Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot
I
was intrigued today regarding the Tamil word, நட்பு
(Natpu): that friendship that carries with it a deep sense of loyalty and
respect. Loyalty is important to me and my identity, but in the circles I have
travelled in, I’ve been deeply disappointed.
It
happens more often than I’d like. I’ll be approached by someone who seems
friendly, eager to strike up a conversation or lend a listening ear. At first,
I’ll think it’s the start of a genuine connection. But then, the conversation
takes a turn—always the same turn—and I realize their primary motive isn’t
friendship. It’s conversion.
The
realization stings every time. What initially felt like a gesture of kindness
and interest begins to unravel as something else entirely: a performance, a
charade. And not just any charade, but a duplicitous one. The kindness was a
means to an end. Their goal wasn’t to know me or understand me; it was to
change me. To fit me into their world, their beliefs. In that moment, I feel
less like a person and more like a project.
What
bothers me most isn’t the desire to share their faith. I can respect that. I am
a Christian. But I have no desire to join and organisation. I am happy with my
relationship with God and Christ Jesus, and they therefore do not need to “shake
the dust” off their feet. I may not accept Hellfire, the Trinity, and the
failed prophecies that your organisation insist on propagating. Why should I
change and adopt false doctrines that conflict with my conscience?
What
concerns me is the lack of honesty in the approach that troubles me. When
someone pretends to care about you as a friend, but their true intention is
hidden, it feels like a betrayal. A real friend values you for who you are, not
for what you might become under their influence. Now that some religious
organisations are haemorrhaging numbers there are compromises on their part to
fill seats,
This
isn’t what I understand Christian love to be. Jesus didn’t build relationships
by pretending to care. He didn’t treat people as projects. He showed genuine
compassion, meeting people where they were, loving them as they were.
Conversations about faith arose naturally, born out of authentic relationships.
There was no guile in His approach, no hidden motive disguised as friendship.
If anything, Jesus reserved his sharpest rebukes for those who practiced
hypocrisy, those who put on a show of righteousness while their hearts told a
different story.
When
I’ve spoken to people about this, they’re often surprised by how clearly the
pretence comes across. But as humans, we’re wired to sense when something’s
off, when someone’s words don’t align with their intentions. That uneasiness we
feel in such moments isn’t paranoia; it’s discernment. And it’s fair to name it
for what it is. Now please do not get me wrong, I believe there are genuine,
sincere souls in many religions, but I am addressing those who manifest the
traits in this essay.
If
someone truly wants to share their faith with me, I wish they’d simply be
upfront about it. Honesty isn’t offensive; manipulation is. I can respect a
straightforward conversation about beliefs, even if I don’t agree. But I can’t
respect a relationship built on a hidden agenda. Friendship, after all, should
be an end in itself, not a means to something else.
Sometimes
I’ve gently called it out. I’ve said things like, “I value genuine
relationships, and I feel uneasy when I sense someone has a hidden motive. If
you want to talk about faith, I’m happy to do so honestly, but not at the
expense of real friendship.” Reactions vary. Some people deny having an
ulterior motive, while others pause, seemingly caught off guard. Occasionally,
there’s a moment of reflection—a flicker of understanding that perhaps their
approach wasn’t as noble as they thought.
I’ve
also realized how important it is to extend grace, even in these moments. After
all, many of these individuals believe they’re doing the right thing. They’re
acting out of a sense of duty, however misguided it may feel. But good
intentions don’t justify deception. Genuine love—the kind that changes
lives—doesn’t require duplicity. It thrives on honesty, humility, and respect.
Ultimately,
what I want—what I think we all want—is sincerity. If you care about me, care
about me. Not the version of me you’d like to see or the one that
fits neatly into your worldview. Let’s have an honest conversation. Let’s share
ideas, even debate them if necessary. But let’s do it as equals, with no hidden
motives lurking in the shadows.
