It is not a far-fetched principle to consider that the world is pulling those who hold faith away from it, no matter what background someone has. Calls for modernization, which is old news at best considering the historical-theological interaction between thought development and theological discourse, as well as the advent of new technologies create an appetizing draw away from any object or locus of faith. These distractions offer “better” answers, a “new way” of thinking, and a seemingly fresh approach to that which is beyond us in the vein of spiritual matters. Most use attractive discourse, like Rob Bell’s Love Wins or Richard Rohr’s Universal Christ discussions, while others simply bring up questions and pushback concerning fundamental ideologies, like Joshua Harris or Michael Gungor.
Questions are important. They help the hurting world frame and posit the hurt and ache we all feel in ways that other methods just cannot do. They reveal the inner longing and desires to see a resolution to the points of tension that exist between right and wrong. Most of what Jesus did with His disciples was either ask questions or tell stories, so we can feel confident that our questions matter to God. I am a huge fan of questions personally, which you can see in my earlier posts.
But what happens when we find dead ends? What do we do when the questions we ask are met with silence? Are we supposed to press in, or back off? Search harder, or find another source? While some instances may require us to find another route, like when we have a car problem and find ourselves on the wrong YouTube video, others require us to think harder and slow down. You would be unwise to switch from one recipe to make chocolate chip cookies halfway through the process just because the recipe you started with calls for an ingredient you either do not like or do not have. So why, when we encounter hard questions of the Christian faith, do we divert to other sources from other backgrounds that may contradict the core of the beliefs that you are investigating? It would be the same as reading a math textbook to find out a verb tense in Spanish or a fiction book to research historical events.
This is where we end up when we pursue the trappings of deconstruction. Rather than engaging critically with healthy, grounded presuppositions that help us trim the fat of the more cultural facets of our faith, deconstruction calls for throwing the baby out with the bath water: abandoning orthodoxy as a whole simply because we find tension with one or more areas we were taught without taking the time to do our research.
Thus, my main point in this article is that owning our faith means asking hard questions. But it matters where we find answers.
We would be wise to define concepts and terms, in order to adequately and accurately present the biblical example in contrast to the secular counterfeit. To get a little academic for a moment, most scholars and thinkers agree that Jacques Derrida seemingly pioneered the practice, who was a 20th century disciple of the famed nihilist Friedrich Nietzsche. Yet, in thinking about the movement, the degree of critique varies from thinker to thinker. Below are how some of the more prominent minds frame and view deconstruction:
Blomberg quotes T. K. Seung in expressing the idea as “the process of ‘generating conflicting meanings from the same text, and playing those meanings against each other.’”[1]
Vanhoozer further comments on deconstruction in calling it a “painstaking taking-apart, a peeling away of the various layers—historical, rhetorical, ideological—of distinctions, concepts, texts, and whole philosophies, whose aim is to expose the arbitrary linguistic nature of their original construction.”[2]
Klein, Blomberg, and Hubbard double down in writing that “[i]t is an anarchistic, hyper-relativistic form ofcriticism designed to demonstrate how all texts, indeed all human communication, ultimately ‘deconstructs’ or undermines itself.”[3]
From a more favorable perspective, Olson writes on John Caputo’s view of the idea that “[d]econstruction is not a thing or even a technique; it is an event—what happens when something hidden within a present idea or reality is uncovered and explodes, not to destroy but to open up new possibilities.”[4]
This form of deconstruction, the philosophical and destructive practice that seeks to pull the Christian faith from its foundation for a more palatable counterfeit, is not what the biblical account argues for in its call for each believer to own his or her faith. Amongst many different examples of how people lived out the biblical principles, I would argue that we find the most helpful instruction in the following four directives Paul gives in his letters.
The first comes in 1 Thessalonians 5:21, where Paul exhorts believers to “test everything; hold fast what is good.” In a world filled with competing claims—both in the first century and in our own—Paul does not discourage questioning. Instead, he expects it. Yet he also sets the goal: testing should lead to discernment, and discernment should lead to perseverance in truth. This already challenges the spirit of modern deconstruction, which tends to abandon everything when tension arises, rather than clinging to what has been proven good.
Paul expands this idea in Romans 12:2, calling believers not to be “conformed to this world” but to be “transformed by the renewal of your mind.” The renewal he speaks of is not a retreat from questioning but its proper direction. As the mind is made new, the believer can “discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” In other words, questions are not to be silenced but harnessed. They become tools for discovering God’s will when they are engaged through spiritual transformation rather than cultural conformity.
A similar theme appears in Ephesians 4:22–24, where Paul urges the church to put off the old self, corrupted by deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of their minds. Here the emphasis is not only on discernment but on constructive replacement. Questions and critiques have a place in the Christian life, but their purpose is renewal. We are called to strip away distortions and rebuild according to God’s righteousness. This is a sharp contrast to secular deconstruction, which dismantles without reconstructing. Biblical faith insists that any “taking apart” must lead to putting on the new self in Christ.
