Faith Beyond the Herd: A Journey of Religion, Identity, and Humanity

Since I was a little girl, I was taught to look beyond the surface—to question, to think for myself, to never follow the herd. My mother often reminded us, “Be your own person.” She cautioned us about churches filled with people who praised Jesus on Sunday but judged others the rest of the week. That stuck with me.

I’ve accepted Jesus Christ, and I pray for heaven—but I’ve come to believe in a faith that transcends the version of Christianity shaped by colonialism, power, and fear. All too often, I’ve seen faith used as a weapon, a badge of exclusivity, a reason to hurt rather than to heal—a “cool kids’ table.”

“Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” James 2:17 (KJV)

Growing up in the Midwest, my mom would joke, “There’s always a bar next to every church.” Behind her humor was a deeper message—about contradictions, community, and empathy. She was often shunned for not attending church, yet her spirituality was genuine and personal.

When we moved to Virginia, I became even more aware of the Bible Belt mindset. Churches were everywhere, and so was judgment. You could be deemed un-Christian for attending the “wrong” church, wearing the “wrong” thing, or simply for being from the North. It was disheartening.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” Matthew 7:1 (KJV)

In high school, I dated someone whose friend’s church invited us to a “walking play” meant to illustrate the journey from sin to salvation. Instead, it felt like a psychological trap—room after room of fear tactics: Satan here, Jesus there, “saviors” waiting at the end. I walked away feeling manipulated. That wasn’t my path. It still weighs on me—the lack of understanding of God’s love, the over-reliance on fear. We are not God; it is not ours to instill terror in the name of faith.

My mom worried I’d become a follower of trends rather than truth. For a while, I tried to fit the mold of performative Christianity. But her voice—“Be your own person”—remained my anchor. I realized how many churchgoers were hiding from themselves, projecting their fears onto others.

“Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” Proverbs 4:23 (KJV)

At the same time, I found a profound community among gay friends who had to live in secrecy. Their love was pure, yet they feared showing it because of family or church condemnation. It broke my heart. How could anyone claim to follow Jesus and deny someone the right to love?

“If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?” 

1 John 4:20 (KJV)

I see now that many religious spaces operate like businesses. Politics and faith intertwine in dangerous ways. Though our founding fathers called for separation of church and state—“a wall of separation between Church & State,” as Thomas Jefferson put it—the lines continue to blur.

During my divorce, I found a small church with a humble flock—and I adored it. It became a refuge during a painful time. The people welcomed me, supported me, and offered a sense of belonging I deeply needed. I found a unique expression of Christianity that resonated with my heart.

It wasn’t easy, though. Conservative views and restrictive interpretations still loomed—excuses to control rather than empower. I found myself constantly balancing the beauty of connection with the discomfort of dogma.

I was not Baptist, nor will I ever be. The denominational rigidity—especially the refusal to break bread with other Christians—felt deeply wrong to me. It saddened me that such beautiful souls could love so fully and yet limit that love based on denominational lines.

Still, I loved them deeply. They became family. I cherished their kindness, their generosity, and their unwavering presence. I sang with them. I stood beside them. I supported and listened to them without judgment. I believe I was a support system to them, just as they were to me and the little man.

They truly were a support system to my little man, and it was an honor to see. We were truly blessed to have them as a friendship to family by then end of us attending before packed the family up to travel.

But there were moments that tested my spirit. One day, the pastor preached using the Bible to justify personal opinions—twisting scripture to fit his views on women rights, and choices. I was in the back of the church, upset and overwhelmed. While everyone’s heads were bowed in prayer, I flicked him off. My emotions got the best of me. I’m not ashamed of it. It was honest. I doubt he saw me—he was far away, and everyone was deep in prayer. I prayed deep for his soul that night on my own time. We kept him in our prayers every day until he passed.

It was just one moment. Every other time, I stood in love and respect. I saw the goodness in him. I saw how deeply he cared for his congregation. He was human. And that’s what made it so complicated—this constant tug between institutional religion and raw, real humanity.

My son made friends with their children. He sees them as family too. I pray that one day, we’ll all find a way to break bread with others—beyond our denominations, beyond our biases. That’s humanity. That’s what faith should be.

Society shouldn’t dictate every part of our spiritual lives. Humility matters. Boundaries matter. I also had difficulty with the church’s strong emphasis on witnessing. It was emotionally draining for me. I don’t like to be pushed—and I don’t want to push others. I believe in planting seeds, not forcing growth.

Faith, to me, is not performance. It’s presence.

“He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” Micah 6:8 (KJV)

Not a show. Not a script. But a walk within.

I don’t believe faith should control. I don’t believe God favors one label over another. I respect the Bible’s teachings, though I recognize it was written and translated by men over centuries. Like the Qur’an and the Bhagavad Gita, it offers guidance—but must never be used to divide or shame.

Yet history reminds us that all religions have, at times, inflicted harm:

• Christianity: The Spanish Inquisition (1478–1834) persecuted thousands of Jews and Muslims for “heresy,” employing torture and forced conversions¹.

• Hinduism: The caste system—grounded in ancient religious texts—persisted for millennia, denying basic rights to millions labeled “untouchables”².

• Islam: Various rulers have used the concept of jizya (tax on non-Muslims) to incentivize conversion³.

• Buddhism: In recent decades, Buddhist-majority Myanmar has witnessed violence and ethnic cleansing against the Rohingya⁴.

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“O mankind! We have created you from a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know one another.” Qur’an 49:13

“As all surrender unto Me, I reward them accordingly. Everyone follows My path in all respects.” Bhagavad Gita 4:11

One day, someone asked me, “Who brought you to Jesus?”

“I did.”

.

Through life. Through pain. Through questioning. Through love. Through nothing

I walk with Jesus, but I don’t need a pulpit to prove it. I don’t need others’ approval. I believe in loving people as they are. God resides not just in churches, but in our actions, our hearts, and our compassion.

My favorite book is The Five People You Meet in Heaven—because maybe heaven is wider than we think. Maybe God is, too. And maybe faith isn’t about who’s right or wrong, but who chooses to love anyway.

We will talk more about this topic. I just touched the basics of faith beyond the herd.

Sources:

1. “Spanish Inquisition,” Encyclopaedia Britannica

2. Olivia Fowler, Caste and Social Exclusion in Hinduism, Journal of South Asian Studies, 2018

3. Yohanan Friedmann, Tolerance and Coercion in Islam, Cambridge University Press, 2003

“Myanmar Rohingya Crisis,” Human Rights Watch, 2022