7 Pushbacks I Hear All the Time — What I Want to Say (and What I Actually Do)
An honest look at how I handle the most common things people say to me since going public with my faith shift. If you're deconstructing, you've probably heard them too
These are seven things people have said to me for most of my life.
But ever since I “went public” with where my faith journey has taken me, I hear every single one of them almost every day.
So I thought I’d respond—once and for all.
I decided to be honest with my inner dialogue too. For each one, I’ll share:
What they say
What I want to say back (the more instinctual, defensive response)
And what I actually say (the more measured one)
Do I have bad days where I skip straight to the snarky version?
Yep. Sure do.
But I’m never proud when I do—so I try to respond with a little more grace and understanding. Even when it’s hard.
1. “You just never really knew the love of God.”
What They're Really Saying:
My experience of God's love is the only valid one. If your journey led somewhere else, it must be because you never actually knew what I know. I have no framework that allows for you to have genuinely encountered God and still ended up where you are—so I need to discredit your experience to protect mine.
What I Want to Say:
Oh, okay—so you’ve decided to rewrite my entire life story for me?
I gave my whole self to that faith. I built my life on it. I loved God—and I believed God loved me.
I’ve felt that “love from another place” at times more deeply than I can even describe.
And I’ve also felt it vanish for years at a time.
So please don’t erase the depth of what I experienced just because it doesn’t match your personal experience and myopic simplistic theology.
Honestly? That’s insulting.
What I Do Say:
You’re right—there were seasons when I didn’t feel God’s love. Just silence. Distance. Tension.
But there were also moments I did. Moments so real and deep that even the words God and love don’t quite do them justice.
That love changed me.
And honestly? It’s because of that love that I couldn’t keep ignoring the questions—the pain, the contradictions.
I haven’t walked away from love. I’ve followed it to a place I didn’t expect.
2. “You’re deceived by the devil.”
What They're Really Saying:
I don’t know how to respond to your questions, and they scare me. So I need a quick explanation that lets me dismiss them—and you—without actually engaging. If I label you deceived, I don’t have to wrestle with whether what you’re saying might have any truth in it. Also: I see the world in black and white—good and evil, truth and lies. And anything that introduces nuance or complexity automatically feels like it belongs in the “evil” category.
What I Want to Say:
Right. Because there are only two possible options: I’m either saying exactly what you say—or I’m in league with Satan.
That’s not discernment. That’s spiritualized paranoia.
You don’t know what to do with the fact that I’m more researched than you so you give a non-existent Devil credit for my deeper thoughts. What I say disagrees with what you’ve heard your preachers and devotionals say about God, so you chalk it up to demonic deception.
If your faith can’t make room for complexity, maybe you’re the one being deceived.
What I Do Say:
I grew up around a lot of good-hearted people who thought that way, so I get it.
And while I do believe evil is real, I’ve found that personifying it with tired caricatures—like demons or the devil—doesn’t help the conversation. Honestly, it’s a pet peeve of mine.
I don’t believe there are personal evil forces out to get me.
I know that probably makes you uncomfortable.
That said, from my experience, saying what I just did will likely solidify your position on me—so I’ll just say this: I genuinely wish you well. (I’d say “I’ll see you in Hell” if they could take a joke, but they usually can’t.)
3. “It’s just about loving God and loving people—nothing else matters.”
What They're Really Saying:
I’m a good-hearted person who’s deeply uncomfortable with complexity. I want faith to feel practical and efficient—like a simple mission statement I can live by. So when you bring up theology, Biblical criticism, history, or nuance, it feels like a distraction.
I genuinely believe that love is the point—but I use that belief as a way to avoid deeper questions. Mine is a utilitarian faith: if it doesn’t produce love in a way I recognize, it’s a waste of time. And when you talk about this stuff, it sounds like you’re making it harder than it needs to be.
What I Want to Say:
I actually really tried this approach.
For a long time, I told myself this was all that mattered—just love God, love people, move on.
But here’s the problem: you can’t live that way without eventually defining what you mean by love… and what you mean by God.
And the second someone’s definition starts to differ from yours, suddenly they’re not “loving” anymore.
What I think you’re missing is that defining God and God’s love doesn’t diminish this truth. It makes it real. And if your version of God can’t withstand being defined, maybe it’s not love that’s the issue—it’s fear.
What I Do Say:
This was my go-to thinking for years—especially when I was working as a pastor.
I had to believe that loving God and loving people was enough. It got me out of bed in the morning. But over time, I started to see that people meant very different things when they said “love.”
And just as many meant radically different things when they said “God.”
Some used those words to welcome and heal.
Others used them to justify harm—and call it holy.
I’m not against simplicity. But if we don’t define what we mean by both love and God, we might be protecting a system that hurts people and calling it virtue.
4. “So you think everyone before you for 2,000 years was wrong?”
What They're Really Saying:
I haven’t taken the time to learn the actual history of Christianity—or the world. I assume my current belief system is the same one Christians have always held. If I accept that faithful people have disagreed for centuries, it complicates my own certainty. So I frame your questions as arrogant, instead of admitting I’m just uninformed.
What I Want to Say:
No—I think you just have no idea how big and messy Christian history actually is.
You’ve inherited one narrow version of it and assumed it’s the version.
But here’s the thing: people have been disagreeing about God, Jesus, the Bible, and salvation since… well, basically forever.
I didn’t make this stuff up. I just finally started reading outside my own echo chamber.
So maybe instead of asking if I think everyone was wrong, the better question is:
Why did it take me so long to realize how many people never agreed in the first place?
