Should We Feel Free to Examine the Religion We Were Taught?
Sunday, 29 June 2025, 07:45
Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 29 June 2025, 08:57
Therefore everyone who confesses Me before men, I will also confess him before My Father in heaven.
Matthew 10:32.
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot
Should We Feel Free to Examine the Religion We Were Taught?
There comes a time in many people’s lives when a quiet, persistent question rises to the surface: Is what I was taught about God, Christ and truth really true? It can be an uncomfortable question, one we might push aside for years, even decades. Yet when it comes, it often brings with it not just a crisis of faith, but a crisis of identity, belonging, and relationship.
For some, like me, the cost of this questioning has been high. My own journey led to estrangement from family, people I love deeply, but who could not accept my departure from the religious path they still walk. It is a pain that leaves no visible scars but cuts deep all the same. So, the question becomes more than academic: Should we feel free to examine the religion we were taught—even when doing so risks losing everything? This is not about religion. It goes deeper. This is about loyalty to God and Christ which reach far beyond religion; a religion which is in a state of constant updates and flux.
Psychologists describe what’s known as cognitive dissonance—the mental discomfort experienced when holding two conflicting beliefs. For those raised in tightly bound religious communities, beginning to question core doctrines can feel like betrayal, not only of God but of family and self. The inner voice of inquiry is often met with a chorus of guilt, shame, and fear.
What’s more, the fear isn’t always irrational. In many religious contexts, dissent is met not with curiosity but condemnation. The cost isn’t just internal—it’s relational. Parents, siblings and adult children may interpret your doubts as rebellion. Friends may withdraw, go silent. In these moments, the exile is not metaphorical. You feel it in every unanswered message, every family gathering you’re no longer invited to.
Yet psychologically, asking questions is a sign of maturity. It shows that we are taking responsibility for what we believe. Faith inherited is not the same as faith owned. Questioning, in the deepest sense, is not rejection—it is seeking. It says, "I want to know the truth, not just believe it because I was told to."
To question your religion is, in many ways, to face the void. When you remove the scaffolding of inherited belief, what remains? For a time, it may feel like nothing. There’s a disorienting space where answers used to be. But in that space, something sacred can happen—an authentic search.
Existentially,
this is where the deepest human questions live: What does it mean to be good? What is the purpose of life? Is there a God—and if so, what is He really like? These questions cannot be silenced forever. Even if the answers are difficult, even if they cost us everything, they are worth pursuing. As Kierkegaard said, “The greatest hazard of all, losing oneself, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all.”
Leaving a religion doesn’t just affect you; it reverberates through every relationship formed within that faith. This is especially true in high-control religious groups, where identity and loyalty are fused tightly with doctrinal conformity. To question is to unsettle the equilibrium. To walk away is to disturb the system.
And yet, must we always bear the responsibility for others’ reactions to our honesty? Is it truly love to pretend in order to maintain peace? Jesus himself warned that his message would divide families (Matthew 10:34-36). Sometimes truth drives a wedge not because we wield it like a weapon, but because it reveals who is truly willing to love us unconditionally.
Ultimately, for those of us who still believe in God and Christ, the final authority must be the Bible—not tradition, not religious hierarchy, and not the expectations of others. The Bereans were called “noble” because they examined the Scriptures daily to see if Paul’s teachings were true (Acts 17:11). Jesus rebuked the religious leaders of his day not for lack of faith, but for placing human traditions above God’s word (Mark 7:6-9).
We are commanded to test every spirit (1 John 4:1), to work out our own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12), and to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:2). These are not passive acts. They require courage, discernment, and above all, honesty.
So, should we feel free to examine the religion we were taught? Not only should we—we must. The freedom to question is not a threat to true faith; it is the soil in which real conviction grows. Yes, the cost can be high. You may lose relationships, social belonging, even the image others held of you. But in return, you gain something that cannot be taken away: a faith that is your own, anchored not in fear or inheritance, but in truth and conscience before God. And why would family, fellow Christians and former friends not rejoice in my action to follow scripture? Why indeed.
And for me, though it has cost dearly, I can say this: the path of integrity, even when lonely, is the only one I can walk. I trust the God who sees the heart and holds every tear. I follow Christ, who never condemned the seeker, but always made space for the honest question.
