Why I hate the word, “religion”
While some may describe me as such, I don’t think of myself as a religious person. Just so you know, you’re misunderstanding the intent of this post if you run to look up the definition of religion. For me, this post is all about connotation.
When I hear religion, I think of hoops, observances and rituals you “should” do to be on God’s good side. Based on that working definition, I hate religion more than I can express. 1 Samuel 16:7 says, “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
When I think about nearly every meaningful connection I’ve had with God, it’s been about his love for me and me coming to him with an open, broken and vulnerable heart. What has amazed me and continues to amaze me is how well he understands me. Even though intellectually I’ve always “known” God understands me, it hasn’t always been my lived experience. The times I really know he understands me are when he speaks to me in a way no human being ever could…including myself.
Jesus is the healer of the human soul and our souls are often in worse shape than we realize. When I use the word “soul,” I’m referring to the essence of who we are. If that’s the soul, when’s the last time you thought about how yours is actually doing? We simply don’t live in a world that’s kind to the human soul. Our fast-paced, performance obsessed culture encourages us to hurry through our lives and numb whatever pain we may be experiencing. This is clearly not an environment that fosters soul transformation.
This is part of why I hate religion as I described it, earlier. Religious observances are to soul healing what bandaids are to healing cancer. You can’t expect to merely stop cussing and start praying an obligatory prayer before meals and expect soul transformation. It just doesn’t work that way.
Every bit of authentic healing I’ve ever experienced has been through pouring my soul out to Jesus and him meeting me in the mess I created. Religion is about behavior modification but Jesus is about soul transformation. Jesus didn’t come to create a bunch of religious robots who know how to look good on the outside and be completely jacked up on the inside.
He came to set the captives free and to release those who live in invisible prisons. (Isaiah 61:1) The last thing in the world I want to be known for is for being a nice, religious person. The thought of it almost makes me sick to my stomach. No, I want to be known as a man who knew Jesus deeply and who walked in a freedom only God could provide. This is why Jesus died on the cross for our sins and rose from the dead…to set us free. (Galatians 5:1) Religion will never provide this kind of freedom for you…only Jesus can do that.
Just to be clear, I don’t think religion is inherently evil or bad. Like I said, this post was about connotation.
I love James 1:27…”Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
Let’s reclaim real religion!
I really resonate with the heart of what you're saying—especially the longing for soul-deep transformation over surface-level behavior. That hunger for the real Jesus, not religious pretense, is something I think we all feel in different ways.
At the same time, I’ve also found that the very rhythms and rituals Jesus practiced—prayer, Sabbath, communion, Scripture—are not hoops to jump through but wells to draw from. They’re places of encounter, not performance. I think when those practices are paired with good pastoral care, sound teaching, and relational discipleship, they become channels for the kind of healing you described.
The real issue often isn’t the presence of ritual, but the absence of obedience and intimacy within it. Jesus says His commands are not burdensome—they’re life-giving. And when we ignore them, it's like refusing a doctor's prescription and wondering why we're still sick.
Rituals without Jesus are empty. But rituals with Jesus are how we walk with Him daily, even when our souls are raw. That’s where I’ve found the most unexpected grace.