When Aaron and I first broke up, it took me weeks before I would listen to music. Months before I could talk about it. It was so much a part of our relationship that whenever I heard a song, I would analyze it, debating whether or not it was good. Did the chorus fit the melody? Were the lyrics trite and if so, did the musicality make up for it? Who were the songwriter’s influences and was it anything original? All of these questions led back to the person that taught me so much about a part of the world I was unfamiliar with just years before. His influence in my life reached so much deeper than music, but it was the audible manifestation of all my pain. Even now some artists make me ache in ways that will never fully heal.
Most people have been through gut-wrenching break-ups. The kind that make you do things you would’ve never imagined, as a sane person, you could do. You lie on the floor of your bedroom watching the ceiling fan spin and you question every day spent together. You wonder what could have been done differently. You wonder if you made a mistake in the first place. (That’s what I did at least. I’m guessing people have different reactions to things, but you understand the sentiment.) When relationships end it’s like someone dies. The harsh reality of something existing hangs in the air, but it’s no longer there. You can’t bring it back. It’s forever changed.
Lately I’ve been feeling the aches of a metaphysical break-up. It’s been a little more subtle than a romantic one, but there nonetheless. Growing up I spent a lot of time in church. I was saved by the age of four, was baptized by my dad at ten and in Bible College at eighteen. I was on fire for Christ. I wanted to save the world. My passion for the widowed, orphaned and poor drove me to West Virginia. My love for the Word led me to Bible studies and summer camps. As weird as it may sound to some people, I was in love with God. So much of who I am comes from this. My compassion and understanding, my desire for justice and reform, my sense of morality and honesty stem from Five Day Clubs and church retreats.
In college I studied the Bible and philosophy (at the Bible College). Hermeneutics of the Good Book and clean Christian living* were a part of my every day life. What happened in those two years forever changed my relationship with God and religion as a whole. Mainly, I discovered talents and desires that were stifled previously. (Mostly by me but by my environment as well.) This discovery led to my interest in art history and aesthetics. I believe the most profound change occurred with the introduction of the problem of evil. Even today I am haunted by this riddle that’s deeply rooted in logic and semantics. Essentially it states that if God is good, all-knowing and all-powerful then evil cannot exist in the world. It does and therefore God cannot exist. The Christian reaction to this problem is that we are not God and couldn’t possibly know the reasons for which God does things. Some would say that this is the best possible world we could live in, a world where we can choose between good and evil. It makes our love for God that much more meaningful because it was a choice. I understand the Biblical and theological foundations of this answer, but I am not satisfied with it.
I can imagine a better world. One where we choose good regardless of the options given, one where God does not need an opposite. If God created everything then there can’t be anywhere God does not exist (a common definition of evil). I’m told this is where faith takes shape. For me, it’s a deal-breaker. The absurdity that my God (the one the I grew up with, had a relationship with and trusted beyond intellect) would allow man to disrupt His perfect creation was so far outside what I knew of Him, I felt like I never knew Him in the first place. The disappointment and pain that I’ve felt over this can be likened to finding out a lover has lied not only about what he does for a living, but doesn’t care about the things he said he did so many years ago. I feel cheated. If evil is part of his divine plan, then what am I doing? Why do I feel immense empathy for people I’ve never met? Why would I travel to Africa to help people grow food, if I’m just picking up the pieces of a plan that God put into motion in the first place? It doesn’t make sense. I can’t just swallow it and trust that what’s been taught to me is still valid, but just different than I thought. I didn’t subscribe to this God. I’m left feeling isolated. I’ve tried praying but everyday it feels more like I’m just talking to the walls. I’ve tried reading the Bible but the verses seem either too harsh or too saccharine. Now I can’t even open it up or walk into a church without feeling weighed down. As with many breakups I feel like an idiot. I should have thought this through earlier, maybe worked it out so there could have been a compromise. The person I’ve become and the God I thought I knew are turning out to be different. It’s just not working out.
With religion day-to-day life becomes easier. (In some regards it is harder, I know.) When I woke up in the morning I felt loved and accepted. Whenever I had to make a life decision I relied on the knowledge that God had a plan for me and would guide my steps regardless of the mistakes I made. Now, I’m left up to my own devices. The similarities between this break up and the ones I’ve experienced before are surprising. The major difference is that religion is a lifestyle. The basis of who you are is dependent on what you believe. Now I feel like I’m 16 again deciding what clubs to join and who I want to be. I guess I have to find a way to love myself and make decisions that will please me. I have to learn how to be self-dependent. The world is a lot scarier when you face it alone. **
*This is definitely a subjective idea. Most people that know me really well know that clean is far from the truth.
**And yes, I realize I am not entirely alone. I have people who love and support me (and I them, seriously, I love you guys) I mainly mean alone in my headspace.
*** I’m starting an online journal again. I promise I’m not this negatively intense all the time. Lemme know if you want the info.
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