A Reflection on Faith, Power, and Conscience
I used to believe deeply in the church—
not just the doctrine, but in the work. I carried out my duties faithfully, lived by strict standards, and embraced what I thought was the one true path to salvation. Back then, it felt noble to pursue that kind of life; it felt purposeful, sacred even.
But over time, as I grew older and understood more about the world around me, something didn’t sit right.
How could we speak so often about righteousness and morality, yet endorse political figures whose records were anything but? How could we be told that we were apart from the world, when each of our votes clearly helped shape it—over and over, toward more injustice, toward more corruption? And then say life is getting worse?
At first, I tried to reason it away, suppress it like many do, and just told myself: “I’m not worshipping these people. I’m worshipping God.”
But I couldn’t unsee the consequences of our collective decision. We weren’t just passive bystanders; in staying silent in our loyalties, we became complicit.
A lot of them would say, “But that’s the Church Administration’s decision and we are not allowed to question that.” But when the administration calls itself God’s exclusive authority, and you stay under its roof, your silence feeds its power no matter how you rationalize it. While the world burns from their decisions, they still stand proud, making it seem like their prophecies are coming true.
What I experienced staying in that church wasn’t just political compromise, it was a worldview shaped by a deep belief in the world’s downfall. It was a kind of apocalyptic fatalism that justified everything. The more broken the country became, the more it “proved” the church was right about the end times. The worse it got, the more we were told to hold on, stay in line, trust the leadership.
Because it meant there was no real interest in healing the world—it was just about surviving it. It meant faith was no longer about hope or justice or compassion. It became about insulation, control, and most especially, about being right. Whatever that meant.
I left not out of hate, but out of conscience.
Because I believe in something better:
That faith should challenge injustice, not enable it.
That leadership should be accountable.
And that true worship isn’t blind loyalty to men in power, but active love and support for people and for the truth, no matter what religion.
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
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