The encounter was real

At sixteen, an encounter with the Holy Spirit changed my life. I had been struggling with sexual addiction, secrecy, and suicidal thoughts. During prayer at a church conference, I experienced His presence and heard Him ask who I would follow. Afterward, I spent roughly four hours weeping and laughing, and eventually went to my mother to confess what had been happening. We reconnected, and the darkness I had felt was gone.

That encounter made me hungry for Scripture and prayer. I spent hours with the Holy Spirit. I wanted Him, not simply the next religious activity.

Naturally, I assumed the church where this happened must understand the relationship it had helped me discover. I entered every class and teaching I could. My pastor took me under his wing. But he also told me not to trust what the Holy Spirit was saying to me and to run it all by him before speaking or acting. I submitted.

Over the years, some of the most beautiful parts of that connection faded. This was not because I had stopped attending, serving, or loving God. I became a ministry leader and remained active in private prayer. Increasing participation in the system did not prevent the erosion of intimacy.

How distrust becomes normal

The pattern appeared in different forms. In charismatic settings, the Spirit received attention—as long as what someone heard did not contradict the pastor’s sermon or denominational theology. Elsewhere, He was quietly sidelined.

My wife once heard a pastor say:

“You can’t know for sure if Holy Spirit is speaking. That’s why you should rely on Scripture instead.”

That is more than advice about reading. It trains people to doubt direct experience of God. When I described a conflict between what I had been taught and what I had experienced in Him, I was told to distrust the experience and trust the teaching.

Fear reinforced the lesson. Questioning the narrative could be labeled apostasy. People who disappeared from the community could be dismissed as backslidden or lacking faith. Others learned to remain silent because they did not want to be next. Sometimes the answer to an uncomfortable question was simply that I needed faith. Faith became a way to stop the conversation.

Some people honestly admitted they did not know the answer. That openness mattered. The problem was the anger and control that appeared when an assumption supporting an entire doctrine was challenged.

Test the burden, not the label

Jesus described religious leaders this way:

“And they tie up heavy burdens and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are unwilling to move them with so much as a finger.”

— Matthew 23:4, NASB

The issue is the burden laid on people in God’s name. James likewise shifts the measure of religion toward care for orphans and widows, away from empty talk and religious performance.

That is what I mean by religion here: not sincere devotion, but machinery that adds separation. A genuine encounter within a church does not prove that everything surrounding it came from God. We can honor what Jesus gave without preserving the controls that taught us to distrust His Spirit afterward. The practical question is whether our habits cultivate relationship or train us to silence it whenever the system feels threatened.

Discussion

1. Can you identify a time when a question was met with honest curiosity—or stopped with a label? What difference did that make?
2. What specific practice in your community encourages listening to the Spirit, and what practice makes that listening dependent on institutional approval?

Adapted from Chris Drake’s Dismantling Religion, Chapter 1, “Awakened,” with Chapter 13, “The Real Gospel.”