Losing My Religion Read Online Free

would involve singing about God, praising Him, talking about Jesus and doing a lot of sharing. It all reminded me too much of the Christianity I had the most exposure to and hated: the Reverend Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson and televangelists who talked about “JEEZ-us!” I liked my faith private—and without outward signs of emotion.
    Walking into the retreat center’s conference room, I noticed how ordinary the members of my retreat looked. They could have been mistaken for a bunch of guys gathered in Las Vegas to watch the Final Four basketball tournament. They ranged in age from late teens to more than 70. The group included students, doctors, attorneys, contractors, repairmen, engineers and retirees. Besides a love for the Lord, their common trait seemed to be an insatiable hunger for junk food. Our meeting room was filled with tables holding buckets of Red Vine licorice, boxes of Hershey chocolate bars, huge bags of M&Ms, bowls of pretzels and cases of Coke and root beer.
    The weekend’s schedule was simple. The group met in a rustic conference room, with chairs lined up in rows to mimic church pews. A makeshift band—which was surprisingly good—played a series of worship songs, whose lyrics were projected on a screen. A few songs into each session, many of the men, carried away by emotion, began to sing at the top of their lungs, their voices cracking; a few started to cry.
    Next came the personal testimonies. The first guy who stood up was Bud, a tall and burly contractor with an oversized personality. He was the retreat’s natural leader. Normally the court jester, he got serious quickly as he quietly told the group that his wife of 20 years no longer loved him, that his business was failing and that at age 50, all his life’s dreams had been shattered.
    “I wasn’t the man she needed me to be so she checked out,” Bud said, wiping tears from his eyes. “She told me, ‘I don’t respect you, I don’t love you and I don’t see how this marriage can possibly work out.’”
    Besides a few sniffles, the room was dead quiet. This kind of honesty among men was rare and breathtaking. Bud went on to say that his wife had given him plenty of warning signs that he needed to change, but, thinking divorce wasn’t an option for a Christian marriage, he didn’t feel the urgency to heed her words. Few people in the room knew of Bud’s marriage problems. His confession came as a shock. Bud, knowing this, said men shouldn’t keep their pain bottled up inside. He had waited until it was too late. They needed to confess their problems to others and reach out for help when they needed it. It’s the way God wants it.
    As Bud finished, someone said quietly, “Let’s pray for him.” Several of his friends got up and placed their hands on his wide shoulders as everyone prayed for him, his wife, their marriage and their three boys.
    Hearing Bud’s story was both shocking and oddly encouraging. He had made a mess of his life, just as I had. And he believed following God was the way out. But looking at Bud and his gregarious personality, no one would ever have guessed the pain he was experiencing. I felt an instant kinship to him and we remain friends to this day.
    The weekend’s guest speaker, a retired pastor, then gave a themed talk about how to live the Christian life. The structure of the weekend, I was beginning to discover, was carefully designed to break down our defense mechanisms. It was exhausting, emotional and active (a lot of singing and talking, not just listening). After more worship songs, we were placed in six-person groups for more intimate talks about our lives. I absolutely loathed this part of the weekend. I didn’t know my fellow group members, and people were sharing the most intimate parts of their lives, sometimes for the first time. I said as little as possible. Finally, another round of prayers concluded the session.
    This cycle of singing, testimony, preaching, sharing and praying