoms of Israel (north) and Judah (south). These entities occupied a relatively limited and fluctuating geographic area within the Levant, and their political organization reflected the patterns typical of small-scale ancient Near Eastern states. Territorial claims were intertwined with kinship structures, covenantal theology, and tribal identity rather than modern concepts of sovereignty or citizenship.

By contrast, the modern State of Israel, established in 1948, is a contemporary nation-state formed within the context of twentieth-century nationalism, international diplomacy, and post-mandate geopolitics. Its territorial boundaries, political institutions, and demographic composition differ substantially from those of ancient Israel. Although modern Israeli national identity draws in part upon biblical history and ancestral traditions, it operates within a fundamentally different historical, legal, and political framework. Accordingly, from a historical and academic perspective, biblical Israel and the modern State of Israel represent distinct entities situated in different chronological, cultural, and political contexts, despite the symbolic and historical continuities that link them.

Reason 7:

Some things appear to be about the stronghold of misogyny and the patriarchy

During my period of faith deconstruction, I began to recognize the extent to which scripture and Christian tradition are embedded within historically constructed gender norms. These norms have frequently been interpreted in ways that privilege patriarchal structures, and in doing so, often perpetuate misogynistic assumptions about gender roles and authority. This realization became a significant point of tension in my engagement with Christian faith, prompting critical reflection on how theology, interpretation, and social power intersect. Furthermore, many women, including myself, are socialized within systems of internalized patriarchy from an early age. Culturally and societally, women are often taught that men are the heads of households and primary authority figures, and that they, therefore, deserve respect, obedience, and service. I was raised in both a family and a broader social context deeply rooted in patriarchal norms, where gendered divisions of labor were normalized. Women were expected to prepare and serve meals, often placing their own needs last; my grandmother, for instance, was consistently the last to eat.

These patterns extend beyond the domestic sphere and are reinforced across religious and cultural traditions. In many faith communities, men are afforded greater religious authority and legitimacy. Within Mormonism, for example, women are prohibited from offering prayers during baby blessings because priesthood authority is reserved for men. Similarly, female leadership within Christian institutions remains limited: churches with women pastors are relatively rare, and within Catholicism, nuns are not permitted to preside over Mass, a role reserved exclusively for priests. Within certain cultural and legal contexts where Islam is practiced, women have at times been treated in ways that resemble property rather than autonomous individuals. These practices are often justified through particular interpretations of religious texts, though they are deeply intertwined with patriarchal cultural traditions rather than being universally representative of Islam, Christianity, Catholicism, or Mormonism itself. Such interpretations can restrict women’s agency in areas such as marriage, inheritance, and bodily autonomy, reinforcing broader systems of male authority. Recognizing the distinction between religion as a faith tradition and the patriarchal structures that shape its interpretation is essential to understanding how gender inequality persists across different religious contexts. Taken together, these experiences have led me to critically examine the role of scripture in sustaining gender hierarchies. I contend that the Holy Bible, written and historically interpreted by men, has reinforced social constructs that continue to position men as superior to women in religious, familial, and societal contexts. This recognition has been central to my ongoing process of faith deconstruction and re-evaluation.

Additionally, within some Christian church contexts, women who seek pastoral support while experiencing domestic abuse encounter responses that can further marginalize and endanger them. Rather than receiving unconditional protection and advocacy, their experiences are sometimes subjected to scrutiny, with the severity of abuse implicitly evaluated or minimized. In these situations, women may be encouraged, or even coerced, into remaining in abusive marriages, as divorce is framed as a moral failing or a greater transgression than enduring harm.

As a result, women are often met not with support but with guilt, spiritual pressure, and appeals to endurance or forgiveness. Compounding this issue, abusers may be shielded by church leadership, with incidents handled internally rather than reported to appropriate authorities. When abuse originates within the church community or is perpetrated by those in positions of trust, it is frequently concealed to protect institutional reputation. Such practices not only silence victims but also reinforce systems of power that prioritize institutional preservation over the safety and dignity of women and children.

1 Timothy 2: 11-15

A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner. But women will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love, and holiness with propriety

1 Corinthians 11:3

But I want you to realize that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of a woman is man, and the head of Christ is God.

Judges 19: 24-25

24 Look, here is my virgin daughter, and his concubine. I will bring them out to you now, and you can use them and do to them whatever you wish. But as for this man, don’t do such an outrageous thing.

