One of the things that is most difficult for new Pagans about leaving Christianity is the expectation that must they leave behind their relationship with the Christian pantheon. But I have found that this method of thinking is counterproductive at best and willfully ignorant at worst. After all, if you’re entering a spiritual movement that prides itself on accepting the existence of all forms of deity, then it makes no sense to accept the existence of all forms of deity except those three or four over there in Jerusalem. Accepting the existence of something does not necessitate that you must engage with that something. Some people choose to; others choose not to. That is a decision left to the individual practitioner.
There is an ongoing and lively debate in the Pagan community as to whether one can be a Christian Witch or a Christian Wiccan or a Christopagan or any number of similar labels and designations. Some people have a kneejerk reaction against anything Christian and insist that the two cannot be intermingled, while others are accepting and affirming of an individual’s choice to work with Yahweh or Jesus or the Holy Spirit as a personal deity. Historically, however, Christianity and magick have been entwined for centuries. Some hallmarks of Wiccan magick, in fact, are built on the same ceremonial magic underpinnings that support the Freemasons, Ordo Templi Orientis, and a vast array of societies and traditions that hold to a Christian worldview and symbol set. So yes, it is possible to embrace a Pagan worldview and still maintain ties with Christian deities — if you so choose. Not everyone has a comfortable relationship with those deities or with the institutions built up around them, and many have experienced trauma related to those beliefs and institutions, so this choice is intensely personal. For ease of access, I’ll address trauma and criticism of Christian institutions in separate essays.
Reflecting back on my experience as a child growing up in an Episcopal household, I remember being intimidated every time I walked into the nave of the church on Sunday. God was very big and imposing, and the man on the cross that hung over the altar, while robed in splendor and serene, seemed unapproachable and too important to bother with the menial concerns of a seven-year-old. The Jesus I learned about in Sunday School and the Jesus I learned about in the church service seemed to be two different people. It took time for me to understand him.
The St. Mary’s Chapel, on the other hand, was small and safe and welcoming, much like I imagined Mary herself to be. I liked Mary a lot more than I liked God because she seemed to me like my own mother, soft and approachable. She could help with anything and, like a good mother, would gently take our concerns to the divine father if we were too afraid to approach him ourselves. But I was warned on more than one occasion that we don’t worship Mary, that she was only a human, that saints were not gods.
Looking back, I realize now that the Goddess called me to Her through the images I was most comfortable with. Even now, one of my favorite sacred images is Mary with the crescent moon at her feet and a crown of stars at her head, crushing a serpent beneath her foot. But I left the church — the liberal, affirming, welcoming Episcopal Church — as a teenager because it lacked the one element that was very important to me: the central importance of the divine feminine. Even though God was understood to encompass all genders by Anglican theologans, the traditional use of masculine words and imagery throughout the liturgy enforced for me the idea that the church was only for men and, as someone other than a man, I would not be accepted as equal in dignity by the institution no matter what the policies of that church were. Women’s roles in the church were almost exclusively auxiliary in nature; men far outnumbered the women on the Vestry and the woman priest never seemed to celebrate Eucharist.
Keep in mind, now, this critique is coming from someone who wanted to be an Episcopal priest, who had a calling even as a teenager to shine the light of Truth for all to see and to serve the One Who Created Us and to reform the earthly institutions that represented God. But I had already experienced the otherness of being female and the otherness of being queer and had yet to identify the otherness of being genderqueer. Something in me knew that I would never be allowed to represent a church that wasn’t ready to represent me and that there was no way, in the words of Audre Lorde, to dismantle the master’s house using the master’s tools.
So I left the church. But I didn’t leave behind my love of Mary, my appreciation of Jesus, and my respect for the saints. It was my dirty secret for a long time in my journey as a Wiccan that I kept a prayer card of St. Mary and another of St. Francis of Assisi as my representations of the divine mother and father. One was vast as the cosmos, a star-crowned queen in the dust of whose feet were the hosts of heaven. The other was terrestrial, humble yet dignified, viewing all of creation as part of the divine and himself a part of that creation. The archangels were my guardians at the watchtowers. And my training in a ceremonial magic-based Wiccan tradition supported these images as valid. I’ve since moved past the need for them, having switched to a more nature-based, Valiente-influenced tradition, but I still remember my Christian imagery fondly. That’s the way it should be. That’s called a spiritual journey.
On your own spiritual journey, away from Christianity and into Paganism, it helps to ask a few questions of yourself and meditate on them so you have a good reflective experience and answers that touch the truth of your soul. I’ve listed them below; you may come up with others, and I encourage you to follow those questions as they will help define your future spiritual practice.
Was Jesus — or Yahweh or Mary or Whoever — Good or Bad for You?
