The Unfolding of Religion and the Infolding of Beloved Identity
For too long, we’ve mistaken religion for righteousness. We’ve confused performance with intimacy, duty with devotion, and law with love. We have built altars to our own efforts, thinking they would somehow earn us a place at the table. And all the while, the Father was never asking for our performance—He was asking for our hearts.
There is an unfolding happening. The system of religion, built on control and striving, is being exposed for what it is—a man-made structure designed to manufacture holiness without requiring intimacy. It is cracking under the weight of its own futility. And at the same time, there is an infolding—a drawing in, a calling back to what was always meant to be: a life lived from beloved identity, not religious obligation.
Religion Has Always Been About Control
Religion has never been about intimacy; it has always been about control. It says, “If I do enough, if I sacrifice enough, if I perform well enough, then I will be accepted.” It is the same lie whispered in the garden: You must do something to be like God (Genesis 3:5). It feeds off fear—fear of rejection, fear of punishment, fear of never being enough.
And fear will always keep you in bondage. That’s why religion thrives on guilt. It needs you to feel unworthy so that you keep running back to it, trying to prove yourself again. It keeps a tally of your failures and makes sure you never forget them. That’s why the religious spirit is so quick to condemn—it actually finds joy in your downfall because your failure keeps the system alive.
There is a Greek word for this kind of spirit: ἐπιχαιρέκακος (epichairekakia)—“to rejoice in the downfall of another.” That is the spirit of religion. It loves watching you fall because your failure fuels its power. It’s the voice that says, You’re not good enough. You’ll never measure up. You should be ashamed.
But listen to me—shame is not the language of the Father. Shame is the voice of the orphan spirit, and it is the orphan spirit that fuels religion.
Jesus came to destroy that system. Look at the ones He rebuked the hardest—not the sinners, not the tax collectors, not the prostitutes. It was the Pharisees, the religious elite, the ones who “honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me” (Matthew 15:8). He called them whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside but full of death on the inside (Matthew 23:27).
Do you know why He went after them so hard? Because they misrepresented the heart of the Father. They took what was meant to be a relationship and turned it into a lifeless transaction.
And some of you reading this—you’ve been wounded by that system. You’ve been told that your worth is tied to your performance. You’ve been taught that God is pleased with you only when you’re at your best. You’ve been made to feel like an outsider because you didn’t fit the mold of what religion said was acceptable.
But let me tell you something—Jesus did not come to reinforce that system. He came to burn it to the ground.
The Veil Was Torn for a Reason
Religion will always try to put a veil back where God tore one apart.
“At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” (Matthew 27:51)
Do you understand what that means? The separation was removed. The system of striving was rendered useless. No more mediators, no more sacrifices, no more rituals to earn His presence. The Father made it clear: I don’t want religion—I want you.
But what does man do? We try to stitch the veil back together. We try to create new rules, new barriers, new hoops to jump through. Why? Because religion is comfortable. It’s predictable. It gives us a sense of control.
But beloved identity? That’s terrifying to those who are still slaves to the old way. Because it requires something religion never does—surrender.
The Infolding of Beloved Identity
At the same time that religion is unfolding, there is an infolding—an invitation to come home. To step into something that was always meant to be ours.
Paul says it plainly:
“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15)
That one verse dismantles everything religion has tried to build.
• Religion says you are a slave. Sonship says you are a child.
• Religion says you should be afraid. Sonship says you can come boldly before the throne of grace.
• Religion says earn it. Sonship says receive it.
And this is the war happening in so many hearts. The old system is fighting to keep you bound, but the Spirit of adoption is calling you home.
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1)
Do you believe that? Really believe it? Because if you did, you’d stop striving. You’d stop trying to earn what has already been freely given. You’d stop defining yourself by your failures and start seeing yourself the way He sees you.
The Choice Before You
The religious system is crumbling. It cannot sustain itself because it was never built on love—it was built on control. And what is built on control will eventually collapse under the weight of its own deception.
But the infolding of beloved identity is increasing. The Father is reclaiming the ones who have only known striving. He is calling the weary to rest, the wounded to healing, the outcasts to belonging.
Where do you stand?
Are you still clinging to a system that was never meant to save you? Are you still living under the weight of trying to earn what has already been given? Are you still striving for a Father who already ran to meet you?
Or will you surrender? Will you let yourself be enfolded in the embrace of the One who was never looking for your perfection—only your heart?
Religion is unfolding. The orphan spirit is being exposed. But the sons and daughters are coming home.
It’s happening.
Will you be part of it?
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