“Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” — Luke 9:58 (NIV)
I grew up Catholic. I learned early on that God was holy and perfect—and that I was not. I absorbed a quiet message that I wasn’t good enough for God. The rules, the rituals, the code of conduct—they often felt like a spiritual obstacle course designed to highlight how much I was falling short.
And when I looked for grace among the people in the pews, I found something else: judgment. Not always in words, but in glances, in the posture of those who seemed to live on a rung above me. The very place that promised sanctuary became a place where I felt exposed, ashamed, and unworthy.
Over time, I began to confuse religion with God, and because I couldn’t measure up to the former, I believed I was disqualified from the latter.
But here's the truth I’ve come to believe through recovery, pain, and spiritual awakening:
God was never the one turning me away. It was people—flawed humans guarding the gate of a kingdom they didn’t own.
Jesus faced the same problem in His time.
He didn’t blend in with the religious elite. He challenged them. He called out the Pharisees—not because they were religious, but because they used their authority to burden others while excusing themselves (Matthew 23). He flipped over tables in the temple, not because He hated worship, but because it had become corrupted by power.
Jesus’ way was never about exclusion—it was about invitation. He sat with the outcasts, touched the untouchables, and reminded everyone that God could be found not in the temple, but in the heart.
The irony is heartbreaking: the word Catholic means universal—meant for all people. And yet, like many institutions, it has at times done the opposite—drawing borders where Jesus drew bridges.
For years, I felt spiritually homeless. Rejected by a religion I once loved, and unsure where I stood with God. But over time, I began to sense that maybe God wasn’t confined to stained glass and confessionals. Maybe He had followed me out the doors I thought I had been cast from.
And maybe—just maybe—He had never left at all.
I harbor no ill will toward my childhood faith. It’s a part of my journey—one that shaped my reverence for God, taught me sacred language, and gave me the first glimpse of something greater. I now see that I, too, held judgment in my heart—against those I perceived as gatekeepers, those I felt had alienated me. In doing so, I carried the same weight I was trying to escape. Grace, I’m learning, must flow in all directions—including back through time, to others, and to myself.
Scriptures to Anchor This Truth:
Matthew 23:4–5 – “They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”
(Jesus speaking of the religious leaders of His time)
John 4:23–24 – “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.”
Romans 8:38–39 – “For I am convinced that neither death nor life... nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God.”
Reflection Questions:
Have you ever confused people’s judgment with God’s voice?
What religious “rules” have made you feel unworthy—and how does grace rewrite that?
Where have you experienced God outside of traditional religion?
Prayer:
God, I’ve tried so hard to earn something You’ve never asked me to earn. I’ve been wounded by people who claimed to speak for You, and I’ve spent too long believing I wasn’t enough. But today, I want to come home—not to a religion, but to You. Strip away the noise, the rules, the shame. Let me find You again in Spirit and truth, and know in my heart that You were never the one shutting the door. Amen.
