Beyond Damnation #1
From “Jesus to the World” by Loyiso Bala:
We are your hands and feet
You are the word we speak
And all I am will be available to be
Because our hope remains
As we receive we freely give away
As we are filled we are sent out again
Despite claims to the contrary, religion has not vanished from the world, nor is it likely to do so. In fact, its presence has become more diffuse and remarkably persistent. While it is true that once-revered symbols and institutions — priests, rituals, and cathedrals — have been corrupted, profaned, or strayed far from their original purpose, the religious instinct remains deeply rooted in many. What has changed over time are the forms and symbols through which that instinct now finds expression.
But what is this impulse within humans? It is the drive for reverence, for awe, for meaning, for gratitude and duty, for differentiation and community. It is the desire for positive imitation, and the pursuit of continuous self-transcendence. It is the need to evangelise — to spread what we believe to be the good news — whether through persuasion or force, the yearning for morality, and the quest to organize not just our individual lives, but society as a whole. If reverence, then, is one of the key pillars on which religion rests, it is clear that reverence itself has not vanished from the world. We will always find ourselves revering people, ideas, beings, and things. This need to revere will continue to shape how we live, and what we value. What makes for a religion? It must begin with compelling ideas that address fundamental questions of existence and purpose. A powerful founding story is essential—one that comforts and inspires its followers. At the heart of this story, we often find a “patient zero,” a messenger or prophet—sometimes a single figure, other times a series of them — who embody and carry forward these ideas. Each contributes to the evolution, enrichment, or even the dilution of the message. A religion also typically features a deity or a pantheon of deities, reflecting the complexities of life with distinct roles and temperaments. A moral framework is necessary — one that outlines the dos and don’ts, defining the boundaries of right and wrong. Alongside this framework, there is often a promise of reward for those who commit to and embody these ideals, as well as the threat of punishment for those who stray from them.
When it comes to reward and punishment, a key question arises: is the reward or punishment experienced in the here and now, or is it reserved for the afterlife — or perhaps a combination of both? Equally important is how a religion seeks to grow. How does it recruit followers and expand its influence? Is expansion achieved through persuasion, force, or a mixture of both? or perhaps through force as a means of persuasion?. And how far and fast does it aim to expand, both in terms of minds and geography? What, then, is its stance on non-believers? Are they seen as outsiders — barbarians to be conquered and converted? Or does the religion remain indifferent, unconcerned with expanding its influence beyond its current followers? Perhaps it chooses to ignore outsiders altogether, safeguarding the purity of its faith, cautious of the risk of contamination. These dynamics are, in fact, not unique to religion; they are often implicit in most belief systems. Whether it be democracy, communism, capitalism, consumerism, conservatism, liberalism, or even tyranny — each grapples with underlying questions of expansion, influence, and how to engage — or not engage — with those who do not subscribe to its ideals. This brings us back to why the religious impulse endures. The human drive for meaning, for belonging, and for organising society around common values remains constant — whether expressed through traditional faith or modern ideologies. Yet, many have grown cynical toward all ideologies, particularly traditional faith. Why? Perhaps because of how it has grappled with — or failed to effectively address — the questions raised earlier. And this is without even mentioning the contemporary dilemmas that continue to choke humanity. When we read or watch news of religiously motivated violence, it often revolves around these very issues: the sacrificing of those who have treated religious symbols with irreverence, or the urge to forcefully convert non-believers, or to drive them out, or exclude them from certain spaces, or, in extreme cases, to hasten the afterlife in an attempt to purge this world of its perceived corruption.
Personally, these reasons — and many more — were why I distanced myself from organized religion for quite some time. But in doing so, I was throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Yes, regardless of the religion or its splintered offshoots, there will inevitably be a warping of its core tenets— and that’s if the core ideas are not corrosive to begin with. At times, the priests or practitioners of a faith may warp and corrupt its core teachings. It seems the principle of “to whom much is given, much is expected” was often lost on them. And when these practitioners fail to model the behavior that aligns with the tenets of their faith, it is easy to feel sorely disappointed. And in my overreaction, I dismissed the potential good that religion has done — and could still do. Don't blame me; it’s human nature to remember the bad far more vividly than the good. That memory lingers, leaving a bitter taste that is hard to wash away. In hindsight, that cynicism offered me a convenient escape from the complexities of belief, duty, and the inevitable messiness of human institutions. It allowed me to sidestep the uncomfortable truth that, in the end, each of us must work out our own salvation. Whether through religious figures or institutions, or, as in my case, by rediscovering and re-engaging with the Christian faith. And trust me, it is far from a walk in the park. It requires a thorough re-examination of how the faith was first presented to me and how it is represented today in the world. It means acknowledging how this shaped my character, while also recognising how time and human failings have adulterated its core message. The challenge is in discerning what the core message truly is.
This process also involves stripping away the corrosive elements advanced by incompetent or misguided religious leaders that have, in some cases, hindered human flourishing across the world. It demands a careful rethinking of the church’s — or religion’s — role in today’s world. Only then can we reclaim what is meaningful, potent, and relevant to the complexities of modern or postmodern life, or whatever term we choose for the time we are living in now.
Thanks for reading. If there's anything you'd like to chat about, or if you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an email. I'd love to hear from you. :) 🍿
