From childhood magic to religious belief and finally to lived compassion, this reflection asks a simple question: what remains when illusion falls away—and love stays?

When I was a child, I loved watching magic shows on television. The idea that someone possessed powers I did not, fascinated me. I was especially taken by the magician who cut people in half and rearranged the boxes on stage. I knew it had to be an illusion, yet part of me desperately wanted it to be real.

The desire for magic is common, especially among those who feel small or powerless—and that was me. I promised myself that if I ever learned the secrets of magic, I would use those powers only to fight bullies. Then one day, someone revealed how the tricks were done. Instead of feeling empowered, I felt foolish. Magic lost its shine. Its only real power, I realized, was deception—and I wondered how magicians lived with themselves knowing that they were deceiving people.

Now, when I watch a magician perform, I see the trick immediately. I sometimes feel the urge to shout, “It’s not real!” but I know the audience wouldn’t listen. Most people want to believe.

I once felt the same way about Christianity. I believed it was my calling to bring others into the saving knowledge of grace. Accept Jesus as your Savior and—like magic—your sins would be forgiven and your life transformed. I was a devoted evangelist, convinced I was rescuing souls from hell.

Then life opened my eyes. I no longer believed in hell or in sin as I had been taught to understand it. I felt deeply disappointed in my teachers, and I came to see that Christianity, like magic, draws its power from faith itself.

Today, I am called an atheist—not because I chose the label, but because I do not believe in a personal God. Yet I do believe in Life: eternal, present, and expressed through all living things. I do not believe in heaven or hell, nor do I believe salvation is needed. What happens after death remains a mystery, and I am content to leave it that way.

When I sit among Christians speaking endlessly about Jesus, it feels much like sitting with the followers of a great magician. I have no objection to belief—people believe because they need to—but when belief becomes the only language spoken, I grow uncomfortable. I am no longer under that spell.

I have a good life here in Cambodia. I deliver rice to struggling families in our community—and provide educational support to several children. I am welcomed warmly into their homes and greeted with cheers when I enter a village.

I once believed that God was love, and that it was His love I shared with others; however, after losing my religion, I now believe that I am that love, and that love is made real only when it is lived.

Be the love in your world.

WayneWrites.com