Youth Pastor to Agnostic Atheist: A Bit More About My Journey

I have been debating about writing a more in-depth piece for quite some time. After all, I wrote my original piece (and my first blog post) in June. It's now November. It isn't exactly the easiest subject for me to talk about (it certainly isn't the toughest), but I am asked about it a lot. 

Questions, or sometimes statements, usually go a bit like this: "You were never really a youth pastor," "You were just lying to those kids," "There's no such thing as an agnostic atheist," "How did you lose your belief?" "What do you think happens to you when you die?" "Without a god to lead you, how do you have morality?" "How did everything just come from nothing?" "How can you look at our universe and deny the existence of a creator?" "Do you ever feel bad for telling the youth about Jesus?" and many others. 

As an incredibly open atheist with a religious background involving church leadership, there aren't many tough questions I haven't had to answer. With that being said, I will never shy from a question. I also don't have all the answers and appreciate those who understand that.

I suppose, before anything else, I should define what it means to be an agnostic atheist. If I were to count, I doubt I receive any questions as often as this one. It's not a bad question, and I am always inclined to answer. 

I think many people simply misunderstand what the phrase means. To start, I'll define what both words mean by themselves.

atheist: a person who disbelieves or lacks belief in the existence of God or gods.

agnostic: a person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God or of anything beyond material phenomena; a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God.

There is a fundamental difference between the two words. Atheism, which is a lack of theism, is a belief standpoint. It simply means I lack belief in any gods. My reasoning: there is no empirical evidence any gods or deities exist. Agnosticism refers strictly to knowledge and is therefore emphatically different than theism or atheism. An agnostic atheist will state we cannot know or state with certain knowledge that any deities, especially a particular God (in my case, the Christian God), exist. Most atheists I know are agnostic. There are also agnostic theists, but most theists I know would classify themselves as gnostic theists, meaning they believe in a particular deity or deities and state they can know for certain or prove the existence of their deity or deities.

What does this mean for me? Well, it means I lack belief in any gods. It doesn't mean I don't just reject the God of the Bible and the Torah and Talmud. It also means I lack belief in Allah, Buddha, Bahá'í, Mithra, Malek or any others. This includes other religions like Hinduism and Sikhism. 

It also means I won't ever tell any theist they're wrong. I won't ever say no gods exist. I find their existence highly improbable, especially with evidence of their existence either lacking or completely contrary to their religious text, but I will not say no gods exist. 

That was not always the case for me.

My father, who was born in Germany, moved to the United States and, after meeting my mother, joined the United States Army. I was born while he was stationed in Anchorage, Alaska. As much as I want this part of the story to end well, it doesn't. My father and mother divorced while I was still quite young, and my mother remarried the man I would eventually call Dad. His name was Mike Beed, and he was from a large farm in northeast Nebraska. 

After moving around a bit due to various duty station changes (including El, Paso, Texas. Who knew my hate for Texas would being prior to me even knowing who or where I was?), my mom and dad settled down near where Mike had grown up. The name of the town: Orchard, Nebraska. As you can imagine, it was named for the numerous apple orchards. Well, that must have been in 1880 because, for the life of me, I never saw a single one in 15 years. I suppose I can't be too upset, though. Another town in Nebraska is named Wahoo, and I can guarantee you nobody has ever said that while driving through it. I can certainly see people yelling that as they left, though.

My parents were't exactly religious, but those who I call my grandparents (I have never met my father's parents, and my mother's parents died either before I was born or while I was quite young) were well-respected Methodists. I can tell you, to this day, I have never heard my grandfather utter a curse word. I have heard him when he is angry, but even then he is restrained. I believe this is the mark of a good man. 

My first memory of many church events happened when I was in early elementary school. My grandparents still live on the farm Mike grew up on, and my three brothers and I would often stay there during the summer. We would work on the farm with my grandfather during the week, mostly mowing the yard, feeding the cattle, walking the beans (this means walking up and down rows of soybeans and removing any weeds we would find) and checking irrigation systems.

