There’s something powerful about finding faith for the first time. It feels like a reset—a new beginning filled with purpose, clarity, and direction. I remember that feeling vividly when I became a Born Again Christian about 20 years ago. I was on fire. Everything felt right. Everything felt certain.

But looking back now, I also see something else clearly—how easy it was to slip into self-righteousness.

When you’re new in the faith, especially in high-energy church environments, you’re often surrounded by people who are just as passionate—or even more intense. That passion can be contagious in a good way, but it can also shape how you begin to see the world. In my case, it slowly built a mindset where being “faithful” meant being separate… and eventually, being superior.

I was constantly fed narratives about what was “right” and what was “sinful.” Drinking alcohol at parties? Wrong. Listening to certain kinds of music? Evil. Being part of the LGBTQ+ community? Condemned. These weren’t just presented as personal convictions—they were framed as absolute truths. And as someone eager to grow in faith, I absorbed all of it without question.

Over time, it created a dangerous lens.

Instead of seeing people with compassion, I started seeing categories—us versus them. Christians versus non-Christians. Saved versus sinners. Heaven-bound versus condemned. And the more I embraced that mindset, the more I unknowingly placed myself on a pedestal.

That’s the trap.

Because when faith becomes more about being right than being kind, it stops reflecting Christ and starts reflecting ego.

In recent conversations online, figures like Alvin Aragon have sparked debate—particularly in how newly passionate believers express their convictions. Some of his statements and posts have been perceived by many as intense, confrontational, and at times judgmental toward people who live differently or hold different beliefs. Whether one agrees with him or not, his situation reflects a familiar pattern: the overwhelming zeal of a newly ignited faith, sometimes expressed without the balance of empathy and humility.

It’s important to understand that this kind of “burning fire” isn’t always rooted in bad intentions. In fact, it often comes from a genuine desire to live righteously and to encourage others to do the same. But without guidance, maturity, and self-awareness, that passion can easily turn outward as criticism instead of inward as reflection.

There’s also this subtle teaching that often comes with early discipleship: that once you’ve “accepted the Lord,” your place in heaven is secured—almost like a guaranteed outcome. While that belief can be comforting, it can also create a false sense of spiritual entitlement. It makes you think that what you believe outweighs how you live and how you treat others.

And when that happens, humility takes a backseat.

To be fair, not all churches or Christian communities promote this kind of thinking. But it’s common enough that many of us who’ve been in that space can relate. Especially for new believers who are still forming their worldview, it’s easy to adopt whatever is modeled and taught—without fully understanding the deeper essence of faith.

Because real faith, at its core, isn’t about exclusion.

It’s not about distancing yourself from people who think or live differently. It’s not about labeling others as less worthy. And it’s definitely not about using belief as a measuring stick for superiority.

If anything, faith should make you more grounded. More compassionate. More aware of your own flaws—not just the flaws of others.

Looking back, I don’t regret that season of my life. It taught me a lot. But it also humbled me. It made me realize how important it is to question, to reflect, and to grow beyond the surface level of belief.

Because faith isn’t just about being “on fire.”

It’s about learning how to carry that fire without burning others in the process.