What Is Deconstructed Pastor?
This is the first post I’ve shared publicly on my personal social media. It’s a welcome for new readers and a reminder for those who’ve been here from the beginning.
Welcome to Deconstructed Pastor
This is the first post I’ve shared publicly on my personal social media. It’s a welcome for new readers and a reminder for those who’ve been here from the beginning.
This is a little corner of the internet I never planned to build.
But it seems to be the one I needed most—and the one a lot of you have needed, too.
I started Deconstructed Pastor quietly a few months ago, with no fanfare. Apart from a few cryptic posts elsewhere, I didn’t promote it at all. I wanted to see if this space mattered enough to grow on its own.
Turns out, it did.
As I write this, nearly 1,200 people have already subscribed—most of them finding it organically because they were searching for the same thing I was searching for 15 or 20 years ago:
A safe place to doubt, learn, listen, and heal.
What This Is
Deconstructed Pastor is a space for people who are questioning or rethinking the Christianity they inherited, or who are working to rebuild and reimagine a faith—or no faith at all—that feels true to them.
It’s for anyone feeling that nagging sense that the old answers don’t fit anymore—but who still can’t shake the hope that something good and true might be waiting on the other side of all this deconstruction.
I write here about:
The history of Christian ideas (and how they evolved)
The psychological impact of inherited beliefs
The experience of letting go and rebuilding
Stories—mine and yours
This is not an evangelistic project.
It’s not about trying to convince you to stay in the faith or leave it.
It’s simply about making sense of the story you were given—and helping you find the courage to write your next chapter.
My commitment here is simple: to show up, not to convert. I will share my opinions, but I don’t care where you end up. I genuinely don’t care what you end up believing. I’m here as both a mentor who has already been on this journey and a sort of midwife who aims to help you birth a belief system that feels true to you.
Who This Is For
People deconstructing their faith, especially if you grew up evangelical or conservative Christian.
People who want to learn where their beliefs came from—and whether they still serve you.
People who have felt shame, fear, or loneliness because of doubt.
People who need a community where questions matter more than answers.
Who This Is Probably Not For
I want to be honest about this.
If you’re feeling pretty settled in your beliefs, if you’re not curious or questioning, if you mainly want to debate or convert others—this is probably not a space you’ll enjoy hanging around.
You are absolutely still welcome to read. But this isn’t a place for aggression, name-calling, or angry arguments. Facebook already exists for that. If you’re here to tell people they’re going to hell or to pick fights, I’ll ask you to leave.
But if you’re here to learn and approach this with kindness and curiosity, I’m so glad you’re here.
To My Friends, Family, and Past Church Members
For years, I stayed silent about what I really believed.
Some of you knew me as your pastor, others as a teacher, others as a friend or family member. I was afraid that sharing the journey I’ve been on—the questions, the doubts, the grief, and the conclusions I’ve reached—would cost me those relationships. That’s the primary reason I waited over a decade to write publicly about my own deconstruction.
A few months ago, I knew the time had come to publicly tell my full story. That’s when I began this Substack. I posted a few hints about what I was working on, but beyond that, I didn’t promote it. I told myself I’d go public when 1,000 people found it. That milestone passed weeks ago, and still I delayed—but it’s clearer than ever that this little community is helping people feel less alone. And that matters to me. So from now on, I’ll be sharing this work a bit more publicly.
To those who knew me as a pastor, or who sat under my teaching: I love you. I respect you. I don’t regret a single day our stories were intertwined.
The Rules of Deconstruction Club
If you do decide to join us, here are the only ground rules I ask everyone to honor:
Questions over answers.
Nobody has it all figured out, least of all me.Stories over certainty.
Your experience matters. So does everyone else’s.Data over dogma.
We care about history and evidence, not just inherited beliefs.No proselytizing.
We’re not here to convert anyone to or from anything.Respect and safety first.
If you make others feel unsafe, you’ll be asked to leave.
Explore Past Articles
If you’re new here, you might find some of these posts helpful or interesting:
Overview (Joe’s Story)
A Brief History Series (Tracing one idea from its origin to modern day evangelicalism)
Topics include:
Jesus, Buddha, and Socrates (Fictional Comedic Satire)
If any of this resonates—if you’ve been quietly wrestling and wishing for a place like this—I’d be honored to have you here.
You can subscribe for free to get new posts in your inbox.
If at some point my writing feels worth it to you, you can choose to become a paid subscriber at about the cost of one book per year. But wait to do that until you find value in it. I will never get rich doing this, but that small act of support helps me devote more time to this work.
And if you ever decide it’s not for you, you can leave just as quietly. No hard feelings.
Here’s to worthy questions, fearlessness, community, and grace.
Thanks for caring enough about my story to read this.
—Joe
Joe, thank you for naming what so many of us have been carrying in silence.
Deconstructed Pastor doesn’t feel like a platform—it feels like a sacred pause. Like the room between breaths where the old certainties fall quiet, and something raw and beautiful has room to speak. You’ve built a space that honors the ache, the curiosity, the slow reweaving of belief—not to rush people “back to church,” but to walk with them while they find their way, whatever that becomes.
Your refusal to preach, proselytize, or pretend to know it all is exactly what makes your voice trustworthy. You’re not leading from certainty—you’re companioning from experience. That’s holy work.
Grateful to be here.
Hi, Joe. I'm a former Vineyard member. (We've been connected via FB the whole time, which is how I arrived here.) I left church a long time ago. When church representatives come to my front door at home, I lie and say the Vineyard is (still) my church so that they'll leave me alone-- and quickly!
Eventually, I'll likely tell some stories, but for now I'm here to read.
Okay, I do have one story: If you remember Warren Barfield (musician), he is making music again in a way he never expected. He was off of social media and not playing guitar nor singing for 7 years and then a year ago rejoined social media to share music again. He's since hosted a few intimate concerts with no intentions of touring or returning to his old life. His journey is not unlike yours, where you are still reaching out to others and talking about faith, despite no longer being a pastor. It's interesting to me to see the similarities in your journeys and where you both are now. Since I was on his old email list, that's how I found out he was making music again, and I attended one of the concerts! I drove from Cincy to TN to hear him play again. I could tell a lot of the people there are still Christians, and I don't consider myself to be one anymore. But I still love his music and think he's a helluva good person. So being there was great as a fan/friend of his, but it was also very weird being part of the crowd who were occasionally shouting, "Amen!" and knowing they are still very much part of something that I left behind.
Same deal at a Skillet concert. This year my son invited my husband and I to go see Skillet with him. His friends weren't available, so we went partially to keep him company and partially because we enjoy their music. It was so odd being in a HUGE crowd of not only tens of thousands of Christians, but a lot of them were probably (statistically) on the opposite side from us politically. And these days, being opposites politically, a lot of times, equals being opposites on the basics of fundamental human rights. So I couldn't shake that feeling the whole time and I couldn't truly relax to enjoy the show. I was on edge a bit. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but I felt a little like I was trying to 'blend in' while I was in enemy territory and constantly thinking/worrying the truth is going to be "discovered" or somehow revealed that I'm being an imposter. Not that I was actively pretending to be anything I'm not. That is just how I felt. It seemed almost dangerous to put myself in a crowd that size when I didn't belong there. I hope that makes sense.