Finally, Paul ties these threads together in Philippians 2:12, exhorting the church to “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” Faith cannot be inherited passively or outsourced to others. It must be owned. That ownership comes not through rejecting the faith when questions arise, but through engaging the questions reverently, taking responsibility for one’s growth, and persevering in obedience. Working out salvation with “fear and trembling” communicates that the process is weighty, lifelong, and deeply personal.
Together, these passages form a cohesive picture: Scripture does not discourage hard questions. Instead, it directs them. The Bible invites us to test, to discern, to renew, and to work out our salvation. The danger is not in the asking but in where we go for answers. Secular deconstruction pushes us toward abandonment; biblical discernment calls us toward deeper ownership of the faith.
If Paul calls us to test, discern, renew, and work out our salvation, then the application for us today is both clear and challenging: we must become people who own our questions rather than outsource them. Too often, when doubts arise, our instinct is to look for quick answers from whatever voice is most accessible—be it a YouTube clip, a popular podcast, or a social media personality who seems to package uncertainty into something appealing. Yet Paul’s words remind us that shortcuts in spiritual discernment often lead us astray. Instead, the Christian response is to bring our questions first before God in prayer, then to search the Scriptures carefully, and finally to process them in community with trusted believers who can guide us with wisdom and accountability. I think Harber hits directly on this point:
Cultural Christianity tells us the wrong story about reality. It gridlocks our imagination through either the legalism or licentiousness that is produced by moralistic therapeutic deism. That’s why reconstruction isn’t just a matter of affirming the right doctrines as true, but a matter of inhabiting an entirely different story. It’s committing to and orienting your life around an existential map that directs your whole self—heart, soul, mind, strength, and relationships—toward God. And to do that, you need to understand the false stories that we believe and the true story that God is writing and has invited us into.[5]
One very practical action step you can take is this: the next time a serious doubt or theological tension surfaces, resist the temptation to “Google it” first. Instead, write the question down in a journal, pray over it for a week, and intentionally seek input from Scripture and a spiritually mature mentor before consulting outside sources. This practice does not silence questions; rather, it roots them in the soil where they can grow toward life rather than wither into despair. Owning our faith requires patience, humility, and sometimes the discipline of waiting on God for clarity. The truth is, some answers will come quickly, while others may take months or even years to understand. But it is in that process of wrestling that God matures us. In this way, questions are not wrecking balls that demolish belief but chisels in the hands of the Master Sculptor, shaping us more fully into the likeness of Christ.
At the end of the day, the difference between biblical discernment and secular deconstruction lies not in whether we ask questions but in where those questions lead us. The world tells us that the presence of doubt is proof that faith is fragile, but Scripture shows us that doubts—when handled rightly—can be the very tools God uses to strengthen our convictions. One path, the path of deconstruction untethered from truth, promises liberation but often ends in fragmentation and despair. The other path, the path of biblical discernment, acknowledges the hard questions but anchors them in Christ, leading to transformation and life. That is why Paul’s directives matter so much: “test everything,” “be renewed in your mind,” “put off the old self,” and “work out your salvation.” These are not theoretical ideals but practical road markers for the Christian journey. They tell us that questions are not a sign of weakness but an invitation to go deeper into the gospel.
Our calling, then, is to refuse the counterfeit “new ways” that only distract and instead to cling tightly to the truth that has been revealed in Christ. When the world shouts, “There is a better way!” or when our own doubts whisper, “You cannot trust what you were taught,” we must return to the steady voice of Scripture and the person of Jesus. We do not abandon the recipe halfway through, nor do we seek answers in books written in another language of thought. Instead, we ask boldly, test carefully, discern wisely, and hold fast courageously. And in doing so, we discover that the gospel is not only strong enough to handle our questions but also powerful enough to turn them into instruments of deeper faith.
[1] Craig L. Blomberg, The Historical Reliability of the Gospels, Second Edition (Downers Grove, IL; Nottingham, England: IVP Academic: An Imprint of InterVarsity Press; Apollos, 2007), 92.
[2] Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning in This Text?: The Bible, the Reader, and the Morality of Literary Knowledge (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1998), 52.
[3] William W. Klein, Craig L. Blomberg, and Robert L. Hubbard Jr., Introduction to Biblical Interpretation, Third Edition (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2017), 131.
[4] Roger E. Olson, The Journey of Modern Theology: From Reconstruction to Deconstruction (InterVarsity Press, 2013), 690.
[5] Ian Harber and Gavin Ortlund, Walking Through Deconstruction: How to Be a Companion in a Crisis of Faith (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2025), 133.