I remember sitting in Sunday school one morning when someone confidently declared, “Well, the Bible does say God helps those who help themselves!” Everyone nodded in agreement, but I remember thinking, Wait a second …that’s not in the Bible. It was one of the first moments I realized how easily people confuse familiar sayings, opinions, or traditions with actual Scripture.

Years later, when instead of just hearing it preached to me, I finally started reading the Bible for myself, what surprised me most wasn’t what I found , it was what I didn’t find. So many of the verses I’d heard quoted my whole life either didn’t exist or meant something entirely different in context. It made me wonder how many Christians are unknowingly defending their own ideas while claiming to defend Scripture.

One of the most striking things I’ve noticed since leaving fundamentalism is how often people confidently declare, “The Bible says,” when what they’re really expressing is their belief, not what Scripture actually says. It’s a phrase tossed around like a divine stamp of approval, ending debates before they even begin. Yet many of the people who use it most often have never read the Bible from beginning to end, let alone studied it in its historical, cultural, or literary context. Instead, they’ve inherited a version of “truth” filtered through pastors, teachers, and traditions that reinforce what they already believe.

This pattern isn’t unique to one denomination; it’s widespread across modern Christianity. Many believers learn early on to depend on spiritual authorities to interpret Scripture for them. Sermons, devotionals, and Sunday school lessons become the main way they “hear” the Bible, so much so that their understanding of it often comes secondhand. Over time, the difference between what the Bible actually says and what they’ve been told it says becomes almost invisible. And because their beliefs feel sacred, they assume that Scripture must agree with them.

The phrase “The Bible says” becomes a weapon more than a witness. It’s used to shut down questions, silence disagreement, and justify personal or cultural biases. People quote half-verses out of context or blend biblical language with political talking points, convinced that their opinion carries the weight of divine truth. The irony is that Jesus consistently challenged people who misused Scripture to elevate themselves or oppress others. The religious leaders of His day knew the words but missed the meaning and He called them out for it.

The real tragedy is that this habit keeps people from experiencing the richness and depth of Scripture for themselves. The Bible isn’t a static list of talking points it’s a collection of stories, poems, letters, and wisdom written across centuries, filled with tension, mystery, and beauty. Reading it honestly often leads to more questions than answers, and that’s not a bad thing. It means we’re engaging with it as living text rather than a tool to prop up our certainty.

When people say, “The Bible says,” what they often mean is, “My interpretation says.” The difference between those two statements is humility. The first assumes authority; the second admits limitation. True faith doesn’t require pretending to have all the answers, it requires the courage to keep seeking them, even when the text challenges our assumptions.

In the end, maybe the most faithful way to approach Scripture is not with the phrase “The Bible says,” but with the question “What is the Bible really saying here?” That question leaves room for growth, learning, and grace. It invites us to meet God in the tension between what we’ve been told and what we might discover for ourselves. Because when we stop using the Bible to reinforce what we already believe, we finally open ourselves to being transformed by what it actually says.

Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.

When I was in my early twenties, our church hired a new assistant pastor who was young, newly married, and absolutely certain of his divine calling. He had just graduated from a fundamentalist Christian college and carried himself with the kind of overconfidence that only comes from immaturity and believing you speak directly for God. I can still picture him, red-faced, on his tip toes, shouting from the pulpit about issues he had strong opinions on but little real-world experience with. It was almost surreal watching someone barely out of adolescence lecture a congregation full of people who had lived, suffered, raised families, and endured life’s complexities with far more wisdom than he possessed. Yet in his mind, and according to the church culture that shaped him, his youth and inexperience didn’t matter. He had authority because he believed he spoke for God, and to question him was to question God Himself.

In many Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) churches, a deeply ingrained belief exists that to disagree with leadership is to disagree with God. This idea sometimes spoken directly and other times implied through tone, teaching, or culture creates a powerful dynamic of control cloaked in spirituality. It blurs the line between divine authority and human interpretation, replacing faith in God with obedience to men who claim to speak for Him.

At the heart of this mindset is the belief that the pastor, or any spiritual authority, is the ultimate mouthpiece of God. In this framework, questioning a sermon, a doctrine, or even a church rule is framed not as critical thinking or discernment but as rebellion against God. This form of spiritual absolutism discourages independent thought and replaces humility with authoritarianism. The message becomes clear: submission to leadership is equated with submission to God, and dissent is treated as sin.

What makes this mentality especially harmful is that it distorts the relationship between believers and their faith. Instead of encouraging a personal, living connection with God, it conditions people to rely on intermediaries for spiritual validation. Members are taught to mistrust their own understanding, intuition, or experiences if those do not align with the “man of God.” Over time, this erodes spiritual confidence and creates dependency on the church, on the pastor, and on the institution’s interpretation of truth.