Should We Feel Free to Examine the Religion We Were Taught?
Therefore everyone who confesses Me before men, I will also confess him before My Father in heaven.
Matthew 10:32.
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot
Should We Feel Free to Examine the Religion We Were Taught?
There comes a time in many people’s lives when a quiet, persistent question rises to the surface: Is what I was taught about God, Christ and truth really true? It can be an uncomfortable question, one we might push aside for years, even decades. Yet when it comes, it often brings with it not just a crisis of faith, but a crisis of identity, belonging, and relationship.
For some, like me, the cost of this questioning has been high. My own journey led to estrangement from family, people I love deeply, but who could not accept my departure from the religious path they still walk. It is a pain that leaves no visible scars but cuts deep all the same. So, the question becomes more than academic: Should we feel free to examine the religion we were taught—even when doing so risks losing everything? This is not about religion. It goes deeper. This is about loyalty to God and Christ which reach far beyond religion; a religion which is in a state of constant updates and flux.
Psychologists describe what’s known as cognitive dissonance—the mental discomfort experienced when holding two conflicting beliefs. For those raised in tightly bound religious communities, beginning to question core doctrines can feel like betrayal, not only of God but of family and self. The inner voice of inquiry is often met with a chorus of guilt, shame, and fear.
What’s more, the fear isn’t always irrational. In many religious contexts, dissent is met not with curiosity but condemnation. The cost isn’t just internal—it’s relational. Parents, siblings and adult children may interpret your doubts as rebellion. Friends may withdraw, go silent. In these moments, the exile is not metaphorical. You feel it in every unanswered message, every family gathering you’re no longer invited to.
Yet psychologically, asking questions is a sign of maturity. It shows that we are taking responsibility for what we believe. Faith inherited is not the same as faith owned. Questioning, in the deepest sense, is not rejection—it is seeking. It says, "I want to know the truth, not just believe it because I was told to."
To question your religion is, in many ways, to face the void. When you remove the scaffolding of inherited belief, what remains? For a time, it may feel like nothing. There’s a disorienting space where answers used to be. But in that space, something sacred can happen—an authentic search.
Existentially,
this is where the deepest human questions live: What does it mean to be good? What is the purpose of life? Is there a God—and if so, what is He really like? These questions cannot be silenced forever. Even if the answers are difficult, even if they cost us everything, they are worth pursuing. As Kierkegaard said, “The greatest hazard of all, losing oneself, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all.”
Leaving a religion doesn’t just affect you; it reverberates through every relationship formed within that faith. This is especially true in high-control religious groups, where identity and loyalty are fused tightly with doctrinal conformity. To question is to unsettle the equilibrium. To walk away is to disturb the system.
And yet, must we always bear the responsibility for others’ reactions to our honesty? Is it truly love to pretend in order to maintain peace? Jesus himself warned that his message would divide families (Matthew 10:34-36). Sometimes truth drives a wedge not because we wield it like a weapon, but because it reveals who is truly willing to love us unconditionally.
Ultimately, for those of us who still believe in God and Christ, the final authority must be the Bible—not tradition, not religious hierarchy, and not the expectations of others. The Bereans were called “noble” because they examined the Scriptures daily to see if Paul’s teachings were true (Acts 17:11). Jesus rebuked the religious leaders of his day not for lack of faith, but for placing human traditions above God’s word (Mark 7:6-9).
We are commanded to test every spirit (1 John 4:1), to work out our own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12), and to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:2). These are not passive acts. They require courage, discernment, and above all, honesty.
So, should we feel free to examine the religion we were taught? Not only should we—we must. The freedom to question is not a threat to true faith; it is the soil in which real conviction grows. Yes, the cost can be high. You may lose relationships, social belonging, even the image others held of you. But in return, you gain something that cannot be taken away: a faith that is your own, anchored not in fear or inheritance, but in truth and conscience before God. And why would family, fellow Christians and former friends not rejoice in my action to follow scripture? Why indeed.
And for me, though it has cost dearly, I can say this: the path of integrity, even when lonely, is the only one I can walk. I trust the God who sees the heart and holds every tear. I follow Christ, who never condemned the seeker, but always made space for the honest question.
Some thoughts to ponder on:
John 6, Colossians 2, Matthew 10