What I Do Say:
I get why that question would feel like a checkmate—but it’s not.
There have always been different beliefs, different interpretations, different ways of following Jesus.
We just weren’t taught that. I wasn’t either.
And once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee it.
I’m not claiming to have it all figured out. Implied in your statement is that I am prideful or arrogant. From my perspective, I had to let go of my pride to face these questions honestly.
I’m just finally admitting that the version I grew up with was one thread in a much bigger and more complicated story.
5. “Just pray and read the Bible—it will reveal the truth.”
What They're Really Saying:
The Bible is a magic book. If you approach it in the right spiritual state, God will just tell you what it means.
The idea of studying it historically or critically feels unnecessary—or even dangerous.
I don’t want to do that kind of work. Maybe I’m afraid I won’t understand it, or that it’ll undo what I’ve always believed.
So I rely on divine vibes and personal revelations—and I think you should too.
What I Want to Say:
You really think the issue is that I haven’t prayed or read the Bible enough?
Come on. I built my life around it. I’ve studied it, prayed over it, preached it, taught it, wrestled with it, and wept because of it.
The truth is, I did what you’re telling me to do.
But you want the Bible to work like a Ouija board—open it up, clear your mind, and hope a spirit tells you what it means.
I wanted to value it too. I just stopped pretending that asking real questions about it meant I didn’t.
What I Do Say:
I know that advice comes from a sincere place.
But I’ve done both—prayed and read the Bible deeply.
And the deeper I went, the more I had to grapple with what’s in it—not just what I wanted to see in it.
At some point, I had to stop treating the Bible like a magic 8-ball and start taking it seriously—historically, contextually, and critically.
That didn’t ruin my faith. It made it more honest.
6. “God chooses the foolish things to shame the wise.”
What They're Really Saying:
I want you to know I’ve read the Bible—and memorized some verses—but, ironically, I’ve decided that intellect is the enemy of faith.
If you sound too educated, I assume you're drifting from God. Rather than consider that critical thinking might deepen spirituality, I quote this verse to shut it down.
I’d rather be seen as “simple and faithful” than risk being seen as thoughtful and possibly wrong.
What I Want to Say:
You realize Paul was a scholar, right?
He was trained, educated, multilingual, and sharp as hell.
He also quoted pagan poets, challenged bad theology, and made nuanced arguments.
So using his words to shame people for using their brains? That’s lazy.
I’m not trying to be superior. I’m trying to be honest about what I see.
If that makes me foolish in your eyes, fine.
But don’t pretend ignorance is the same thing as faithfulness.
What I Do Say:
I’ve read the Bible. I’ve memorized verses. I’ve devoted years of my life to understanding what I believe and why.
And I know this might sound strange, but I actually think faith and intellect don’t have to be enemies.
Some of the most spiritual people I know are also the most thoughtful.
I’m not trying to outsmart God—I’m just trying not to lie to myself.
For me, faith got deeper—not weaker—when I stopped being afraid of hard questions.
7. “You’re trying too hard. Just ask God for wisdom.”
What They're Really Saying:
Faith should be simple. If you’re wrestling this much, you must be doing it wrong.
I’ve never really been honest with myself about my own doubts, and I don’t want to start now. Or perhaps, the opposite: I’m simply the sort of person who doesn’t think deeply or register any doubts—and it works for me. So I assume it should work for you too.
What I Want to Say:
Trying too hard?
Come on. Maybe the problem isn’t that I tried too hard—it’s that you’ve barely tried at all. You found a version of faith that “works,” and you stopped asking questions the moment they got uncomfortable.
So don’t project that onto me like I’m the one doing it wrong.
Wisdom isn’t magic. It’s costly. It tears things open.
You don’t get to skip that part and call it faith.
What I Do Say:
I’ve prayed that prayer—more times than I can count.
And I do believe wisdom shows up. It just doesn’t always come wrapped in clarity.
Sometimes it brings tension. Sometimes it breaks things open.
But I’ve found it’s better than pretending.
I’m open to continuing the conversation—but if we do, I need to feel like you’re actually listening.
Not dismissing my story because it makes you uncomfortable.
Final Thought
I don’t think most people mean harm when they say these things.
They’re speaking from the only framework they’ve ever known—one I used to hold too.
But frameworks aren’t sacred. People are.
And if we’re not careful, the things we say to protect our beliefs can end up wounding the very people we claim to love.
And if we turn that back on ourselves, our response can be rooted in love as well.
We won’t always avoid that defensive comeback—I know I don’t.
But when we can, we show the people attacking us—or worried about us—more about where our journey has taken us than any actual words ever could.
If you’re deconstructing...
You’ll hear these things too.
You probably already are.
I’m not giving you answers for your own conversations—yours will likely be different.
But in seeing my responses, I hope it helps you think through yours.
Or at least lets us share a little solidarity in fighting the same daily battles—with others, and with ourselves.
I don’t think most people mean harm when they say these things.
They’re speaking from the only framework they’ve ever known—one I used to hold too. But frameworks aren’t sacred. People are.
And if we’re not careful, the things we say to protect our beliefs can end up wounding the very people we claim to love.
And if we turn that back on ourselves, our response can be rooted in love as well.
We won’t always avoid that defensive comeback—I know I don’t.
But when we can, we show the people attacking us—or worried about us—more about where our journey has taken us than any actual words ever could.
this is really valuable. Il bet many people will copy this and use it - nice work
Do you really need to respond to (what is definitely unhelpful) criticism...at all? One thing that I liked about Billy Graham was that he did not attempt to defend himself but remained singly focused for better or worse. Deano