Over the past few weeks, I found myself unexpectedly walking through a situation that echoes much of what I’ve experienced before in the Body of Christ: the moment where disagreement is no longer allowed, and conversation is shut down in favor of control.
I joined what I thought was a rare space—a theological community centered around the teachings and authenticity of Dr. Michael Cochini. What drew me in was not just the teaching, but the tone: a spirit of inquiry, a hunger for truth, and what appeared to be a willingness to question traditions that many simply inherit. That openness is rare. It’s also sacred.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
When I spoke honestly about my convictions regarding the nature of Jesus Christ—that He is Lord, Savior, and the exalted Son of God, but not ontologically equal to the Father—I did not expect agreement. I welcomed respectful dialogue. What I received instead was exile.
No warning. No conversation. No appeal. Just removed.
To be clear: I wasn’t promoting rebellion or division. I was responding to content. I was answering the same questions others were wrestling with. But because my answers didn’t fit within the assumed framework, I became a liability.
This isn’t about bitterness. This is about pattern recognition. I’ve seen this before. Many of us have. It’s the same spirit that silences rather than discusses. That marks and avoids rather than reasons from the Scriptures. That chooses doctrinal comfort over spiritual courage.
What hurts most is not the removal. It’s the missed opportunity. There were people I was building toward. People I had real conversations queued up with. People I believed were seeking truth the way I was. And in a moment, all of that was severed. Not by God. Not even by theology. But by fear.
Fear that open conversation leads to chaos. Fear that asking the wrong question leads to doctrinal infection. Fear that if someone says, “I believe differently,” the only way to keep the space pure is to shut the door.
But that’s not how the early church grew. That’s not how Jesus taught. That’s not how Paul operated. That’s not how truth gets tested.
I still believe in honest conversation. I still believe in the power of Scripture rightly divided. I still believe that the Body of Christ is meant to reason together, not split apart every time things get hard.
And I believe we’re in the final moments of a prophetic clock. If we can’t hold the line on truth now—with love, clarity, and conviction—we are going to miss the window. And worse, we’ll replace real discipleship with fragile communities built on silence.
So I’m still here. I’m still ready to speak. Still ready to listen. And still committed to building something where questions are welcomed, the Word is central, and spiritual maturity is measured not by how many agree with us, but by how faithfully we walk together through disagreement.
If you’ve ever been removed, marked, or muted for asking too much—you’re not alone. You may actually be right on time.
In grace, Christian
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