I grew up in church, and my religion is something I have learned to love over time.
As a child, faith looked like memorizing Bible verses, getting candy when I recited them correctly and learning how to sing in the church choir.
When I realized that music was beginning to become a talent of mine, the elders were quick to explain to me that it was not mine to boast about, but rather that God has entrusted me to use it for his glory.
At the time, I accepted that without much thought.
However, when I was older, I began to ask harder questions. Questions that didn’t have neat answers, and I almost felt guilty for losing my childlike faith.
Learning the history of my faith, especially last semester when I took History 1301, was honestly a hard pill for me to swallow. Seeing how Christianity evolved over time, and how cruel it became in the hands of certain people, felt completely opposite of the teachings of the Jesus I grew up believing in.
There were several lectures that invoked strong emotions in me because I felt a deep disconnection between the scripture that I read and the way it has been applied throughout history.
One moment that stands out to me was when we discussed European colonization and the forced assimilation of Native Americans through Christianity. Learning that Indigenous people were threatened, punished and stripped of their culture in the name of my religion deeply saddens me.
I am a first-generation Filipino-American, and knowing that I am a product of colonization has always made me second guess my faith. If my ancestors were predominantly Muslim before the colonization of my country, am I also a product of this forced assimilation? And if the process of colonization was so brutal and violent, then why was Christanity the driving force behind it?
Christianity teaches forgiveness, grace and love, yet history showed me how often those commandments were disobeyed. Knowing that my faith was used for a tool for control and violence rather than the compassion made me not question God himself, but the people who claimed to represent him.
After I reached a certain age and desperately wanted to still believe in my religion, I found myself searching even more. I never walked away from God, but I did go “denomination hopping.” I wanted to understand if there were other ways to communicate with him, to feel closer and to heal.
I grew up an evangelical Christian, but I did explore non-denominational, Pentecostal, Catholic and Baptist churches, and I even considered attending an Orthodox church. Each one felt different, yet all claimed the same foundation. This made me reflect deeply when we learned how Anglo-Europeans began dissecting the Bible, choosing what aligned with their beliefs, and discarded what didn’t.
That realization caused a wave of confusion.
It made me question if the denomination I chose was right, or if any of them truly captured the message they claimed to follow.
Understanding how power, politics and colonization shaped religion in America forced me to sit with discomfort, question authority and understand that my faith and history are deeply intertwined, even when that truth is painful.
The fact that so many people are afraid of my religion is something I now actively pray about, because I understand where that fear comes from through the history we have learned.
Despite this, reading my Bible and studying scripture have deepened since learning more about our history. I now find myself making immersed in learning more about the different versions of the Bible and the way faith has been shaped over time.
While this process is uncomfortable and challenging, I’ve realized that questioning, reflecting and seeking understanding may be the very epitome of faith itself.
