The Voice in Your Head Isn’t Alone

I once went to a church that said God hates sin—and, in the same breath, said God hates homosexuality.

And just like that, self-righteousness walked in, sat down, and started preaching.

At that incomplete junction between the infinite and the finite, it became pretty clear: someone was speaking from personal conviction… not authority.

Because authority—real authority—simply is.
It doesn’t hate, any more than it “loves,” at least not in the dramatic, cinematic way we tend to imagine. That kind of emotional swing? That’s human. That’s finite. That’s us on a good day with strong opinions.

But God—or whatever name we give to that ever-expanding, already-expanded essence—doesn’t shrink itself into preferences and pet peeves. The moment we say “God hates this specific group,” we’ve given the infinite a personality… and not even a particularly impressive one.

Because think about it: if the infinite could hate one expression of life, it would have to hate all expressions equally. That’s the nature of something truly boundless—it doesn’t play favorites. So what’s really happening in those moments isn’t divine truth descending from above; it’s human bias rising up and putting on a very convincing costume.

And once that happens, the speaker becomes both the source and the distributor of that hate—passing it along like it’s gospel, like it’s truth, like it came stamped with ultimate authority.

That was the precise moment I got up from the pew… and left.

And while “never” is a big word—one we tend to misuse—I can say with some confidence: I won’t be returning there again.

But I will keep returning to something else.
A quieter authority.
A direct one.

One life—given to all, expressed through many.