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Eighty seven percent of black people in America are religious, but I’m not one of them.
Like your typical black American family, I was raised in a God-fearing home. I attended church, and was forbidden to use the Lord’s name in vain.
But I was a curious middle schooler, and during my spare time, I began researching the Bible, and listening to podcasts by both atheist and creationists.
One Sunday near my 17th birthday, my Mom dragged me to church. After the sermon, we had an argument and I blurted out, “I don’t believe in God anyways!”
She was shocked, and I felt guilty.
I didn’t want my Mom to be distressed about my Atheism. Religion to her, my family, and most black people in this country, is vital.
After a few months I decided to sit down with her and explain my reasoning behind disowning Christianity. She was tolerant of my rejection, but believes that I might find God again.
I’m not resentful of being raised Christian. Turning to Atheism prepared me for critical thinking about the world and my culture. And an unexpected benefit of me losing my faith has been gaining a more honest relationship with my mother.