In The Beginning
(Pt.3 Salvation)

The next morning, I woke up with a burning sense of righteous anger in my chest.

So I opened the WhatsApp group chat and typed out the Old Testament references to the vine that I had mentioned the night before. I especially bolded Psalm 80:14–17 almost in an act of purging the heaviness in my heart.

“That’s why Jesus said He is the true vine. The Bible is a coherent narrative. Reading it as a collection of aphorisms is a total desecration of it.”

Half an hour later, a sister replied: “That’s so cool! Thanks Avery.” Then she reminded her group from the night before: look what’s in her study today—“Walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harm.” (Proverbs 13:20)

I don’t see what’s “cool” about any of this. From the second half of her comment, I could already picture how she used the appearance of “humility” in her group last night to perform moral elegance.

However, I gave her reply a thumbs-up against my will.

No one else responded. The group chat returned to its usual calm, chatting about outings and various arrangements.

I thought I could hold my anger there and leave it at that.

But I realized I couldn’t.

By noon, I sent another message:

“Not cool for the Jews. Jesus actually dropped a bomb on them. That’s the huge tension He was facing. It’s by no means as simple as gardening. Sorry, I explain this further because I really want you to try and empathise with Him.”

Her reply came, grinning and careless: “I mean the golden thread of the Vine, that’s cool.”

Forcing myself through nausea, I replied, “The Bible is the greatest of all time,” only to regret it and delete the message right after she reacted with a like—ashamed that I had trivialized Scripture just for the sake of social compromise.

That little “message deleted” icon was like Jesus saying nothing as He was mocked.

That night, the fire in my chest had become real. Not just because they were blind—but because I had come to fully understand just how important the vine metaphor was. There was no way I could sleep unless I poured fire onto this blindness.

Without much deliberation, I organized the rage into words and sent it into the group chat:

“Forgive me if I’m too harsh, but my anger has been building since last night, it’s ‘a fire shut up in my bones.’ Since the group leader always ignores my msg, I’m addressing this to the group directly.
I’ve felt humiliated by last Wednesday’s questions, ‘Can you give an example of something you had to give up for the sake of following Jesus?’
Excuse me, but is the person who asks this kind of question a narcissist? The things I’ve sacrificed for Jesus could silence this entire room, but is John 12 about counting my losses for the Lord? It’s about my existence fading into the glory of Christ! It’s the duty of a seed to fall into the ground and die, and if it brings up its so-called ‘sacrifice,’ it shows that it not only never intended to die but also wants to profane His glory.
Last night’s discussion was even worse—it betrayed the very essence of Jesus from the beginning. I emphasized the vine represents Israel throughout the Old Testament. Clearly Jesus’s ‘true vine’ isn’t gardening but a shocking response to the entire OT. Yet, the discussion still rewrote salvation history as personal morality management. Jesus saying ‘I am the true vine’ is a definitive judgment on the history of Israel’s faith, and some people were still talking about their beautiful morals – how dare you?”

I stood in the breach of covenant, hoping to fill the rupture with fury. I wanted to offend them all, just so they could finally hurt for Jesus again.

But events didn’t unfold as I expected. I thought the group would fall silent for a long time—but within half an hour, I received another round of grinning private messages from that same sister, along with replies and conciliatory DMs from another group leader.

I didn’t open WhatsApp. From the notification preview alone, I saw, “I understand you’re frustrated,” and could only think, “You understand nothing.”

I tossed the phone aside so they wouldn’t disturb my sleep—I had a battle to fight the next day.

It wasn’t a confrontation between believers seeking truth, but a systemic silencing.

The next day, I checked that sister’s DM.

Her tone was warm and soft, expressing appreciation for my “sharpness” and “devotion,” but she tried to reframe the issue as “personal sharing,” softening the universal and weighty concern I had raised.

Then she used the church’s gardening metaphor—“it takes time to see the beauty of pruning”—to suggest I was being too hasty.

She then played the “I’m still learning” card to appear humble and draw closer in tone, hoping we could “talk at another appropriate time”—in other words, she wanted to break the conflict into stages, avoiding real confrontation.

I didn’t reply.

I wasn’t going to lend weight to any “kindness” that had no power to reach the truth.

Then I looked at another group leader’s reply in the chat, along with the gaggle of fools who “liked” it.

The reply was warm and polished, like it came from an official customer support agent.

“Thank you for raising your concerns…” — classic tension-diffusing opener. Not an admission of fault, not an acknowledgment of substance, just “We heard your feelings. Now let’s handle this with procedure.”

“We believe the most biblical way to handle this would be to discuss it in person” — a cloak of scriptural authority that actually summoned the authority of church structure. Scripture here wasn’t to assess whether my words were true, but to declare my expression “inappropriate.”

“More than one person” — classic consensus-based control mechanism.

