Evangelicals and the surrender of privacy

I have a tendency to pull away from people during times of stress. Sometimes this is a necessary thing to do, but it was completely forbidden in my experience with Evangelical World.

During a summer retreat in Estes Park, Colorado with my college church, I fell in love with the idea of complete authenticity. How annoying is it to give the colloquial response “I’m fine” to store clerks who ask how you’re doing, even when you’re not? No one actually admits the truth. We all know that “How are you?” is really more of a greeting than a sincere inquiry.

Everyone was transparent that summer. You could walk up to a stranger at lunch, sit down next to them, and immediately learn everything you never thought you’d want to know about what that person’s life is like. A single conversation could include stories of painful divorces, struggles with internet porn, and drug use without ever learning anyone’s last name. Yes, at times this was extremely intimidating, but in a way, it was also refreshing. Without any pretenses or masks, you knew exactly whom you could trust.

I resolved to be completely authentic after that summer: no more “I’m great, how are you?” platitudes if I wasn’t feeling that great. Wasn’t it a sin to lie, anyway?

That authenticity phase didn’t last a week beyond the retreat. I returned home, got a job at a local restaurant, saw my rapist’s mother walk in and immediately had a panic attack. I started counseling, anti-depressants, and really dealing with un-faced trauma. I started drinking. Complete authenticity? Yeah, screw that.

But there were some bible studies and prayer groups I joined where privacy wasn’t a choice; or at least, it was highly frowned upon. The idea of being open among strangers is terrifying for many people, even without a history of trauma. Just being introverted makes me uncomfortable having to speak in front of crowds if it’s not necessary. I prefer the option of quiet listening and one-on-one conversations. When you are the only one in a small group who hasn’t said anything, though, your lack of participation is obvious. For me, it was not viewed as silent participation, but rebellion. We were Christians; we were a community. That community was automatic because we all loved Jesus, and as such, we had to be open and honest with one another so we could hold each other accountable for any sins.

Per small group instructions, I tried explaining some of my issues once to someone with zero concept of depression and anxiety as legitimate mental disorders. It didn’t go very well. In fact, it scared me out of opening up to people I don’t know ever again, because until I use my own judgment to determine whether or not a person is “safe,” I will be making myself vulnerable to getting hurt. That’s how many churches end up with an increase of empty seats. You can’t force community any more than you can ask someone to do you a favor in such a way that is really volun-telling instead of volunteering.

There is one instance I can think of in which being completely authentic among strangers was one of the best things that happened to me, only it wasn’t me who opened up: it was my future best friend, Kelly. On the first day of Intro to Counseling at seminary, there was a student who made a remark that depression was nothing more than a label used to justify sin. To add further insult to such a horrendous injury, the woman also added that “true Christians” wouldn’t face depression if they had true joy and contentment in Christ.

It was Kelly who immediately stood up and responded, “I’m a Christian, and I have depression. I’ve felt Jesus going through it with me. You can’t tell me that my relationship with him isn’t real.”

I had never been so proud of someone I didn’t know. Immediately after class, I went up to her and introduced myself. She is one of the few people from that toxic environment that I still keep in touch with, though I do wish I hadn’t had to pay $30,000 to be able to meet her. But, “there is a season for everything under the sun,” including an unfinished graduate degree. And through her I have learned that it’s okay to be have faith and still wrestle with doubt; she is one of my favorite sounding boards to share those doubts with.

Now that is community done well.


3 thoughts on “Evangelicals and the surrender of privacy

  1. I totally feel this! I think authenticity is important. But intentionality and discernment is even more so! I’d rather have someone practice good judgement and guard their hearts (and be true to what they need in practicing self-care) than be buzzword “authentic” when I ask how they’re doing. True community means having the freedom to say, “I’m okay, thanks,” when you don’t want to say any more, and the breathing room to say, “Actually, really awful, can we talk about it?” when you want/need/feel safe to. I have a friend who is really good at knowing when I’m not okay, even if I don’t necessarily want to or have the words to talk about it, and I don’t mind when she presses because I know there is no guilt trip to follow, no ulterior motive. On the flip side, I’ve been in a group where vulnerability and authenticity was stuffed down our throats and people complained audibly and often when some of us chose not to open up to a group of 20 people (hm, I wonder why?!).


  2. “I’m a Christian, and I have depression. I’ve felt Jesus going through it with me. You can’t tell me that my relationship with him isn’t real.”

    That’s beautiful – I’ve known for a while that Jesus is with us even when we suffer and that suffering can be used to grow closer to Him (can be not always is), but I’ll admit I’ve never really perceived it myself. I love hearing from / about people that can perceive it.


  3. I’ve felt this pressure to open up in Bible study groups as well. There would be a “how are you feeling/what have you done this past week” moment where you were supposed to be really candid, as well as, a request for personal prayer suggestions. As an introvert and quite a shy person this didn’t feel comfortable at all. I tried my best to be as open as possible but it was a little devastating to get the same feedback year after year about not being open enough… Since the groups changed each year and I realized after a while that contacts would then lessen, I felt even more uncomfortable to be open to people who I probably wouldn’t socialize that much with in the long run. As a result, I became even more closed off, since it takes a while for me to trust people. Anyway, when I finally stopped going it felt like a relief. It would have stopped anyway as it was just for students, but I didn’t realize how much pressure (to perform) I had been under until after I left. I guess what I’m saying in this rather long comment, is: I hear you 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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