Seeing Through the Eyes of Love: Redefining Humanity’s Narrative of Creation

The Role of Individual Creation in Shaping Our World

What does it mean to create? Traditionally, the act of creation has been viewed through a religious lens, tied closely to God or deities presented in sacred texts. But creation, at its core, is not solely a divine act; it is a universal one. Every word we speak, every interaction we nurture, and every idea we pen down is, in essence, an act of creation. If we each carry the capacity to shape understanding and to dream into existence the world we wish to inhabit, might this power to create be what truly connects us, believer and non-believer alike?

Rather than debate the existence of God in the biblical or theological sense, I invite you to consider a more accessible concept—one that transcends doctrine and belief systems. This is the idea of the “creator within,” an innate ability we all possess to shape our understanding of the world, ourselves, and each other. This notion of creation is not meant to replace traditional beliefs but rather to broaden the conversation. It is a unifying lens, one through which we might rediscover our shared humanity.

When you hear the word “creation,” do you think of an artist at an easel splashing vibrant colors onto a canvas? Or do you think of Genesis—in the beginning, when the void was replaced with life through divine will? Both perspectives highlight the same truth about creation—it is the act of transforming nothing into something.

Yet, creation doesn’t confine itself to deity or artistry. It is broader than that, woven into our everyday lives. Think of how a simple conversation can create understanding where there was previously disagreement, or how an entrepreneur creates not just businesses but livelihoods and communities. Even pondering an idea or telling a story is an act of creation. Creation is as intellectual as it is physical, and it speaks to the fundamental human urge to shape meaning.

What unifies us all—regardless of creed, background, or circumstance—is the presence of a creator within ourselves. This creator is not external or detached; it is us, manifest in how we make sense of the world. Through this lens, God might not be solely the subject of scripture—God may simply be another name for the immense potential to create that lives within each of us.

By recognizing the creator within, we realize that our capacity to shape lives, solve problems, and build understanding exists equally in believers and non-believers. This doesn’t have to conflict with belief in a higher power; rather, it repositions that belief to serve as inspiration for personal empowerment. You are the artist of your life, the architect of your relationships, the author of meaning within your sphere.

Einstein once said, “Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.” Logic helps us function, but imagination—a key element of creation—is what allows us to thrive.

One of the most powerful tools we wield as creators is language. Through words, we do more than describe our lives—we define the very world in which we live. Words create connections between people who might otherwise remain strangers. They forge understanding between differing worldviews. They allow us to share joy, explain suffering, and challenge ignorance.

Consider the ripple effect of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Eight words—“I have a dream that one day”—sparked a movement. His words weren’t the product of divine intervention but of a human imagining a better reality and bringing it into focus for millions of others.

This is the power of creation through expression. By thinking carefully about our words, by striving to create understanding instead of discord, we honor the creator within each of us. We stitch together a better world, one sentence at a time.

For some, the idea of creation bound to a specific religious figure or scripture can feel restrictive—or even alienating. It raises the stakes of belief to an intimidating level. But what if we viewed creation as something much simpler and more universal?

Seeing creation as a universal and inherent human trait relieves us of the need for religious paradoxes or theological debates. It invites everyone, regardless of religious orientation, to step into their innate power as creators. Faith becomes a spectrum rather than a strict binary. Whether you accept God as a cosmic Creator or see yourself as the singular architect of your reality, you are still a part of the same conversation—a dialogue about creation.

Unity emerges not from agreeing on what—or who—is behind creation, but in agreeing that the power to create is a quality we all share.

We are all creators, shaping the world through our words, actions, and choices every day. Recognizing this potential can transform not only how we view ourselves but how we interact with those around us. Imagine a society where creating understanding, empathy, and solutions became as important as creating profit or power.

I urge you to reflect on your own creator within. How are you shaping your life? How are your words and actions creating ripples in the lives of others? And, most importantly, are you creating a world you want to live in?

The power to create isn’t limited to artists, writers, or divine beings. It is within all of us. Believers, atheists, agnostics—all of us share this remarkable gift. Creation is what unites us—in thought, in spirit, in action.

Seeing Through the Eyes of Love: Redefining Humanity’s Narrative of Creation

What if humanity’s greatest tragedy wasn’t the so-called “fall from grace,” but rather the stories we’ve woven around this event—stories that separate us from the Divine, from each other, and from our own potential?

For millennia, mankind’s understanding of creation has been shaped by the notion that we live in a world irreparably split from its Creator. Rooted in ancient narratives of sin and separation, humanity has carried the belief that it exists in opposition to God, its narratives tainted by misinterpretation, fear, and judgment. But what if the fall—our collective misunderstanding—was not the end of creation but the beginning of our sacred task? A task to co-create, to rename, and to heal our fractured perception of reality through love?

By reframing the narratives of separation and embodying the Divine perspective of love, humanity has the opportunity to align its creations with the original “good” of God’s creation. This isn’t mere theology—it’s a roadmap to spiritual, psychological, and social renewal.

From the dawn of mankind’s ability to name, to define, to shape reality through language, humanity has been creating its own universe. Language, a gift of creation itself, holds the power to name phenomena, categorize existence, and define meaning. However, this power also comes with responsibility.

