Unlike fasting from sugar, social media or coffee, giving up religion for 40 days has surprisingly left me with little to no temptation or relapse. My finger tips don’t quite tingle at the thought of opening my Bible and I’m not yearning to go out in the world with a discipleship team and pray with strangers. I’m beginning to think this might be one habit that will carry over long after the Lenten season ends.

Before all the church ladies in my life panic that they’ve failed me and start praying without ceasing, I need to clarify that I’m still a highly spiritual person. Despite how many times I’ve tried abandoning the Christian label, it seems like it’s here to stay–as God often is. 

Faith and religion are two different concepts, and what I mean by religion are all the obligatory rituals I’ve practiced solely in an attempt to gain the approval of other people: perfect attendance at Sunday service, volunteering to pray at the end of Bible studies and agreeing to uncomfortable mentor sessions with church elders.

During my impressionable early twenties, I’d summarized all of these actions as “Good Christian” qualities; the “Good Christian” being perfectly joyful, Pro-Life, married at 19 and easily abstaining from ripped jeans, foul language and bad attitude. Naturally by comparison, I concluded that God had programmed me incorrectly, having accidentally included stubbornness, sarcasm, feminism, an interest in tattoos and a discomfort with fundamentalist Christianity. 

I’d begun overcompensating for my low self esteem by agreeing to every event and volunteer opportunity just to disguise myself more like this “Good Christian.” I masked my “Unchristian” anger, frustration and discontentment with disingenuous love, compliance and patience. I’d humored (and later resented) obligatory coffee dates with unenjoyable company because canceling would have been “Unchristian” of me.

In this process I naturally withheld my democratic political affiliation, opinions on same-sex marriage and feelings on abortion because I feared it didn’t fit the mold of conservative Christian dogma—which I’d been conditioned to believe was the only dogma—but always knew that it never did and never would. 

I no longer trusted myself to hear directly from God after being strongly encouraged to “seek counsel” and allow other people to dictate the divine experience for me. I had difficulty voicing personal boundaries and too often felt that I was in defense of my personal beliefs and decisions. The more I tried looking like a “Good Christian,” the less I looked and felt like myself.

After leaving such a stifling church environment, I was still so grimy with religious muck that I had trouble seeing myself or my world clearly. It took months of professional therapy to wash the shame away.

So while this was years in the making, I’ve confidently given up religion for Lent. I’ve not attended one Lenten church service or started one devotional on the Bible app. Moreover, I have not asked one person for their opinion on my prayer life or allowed one ounce of unsolicited spiritual advice to enter my ears. 

I’m starting to regain a healthy balance of humility and confidence, no longer accepting that just because my beliefs may be different than others’ they are inherently wrong. I’ve finally found myself in the daily presence of a God who welcomes my uncensored prayers and emotions;  who understands the flaws of my humanity, never holding me to a standard of perfection; who holds me accountable for my choices but does not punish them.

Realistically, I don’t think I’ll abandon religion forever. It’s the student in me who enjoys scribbling notes during a sermon and the artist who appreciates the orchestration of a contemporary worship service. But for now, indefinitely, I’m allowing myself to shamelessly repose and recover, as Jesus said “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Feature photo by Akira Hojo on Unsplash