Therapist Reads “Another Gospel?” by Alisa Childers
As a therapist, I am constantly seeking to understand and empathize with perspectives different from my own. I often work with people who have experienced spiritual abuse/trauma in a conservative evangelical church context, so when someone recommended, “Another Gospel?” by Alisa Childers, it felt like an opportunity to understand the conservative evangelical experience of progressive Christianity. Childers is a conservative Christian who unexpectedly found herself in a progressive Christian bible study, and she uses this book to process her responses to the progressive Christian thoughts she encountered there.
Reading this book was also a unique experience for me to understand my own roots more deeply. I grew up in and have come out of an evangelical church tradition. Alisa Childers was actually the lead singer of a band I listened to in my childhood. As someone who now identifies as a progressive Christian, it was like hearing a childhood role model speak through time to my current faith expression. A rare opportunity.
*Brief Note
Before jumping in to some of my reflections on Childers’ way of addressing progressive Christian thought, I do want to say a few things about the accuracy of the information contained in this book. There are multiple places throughout the book where Childers makes claims about historic Christianity that imply it was monolithic, or where she takes a quote from a theologian to back up a belief that she holds even though that theologian’s belief on the topic is in direct opposition to hers. If you choose to read this book, I highly recommend fact checking her claims and keeping in mind that she often doesn’t accurately represent others’ work and ideas.
As a therapist reading this book, I want to focus the rest of my reflections on what it was like to sit with the way she processes the new ideas she experiences in the progressive Christian study.
““I have no idea why those specific two questions had popped into my mind at that moment. Maybe it’s because you can’t really have a rational discussion about the deity of Jesus unless you believe the Bible is God’s word. Perhaps it’s because none of it would even matter if hell didn’t exist. If everyone is going to heaven, what is even the point of having any kind of conversation around the finer theological points?””
Fear
It should feel like a fair characterization to say that there is a deep undercurrent of fear running throughout the book. Childers describes her anxiety in nearly every chapter as she encounters different theological beliefs, particularly the idea that none of us can have certainty. At the beginning and end of the book she talks about how the progressive ideas she has encountered continue to “haunt” her, even now, as she tries to maintain her belief framework and when she reads the Bible.
This experience of “haunting” isn’t surprising, as “absolute certainty” requires most people to have a tremendous amount of cognitive dissonance, especially when dealing with questions as big as God, faith, and the afterlife. Regardless of how faithful or devout a person is, we all have to reckon with what we don’t know, and what we can’t know.
And that is a scary cliff to look out from — the edge of what we know and don’t know. Childers appears to deal with that fear by running back to where she came from (something I can definitely relate to as part of my own journey). When you face something terrifying, it is normal to attempt to retreat to safety. The only problem is that a rigid and “certain” way of responding to this fear leads you to a place of perpetual avoidance, trying to erase the fear with the ever elusive experience of complete confidence. It’s impossible to achieve and typically comes across to others as disingenuous (in our bones we know we don’t have the ability to have certain knowledge).
Ironically, I’ve found in my life and in my work that the best way to deal with the fear of what we don’t know is to acknowledge it and accept it. The more we avoid something that causes us fear, the greater that fear becomes. We live in a world that is full of truly scary things, there is no denying it. But the truth is we have the ability to look at what we don’t know and what we fear, and tolerate it. We can be brave. In our best moments, we may even be able to make meaning out of it.
Reduction
In order to retreat back into certainty, Childers consistently simplifies and reduces progressive ideas. This shouldn’t be surprising, as when Childers encounters ideas she disagrees with, she needs to have an answer to them to maintain her feeling of definitely being right. Without an immediate answer there is no certainty.
To make matters worse, instead of acknowledging differences within Christianity (which have been present from the very start of the religion), she chooses to characterize progressive Christians as not Christians at all. A very painful characterization for anyone who doesn’t agree with her theology but finds the Christian identity to be their core self.
If you hold the progressive beliefs she is simplifying, you would likely (and rightly) feel misunderstood, hurt, frustrated, angry, or irritated reading her work. You might even feel further justified in leaving this form of faith expression. All valid.
Given the language she uses in the book, it’s pretty clear Childers isn’t writing this book to talk with progressive Christians or persuade them to her way of thinking. She’s having an internal conversation with herself and other conservatives, seeking to provide reassurance to their anxiety and her own. Her main method of doing so is discrediting those who believe differently from her and suggesting relatively simplistic answers to complex questions.
Conclusion
Because this book isn’t a conversation, I won’t end my reflections speaking directly to Childers (she likely doesn’t want to be spoken to). Instead I want to spend a moment talking to anyone who identifies as exvangelical, agnostic/atheist, or some form of progressive Christian. If you have someone in your life like Childers, how do you sit with the ideas expressed in Childers’ book?
I would start by recognizing within yourself that there isn’t a real discussion going on here, and if you enter into dialogue (with her or someone like her) hoping for that, you should expect further disappointment. It’s notable that on many social media platforms that might invite discussion with progressive Christians, Childers disables comments or doesn’t have a presence. You will feel like you’re talking to wall. It may be cathartic to speak to a wall, but it also might not be — check in with yourself before attempting to engage and consider how it may impact you.
Normalize the feelings of anger, sadness, and frustration that come from hearing her perspective, and engage in advocacy in spaces that feel productive to you. Even if she (and others like her) aren’t speaking to you, she is speaking about you. As she perpetuates the validity of her views, she moves people away from considering other perspectives back in to the evangelical certainty framework. This likely has a negative impact on your life, potentially in very concrete ways. Her views bolster LGBTQ+ exclusion (and the abuses and tragedies that come with it), sexual shame, gender ideology, terrifying views of the afterlife, and a fear based way of living that is a barrier to a welcome and inclusive society for all sorts of people.
While this isn’t a requirement, I recommend alongside your anger/sadness/frustration and your advocacy for different worldviews, consider holding a space of compassion for Childers. If there’s any parts of her experience that resonate with the places in you that have felt fear and shame, or the parts of you that have felt comfort and meaning making in your faith framework, her difficulty in moving through her own process will make sense. That does not excuse or validate her choices or her ideas. You can feel angry at someone, ask for change, and ,at the same time, feel compassion for them. You don’t have to choose, and you may find that compassion will make your own load lighter.