For a long time, I asked myself a question that I think a lot of us are terrified to say out loud: Why does God hate me?

I was convinced I was God’s little plaything. You know the drill. He throws you a bone, you wag your tail, and then yank. He snatches it away just to watch you whimper. It feels sadistic. We assume that because He’s the big guy upstairs, He must be bored, and we are just the ants under the magnifying glass.

The George Carlin Theology

When bad things happen, the default setting for most people is “God is punishing me.” We treat karma like a vending machine: I put good in, I should get good out. If the machine eats my dollar, the owner must hate me.

But God doesn’t punish you like that. I know, I know. “He loves you.” Yeah, right. Sure He does. It sounds like a sales pitch. But, I think it’s a different kind of “tough love“.

It reminds me of one of my absolute favorite bits by the legend, George Carlin. If you grew up when I did, Carlin was basically a prophet of skepticism. He laid it out like this:

“Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time! But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money!”

It’s hilarious because it hits a nerve. It exposes the absurdity of organized religion when it’s stripped of spirituality. At first glance, it seems accurate. But here is the hard pill to swallow: Carlin was right about the institution, but he might have been wrong about the Guy running the show.

It’s not God to blame. He does love you. Every father loves their children, even the screw-ups. What we forget is that God isn’t “in control” in the way we assume. He isn’t moving us around like chess pieces. He doesn’t mess with free will. It’s all on us. And contrary to the televangelists of the 80s asking for seed faith donations to buy a jet: God doesn’t need your money.

Money, The Devil, and The Courts

Money is evil. Let’s just say it. Money wasn’t invented by God. It’s the work of the devil. It’s powerful stuff, radioactive to the soul, and it makes people do awful things. It is one of those temptations that Lucifer sets up to take you off your path. It turns brothers against brothers and parents against children.

But if money is the devil’s left hand, the courts are his right hand. The next most evil thing invented by the devil are the courts. Even Jesus wasn’t immune.

We are seeing a massive shift right now. Public trust in the judiciary is crumbling. According to recent studies, people are losing faith in the courts because they see the gears grinding people down rather than lifting them up. Family courts, in particular, have lost the faith of the people for good reason, and it is scary. It is a system designed for conflict, not resolution. It thrives on billable hours and broken homes.

It’s important to maintain perspective here. If you feel like the legal system is crucifying you, you are in good company.

The Trials of Jesus: The Original Kangaroo Court

In Christian theology and history, the relationship between Jesus and “the courts” is brutal. It wasn’t just one bad hearing. Jesus faced six separate trials in approximately 12 hours. Talk about a bad day in court.

The Religious Trials (Jewish Authorities):

• Annas: This was the preliminary inquiry. Imagine being dragged before the former boss who still pulls the strings. It was a setup from the start.
• Caiaphas: The trial at the palace of the current High Priest. This is where they slapped him with blasphemy. They didn’t want truth: they wanted a charge that would stick.
• The Sanhedrin: The final Jewish court session that officially condemned him. It was a rubber stamp of a predetermined verdict.

The Civil Trials (Roman Authorities):

• Pontius Pilate (Round 1): Pilate found no basis for a death sentence. He was the bureaucrat who knew the case was garbage but didn’t want the headache.
• Herod Antipas: Pilate passed the buck. He sent Jesus to Herod, who mocked him, treated him like a circus act, and sent him back.
• Pontius Pilate (Round 2): This is the one that hurts. Under pressure from the mob, Pilate sentenced an innocent man to crucifixion for insurrection. He washed his hands of it, but the blood was still there.

Jesus warned us about this. He told his followers to settle disputes “quickly while you are on the way” to court. Why? because he knew that once you enter that system, you lose control. He famously said, “Do not take an oath at all,” implying that a person’s character should be enough. He criticized the “experts in the law” for loading people with burdens while lifting not a finger to help them. Sound familiar?

The Courts of Heaven: A Different Kind of Justice

There is a theological concept that has been bouncing around my head lately called the “Courts of Heaven.” It describes a spiritual courtroom where God is the Judge, Jesus is the Advocate (the Defense Attorney), and Satan is the Accuser.

In this metaphor, Jesus represents believers. He’s the guy standing between you and the maximum sentence, pleading the merit of his sacrifice to secure your forgiveness. Some modern teachers use this to describe a style of prayer aimed at removing “legal” spiritual blockages or generational curses. Critics say it’s too mechanistic, but when you’ve been chewed up by earthly courts, the idea of a heavenly court where the judge actually loves you is pretty appealing.

