Religion
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I have died before. Thirty-eight seconds on an operating table. I cannot tell you exactly what happened in those brief moments of death, but I can tell you what I felt and why it has stayed with me ever since. Those thirty-eight seconds stripped my life down to its bare truth. They showed me that
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The witch said, fear me, but I didn’t.And I won’t. Fairytales don’t survivewhere real living begins.No spellbook can outdo the acheof waking up and still choosing grace. Energy is a circle,not a dagger.What you put out comes back, not through magic,but through truth.Through consequence.Through the quiet way life returns what you give it. Call it
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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what faith really means. Not the version wrapped in rules or ritual, but the kind that grows quietly inside you. The kind you don’t always have words for, but you feel it. It shows up in how you love. In how you choose kindness. In the way you
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I’ve never understood the idea that there’s some man in the sky who demands we only marry the opposite sex. Really think about that — you’re telling me the ultimate force of love and creation is obsessed with our bedroom choices? That’s not divine, that’s control dressed up as religion. If your God insists on
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I’ve been reflecting lately on what it means to seek truth in our spiritual lives. Everywhere we turn—on screens, in books, from pulpits—we’re presented with versions of “truth” that often turn out to be very human creations, shaped by culture, power, or the simple march of time. I want to invite you into a conversation
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So—the pope died today. And whether you’re Catholic or not, that hits. The death of a pope is more than just a news item—it’s the symbolic end of an era in one of the oldest, most powerful institutions on Earth. And now, all eyes turn to what comes next. There’s already talk: What if the
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Each year, Easter meets me in a different place. This year, I needed to write through the noise—to return to what’s real, to what still rises. This is that reflection.
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As Good Friday arrives, I find myself grieving not just the crucifixion of Jesus, but the crucifixion of everything He stood for. In a world where religion is being twisted into a weapon, and hate is preached in the name of love, I wrote this letter to God. It is a cry for truth, for…
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Rise against hate and never edit of back away from it, fight. Yesterday, I was called a devil worshipper because I posted that I have no tolerance for hate, fascism, racism, sexism, or homophobia. I was accused of blasphemy for saying that my church is internal and that I maintain an ongoing personal conversation with
Steven LaChance Blog 