Perhaps
the most valuable thing we can offer each other isn’t conversion but
connection.
Your love must be real love
Your love must be real love. — Romans 12:9 (WEB).
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot
I was intrigued today regarding the Tamil word, நட்பு (Natpu): that friendship that carries with it a deep sense of loyalty and respect. Loyalty is important to me and my identity, but in the circles I have travelled in, I’ve been deeply disappointed.
It happens more often than I’d like. I’ll be approached by someone who seems friendly, eager to strike up a conversation or lend a listening ear. At first, I’ll think it’s the start of a genuine connection. But then, the conversation takes a turn—always the same turn—and I realize their primary motive isn’t friendship. It’s conversion.
The realization stings every time. What initially felt like a gesture of kindness and interest begins to unravel as something else entirely: a performance, a charade. And not just any charade, but a duplicitous one. The kindness was a means to an end. Their goal wasn’t to know me or understand me; it was to change me. To fit me into their world, their beliefs. In that moment, I feel less like a person and more like a project.
What bothers me most isn’t the desire to share their faith. I can respect that. I am a Christian. But I have no desire to join and organisation. I am happy with my relationship with God and Christ Jesus, and they therefore do not need to “shake the dust” off their feet. I may not accept Hellfire, the Trinity, and the failed prophecies that your organisation insist on propagating. Why should I change and adopt false doctrines that conflict with my conscience?
What concerns me is the lack of honesty in the approach that troubles me. When someone pretends to care about you as a friend, but their true intention is hidden, it feels like a betrayal. A real friend values you for who you are, not for what you might become under their influence. Now that some religious organisations are haemorrhaging numbers there are compromises on their part to fill seats,
This isn’t what I understand Christian love to be. Jesus didn’t build relationships by pretending to care. He didn’t treat people as projects. He showed genuine compassion, meeting people where they were, loving them as they were. Conversations about faith arose naturally, born out of authentic relationships. There was no guile in His approach, no hidden motive disguised as friendship. If anything, Jesus reserved his sharpest rebukes for those who practiced hypocrisy, those who put on a show of righteousness while their hearts told a different story.
When I’ve spoken to people about this, they’re often surprised by how clearly the pretence comes across. But as humans, we’re wired to sense when something’s off, when someone’s words don’t align with their intentions. That uneasiness we feel in such moments isn’t paranoia; it’s discernment. And it’s fair to name it for what it is. Now please do not get me wrong, I believe there are genuine, sincere souls in many religions, but I am addressing those who manifest the traits in this essay.
If someone truly wants to share their faith with me, I wish they’d simply be upfront about it. Honesty isn’t offensive; manipulation is. I can respect a straightforward conversation about beliefs, even if I don’t agree. But I can’t respect a relationship built on a hidden agenda. Friendship, after all, should be an end in itself, not a means to something else.
Sometimes I’ve gently called it out. I’ve said things like, “I value genuine relationships, and I feel uneasy when I sense someone has a hidden motive. If you want to talk about faith, I’m happy to do so honestly, but not at the expense of real friendship.” Reactions vary. Some people deny having an ulterior motive, while others pause, seemingly caught off guard. Occasionally, there’s a moment of reflection—a flicker of understanding that perhaps their approach wasn’t as noble as they thought.
I’ve also realized how important it is to extend grace, even in these moments. After all, many of these individuals believe they’re doing the right thing. They’re acting out of a sense of duty, however misguided it may feel. But good intentions don’t justify deception. Genuine love—the kind that changes lives—doesn’t require duplicity. It thrives on honesty, humility, and respect.
Ultimately, what I want—what I think we all want—is sincerity. If you care about me, care about me. Not the version of me you’d like to see or the one that fits neatly into your worldview. Let’s have an honest conversation. Let’s share ideas, even debate them if necessary. But let’s do it as equals, with no hidden motives lurking in the shadows.
Perhaps the most valuable thing we can offer each other isn’t conversion but connection.