There’s a kind of spirituality that draws you deeper into love … and a kind that demands your compliance.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell which one you’re being asked to follow.
When religion is used for control, you’re told your doubts are dangerous. That questioning authority means you’re unfaithful. That a “real” Christian doesn’t ask hard questions.
This kind of spiritual control is subtle … and corrosive. It doesn’t just tell you to fall in line. It makes you wonder whether your desire for honesty is a betrayal of God.
But here’s the truth: no one fully knows what lies beyond this life. If that’s the case, then the demand for religious purity often isn’t about doctrine. It’s about obedience. Purity becomes less about sincere belief and more about following the rules of those in power.
That tension between control and spiritual integrity runs deep in our history, especially here in the United States.
Many of the early European settlers came seeking religious freedom. What they were leaving behind was centuries of sectarian violence – Christians killing other Christians over the “right” way to pray or believe. In England alone, the state religion changed four times in a single generation and people died each time it did. If you said the wrong words, followed the wrong ritual, you could be imprisoned. Or worse.
So people fled. But many carried the old patterns of control with them.
They wanted freedom … for their version of the truth. And only their version.
When religion becomes a tool of control, it stops being about the sacred and starts being about power.
And not just any kind of power - power over. The kind that tells you to stay silent, that punishes disobedience and demands loyalty.
It’s the same dynamic we see in emotionally abusive relationships, where questioning is treated as betrayal, and compliance is mistaken for connection.
You can see it throughout U.S. history.
Roger Williams, a devout minister, was banished from the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the 1600s for refusing to enforce religious conformity. He believed, in his words, that “forced worship stinks in God’s nostrils.” So he left and founded Rhode Island, one of the first truly pluralistic communities in the colonies.
But that vision was the exception.
My home state of Maryland tells a more fragile story. It was founded by Catholics seeking refuge and passed one of the first laws protecting religious freedom. But that freedom didn’t last. Within a generation, Protestants took power and repealed the law. Catholics were silenced and pushed out of public life. The pendulum swung back toward control.
So what do we make of that tension?
It’s important to say this, too. I’ve seen how religion, when rooted in love, can offer deep connection, provide stability, and foster hope, courage, and peace.
But that’s not always the version people are handed.
Sometimes religion can be a convenient excuse for domination. The more divided a society, the easier it is to control. And religion – when weaponized – can draw those dividing lines with terrifying precision.
From colonial America to now, religious freedom has too often meant freedom for me, but not for you.
And we still see it today.
Some Christians are cheering on war in the Middle East, not because they seek peace or justice, but because they believe it fulfills prophecy. They don’t see suffering; they see signs.
When your beliefs lead you to dismiss human pain as a stepping stone to glory, your faith stops being life-giving, and becomes spirituality devoid of humanity. And that’s dangerous.
If theology celebrates death as part of a divine plan, we’ve lost the plot. That’s not spiritual integrity. That’s not about love. That’s power over—disguised as faith.
So we have to ask: what kind of Christianity are we talking about?
The Christianity of enslavers who baptized those they held in chains? Or the Christianity of Harriet Tubman, who followed the voice of God on the Underground Railroad?
The Christianity that says, “God hates sin”? Or the one that says, “God is love”?
Because once “Christian” becomes a weaponized label, you start hearing things like:
Real Christians don’t question.
Real Christians vote this way.
Real Christians oppose gay marriage.
Real Christians don’t believe in evolution.
And suddenly, faith isn’t a path. It’s a fence.
Spirituality shouldn’t be a checklist of beliefs you’re not allowed to question. If your faith can’t handle doubt, that’s not faith – that’s fear wearing the mask of certainty.
We see this today when Christianity is used as a litmus test for political loyalty, when “real Christian” becomes code for a voting bloc.
Faith was never meant to be a weapon. It was meant to be a way of walking. A way of walking toward love. With love. In love.
In my Spiritual Geography workshops, I often remind people: you can sit next to someone every Sunday for years and never realize you believe very different things. Labels like “Christian” or “believer” don’t capture the lived complexity of what any of us hold sacred.
We each see the Divine through our own lens, shaped by experience, tradition, trauma, longing, and love. No one sees the full picture, which means no one gets to claim absolute authority over God.
Love doesn’t seek power over. Love moves with. That’s the difference.
Power over coerces. Power with connects.
Power over demands silence. Power with invites truth.
Power over wants control. But power with, the kind rooted in compassion and integrity, helps us grow.
There’s room in spirituality, in faith, for reverence and mystery. Room to not know. Room to grow.
So if someone tells you your questions mean you’re not faithful, ask yourself:
Faithful to what?
To fear?
To control?
Or to the sacred impulse that moves us closer to truth, compassion, and love?
That’s the kind of spirituality I want to grow. The kind that honors tradition but stays rooted in compassion. The kind that doesn’t just ask for belief but invites becoming.
The spirituality that brings me closer to love.
Joni Miller, Ph.D., is a writer, researcher, spiritual coach, and speaker who uses her knowledge, education, and love of all things spiritual to help spiritual wanderers find a place they can call home, navigating by the light of Love. www.SpiritualGeography.net
Photo by Anton Goncharov: https://www.pexels.com/photo/black-wooden-gate-270890/
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