On Sunday mornings, we would go to this tiny Methodist church about ten minutes from their home. Grandpa Bill was either a deacon or something in the church, and Grandma Marge said it would be good if we could get involved. I remember going an hour early each week so we could take place in Bible Study. My only reasoning for this was because I wanted to be one of the cool kids that got to light the candles at the beginning of church and then use the upside down cup to put the candles out at the end of the service. I don't actually remember if I ever got to do that. I think my little brother did, though.

I also remember going to one Vacation Bible School at the United Methodist Church in Orchard. The things I remember the most: making macaroni bracelets. Man, those were the days. I really don't remember anything about scripture. 

When my mother and father moved us to Neligh (we moved around a lot when I was younger), I started attending a Methodist church. I suppose you could say I always wanted to be a Methodist. I really looked up to my grandfather, so this makes sense. I also had no idea what "CCD" was and why all the Catholic kids went to it every Wednesday night, and I had never even heard of any other denominations besides Lutheran. 

I remember, during one Christmas event at our church in Neligh, being the only one who had properly memorized my Bible verses. We had to speak them in succession in front of the congregation, and I was proud to be the only one who truly cared enough about Jesus to remember what was said about him.

After that, I don't remember going to church very often. We moved around a lot, and I also got into some trouble. I also have ADHD, and my parents had no idea how to deal with me not wanting to go home after school. If I look back, I suppose I don't know either. When I was sent away to Norfolk and then South Sioux City as a ward of the State of Nebraska from February 10, 1997 February 7, 1998, I can honestly say I don't remember going to church once. I did go to therapy a lot. I remember that. I also remember getting "special privileges," basically meaning I could go to the store and take walks without any supervision. Prior to moving back to Orchard with my parents, I was even able to attend Norfolk Public Schools. Wow, that was a lot of students for me to take in. 

I moved back home during my freshman year and immediately went back to school at Orchard. A couple kids from Kansas moved into our old house, and my brothers and I got to know them quite well. We would go to their house almost every day and play Nintendo 64. I'm not lying when I tell you I was the man to beat at Diddy Kong Racing. Oh you want the sticks? Well I guess you better beat me, huh?

A strange thing happened when I was hanging out with those guys: they invited me to go roller skating with them. Heck yea! Roller skating! I was a freshman in high school, and this was 1998. Roller skating was still cool. Leave me alone. Also, the National Museum of Rollerskating is in Lincoln, Nebraska. So, again, ha.

It was at this rollerskating get-together that I met a girl. Oh man. She was gorgeous. We hit it off right away and even spent a good part of the night just talking to each other. Well, correction, I spent another part of the night playing Ms. Pacman. Either way. It was then that she invited me to her church the following Sunday. I immediately accepted. I mean, she could be my first real girlfriend since about the sixth grade. Of course I accepted. That was the moment that changed my life.

When I went to the church, I thought it would be business as usual. It was not. The name of the church: O'Neill Assembly of God. Wow were they different! They didn't just sing. Oh no. They clapped their hands. Some jumped around. They acted like they were actually happy to be there. Even this young lady, whose name I cannot for the life of me remember, seemed genuinely enthused to be involved in this church. That meant a lot to be because, well, I wasn't really all that enthused about myself or my life. Even my friends, those jokers who had invited me to the skating event, seemed to be enjoying themselves. I thought to myself, "Hey, why not?" and started singing the words on the screen as well. 

I really really enjoyed myself. I know that I can't sing at all (not even a lick), but that didn't matter. For all I knew, nobody else there could sing either. Here's the thing, though: I wasn't focused on them. For the first time in my life, I was drawn to something else entirely. I had no idea what was going on. The outside world seemed to fade away, and I was able to finally feel at peace. To me, this was right. It had to be. 

The sermon was also different. Who knew somebody could be so passionate about something not called Nebraska football? Oh buddy, give me more of that! I didn't dedicate my life to Jesus at that point, but it wasn't long after that. 

