Is deconstruction a dirty word?

“Deconstruction” is a buzzword that has almost become a cliche. But it is a real experience with a lot of power — and it means something different depending on who you’re talking to. For parents, deconstruction often means danger, which can cause a lot of fear: Fear that their young adult is going to deconstruct and walk away from the church. Fear that their young adult is going to stop believing in God. Fear that they didn’t do enough to disciple their kids to stay faithful.

These fears are real and honest. But they don’t tell the whole story of deconstruction.

As a pastor for college students, my entire job for many years was to have meetings with young adults about their faith. Often over coffee or in the quiet of my office, we talked about the ways college was shaping and stretching their faith in ways they didn’t expect. Fall semester is rife with these conversations because both the launch to college and the return to campus are jarring. Sometimes students just present some doubts or have specific questions about certain biblical texts or theological concepts. They’re pulling on one of the threads of their faith to examine it. 

But sometimes, the questions go deeper. Sometimes, they tug on just the right thread to make the whole tapestry unravel. And they don’t know what to do with the tangle that is left of their faith.

This is deconstruction. 

I found a student sitting in our on-campus chapel one Sunday afternoon, long after church had ended. She had her head buried in a journal, and I almost didn’t interrupt. But just as I passed, she heaved a heavy sigh. So I sat next to her. And what I discovered was a student who was reeling.

In her philosophy class the Friday before, her professor had asked the class whether they thought human beings were fundamentally good. “Of course not,” she had said, before she’d even raised her hand. “We are all born into original sin.” She described the interaction, embarrassed now, as a sort of “done deal” type of response. Instead of praising her for giving the “correct” answer, the professor only opened up the conversation to other students, some who were also Christians, who offered different ideas about the nature of humanity. One student, a Buddhist, described a completely different perspective on good and evil. By the end of class, she didn’t know what to think.

Another time, a student came into my office once and slammed his phone on my desk. “Falon, did you see this?” he asked. I looked down to find an article on his phone about a prominent pastor’s financial misdeeds. “That is my pastor!” he exclaimed with frustration. As we talked, I discovered his fear underneath his anger: “I guess I need him to be a good guy,” he said. “If he’s not who he says he is, then what else isn’t true?” 

These stories are common. Ask anyone who works with college students.

Every college campus is filled with students deconstructing their faith. So, is deconstruction a dirty word? Is it something we should try to prevent?

No. And no. 

Deconstruction is a descriptor. Neither good nor bad. Neither right nor wrong. Deconstruction describes a process of questioning, wrestling, and doubting. It’s pulling not one thread, but unraveling the entire tangle of threads. I have not encountered a single college student who wants to deconstruct or is doing it to get back at their parents. 

Deconstruction is uncomfortable. It is often painful. And it is an act of faith.

The questions students bring into my office exist because they care. They care deeply about their faith. About God. About how they were raised. They wring their hands because they don’t want to disappoint their parents or their pastors. But they have questions that need to be taken seriously. 

So what should we do in response?

Every encounter I have with students I see as an opportunity to meet their deconstruction with compassion, kindness, and calm. “Nothing you can say will shock or scare me” is a statement I often make early on in the deconstruction process (and it’s true). It eases the tension. It allows for real questions to emerge. And the compassion they feel from the adults who care about them only serves to lead them to the kindness of Jesus. 

Our response doesn’t have to be one full of theologically astute answers. But they are looking to us for safety and care. 

Deconstruction isn’t a dirty word. It’s an opportunity to love young adults — and love God — well.