Throwback Thursday: Deconstructing Faith, Reconstructing Hope
I didn’t grow up needing to deconstruct my faith.
I was raised in the United Church of Canada—a denomination that, for all its flaws, never taught me God’s love was conditional. I wasn’t handed shame wrapped in salvation. I wasn’t told that questions were rebellion or that doubt was dangerous. My tradition made space for ambiguity, complexity, and compassion. It gave me room to breathe.
But I’ve also sat beside enough people who have had to deconstruct their faith to know that the journey is holy—and hard.
That’s where Prepared to Drown began. Our very first episode, “Raging Waters,” plunged into what it means to unlearn a faith that once felt secure. Not because it stopped being sacred, but because it stopped being honest.
Rev. Joanne Anquist shared her story of leaving behind a tightly held evangelical framework. Not because she stopped loving God, but because she could no longer reconcile that God with the one she sensed in her spirit. Her faith didn’t crumble from apathy—it fell apart under the weight of spiritual dissonance. Her story, and so many others like it, made one thing clear: deconstruction isn’t a trend. It’s a form of grief. And it’s a search for integrity.
I may not have had to walk that same path, but I’ve learned how important it is to walk alongside it.
In Episode 3, “Baptism by Eggnog,” we reflected on incarnation and the Christmas story—not just as a sentimental tradition, but as a disruptive force of hope. We questioned what it means to believe in “God with us” in a pluralistic, often unjust world. And we named how even beloved rituals can feel hollow if they don’t connect to real life. That conversation reminded me: even people who’ve lost faith in church structures may still hunger for the sacred story beneath it all.
Then in Episode 4, “Narcissus at the Pool,” Rev. Tony Snow brought Indigenous wisdom to the table, challenging how Christianity has been used to justify nationalism, colonization, and control. He offered a vision of gospel that resists empire and reclaims relationship—with land, with one another, and with Spirit. It reframed faith not as certainty, but as ceremony and kinship. Listening to Tony, I was reminded that deconstruction isn’t only personal—it’s also collective. We aren’t just rebuilding our faith for ourselves. We’re unlearning the harm it’s done to others.
And in Episode 5, “The Love Boat,” we confronted the damage purity culture has inflicted on bodies, relationships, and self-worth. Our guests shared stories of shame and silence, of longing for intimacy that wasn’t bound by fear. We talked about embodiment, agency, and the sacredness of pleasure. It was funny and raw and hard—and so deeply needed. Because reconstructing faith means reclaiming the dignity of our own skin. It means saying that the gospel is good news for every part of us, including our desire.
Taken together, these episodes don’t offer a blueprint for what comes after deconstruction. But they do offer a rhythm: listen, grieve, remember, rebuild. Not toward something perfect, but toward something true.
I still believe in church. I still believe in Christ. But I’ve come to understand that the church we need is one that can hold grief and doubt and discomfort—not just as problems to be fixed, but as sacred parts of the journey.
Because the people around us aren’t leaving because they don’t care. They’re leaving because they care too much to fake it.
Jesus never said, “Get your theology straight.” He said, “Follow me.”
He didn’t demand orthodoxy—he modelled love.
He didn’t build walls—he broke bread.
So maybe reconstructing faith looks less like rebuilding an old house and more like planting a garden—one where there’s space for mystery, justice, tenderness, and transformation.
If you’re someone rebuilding from the rubble of a faith that hurt you, I want you to know: you are not alone. And you are not without God.
And if you’re someone like me—who didn’t need to deconstruct—I hope you’ll join me in the sacred work of listening. Of unlearning what needs to be unlearned. And of making room at the table for stories we were never taught to hold.
Because faith isn’t something we inherit and preserve. It’s something we shape together.