I got to know the pastor and his family quite well (his son and I would become best friends), and I was at church every time I had an opportunity. I even went to the summer youth camp. Now that was amazing! Wow! Singing, dancing, speaking in tongues (yes, I really thought I did that a few times even though I now understand it was just gibberish and me wanting so badly to be a part of something), sports (my team DOMINATED) and even met a young lady. Side note: the beautiful young lady who initially invited me to church? As it turns out she wasn't really interested in me. Shocking, I know. Apparently she just wanted me to come to church because she wanted me to know about Jesus.

All was right in the world. I came home from church camp renewed and revitalized. I was even called a "Jesus Freak" by my friends. They just didn't see how somebody could be so into this whole Christianity thing. At the same time, they didn't judge me. They also knew our football team would be better with me on it. I was doing great. And then, of course, life has a way of throwing curve balls.

In July 1998, after I had also been diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (basically it's super difficult for me to develop and sustain any type of emotional connection or relationship with anybody), my parents informed my brothers and I that they were getting a divorce. Apparently there had been some, ahem, infidelity. My mother, against everything I said and did, informed my three brothers and me that we were moving to southeast Texas. Basically right away. Less than a month after I had gone to church camp. Ain't that a kick in the pants.

In Texas, I bounced around churches a bit (seriously, who knew there were so many denominations and that they all believe something a little different from the other?) before eventually settling on Community Church in Orange, Texas. It was there that I decided I wanted to be a youth pastor.

I was also very involved in religious programs in school. I led multiple "See You At the Pole" events and was also Vice President of the Christian club at school. This was, of course, before any of us realized it is unconstitutional for a public school to sponsor religious organizations. Outside of school, I was involved in church. When I say involved, I mean involved. I was there at least four times a week. I was an active leader in the youth group, performed songs and literary pieces all year round and was even asked, the month after I graduated high school, if I wanted to be part of a group of three people that would be youth pastor interns. 

Here's what struck me the most odd (and I suppose I never thought of it at the time): after my senior year of high school, I went with other members of my church's youth group on a mission trip to Arizona to tell the Cherokee Nation all about Jesus. While we were there, I was astounded when more than a few of the children told me they had never heard of Jesus or the Bible. I thought, "How is this possible, especially in the United States?" The thought that many other faiths exist didn't even occur to me. Looking back, that actually says a lot about how I, an 18-year old high school graduate, couldn't fathom a world without Jesus.

After high school, I went to the Navy. While in the Navy, I went to multitudes of different concerts (tobyMac was my favorite), attended more than two dozen conferences and enjoyed telling others in the military about the love of Jesus. As it turns out, pretty much all of them already knew about Jesus and didn't really care what I had to say. I don't speak much about what it was like overseas in places like Kuwait and Iraq, but I can tell you this: when we were there, they didn't care if we were Christians, Muslims or something else. They just loved us. I know that may not seem to be the case now, but there was no religion forced on anybody. 

After the military, I moved to Kansas City, Missouri. I love that place. It isn't Lincoln, Nebraska, but I suppose it'll do as a nice town. I went to a great church in KCMO, and that's where I got my start in what I'll call "real ministry." I had the opportunity to lead the youth, enjoyed being a leader in our young adult/singles group and really liked hanging out with the other young adults. 

Later that year, I had my stint as a youth pastor at a tiny church in Pembroke Pines, Florida. Honestly, I couldn't tell you if the place is even still there. This time, which amounted to about four years of my life, was tough for me. The job wasn't incredibly taxing, but it was tough because I saw what truly happens behind the scenes. I saw the politics involved. I didn't like asking people for money simply because we wanted more money. I didn't want to tailor all my messages to getting a larger crowd simply because it meant more butts in the seats and more money. I just wanted to tell people about the love of Jesus, my Savior. I realized, after many sleepless nights, that I no longer wanted to be involved in this type of ministry. I wanted to speak and to have passionate conversations, but I didn't want to do it somebody else's way. I didn't feel as though Jesus would do appreciate their ways.

