Agape Freedom Community

By: Jeric Yurkanin

Alright, folks—here’s how you stay an evangelical Christian for life. It’s simple. It’s like a diet plan, except instead of losing weight, you lose curiosity.

Step one: Don’t read your Bible.

No, no—don’t touch it. That’s not a book, that’s a liability. That’s evidence. That’s a paper trail. That’s a “Wait… what the hell is this?” machine.

Step two: If you do read it, don’t take it literally.

Unless it’s about gay people. Then it’s literal. Then it’s “God’s timeless truth.”

Amazing how God’s “unchanging Word” changes based on who the sermon is mad at this week.

Step three: Never ask questions.

Because questions are how you end up with answers. And answers are how you end up outside the building—keeping your money.

Instead, just “lean not on your own understanding.”

Which is a fancy religious way of saying:

“Don’t think. Don’t process. Don’t connect dots. Just rent your brain out to a guy with a microphone.”

Step four: Don’t research history.

History ruins everything.

You start learning patterns, and suddenly you’re like:

“Hey… why do we keep ‘finding God’ right after we ‘find power’?”

Step five: If a Christian does something horrible—easy fix:

“They weren’t a real Christian.”

Oh, that’s perfect. That’s the best scam religion ever pulled:

All the wins count, none of the losses count.

Christianity is the only team that’s undefeated because they erase the scoreboard.

Step six: Whenever hypocrisy shows up, whip out the holy duct tape:

“We’re all sinners.”

Translation: “Yes, it’s rotten. No, we’re not changing it.”

Step seven: Don’t ask why the Sabbath was deadly serious for like 1,900 years and then suddenly became optional when capitalism needed a weekend shift.

God didn’t change.

Walmart did.

Step eight: Listen to your pastor. Don’t question. Don’t challenge.

Because if you challenge him, you might discover he’s not a “shepherd.”

He’s a manager… at a spiritual subscription service.

Step nine: Don’t take your faith too seriously—unless it’s somebody else’s life you’re judging.

Then suddenly you’re a theologian.

Then suddenly you’re a moral surgeon with a butter knife.

Step ten: Don’t try to make sense of the Old Testament.

That’s not a sacred text. That’s a crime scene.

If you actually read it, you start asking questions like:

“Why is this rated PG in the children’s ministry?”

And we haven’t even gotten to the American chapter of the faith.

Because if you study it, you notice some weird stuff:

Ministers defending slavery.

Pastors defending segregation.

Churches “discovering” political parties like they’re Bible verses.

And every time someone points it out, the church says:

“Those were different times.”

Yeah—different times, same playbook.

Then there’s the money part. Oh, the money part.

Jesus: “Watch out for religious profiteers.”

Modern church: “Great idea. Let’s build a merch table.”

Jesus flips tables in the temple.

Modern pastors flip… the offering buckets.

And they’ll tell you, with a straight face:

“God needs your money.”

Really? God created the universe… but can’t cover the electric bill without your Visa?

And don’t forget the magic math:

“Give ten percent and God will bless you a hundredfold.”

That’s not theology—that’s a multi-level marketing scheme with worship music.

And if you don’t give?

They’ll say you’re “robbing God.”

Which is wild—because if God is all-powerful, how do you rob Him?

What are you gonna do—pickpocket the Holy Spirit?

So here’s the secret recipe:

Don’t read.

Don’t ask.

Don’t think.

Just be a sheep… and keep giving your pastor your money.

Okay, let’s keep the game going.

Pretend the Christians who helped justify slaughtering Native Americans—women, kids, whole communities—weren’t “real Christians.”

Yeah, sure. They weren’t real. They were just… what… cosplaying Christianity for 300 years?

They had churches, Bibles, sermons, prayers, “God’s will,” the whole package—

but somehow it doesn’t count because it makes the religion look bad.

But the folks obsessing over LGBTQIA people?

Oh those are the real ones.

Those are the A+ Christians.

