BURN THE HOUSE
Introduction: Or, Why Does the World Need Another Book Like This?
"What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun."
-Ecclesiastes 1:9
Look, I get it.
Another white, straight man in his mid-40s writing a book about growing up in the Evangelical tradition, falling out of love with the church, wandering for a bit, and then slowly and hesitantly beginning the process of returning to faith.
Hasn't this been done? Do we really need another book like this? Hasn’t this book already been written?
If I'm being honest, the answer is probably no. We don’t. The world is filled with books written by people that look just like me, telling stories very similar to the ones I'm going to tell you. You can head over to any bookseller and find pages upon pages of "spiritual memoirs" or whatever you may classify this book as being. I hesitate to call this a “memoir” because I’m not sure I’ve lived enough life to write a memoir. Just like I wouldn’t buy a parenting book written by someone with one six-month old, or a marriage book written by someone who is 9 months into their marriage. The idea of writing a “memoir” at 43 makes me feel a bit icky if I’m being honest. But I’m not sure what else to call it, so for the purposes of this book, spiritual memoir will have to do.
I've fought the idea of writing this book for a long time. For the exact reasons that you're probably hesitant to read it. Because I believed that the world had heard enough stories from people like me. That my voice was just noise that would be lost in the ether. That there are an untold number of authors from an untold number of oppressed, marginalized, and ostracized groups that deserve to be heard and have their stories told.
And I still believe that to be true. There are so many amazing books being written by so many incredible authors from all sorts of underrepresented groups. You should absolutely go buy and read those books. At the back of this book there is a list of books that have had an impact on me. I’ve broken them down by their type and their author’s identities (Black, Trans, Native, etc.)
In fact, put this book down, go read one (or several) of the ones listed in the back, then come back.
Okay great, you’re back. Weren’t those books fantastic?
This brings us back to the question of why. Why exactly should you read this book? Beyond that, why do we even need this book?
It's a fair question. I'd like to humbly put forward a few reasons why I'm writing this book, who I’m writing the book for, why I think it may be worth your time to read, and why the world at large needs another book like this.
1. I'm Writing this Book for Me
I'm sure you're a lovely person. You are probably incredibly polite. You tip well at the coffee shops. You don't cut people off when you're driving. You say "please" and "thank you." You let the person with 2 items at the grocery store go in front of you when you have a cart full.
Who knows? We may have even crossed paths at some point. Maybe we attended the same church. Maybe we had jobs at the same company. Maybe we had mutual friends.
Or maybe we're complete strangers.
Whether we know one another or not, you're great. Let's get that out of the way.
Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you talk on your phone when you order your coffee or you stand really far behind the person in front of you when you’re in a line (CLOSE THE GAP!)
Either way, you’re here, reading this, so thanks.
But I'm not primarily writing this book for you.
I realize that sounds harsh. Shouldn't an author write a book for people to read? I mean, everybody writes a book with an audience in mind, right? Tolkien didn't write The Lord of the Rings trilogy just for him to sit back and admire. He wrote it FOR someone (or at least I assume he did. Maybe he didn’t. I dunno.)
And in a lot of ways, I'm writing this book FOR an audience.
However, I'm not primarily writing this for an audience. I'm sure the people closest to me that I love will read it and say nice things about it and give me compliments (Hi Mom and Dad!), and that's great, but they're not my focus.
I'm writing this book for ME.
My brain is a mess. It is a complex matrix of intersecting pathways and synapses and neurons. It makes the LA freeway system look like a small town. It's filled with movie quotes, sports facts, trivia knowledge, and just a tiny bit of the 7 years of Spanish that I took through Middle & High School.
A lot of folks seem to be able to categorize and organize things and thoughts just fine. I'm not one of those people. I don't know if there's some latent ADHD somewhere in there, or if it's a result of the religious anxiety (that we'll get to later,) but I often don't actually know what I think about something until I've either spoken it out loud, or written it down. I’m a textbook verbal processor. God bless my therapist for being able to make sense of my ramblings.
If you put a hidden camera in my house, you'd find me talking to myself when I'm alone. It's just something I've always done. My oldest daughter did it, and my youngest daughter does it. When I'm cleaning the house or doing dishes or just home alone, I'm often talking through some current event or heavy topic, trying to figure out what it is that I actually think about that thing. Is it healthy? Who knows.
Is it embarrassing? Slightly.
Is it what I need to do in order to get my thoughts out and work through my feelings about whatever it is that I'm engaging with? Absolutely.
So ultimately, I'm writing this book for myself. To have a record of my faith journey. To put down into words the things that have been floating around in my rush-hour-traffic-freeway of a brain for years. To really get some clarity on WHY my journey has taken the path that it has. Because more often than not, my journey has been maddeningly frustrating. It would be so much easier if that journey was just a straight line, but as you’ll see in the forthcoming chapters, it’s more of a toddler-coloring-book-scribble than it is a line.
2. I'm Writing This Book for My Kids
I may have lied before.
Yes, I'm primarily writing this book for me. But I'm also a dad of three daughters. At the time of writing this, they're 16, 13, and 10. They're all whip smart, compassionate, funny, and an absolute blast to be around (most of the time.)