The consequences reach beyond theology. When disagreement is equated with disobedience to God, abuse of power becomes easy to justify. A pastor can silence opposition by claiming divine authority, and members learn to suppress questions to avoid being labeled rebellious or unspiritual. This environment leaves little room for healthy dialogue, accountability, or growth. It can lead to deep confusion and spiritual trauma for those who eventually realize that human leaders can, and often do, misrepresent God, sometimes for their own nefariousness reasons.

Ironically, the Bible itself challenges this very kind of control. The Bereans in Acts 17:11* were commended for examining Scripture for themselves rather than accepting teaching without question. Jesus consistently condemned religious leaders who used their authority for self-exaltation. True spiritual maturity involves discernment, humility, and personal responsibility, not blind submission to any one person’s interpretation of divine will.

For many who leave the IFB or similar authoritarian religious systems, healing involves untangling God’s voice from the voice of those who claimed to speak for Him. It means learning that disagreement is not rebellion, and that asking hard questions can be an act of faith, not defiance. Reclaiming spiritual autonomy is both painful and liberating! It requires courage to trust that God welcomes honest searching far more than unquestioning conformity.

The phrase “If you disagree with me, you disagree with God” reveals more about human ego than divine truth. It reflects a fear of losing control rather than a desire for genuine understanding. Healthy faith allows room for conversation, correction, and even disagreement, because truth does not fear scrutiny. God’s authority does not need to be defended by intimidation or manipulation. When believers are free to think, question, and seek for themselves, faith becomes not a cage, but a living, breathing relationship with the Divine.

*Acts 17: 11 NLT  And the people of Berea were more open-minded than those in Thessalonica, and they listened eagerly to Paul’s message. They searched the Scriptures day after day to see if Paul and Silas were teaching the truth.

Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.

When I think back to my years in a high-control church, I can still hear the tone of certain sermons: loud, emotional, and dripping with guilt. It wasn’t enough to encourage people toward good; we had to be made to feel bad first. I remember walking out of services heavy with shame, not because the Holy Spirit had convicted me, but because a man behind a pulpit had told me I should feel guilty for not living up to his version of holiness. For a long time, I believed that was what conviction felt like, that the more miserable I felt, the more spiritual I must be.

It took me years to realize that conviction from the Holy Spirit feels nothing like a guilt trip. Guilt is manipulative; it wants to control your behavior through fear and shame. Conviction, on the other hand, is restorative. It’s the gentle nudge of grace that says, You’re better than this. Let’s do better together. The Holy Spirit doesn’t belittle or humiliate. He leads with truth, but always in love.

Unfortunately, many Christians don’t know the difference because they’ve spent their whole lives being guilted into obedience. They’ve been told how to think, how to dress, how to act, and even how to feel, all in the name of “spiritual guidance.” When someone in authority says, “You should feel convicted,” what they often mean is, “You should feel guilty for not meeting my expectations.” It’s emotional manipulation wrapped in religious language. And it works, because when someone believes they’re disappointing God, they’ll do almost anything to make it right.

But conviction from the Holy Spirit doesn’t come through human coercion; it comes through personal connection. It’s the still, small voice that calls us inward, not the shouting from a pulpit or the judgmental glare from someone who thinks they know our hearts better than we do. Conviction draws us closer to God, while guilt drives us farther away. One leads to peace after repentance; the other leaves us stuck in shame, never feeling good enough to approach God again.

When people try to play the role of the Holy Spirit in someone else’s life, it reveals more about their need for control than their concern for your soul. True spiritual maturity recognizes that the Holy Spirit is fully capable of doing His own work without human interference.

The freedom that comes with understanding this difference is important. Once you stop mistaking guilt for conviction, you begin to see how many religious systems rely on guilt to maintain power. It keeps people small, compliant, and afraid to question. But when you start listening for the Spirit instead, you find that His conviction never crushes, it always restores. He points out what’s wrong not to punish, but to heal.

There’s a quiet confidence that comes from knowing the voice of God for yourself. You start recognizing when someone’s trying to manipulate you with Scripture or shame, and you simply don’t take the bait. You stop apologizing for peace, stop confusing boundaries with rebellion, and stop letting others define what your relationship with God should look like. Because at the end of the day, no one else gets to be the Holy Spirit in your life.

I don’t need a guilt trip. I need grace, truth, and the gentle conviction that comes from the One who actually knows my heart. The Holy Spirit doesn’t condemn to control; He convicts to transform. And that kind of conviction doesn’t leave you feeling unworthy, it leaves you covered with grace.

Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only

As a young teenager, summer camp was one of the highlights of my year. The days were full of excitement, games, funny skits, and team challenges. We cheered for our cabins, enjoyed the beautiful outdoors, ate camp food, and felt like we were part of something special. But as the sun went down each evening and we gathered in the chapel, everything changed. The air was thick with seriousness; the camp preacher took the stage and gone was the laughter, joy, and lightness of the daytime activities.

