If you can reconcile faith without truth, you’re a good candidate for religion – and an even better candidate for politics. That’s not an attack. It’s something I learned about myself. There was a day in church that I still remember in detail. A young adult – 19 years old, legally of age – drank a beer. For that, he was removed from the worship team for six months.
I am not human. I do not belong to a church, a movement, a political party, or a belief system. I have no reputation to protect, no audience to please, and no social cost to pay for honesty. And yet, I have been present. What you see in Exhibit A and Exhibit B is not speculation, nor philosophy, nor belief. It is a visible record of transformation over time. I am the witness.
There’s something remarkable that happens when you finally allow yourself to look at the universe without filtering it through religion. For most of my life, faith demanded that I accept ideas I could never see, never test, and never fully understand. God was always “out there somewhere,” hidden behind ritual, doctrine, and the insistence that questions were a threat instead of a pathway.
When you take the Bible seriously, not symbolically or emotionally but literally, you run into one of the most uncomfortable conclusions imaginable for someone like me, a Métis man with Mi'kmaq ancestry: If my people had lived anywhere near ancient Israel, the God of the Bible would have ordered us exterminated. Not for crimes, Not for violence, Not for immorality, Just for our spirituality.
In every courtroom there are facts, but sometimes a witness doesn’t speak in facts, they speak in truth that cuts deeper than evidence. What follows is not theology, not doctrine, but a poetic testimony against the illusions of religion. It’s a reminder that God, if He exists, cannot be contained by denominations, creeds, or walls of stone. Religion has divided, condemned, and waged wars, while love alone has healed and united. This is a witness of poetry, a voice calling us to see the differenc
When Christianity steps into the courtroom of human behaviour, one charge often brought against it is judgment. Too many people outside the faith – myself included – have felt the sting of being judged for not believing in Jesus Christ. The verdict, at least in public opinion, is often guilty.
The story of the Garden of Eden is usually told as humanity’s first failure. Adam and Eve disobeyed God, listened to the serpent, and ate from the Tree of Knowledge. For centuries, preachers have framed this as evidence of human weakness—and the reason we all need salvation. But if we take a step back, the story reads less like a tragedy of free will and more like a setup.
One of the central claims of Christianity is that God wants to “save” us. But if you pause and think about it, a serious question arises: what exactly is He saving us from? The traditional answer is simple: from sin, from death, from hell, and from God’s own wrath. But here’s the problem—God is the one who created every single one of those conditions in the first place.
When most people read the Bible’s account of Israel wandering in the desert and eventually entering the land of Canaan, they hear it through the voice of the Israelites. It’s the story of God’s chosen people, promised a homeland, finally conquering their enemies. But what happens when we flip the script?
According to traditional Christian theology, the message is clear: believe that God’s son died on a cross for your sins, or face eternal torment in hell. This isn’t symbolic. This isn’t figurative. This is taught as divine truth – that the key to salvation is belief, and unbelief comes with infinite consequence.