We're not a strict house, but we've got some rules. The kids do their laundry. They help empty and load the dishwasher. They're respectful of the people that live in our house. When they make messes, they’re expected to clean them up. When they hurt feelings, they apologize. They know that we share a space (that feels far too small at times) and they need to be mindful of that. All the basic human things that come with living in a house with other people.
We've taken them to church since they were babies. It's just something that we've always done. When they were young, they'd run off to whatever kid's class was happening while the grown ups went to church. Now the older two sit with us in the main service while the youngest has a class with kids her own age. They're often drawing or reading, but the point for us isn't really "sit and hear about Jesus." If it was, there are podcasts that could accomplish the same thing without having to put on pants on a Sunday morning.
My kids have agency over their own spiritual journeys, and at no point am I going to force them to believe a thing just because I happen to. They get to decide what they do and don't believe, and at least one of them has already made a decision like that. They come with us (usually only about once a month because there seems to always be a soccer game on Sunday mornings) because it's something we do as a family. Lately, we’ve even taken to giving them the option on those Sunday mornings, which I know is making my old pastor roll over in his grave. More often than not, the little one goes with us while the older two sleep in.
In that vein, I want to write this book to leave for them a testament to their own dad's spiritual journey. A lot of us who grew up in the faith have spiritual memories of our parents. Dads sitting in an easy chair with their worn out copy of the bible on their laps. Moms praying for the kids as they go off to school. Those kinds of things. Because my journey has been chaotic (to say the least,) my kids don't have those memories. So I want to give them something that they'll read someday, maybe giving them a glimpse into why dad did certain things, or what dad was going through at that particular moment in his life.
And if they choose not to read it, that's okay too.
3. I'm Writing This Book For Those that Feel Alone
As a pastor's kid (a lot more on that later,) I know better than most just how lonely spiritual displacement can be. How disorienting, heartbreaking, and devastating it can be to suddenly not have that anchor to cling to in the midst of the storm. To feel that no matter how tightly you’ve lashed yourself to the mast of the ship, you’ll be tossed overboard anyhow.
Where once your inclination at hardship was to pray, it's now to cry. Or curse. Or scream. Or shut down. Or all of the above at the same time.
Where you once had all of the answers, suddenly all you have are questions (and when you’re raised in certainty, questions are terrifying.)
Where you once had a fire and passion for the things of Jesus, all you've been left with is a smoldering pile of embers. Glowing embers that are rapidly dying. A house of faith that you’ve carefully built over the course of years, or decades, falling apart all around you.
I think one of the greatest disservices that modern Evangelicalism has done to this generation is to convince them that the fire will never go out. As long as you keep feeding the flames, they'll continue to burn bright. Pray. Read. Fast. Give. DO!
The problem with a house that is falling down is that sometimes, just sometimes, no matter what you do to it, it can’t be salvaged. No amount of paint, new appliances, fresh carpet, shiny hardwood floors, or expensive modern fixtures is going to hide the fact that the very walls that were once holding the house up are now crumbling. The roof is caving in, and if you don’t deal with it soon, the house is going to collapse and take you along with it.
What happened?
Maybe the house wasn’t built correctly. Maybe it was built by someone else on specifications that made no sense to you. Specifications that weren’t practical for you. That didn’t meet your needs. The walls weren’t insulated. The joists weren’t attached. The windows weren’t sealed. There’s black mold everywhere.
To put it bluntly, someone built a house for you, moved you in, and now you’re stuck living in a place that is slowly killing you.
Maybe this is where you are.
Maybe you’re standing in the middle of the house of your faith, looking around at its crumbling walls, wondering what went wrong. Wondering how the very place that once provided you such warmth, comfort, and security, is now slowly suffocating you.
You don’t know what to do, but you know you can’t spend another day in that place.
Friend, can I tell you what you may need to do?
Burn.
The.
House.
How I wish someone had come alongside me when my walls were crumbling and told me that slapping paint and wallpaper over a wall that is falling down is pointless. That I didn’t have to try to salvage what was left of my house.
All I had to do was walk away.
Get a match and some gasoline.
And burn the house.
Burn it to the ground, and stand in the midst of a heap of ashes and ask myself one simple question.
“Now that the house is gone, what sort of house do I want to rebuild?”
So this book is for me. This book is for my girls. And this book is for those who know that they want to, or need to, burn their house, but just don't know how or where to start.
They just know that the old one wasn't built right. They want to build one that will last. That will stand the test of time. One that will be a safe haven for scores of people looking for refuge. For people that have been cast out of their own homes. For those that have burned their own houses and are looking for the courage to rebuild.
This book is broken into sections. I'm telling stories as best as I can remember them. They are true to me, right now, in my own memory. Did they actually happen exactly as they are written? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s like I tell my girls. A story doesn’t have to be true, for it to teach you the truth.
Maybe this will be helpful for you. Maybe you'll look at it and laugh. Maybe you'll recognize yourself in my journey. Or maybe you'll recognize one of your kids, or friends, or family members.
Whatever the case may be, I hope that you'll come away knowing that the thing that is standing between you and the warmth and security of the faith that you so desperately crave may just be a pile of ashes, and a plan for a new house.
Built the right way.
A house that stands up to the storms. That fits. That works. That has a seat at the table for everyone, no matter who they are.
If that's something you're looking for, this book is for you.
So get your matches. Grab the gasoline. And let’s burn the damn house down together.
And resurrect a new one in its place.