The Quest for Purpose After Religion
Picture this: I'm 19 years old, bright-eyed and eager, on a mission trip in New York City. I was part of a Bible School program that felt more like a gap year adventure. Armed with the conviction to save the lost souls and bestow upon them the "bread of life" they didn't even know they needed. We were staging skits, preaching on subways, and delivering sermons to the homeless before they could even take a bite of their meal.
Then, there was a time when I was 22 years old, standing on stage, preaching to 6th and 7th-grade students about the importance of reserving sex for marriage. During this presentation, I used two paper hearts to illustrate my point, tearing them apart little by little. This demonstration emphasized how each physical relationship results in fragments of one's heart being torn away, contrasting it with the integrity of a heart that remains whole by saving itself for the right person.
Now, I rather not to dwell on what a 19-year-old sheltered girl could possibly say to a middle-aged homeless person about their troubles. Or how preaching about saving sex for marriage as a 22 year old, with absolutely zero experience in the matter, might not have been age-appropriate and perhaps not the most effective approach to instilling a sense of worth and value in students. Even sharing this is giving me secondhand embarrassment from myself.
But, as cringe as it is, I will reflect on these moments for the intention to extend compassion to myself; for I thought this was my life’s purpose.
Everything felt purposeful – like I was making a difference, even though there was no tangible evidence of it. And the rush I got from conquering my fear of talking to strangers about Jesus? It was intoxicating.
As the intensity of evangelism began to wane in my early twenties, practicality crept in. It was time to consider how I could earn a living while still fulfilling my calling. Realizing that traditional church positions were off-limits without seminary credentials, I pivoted to becoming a hairstylist. I vowed that every woman who sat in my chair would hear about Jesus or feel His presence, and I made it my mission to instill in young girls the belief that true beauty comes from within, not from outward appearances like pretty hair. Crafting this makeshift mission statement was my attempt to infuse purpose into my work beyond mere income.
Ironically, despite my intentions, I ended up attracting a predominantly male clientele as a barber, specializing in men's haircuts. Yet, even in this unexpected twist, I sought to infuse my interactions with a sense of spiritual significance.
For years, my life was driven by the singular purpose of serving and glorifying God in every aspect. Each decision was guided by the desire to draw closer to God and to point others towards Jesus. But with that motive came an avalanche of pressure. The weight of responsibility to single-handedly change the world or touch lives in profound ways, or make sure I was living in God’s will was overwhelming.
Additionally, if religion didn't instill in me the belief that I needed a grand purpose, societal pressures certainly did and still do. We're bombarded with messages that equate success and worthiness with big ambitions and productivity, leaving us feeling inadequate if we don't measure up.
I believe that many of us who are on the journey of recovering from religion can empathize with the burden of doing everything for God, even to the point of becoming a martyr, and the profound sense of loss that accompanies the transition. We find ourselves facing the void left by the absence of a predestined purpose, unsure of how to navigate this newfound and wobbly freedom. Most of the time this freedom feels like grief, loss of identity, confusion, and anxiously trying to fill the gap.
It's not a simple matter of flipping a switch from the unrealistic expectations imposed by former beliefs—where we once strove relentlessly to meet an unattainable standard of godly approval—to suddenly crafting our own sense of purpose and finding fulfillment independently despite both religious and societal pressures. I really do wish it was that easy, but when our purpose was to understand our life was not our own- it feels selfish, wrong, and egotistical to then create our own purpose and meaning.
I recall the time I was living in the Amazon jungle with a missionary family in my late 20s, pleading to God to help me understand the purpose of my presence in Shell, Ecuador. The woman who I was staying with, also a friend and mentor figure, told me my purpose was just to be. I was a blessing just by being there; I didn’t have to produce or do anything.
I could not wrap my head around that idea; it was uncomfortable and felt too easy. Relaxing into just living in the present moment while also calling myself a 'missionary' felt counterintuitive. I needed the satisfaction that I, Jessica Moore, changed the world.
But as I remember my friend's words—that I was to just be, and my presence was enough as a gringo Jesus lover in Ecuador—I attempt to apply that same logic to my exvangelical, non-religious, and deconstructed self.
As I continue on this journey of rebuilding and reclaiming my autonomy, I am learning it’s okay to take things one step at a time— one day at a time, and explore different paths and to change my mind along the way. I am starting to define success on my own terms, without succumbing to the pressures of external expectations. In releasing the need for a singular, grandiose purpose, or attempting to produce something to prove something, I've discovered the inherent beauty in the act of simply being.
Taking the pressure off myself to make my life count, or make some sky daddy proud of me, my life’s purpose is just to live and enjoy. I have to remind myself that just existing is enough and has purpose and meaning.
Navigating this transition isn't easy, but it's a process that offers the chance to rediscover ourselves, through reflecting and forging a new sense of purpose—one that is authentic and fulfilling. Each moment of introspection and growth brings us closer to a life that is authentically ours.
If you're seeking support and guidance on your journey of releasing religious conditioning and rebuilding your life, know that you're not alone. Sometimes, having a trusted companion to walk alongside you can make all the difference. If you're interested in exploring how my one-on-one services can support you in this process, feel free to reach out. Together, we can navigate the complexities of this transition and uncover the joy and fulfillment that await on the other side.