25 But the men would not listen to him. So the man took his concubine and sent her outside to them, and they raped her and abused her throughout the night, and at dawn they let her go.

It is important to recognize that societies are historically dynamic rather than static. Legal systems, social institutions, and normative frameworks operative during the historical periods in which biblical texts were composed differ substantially from those of contemporary societies. Ancient Near Eastern cultures were structured around patriarchal, tribal, and agrarian models that shaped the legal and moral codes reflected in their religious writings. As such, many verses found in biblical texts emerged within specific historical and cultural contexts. In contrast, modern societies have developed robust frameworks of human rights grounded in principles of equality, individual dignity, and legal protection. Women and children, in particular, are now widely recognized as rights-bearing individuals under both domestic and international law. These developments represent significant moral and juridical transformations relative to ancient social structures. Within faith traditions, this raises important hermeneutical and ethical questions: To what extent are scriptural norms culturally contingent, and how should they be interpreted in light of contemporary understandings of justice and human rights? It is argued that while foundational moral principles such as justice, compassion, and the protection of the vulnerable may be enduring, their concrete application must be understood in light of historical context and ongoing moral development. From this perspective, upholding the rights of women and children is not a departure from faith commitments but rather a contemporary articulation of enduring ethical principles. Ensuring that these rights are consistently protected within religious communities reflects a commitment to aligning faith practice with both moral progress and the core ethical imperatives found within the tradition itself.

Reason 8:

It appear to be about the rejection of science and evolution

During my high school education at my Christ-centered school, the science curriculum diverged from standard pedagogical approaches in notable ways. Instruction on evolutionary theory was omitted entirely, as it was regarded as incompatible with the school’s theological commitments. Within this framework, evolution was presented not merely as a scientific hypothesis, but as a direct challenge to religious truth. Consequently, I internalized the assumption that belief in evolution and adherence to Christianity were mutually exclusive positions. Evolution, as it was characterized, appeared to diminish or negate the power and intentionality of God. However, as I matured and encountered broader intellectual perspectives in university, my understanding began to shift. Exposure to scientific discourse and diverse theological viewpoints prompted me to reconsider the perceived dichotomy between faith and science. I came to recognize that belief in evolutionary theory does not necessarily preclude religious commitment. Rather, it is possible to understand evolution as a natural process through which life develops over extended periods of time, one that does not inherently contradict belief in a divine creator.

From this perspective, human bodies and ecological systems are not static but dynamic, shaped through gradual adaptation and change across generations. Evolution is not an instantaneous event, but a prolonged process marked by incremental transformations. Accepting this scientific framework need not entail the rejection of religious faith; instead, it may invite a more integrative understanding of how scientific and theological narratives can coexist.

Exodus 20: 11

For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.

Genesis 1: 26-27

26 Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground"

27 So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them

Conclusion

I do not identify as a follower of Christ or as a regular church attendee in the way my parents would prefer. However, I currently maintain a personal belief system that is subject to change as I continue to reflect and grow. My primary concern lies not with spirituality itself, but with organized religion, specifically the institutional structure of the church and the ways in which it can be fundamentally flawed. Organized religion often functions as a powerful social institution, yet it is frequently insulated from criticism on the basis of its perceived divine authority. This assumption; that the church, as an establishment of God, should not be questioned, creates conditions in which accountability can be easily diminished. Participation in church activities, employment within a religious institution, or identification as a follower of Jesus does not inherently confer moral integrity, nor does it absolve individuals of ethical responsibility. In fact, I hold religious leaders, such as pastors and youth leaders, to particularly high ethical standards due to the authority and influence they possess. Churches often attract individuals who are emotionally, spiritually, or socially vulnerable and who seek guidance, safety, or community. When power imbalances exist within such contexts, there is an increased risk of exploitation or harm, especially toward children, women, and other vulnerable populations. Numerous personal accounts and documented cases illustrate that misconduct within churches has, at times, been ignored, minimized, or actively concealed in order to protect institutional reputation.

As a result of both my own experiences and those of others, returning to church has become deeply challenging. When a space that claims to offer moral guidance and refuge instead becomes a site of harm or neglect, trust is significantly eroded. My reluctance to reengage with the church is therefore not rooted in hostility toward faith, but in a critical assessment of institutional practices and their consequences.

Silvia C. Fernández García