This question is key in the quest to making peace with Christianity. Is the imagery of whatever deity, demigod, or hero in the Christian pantheon you’re addressing in your meditation comforting or fearful to you? Why is that? Is it because of what you were actually taught? Because of an experience? Because of assumptions you made drawing upon the institution of the church for reference? Separating out your feelings for the deities from your feelings for the institution will help you figure out what issues are spiritual and what are mundane. In your meditation, you may wish to visualize two boxes in front of you: one labelled ‘God’ and one labelled ‘Church’. As you identify your feelings about your experience in Christianity — both good and bad — visualize writing them down on a slip of paper and putting the slip into the box it most closely corresponds with. For example, treatment of women in the church would be a Church issue, but unjust wrath would be a God issue. Keep going until you feel you’ve covered all of the experiences you have. Then, in a separate meditation, pick up the God box and open it. Go through your slips of paper. Are your impressions positive, negative, neutral, or a mix? One more than the other? Ask yourself whether or not, if you were free from fear of retribution, you would choose to continue to work with God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Mary, or this saint. If the answer is yes, then consider doing so. If it is no, then consider setting up some boundaries with these spirits so you can continue unimpeded on your spiritual journey.
What Do You Want to Do to Transition from Christianity to Paganism?
This question is key to the process of closing one chapter and opening another. Human beings use ritual to mark times of change; it helps us to ease the psychological uncertainty between past and future. The question is, what would your ideal transition look like? Again, meditate or thoughtfully consider this question. Make a list. If money were no issue, if fear were no issue, what would your transition to Paganism look like? Is it an elaborate ceremony? A letter to your old church requesting to be removed from membership? A self-dedication? A purge of old religious materials? What happens after that? What does your practice as a full-fledged Pagan look like?
Once you have some ideas, consider how you can make some of them a reality. Maybe you can’t have an elaborate ceremony, but perhaps a simple ceremony with some of the same elements would suffice. Maybe writing that letter to your old church has political implications for your extended family, but you could look into deliberately letting your membership lapse. Maybe you’d like your dedication to be private, so set aside some time and look at samples of self-dedication rituals online. Maybe those religious materials you’ve been holding onto have sentimental value, so consider gifting them to others or creating new, witchy objects out of them. This works especially well for prayer beads, prayer cards, or religious medals. Don’t feel like you have to throw out your Bible; you’d be amazed how useful it is to have one at hand. Same thing with prayer books. Even now, I still refer to my Book of Common Prayer when looking for inspirations for liturgy.
Next, reflect on what your life after Christianity looks like. Identify personal practices you want to incorporate in your life, then take action to make them happen. Don’t be afraid to try and fail, or try and be disenchanted, or try and fall down a rabbit hole. The experience will teach you so much about your own spiritual nature. And while spiritual growth doesn’t happen overnight, it does happen with day-to-day practices that strengthen us in our faith.
Which Boundaries Do You Want to Enforce with the Christian Pantheon?
This question is key in the process of navigating the spirit world. After all, there are many pantheons out there, some of which mesh well with Christianity and some of which do not. How do you want to interact with God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit or Mary or Satan? As spiritual entities, they may cross your path or attempt to influence your life. Is that influence welcome? Under what circumstances?
Another question to consider is whether or not you wish to reject your baptism and with it the spiritual protection that comes with it. Because many people are baptized as children, without full knowledge of what is required of them, some find it offensive and feel the need to reject it in order to regain spiritual freedoms that were curtailed as a result of the sacrament. I have found that not rejecting my baptism has kept doors open to me that might otherwise have been closed. For example, when I call the archangels, my calls are heeded. When I work with my ancestors, the more recent of which were Anglican, Baptist, and Presbyterian, I am not ignored or berated. Other people, however, may feel that rejecting the baptism frees them to do other spirit work, such as with the Witch’s Devil or the Man In Black or with ancient, pre-Christian ancestors. The appropriateness of either decision is based entirely on what you want your spiritual practice to look like going forward as a Pagan. In this case, it is not a decision to be made lightly, as it can have powerful spiritual consequences and is a lengthy process to undo.
As you go forward on your journey as a Pagan, remember that there are powerful spirits of all pantheons available to you. Some of them may choose you for themselves; others are open to being chosen by you. Some may be with you for the rest of your life; others may only be with you for a short time. The spirit world is rich with entities to interact with, though some may be more troublesome than others. The Christian pantheon is no different than any other pantheon, and you do have the freedom of choice in how you interact with them and how they fit into your spiritual path. As a postscript, however, I will note that the spirits have agency of their own, and they will call who they will. As such, there is always the possibility that you may need to negotiate and re-negotiate your boundaries with the spirits as you continue on in your practice.