I Am Not Job (But I Get Him)

Over the past year, religion has been on my radar more. I have tried to figure out why my life has gone in certain directions. A lot of people have compared my story to biblical stories like Job. I don’t necessarily agree.

Job was a far better Christian than I am. I think people say that about me not because I lost everything, but because I have lived through a level of chaos and judgment that makes you question the ground under your feet. Job wasn’t just suffering. He was being misunderstood. He was blamed and analyzed by people who didn’t know the truth but were absolutely convinced they did. Everyone around him constructed a narrative about who he was, and he had to stand there, stripped down to nothing, and say, “I am not who you think I am.”

That is my life. That is exactly what this past year has felt like. Standing in the wreckage while people point fingers.

But here is the thing about Job: his story doesn’t end in darkness. It ends in clarity. It ends with him finding a presence he thought he had lost. It ends with the truth winning out, long after everything else collapsed. I relate to that hope more than I ever expected to.

The Prodigal Father: Flipping the Script

The other story that mirrors my life is the Prodigal Son. But we always focus on the kid. The screw-up who blows his inheritance on parties and wild living. Lately, I have been drawn to the father. The one who is wounded. The one who is misunderstood. The one who still believes in reconciliation even when everyone else thinks he is a fool.

That father isn’t naïve. He is patient. He is hopeful. He refuses to shut the door on a child who lost his way. That’s the part of the story that fits me.

I never stopped loving my son. Even after everything. There is still a part of me waiting for him to come home emotionally, even if I know it may take years. When you are the parent in that situation, you don’t stop being a dad just because your kid stops acting like a son.

And then there is the line Jesus spoke on the cross: “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

I don’t say that lightly. But when I look at the psychological manipulation, the fear, the confusion, and the pressure my son was under, I can see how he didn’t understand the full weight of what he was doing. I can see how he became tangled in a narrative that never belonged to him.

Forgiveness: The C.S. Lewis Reality Check

Those three teachings together tell the story of my life right now:

1. Job, standing in truth while the world misunderstands him.
2. The Prodigal Father, holding hope for a wounded child.
3. Christ’s forgiveness spoken into injustice.

That is the path I have been walking. Not by choice, but by survival. And now, by the grace of something bigger than me, I am starting to understand it. I have started to read more on religion and spirituality. One book my cousin turned me on to is Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis.

Lewis explains that forgiveness is not a soft virtue or a shallow ideal. It is one of the hardest commands in Christianity because it forces a person to look past the harm done to them and still see the humanity in the person who caused the wound.

He says real forgiveness does not mean pretending the harm wasn’t serious or excusing injustice. It doesn’t mean you have to be best friends with the person who stabbed you in the back. It means refusing to let bitterness become your identity. It means holding together two truths at once: that what the other person did was wrong, and that you are still choosing compassion over hatred.

Lewis admits this process is painful, slow, and often done in layers. You forgive them on Tuesday, and then the anger comes back on Wednesday, and you have to do it again. But he insists it is the path that transforms a wounded person into a stronger, more whole version of themselves.

Forgiveness is the most important thing we have and the most compassionate we can be. It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.

Fighting Back vs. Turning the Other Cheek

However, let’s get one thing straight. I can’t be a righteous person all the time, and I don’t think you should be either. Sometimes you have to “fight back” because evil has no empathy. Evil will not care about your faith or your compassion. Evil is banking on your ability to break down. I refuse. I won’t.

There is a difference between forgiveness and being a doormat. You can forgive someone and still lock your door. You can hope for them and still fight for your own survival.

But it is so lonely. Fighting for yourself is very lonely and makes you feel like someone you are not. Often times you can’t see the positive things. You are so focused on seeing the negative and it makes you doubt if it’s worth it, or if praying is actually “a thing,” or if you are looking silly talking to yourself in an empty room.

We live in a world that loves a scandal more than a redemption arc. But there is a miracle in ordinary faithfulness. Just showing up. Just refusing to let the bitterness win.

Miracles are Opportunities

Miracles happen to good people. I believe that. But they might not be the miracles you wanted or expected. We want the burning bush. We want the sea to part. We want the winning lottery ticket.

But maybe the miracle is just the strength to get out of bed today. Maybe the miracle is a phone call from an old friend. I think people should replace the word “miracle” with “opportunity.” Maybe if you start looking at things as opportunities you’ll start appreciating all the miracles you will see.

So this Christmas, if you are feeling like God hates you, or like the world is against you, take a breath. Put on some Alice in Chains. Read a little C.S. Lewis. And remember that the story isn’t over yet. The “invisible man in the sky” might just be waiting for you to stop screaming so He can finally get a word in edgewise.