Breaking the Spell: My Moral Stand Against Manipulative Faith

Preface

In Edward Scissorhands, I wrote about the difference between genuine empathy and its imitation. That story reminded me how easily goodness can become performance, and how often sincerity is punished when it does not conform. The same truth extends far beyond the world of film.

Faith, too, can become theater. When love is performed for approval instead of lived with honesty, it loses its soul. What follows continues that reflection, exploring what happens when faith turns into control, and how truth becomes the only path back to compassion.

The Moment of Clarity

There comes a time when silence no longer feels like peace, but instead begins to feel like surrender. For me, that moment came slowly. It grew somewhere between listening and understanding, between hearing familiar sermons about love and redemption and finally recognizing what lived beneath those words.

The ministry of my uncle’s family once sounded confident and purposeful. Yet as the years passed and I grew older, I began to hear something different. The warmth faded. What remained felt cold and mechanical. I realized that the words spoken from the microphone did not hold up to reality. What they called faith had begun to resemble something else entirely: belief shaped, packaged, and managed like a product.

It was not one sermon that opened my eyes. It was the repetition. The rhythm. The constant insistence that doubt was dangerous. Obedience was praised as virtue. Silence was framed as loyalty. What I once approached with respect began to reveal the outline of something harmful. It was not faith at all, but fear wearing the mask of holiness.

As I paid closer attention, patterns emerged. Each message followed a predictable structure. Emotional tension was created, then released, followed by reassurance and promise. Yet that peace always came with a condition.

Many modern ministries operate this way. Moral certainty is offered to the uncertain. Belonging is sold to the lonely. Hope is marketed to the hurting. The exchange feels spiritual, but the cost is often financial and psychological.

Each call for faith is paired with a call to give more, submit more, and trust more. Over time, this cycle drains people of independence and leaves them dependent on the very system that created their fear. What remains is not living faith, but managed belief.

Once you see it, you cannot unsee it. The sermons are designed to bypass reason and go straight to emotion. Music swells. Voices rise. The cadence becomes hypnotic.

Authority follows. Pastors speak as though divine truth has chosen a single voice to speak for all. Those who question are told they are separating themselves from God’s people. Those who remain silent are praised for obedience.

Eventually, the circle closes. The outside world is cast as broken and sinful. Anyone who disagrees becomes an enemy of light. For people like me, members of the LGBTQ+ community, these sermons are deeply personal. We are not simply outsiders. We are targets. Our existence is framed as something to be fixed, denied, or erased in order to be loved by God.

What is presented as spiritual care often becomes psychological control. Free thought is replaced with dependence. Humility is replaced with fear. I often wonder what could happen if manipulation were replaced with love, acceptance, and inclusion of people as they are. How much healing could follow for those starved for truth and belonging. What many churches fail to see is the true human cost.

Behind each emotional service lies a quiet story of loss. People surrender independence. Some give up their savings. Many lose peace of mind. Families fracture when one person begins to see clearly while another cannot. Children grow up believing that love must be earned through fear and that questioning leads to rejection.

For queer believers, the harm cuts even deeper. We are told to repent not for what we do, but for who we are. We are made to feel unworthy of love or community. That is not faith. That is cruelty dressed in scripture, or perhaps an unwillingness to understand human difference and accept it.

Still, I have witnessed courage. I have seen the strength it takes to step away from manipulation and move toward truth. Those who wake up discover something powerful. Once truth is seen, it cannot be unseen.

My stand is not against belief itself. It is against deception. Truth should never be something to fear. Real faith can only exist where honesty is allowed. Love must be the motivator. Inclusion and acceptance must be central to any community that claims moral authority.

Faith without freedom is not faith. It is control.
Community without honesty is not unity. It is submission.

The sermons I witnessed revealed how sacred language can be twisted to protect power. My response is not anger, but clarity. I do not wish to destroy faith. I wish to protect it from those who exploit it.

Truth, in my view, is an act of love. It protects the soul from false guidance. It defends those shamed for being different. It gives voice to those told to remain silent.

Leaving manipulation behind is not a single act. It is a gradual return to one’s own mind. Truth can be uncomfortable, but it is also healing. Naming what is wrong is the first step toward making it right.

If the gospel means anything, it must include acceptance, not only from those seeking faith, but from those who preach it.

Faith can evolve. It can become understanding. It can become compassion. When turned inward, faith grows into integrity and awareness. This kind of strength cannot be sold or performed. It can only be lived.

The Path Forward

Exposing manipulation is not an act of hate. It is an act of moral defense. We live in a world where deception often hides behind devotion. Yet truth still has the power to reach hearts quietly and restore balance where fear once ruled.

I no longer seek approval from those who profit from fear. My goal is simply to speak truth clearly, to help others see that what is presented as holy can also be deeply human and deeply flawed.

Breaking the spell is not revenge. It is renewal. It is the reclaiming of the right to see clearly and to love freely.

Truth remains the purest form of faith I know, whether one believes in God or not. It was never meant to be a tool for manipulation, but a responsibility for those with a microphone to multiply ethics, compassion, and dignity for all, without exclusion and without prejudice.