When I made the tough decision to leave my place as youth pastor, I traveled a bit more before, for some reason, moving back to southeast Texas. Well, I suppose the universe has a funny way of making things happen. After becoming fairly involved with a church in Nederland, Texas, I started asking questions. These were questions that never even occurred to me in the past. I think, one day, I took the quotes from a former pastor seriously. He always said, "Check the Bible and its accuracy. Don't just believe what we tell you." I'm certain he knew few of us would actually check. I mean, who would think the religious leaders among us would lie to us? 

I had already read numerous books on apologetics (hi there, Lee Strobel) and thought I would find my questions about faith easily answered. Wow was I in for a surprise.

I found the exact opposite. It hurt. It really did. I was never somebody that took Genesis literally, but I did love my faith. I sincerely believed Jesus had died (and risen again) for me. I believed I was going to heaven, and I hated the thought of anybody I knew spending eternity damned to separation from anything "good." Heck, I had even led my older brother to Jesus. This was important stuff to me.

I like to think I wasn't the only one with questions. As I looked around church, I tried to make out those who might be struggling as I was. I even made the tough decision to approach leaders at different churches and ask them about the questions I was having. I was disheartened to be spoken at (not to) like a child, as if my searching out truth was against some code. I was told, "It's in the Bible. Read Strong's Concordance. That will clear everything up," more than once. I was never given clear answers. I was told, in Darth Vader fashion, that my lack of faith was disheartening and concerning. One pastor even remarked that he hoped I hadn't taken my questions to other people in "his" congregation. 

Needless to say, the evidence that would confirm Christianity looked bleak. There was little-to-no historical, archaeological, genealogical or even extra-Biblical evidence to support the claims made in the text I had taken as truth for so many years. I then researched other modern religions and found them to also lack evidence for most of their claims. While that would be cause for celebration among most followers of Christ, it brought me to my knees.

In early 2009, while I was walking home from work, I looked up at the stars. Even as a child, I was in awe of the beauty of our universe. When I became a Christian, I used its beauty alone to verify God's existence. As a young adult, I studied our universe. I studied the planets, the stars, the galaxies. I was always happy and at peace looking at the beautiful night sky.

That night, though, I was distraught. I needed something, anything. While looking up at the stars, for the first time in my life, I yelled at God. My words, "WHERE ARE YOU? WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME? PROVE YOU'RE THERE! ALL I'VE DONE IS TO LIVE FOR YOU, AND YOU CONTINUE TO STAY HIDDEN. JUST SHOW ME YOU EXIST!"

Needless to say, there was no voice from the heavens. There was no magical light that shone on me. There was just...nothing. My worst fears had come true, and I sat on the sidewalk and cried for almost an hour. I was lost inside. What would I do now? What direction would my life take? Would my entire world fall apart? What would I do? 

My older brother once told me he has marveled at how quickly I bounce back from even the most dire situations. I think that's supposed to be taken as a compliment. On this night, though, I saw no bouncing back. All I saw was despair. I was beyond sad. I was angry, unsettled. As I picked up my backpack and finished my walk home, I wondered how I could ever find peace and happiness again. It had been over a decade. The only way I understood love was in the religious sense. How could I love others without direction? That question, along with many others, floated through my head as I got into my apartment, showered and crawled under my blankets. 

For the first time in years, I didn't pray before going to sleep. In fact, I didn't think much at all. I fell asleep almost instantly. I don't remember any dreams. 

When I woke up, I wasn't groggy. My mind was immediately thinking about the previous evening (and the years of research prior), but I wasn't sad. I didn't cry. I didn't feel as though my world was ending. 

I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, made a cup of coffee (yea yea), sat in front of my computer and made (up to that point) the toughest decision in my life. I knew there was no going back, but I knew it was time. 

I logged onto Facebook, took about three seconds to consider what I would write in this public post and let my fingers do the talking.

"Hello. My name is Nathaniel Walters, and I'm an atheist."