As his voice rose and fell with practiced emotion, it was meant to stir our hearts and move us to action. Sometimes that meant causing us to doubt our salvation, other times it meant feeling crushed under the weight of guilt for not being good enough or producing enough “fruit.” I remember one time in particular when the preacher gave a message sharing graphic details of the crucifixion of Christ and how it was my fault that He was whipped and bloody put on that cross. Leaving those services, I felt both convicted and confused, wondering if I could ever measure up. Would anything I did ever make me deserving of Christ giving His life for me?

One verse in particular often echoed through those sermons: “By their fruit you shall know them.” (Matthew 7:16) It was quoted so often that it became a kind of spiritual scoreboard, something to measure ourselves and others by. Jesus originally spoke those words as part of the sermon on the mount as a warning about false prophets, explaining that good trees bear good fruit and bad trees bear bad fruit. His point was simple and wise: you can tell the truth of someone’s character by their actions. But somewhere along the way, this teaching was stretched and twisted into something it was never meant to be.

In many religious settings, this verse becomes less about discernment and more about judgment. We are told that we are saved by grace through faith, yet at the same time reminded that our salvation is proven by the “fruit” of our works. The message becomes tangled: grace on paper but performance in practice. It creates a constant sense of spiritual insecurity. Every shortcoming, every lapse in behavior, every moment of struggle becomes a reason to question whether your faith is real. “Am I producing enough fruit?! Will I every be worthy?!”

Throughout the years, I remember hearing sermons where pastors would list all the behaviors that supposedly revealed who was “bearing good fruit” and who wasn’t. Things like how often you attended church, what music you listened to, what you wore, who your friends were, how obediently you submitted to authority. All of these things became the measures of one’s spirituality. I internalized the message that if I ever struggled with doubt, anger, or exhaustion, it meant something was wrong with me spiritually. This verse wasn’t bringing life or freedom; it was turning faith into a performance.

As a young teenager, I took that message to heart. I wanted so badly to please God and do what was expected of me that I examined every thought and action for signs of “good or bad fruit.” But no matter what, it never felt like enough. It seemed as if others seemed confident in their salvation, while I quietly battled fear and anxiety. The words of Jesus that were supposed to bring clarity instead were twisted to cause confusion, leaving me to wonder if I was one of the “bad trees.”

In hindsight, I see how that interpretation distorted the true meaning. The “fruit” Jesus referred to wasn’t about perfection, but about character: love, mercy, humility, and truth. Ironically, the very leaders who used this verse to instill fear often demonstrated the opposite fruits in how they treated others.

Looking back, I see how easily scripture can be used to manipulate emotions, especially in young and impressionable hearts. Those powerful camp sermons were not just passionate, they were calculated and manipulating . They pushed us toward guilt and fear in the name of conviction, but what they really did was make us easier to control. When people feel unworthy, they become dependent on whoever claims to hold the answers.

The intent of Jesus’s teaching in Matthew 7, wasn’t talking about ordinary believers anxiously measuring their worth; He was warning against false prophets. He was warning about those who used religion for power, control, and self-promotion.

The misuse of this verse creates a culture of spiritual insecurity, one where people learn to fake peace rather than pursue it, to appear joyful rather than admit pain, to act holy rather than being honest when they are struggling. It rewards performance over truth and fear over freedom. Ironically, the very leaders who often use this verse to instill fear often demonstrate the opposite fruits in how they treat others.

It took years to unlearn that fear and to see the heart of Jesus’s message for what it truly is. The fruit He spoke of was never about perfection or performance. The true mark of faith is not how flawless we appear to be, but how we love. Love that shows itself in kindness, mercy, humility, and compassion. That is the fruit that lasts.

Now, as I’ve unlearned those patterns, I’ve come to see that spiritual fruit isn’t something we show to prove our worth. It’s what naturally grows when we live in grace, not fear. The truest “fruit” comes from a heart that feels safe enough to be real, not one constantly afraid of being deemed unworthy. When scripture is read through the lens of grace, it brings healing and freedom. But when it is used as a weapon, it traps people in shame.

I like this version of Matthew 7:15-20 from the New Living Translation

You Will Know Them by Their Fruits

¹⁵ “Beware of false prophets who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves. ¹⁶ You can identify them by their fruit, that is, by the way they act. Can you pick grapes from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? ¹⁷ A good tree produces good fruit, and a bad tree produces bad fruit. ¹⁸ A good tree can’t produce bad fruit, and a bad tree can’t produce good fruit. ¹⁹ So every tree that does not produce good fruit is chopped down and thrown into the fire. ²⁰ Yes, just as you can identify a tree by its fruit, so you can identify people by their actions.

Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.