I didn’t respond to her DM either. I couldn’t allow myself to be pulled back into private dialogue—doing so would mean relinquishing my right to speak out.

Truth must be defended publicly. If I now stand in the place of a prophet, I cannot be trapped in the snare of “this cannot be said aloud.”

So I replied in the group chat:

“I’m not someone who lacks a sense of boundaries. But this matter is far more important than myself, so please don’t try to ‘value’ me — I honestly don’t care.
My concern is not emotional or personal, nor about a procedural misunderstanding.
It is about using human self-affirmation to dilute the divine identity declaration of Jesus — calling oneself a Christian while being numb to sacred realities to the point of shamelessness.
This is a deep spiritual concern.
I’m open to dialogue, but from your message, it’s clear that you’re not prepared for facing truth — only trying to ‘manage the disturbance’ on behalf of the system.
I’ve had enough of that.”

Not long after, another sister jumped in. She always thinks too fast with a jumble of fuzzy and shallow logic, and feels too hastily. She replied with a long message in the group, then immediately DM’d me and called me several times in a row.

I didn’t answer. It seems that she has regarded me as a potential service target since she first met me, so I sincerely thought she was arrogant.

After a while, I checked her message in the chat.

She first emphasized “seeking spiritual counsel” as the solution, and tried to reduce the conflict to a “difference of interpretation.”

This kind of cliches was expected.

A month ago, after I shared “The Call” at Testimonial Night, she told me to forgive my parents. From that moment, I knew she would only simplify and confine others’ depth and transcendence into her familiar, cheap moral doctrines.

Then she cited the apostles’ disagreements as a historical model and praised “loving, respectful disagreement.”

Hah, and you think you can compare yourselves to the apostles?

Finally, she stressed “joint reading, prayer, mutual understanding” as the heart of community.

In the end, it was all about preserving a church system that cannot bear being broken by truth.

Then came the reply from the group leader that night. He deflected again, maintaining his polished image as always.

“We’re not trying to manage anything or look after any system.”
A man actively maintaining stability within a system, while denying he’s doing so. That’s not humility—that’s spiritual blindness.

“We just believe that a discussion on theological topics would be more productive and create fewer opportunities for misunderstandings in-person instead of online.”

I was talking about a spiritual crisis, and he downgraded it to “a theological topic.” I was defending truth, and he treated me as “someone with a misunderstanding.”
Was there any ambiguity in the chasm between us?

I couldn’t be bothered to reply to any of them, because not one response touched on truth or the core accusations I had made.

And my accusations already answered every one of their empty words—their words only further confirmed the very deep spiritual concern I had pointed out.

So I no longer needed to “respond” to any of their words.

Instead, I exited the “dialogue of people” and let God speak to them Himself:

“They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14)

This is the blade of the Lord. I don’t believe anyone can refute it.

Let those who have ears, hear.

I looked through each long-winded comment, full of disdain and sorrow, then at the stack of likes underneath them—each one a public delight in the suppression of truth.

…And I saw Roy among them.

Then that sister saw I was online again, immediately called me.

I hung up impatiently—How could there be someone with such a rough emotional intelligence?

I put down the phone, climbed into bed, and took a nap. I don’t even know if I fell asleep—just drifted into a fog.

When I woke up, I saw a new WhatsApp message pop up from the group.

It was Roy.

“Hi Avery, I wanted to carefully consider your words and respond based on my opinion…

I’m so sorry you feel that way so strongly. My honest opinion is that the group leader is one of the most thoughtful, caring and humble people I have met in my life. He and the other leaders are enabling us to reflect on the sermons as best as they can; I mean, as helpfully and relevantly as they can to a group that is an enormous spread of experience, knowledge and cultures.
Clearly the message is cross-cultural and we are to stick to biblical truths, not changing it but trying to open it up to allow everyone to engage.
I don’t believe the discussion topics this week were contrary to the point you are making – your point is a valuable addition.
We are called to be a united body in these engaging conversations; sharpening and encouraging each other to follow God closely. We don’t have a complete understanding, and are perhaps not perfectly able to create the perfect discussion.

Part of the point of this group is to help each other understand these biblical truths. We need people like yourself, who may have a clear understanding of the topics being discussed, to raise them in love so we can all consider – this is healthy. However, there will always be a limit on how deep we can go due to the time or relevance/helpfulness to the wider group at the various stages we are at in our walks of faith – this is a difficult balance and I believe our leaders do a great job in trying to find it. It’s never going to be perfect though and I’m sure we are all open to working together to improve it.”

With the utmost gentleness, he stood on the opposite side of me—speaking for the system.

This time, it was not God reaching out to me through Roy.

It was Uzzah reaching out his own hand to the Ark.

After thinking for a moment, I quietly exited the group chat, and all other church-related groups.

Then I grabbed my pillow, and burst into tears.