“I will dare, and dare, and dare… until I die.” ❤️🔥
— Joan of Arc
Lately, those words have not just lingered in my mind—they’ve taken up residence in my spirit. Because courage isn’t loud in the beginning. It starts as a whisper. A quiet refusal to keep betraying yourself. And I’ve felt it— in the moments I’ve wanted to shrink, in the weight of speaking truth in rooms that would rather silence it, in the backlash that comes when you refuse to echo what’s comfortable instead of what’s true. There’s a kind of fire you don’t choose. It chooses you. And once it does, you don’t get to go back to being agreeable just to be accepted.
We are living in a time where history isn’t just repeating itself— it’s watching us. Watching to see which side we choose when it matters. Not when it’s easy. Not when it’s applauded. But when it costs you something. And I know where I stand. I will stand for truth. I will stand for freedom. I will stand for the dignity and autonomy of every human being—regardless of gender, race, or background.
And I will stand against anything—anything—that uses sacred text as a weapon instead of a mirror.
Because somewhere along the way, people started confusing being “biblical” with being Christlike. And those are not always the same thing.
There are those who use scripture to control. To shame. To diminish. To justify power over others. But if you study the life of Jesus — not the institution built around Him, but the man Himself—you’ll see something entirely different.He didn’t protect broken systems. He confronted them. He didn’t silence the marginalized. He stood beside them. He didn’t reinforce religious hierarchy. He disrupted it. He spoke with women. Honored them. Defended them. He flipped tables in temples. Challenged authority. Broke rules that were never rooted in love to begin with. He was not a peacekeeper. He was a truth-teller. And truth-tellers don’t keep the peace—they expose what was never peaceful to begin with.
I spent years trying to be palatable. Trying to keep the peace. Trying to soften my voice so I wouldn’t make others uncomfortable. But peace that requires your silence is not peace. It’s compliance. And I’m no longer interested in being liked at the expense of being honest.
Because let’s be clear: In Jesus’ time, religion was used to control, to bind, to create systems of worthiness that kept people small and dependent. And today? We are watching the same pattern unfold— just dressed in different language. Now, Jesus is used as a mascot for systems He would have overturned. A name invoked to justify control. A symbol used to strip people of autonomy. A message of love twisted into a mechanism of power. And that should concern all of us.
I love the teachings of Jesus. Not the weaponized version. Not the institutional distortion. But the essence. The call back to the divine within. The invitation to live in truth, in love, in alignment. The reminder that the kingdom is not something to be controlled externally— but realized internally. He didn’t come to make people dependent. He came to make them aware. Aware of who they are. Aware of their power. Aware of their connection to something greater. And that kind of awareness? It threatens systems built on control.
So yes—
I will dare.
I will dare to speak when it would be easier to stay quiet.
I will dare to question what I was told not to question.
I will dare to stand in truth, even when it costs me comfort, approval, or safety.
Because every era has its moment— where silence becomes complicity. And I refuse to be remembered as someone who stayed quiet to stay comfortable.
I used to fear a government that would take away my freedom to read my Bible. Now? I’m paying attention to the systems that would use the Bible to take away my freedom. And that is a far more dangerous thing.
-Finn ❤️🔥
