There’s a stage in brainwashing that explains so much about religion. It’s when the person finally breaks — when they’re exhausted by guilt, shame, and fear. By then, they’ve been told for so long that they’re not enough, that every struggle is proof of some hidden sin or curse, that they start to believe it. They realize it’s not what they did that’s making them miserable — it’s what they believe. And the system that fed those beliefs is the real problem.
But here’s the trick: right at the point of collapse, the “savior” steps in. The pastor, the prophet, the spiritual leader. They offer you a way out — a clean slate, a new identity, a promise that if you just confess your wrongs, renounce your old self, and follow their version of truth, the pain will stop. You’re asked to denounce your “past life,” to reject who you were, and to take on a new name — child of God, chosen one, servant. That’s how the rebuild begins.
I’ve seen it up close. When I was younger, my brother was taken to a small church in Kawangware by some friends. He came home disturbed, saying the pastor had told him things about us — about our family and even about Dad. Concerned, Dad asked me to go see what kind of church that was. I remember it was a midweek service. The woman prophet called me forward, said she had “seen” things about me, and asked me to kneel. They laid hands on me, prayed loudly, and told me I had to reject my past life to receive God’s blessings.
It wasn’t prayer — it was a ceremony of surrender. And they were so sure of their power, so persuasive, that you almost start believing it’s holy. When I got home, I told my dad it wasn’t a church. Something felt deeply off.
Years later, I saw the same formula everywhere — especially in those TV programs where pastors make people stand before the camera, confessing their supposed sins or curses, crying while the pastor tells them their problems come from how they’ve been living. It’s all part of the same cycle. Break them down, fill them with guilt, then offer release through submission.
Even the “prayer of salvation” fits that mold. You’re asked to lift both your hands high — sometimes even kneel — as you repeat the words the pastor says. Eyes closed, hands raised, your whole body in a posture of surrender. You speak the words he feeds you, confessing your worthlessness and promising to give up who you are. It’s powerful theatre — and the deeper truth is chilling. You lose yourself and your identity right there, in that moment of submission. And what the pastor gives you in return is not freedom, but a new identity that serves them — one that benefits their message, their power, their church.
From there, you’re guided into endless church programs, mentorship groups, and the hierarchy of obedience — where you learn to follow without question, to depend completely on “your spiritual father.”
And the bigger the church, the deeper the control. The ones that thrive are those that have mastered this process — mass brainwashing disguised as faith.
Looking back, it’s chilling how easily people can be rebuilt into versions that serve someone else’s vision of truth. You give up your voice in exchange for belonging, your self-worth in exchange for forgiveness, your independence in exchange for salvation.
But the real freedom begins when you stop kneeling — and start thinking again.