I don't think we'll all go to heaven

"The angel isn’t here anymore," I’d tell myself. "The devil is."

I grew up in a Bible-believing home, which meant we were always made to attend "our" Bible-believing church. A church where many things were deemed "worldly," like wearing jewelry or applying makeup. We were taught to be true believers, to live like paupers so we could earn our riches in heaven.

Struggling in the world was equated with building a castle for yourself in heaven. No one questioned whether they would ever get to live in those castles or not. As sinful as everyone was, what mattered most was that they were living a “holy” life, ready for their mansion in heaven.

As a kid, attending children’s church and joining the choir was seen as a righteous achievement, proof that you were walking in the right part towards Christ. To crown it all, I made sure I was always among those selected to recite Bible verses during church programs. It didn’t come as a surprise when I later realized that maybe I understood the Bible more than others (Case in point: Pastors).

Reading the Bible became one of my happiest pastimes. Beyond understanding God's word, the bible stories themselves were captivating. But even then, I don’t think I was ever as "holy" as most of the kids in the church, or even the adults and preachers. At a young age, I could see that much of what we practiced wasn’t really God’s word but the words of men, men who were supposed to lead us to Christ but had twisted His words to serve their own means.

I watched as the church slowly became a battleground for "who dresses the most" and "who should lead choruses." I saw elders in the church chastise children who weren’t theirs, condemning them for living a life that wasn’t "pleasing to God" all because they were seen with a friend from outside the church, who dressed in a worldly way, while their own children wallowed in sin right in front of their eyes.

I watched as they turned the church into a gossip house, their whispers loud enough for you to hear when you walked past them. They knew of the problems in your home without you uttering a word, and they judged you like theirs was any better. And yet, when it was time for prayer, they prayed like their hearts were white as snow, like they were spotless and without sin.

I watched as pastors turned Sunday sermons into gossip columns, using snide remarks to take jabs at families they had personal issues with. I watched as they created enemies within the church rather than building a community.

As a kid, I would sit in church and imagine an angel occupying the empty seat at the front, watching it all and taking notes, basking in the beauty of the overflowing love of Christ. I'd imagine feeling his presence.

Until I grew older and I couldn’t anymore.

The church was too tainted, too full of sin. There was no way an angel from heaven would feel comfortable here, watching the hypocrisy brew all around.

"The angel isn’t here anymore," I’d tell myself. "The devil is."

Maybe that was when I began to drift away. It was too much. I saw everything. I was surrounded by people who were demons on the outside but prayed like heaven was about to descend when they were in church. People who ignored the dirt in their own eyes but were quick to pluck out the speck in mine.

Everyone was pretending.

I was pretending.

I would recall all the Bible verses I had memorized as a child, look around the church, and laugh within myself, because I knew we were all going to hell.

Slowly, I began to hate the church and the people in it.

Maybe I was judging too.

Then, little by little, I lost my faith.

Was it because I had been through so much pain, cried, and begged God for years to take it away, yet He never did? I watched as my health deteriorated through the years and slowly began to accept that he wasn't going to come through for me.

Or was it because I had begun to read deeply about religion, about how the world came to be, and if God really existed or not?

Gradually, I stopped praying, stopped reading my Bible, stopped going to church. I knew I was drifting far away from Him, but I couldn’t stop. I watched how Christianity was being practiced, how those who called themselves pastors turned the church into a business, how they slept around with the "baddies" in the church while being married, how they harassed and molested children, how they fattened their pockets while their members drowned in poverty.

I couldn’t bear sitting in church anymore because all I did was silently question the man on the pulpit. Was he as righteous as he preached? What skeletons were in his closet? Was this all just a business to him? Was God truly in him?

Christianity lost its grip on me. For years!

Until I slowly found my way back. 

Little by little, I started praying again.

At first, I felt guilty whenever I prayed. Would God be angry that I only came to Him when I needed something? Was I taking Him for granted because I knew He loved me regardless? So, instead of asking, I turned my prayers into praise. I did the only thing that felt right. I thanked Him. I'd spend hours thanking Him.

Thanking Him for what He had done, what He is doing, and for what He was yet to do.

I began reading the Bible again, not through the lens of what the church had taught me, but for myself. To understand Him the way I needed to.

I still can't bring myself to go to church. I've tried, but every time I did, I found myself judging and questioning everyone.

I know Christianity isn’t bad. Some of the people who practice it have tainted its image. They believe it's okay to attend church and to look as righteous as a saint, but once the service is over, they go back to being as evil as they want to be. I know people whose hearts are as black as the void but are workers in the church, you can never catch them missing a service. 

Do I find it to be a mockery of God? Yes!

They have turned the church into a business empire, a place to show off, a place of control and power rather than a sanctuary of love and faith.

But God is all-forgiving and all-merciful.

And if He is willing to love even those who mock His name, who am I to decide who belongs in His presence?

Who am I to dictate what is acceptable and unacceptable in the church?

Aren't I doing what I accuse the elders in my church of doing? Judging!

I still have doubts that creep in, and moments when I wonder if I'll ever fully belong in a church again. But Faith is about a relationship. A personal relationship with God. One that isn't tied to buildings or "men" of God. It's about seeking God for myself, in my own way, in my own time.

And so now, my faith is my own. Not dictated by the voices of men, not shaped by the hypocrisy of others. Just me and God. And that, I’ve come to realize, is enough.

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