The Lie that Built an Empire
Untangling God from the fear-based system built in his name
For most of my life, I carried a quiet fear inside my chest. It was the kind of fear you don’t talk about because you’re told that even acknowledging it is sinful. I grew up believing that somewhere up in the sky there was a cosmic judge, watching every move I made, ready to slam the gavel down if I slipped.
Most Christians are taught to fear the devil, but I was more afraid of God. Not the loving presence I know now, but the version handed to me: the one keeping a ledger, waiting for me to fail, demanding my devotion while threatening eternal torture if I didn’t get it right.
And Christians love to repeat the line, “The greatest lie Satan ever told was that he doesn’t exist.”
But the longer I’ve deconstructed, the more I realize that isn’t the greatest lie at all.
The greatest lie he ever told was that he was God.
When you grow up inside a belief system where fear has been rebranded as “reverence,” it’s almost impossible to question it. You don’t poke at the foundation. You don’t ask who built the house or why the architecture feels so claustrophobic. You just accept it because the cost of doubt feels too high (plus, all the adults in the room who know better than you believe it, so it must be right!).
But eventually, the cracks start to show.
A Conman Never Introduces Himself as a Conman
When I first started questioning things, I didn’t even know I was deconstructing. I just felt nauseous every time someone told me God “demanded” something. It reminded me of manipulative relationships I had been in. The kind where love and fear get tangled together until you cannot tell one from the other.
No abusive partner ever says, “Hey, here’s the truth. I’m here to control you.”
They say, “I’m doing this because I love you.”
“Don’t question me.”
“You’d be lost without me.”
(And the amount of times I heard “God desires your worship” from a pastor… just… ew.)
And one day it hit me: if a conman walked into a bank, he wouldn’t walk up to the teller and say, “Hi, I’m here to empty your accounts.”
He would say, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”