Apparently genocide is “complicated,” but love is the big emergency.

Pretend Abraham Lincoln was a Christian.

Because Americans love assigning faith like it’s a sticker:

“Here you go, Abe—Christian. It helps the narrative.”

And pretend the Republican Party was always the “Christian party.”

Yeah, totally. History is just vibes now. Facts are optional. Like the Sabbath.

Pretend Jesus didn’t warn about religious leaders using faith for profit.

Ignore the New Testament shift away from Old Covenant law…

until it’s offering time.

Then suddenly we’re back in Leviticus like it’s a finance seminar.

“We’re not under the law!”

—right up until the bucket comes out.

Then it’s:

“Actually, the law still applies… to your wallet.”

And if they need a verse to condemn LGBTQIA people?

Oh look—Old Testament’s back in stock!

Same Bible, different aisle.

They shop it like a grocery store:

“I’ll take two verses of condemnation and none of that love-your-enemies stuff.”

Ignore the “hard for the rich to enter” parts.

Ignore the table-flipping Jesus.

Ignore the part where he’s furious about religion becoming a marketplace.

Pretend that doesn’t apply today—

while churches sell books, merch, conferences, VIP seating, “seed faith,”

and a $79.99 “anointed devotional” that somehow ships with handling fees.

Jesus flipped tables.

Modern churches build tables.

And then rent the tables.

And then take a cut.

And for the grand finale:

“Don’t read your Bible. Don’t ask questions. Don’t lean on your own understanding.”

Just say, “God works in mysterious ways,”

and keep giving money to your pastor.

Pretend it’s not about money—it’s about “saving souls.”

Meanwhile, the evangelical world is a billion-dollar industry.

Which is hilarious, because we’re talking about an all-powerful God…

who can create galaxies…

but can’t save souls without your Venmo.

Then pretend you only have to ‘believe in Jesus’

(and your pastor’s interpretation, and your pastor’s politics, and your pastor’s favorite sins list)

to have eternal life.

Ignore all the passages tying judgment to how you treat people—

like Matthew 25—because that’s… inconvenient.

Helping the poor? Visiting prisoners? Feeding the hungry?

That’s too close to… actual morality.

And now we’re scared of AI.

“Don’t use AI. It doesn’t have a soul.”

Neither does half the preaching I’ve heard, but okay.

At least AI will admit it doesn’t know something.

Try getting that from a pastor.

So don’t use AI for interpretation—only your pastor.

Because nothing says “truth” like:

“One guy. One microphone. No questions.”

And remember: test God by tithing.

So he can bless you tenfold.

Or a hundredfold.

Because God is basically a cosmic slot machine now:

Pull the lever, give the money, hit the jackpot.

Heaven is a casino and Jesus is the dealer.

Also, don’t read Genesis 19 all the way through.

Because after the fire and brimstone, it gets… weird.

Lot’s wife dies… then incest happens.

But hey—don’t lean on your own understanding.

Just keep the story moving. Nothing to see here.

Don’t read Deuteronomy 22.

It handles rape like property and forced marriage.

But sure—call it holy.

Because when something is horrific, the solution is easy:

“God works in mysterious ways.”

Don’t read Genesis 38.

Onan gets killed in a levirate marriage story.

People will tell you it’s about masturbation—because that’s what churches do:

They turn complicated stories into purity talks for teenagers.

Don’t read 2 Kings 2

where bears maul forty-two youths.

Because if you do read it, you’ll ask a question like:

“Wait… this is Sunday school?”

Don’t read Numbers 31:17–18,

where they kill the boys and non-virgin women and keep the virgins.

Pretend that was righteous.

Because nothing says “objective morality” like genocide with footnotes.

And definitely don’t read Leviticus 26:29.

Where cannibalism shows up as a judgment threat.

“You will eat the flesh of your sons and daughters.”

But yes—this is totally the book we give children.

Rated PG.

“P” for please don’t read it.