Consider the moment described in Genesis—when God declares creation “good.” This naming isn’t just a passive assessment; it’s an act of love, of seeing the world as whole, perfect, and aligned with Divine will. But when mankind began to wield the same creative power of naming, the results were far more subjective. Names became swords that divide, labels evolved into judgments, and stories turned into cages. Humanity’s own narrative, instead of reflecting the inclusive light of God’s love, began to reflect humanity’s inner fragmentation.

The implications are profound. If the stories we tell separate us from creation, from one another, and from God, it’s no wonder our collective culture struggles to call our own creations “good.” Instead, we name them flawed, insufficient, burdened by the weight of perceived imperfection. We create—and suffer—from narratives of separation, reinforcing our alienation from the Divine and from each other.

From a psychological perspective, the impact of these narratives is anything but neutral. The belief in a fallen, fractured world fosters a pervasive sense of alienation. It convinces individuals that they are disconnected from meaning, community, and even themselves. This emotional and spiritual void often expresses itself as anxiety, depression, or aggression on an individual level—and as conflict, oppression, and division on a societal scale.

The social sciences confirm what ancient spiritual traditions have long argued—that humanity’s narratives shape not just our internal identity but also our external reality. When we see ourselves as separate from God, we behave as though we are disconnected from love, compassion, and wholeness. Such stories reinforce cycles of violence, both interpersonal and systemic.

This raises an urgent question for theologians and seekers alike: If the stories we tell have created a landscape of alienation, can new stories heal it?

To reshape the present and future, humanity must reclaim its role as storytellers of love. This does not mean ignoring the complexities of life or glossing over pain—it means redefining how we understand and frame those complexities.

Faith traditions across the globe have, at their core, teachings that emphasize unity and love. From the Sufi maxim of seeing the Beloved in all things to the Buddhist aspiration of transcending the illusion of separateness, the spiritual pursuit of harmony mirrors God’s declaration that creation is “good.”

But this is not theology confined to the realm of mystics or clergy. This is a task for all of humanity. Consider these examples of reframing existing narratives for positive change:

• Interfaith Collaboration: By interpreting scripture and sacred texts through the lens of inclusivity rather than exclusivity, individuals of different religions find common ground in their shared pursuit of compassion, justice, and understanding. The Abrahamic traditions alone hold countless points of resonance despite their historical strife.
• Redefining Language Around Identity: Movements for gender equality, racial justice, and environmental sustainability are examples of humanity rewriting its collective narratives. By naming inherent dignity and interconnection, these movements challenge older, divisive stories and reshape how communities see themselves.
• Personal Stories of Transformation: At an individual level, those experiencing reconciliation—with religion, with others, with themselves—often talk of seeing the world anew. Instead of viewing their pain through narratives of separation, they reinterpret life’s moments with love and find healing.

The ultimate transformation for humanity comes when it begins to create as God creates—with love as both the intention and the lens. To name creation “good” is to see it not from a perspective of division or lack but from a sense of wholeness and Divine alignment.

Curiously, this is also where psychology and theology meet. Research in the social sciences highlights the profound impact of narratives based on gratitude, forgiveness, and love. Individuals guided by these narratives report greater resilience, stronger relationships, and even better physical health. At a societal level, cultures that prioritize cooperation and compassion over competition and fear often thrive.

The pattern is clear—when we create in alignment with love, as God does, our creations bear the mark of goodness. Our words heal instead of harm. Our actions unite rather than divide. Our stories become bridges instead of barriers.

It’s time to ask ourselves the difficult questions: What stories are we telling—about ourselves, about others, about God? Are these stories separated from love, or are they resonating with the Divine will?

Spiritual seekers, theologians, psychologists, and activists all have an opportunity—and a responsibility—to reevaluate their narratives. The choice to create with love instead of fear, connection instead of separation, begins with conscious intent.

I encourage you to reflect on the narratives shaping your perception. Engage in dialogues across beliefs—whether interfaith, atheist, or beyond—and explore how shared stories can create a more loving, just world.

When humanity learns to create as God creates, with a love that makes the world “good,” it won’t just heal itself. It will see, at last, the Divine within.

American president Trump and certain Christian, pseudo-Christrian, ultra-conservative Jewish, and other non-biblical inspired thinkers and creators are.now promoting darkness and ignorance through holding anti- LGBQT positions.  They must finally realize that projecting hate and misunderstanding upon the LGBQT community is not God’s will, but their own malfeasance.   These attitudes are yet more chasms created between love and their wayward sense of self.

Bridging the Chasm Between Divine Love and Human Misjudgment

The contemporary world is marked by ideological divides that seem wider than ever, particularly when addressing topics of faith, morality, and identity. One such divide has emerged in the discourse surrounding the LGBTQ+ community—a discourse that has, at times, been weaponized under the banner of religiosity by Christians, pseudo-Christians, conservative Jewish thinkers, and other individuals claiming moral authority. But in this landscape of misunderstanding and projection, we must ask ourselves: is this truly the will of God, or does it merely reflect the human condition’s penchant for fear and self-righteousness?

If we are to grapple with this question, we must first untangle the threads of divine intention from human malfeasance.

At the heart of most religious traditions lies the omnipotent force of love—unconditional, boundless, and transcending earthly limitations. Yet, as fallible beings, humans have often failed to fully apprehend this foundational principle. Somewhere along the way, this divinely unconditional love has been replaced with the flawed constructs of judgment and exclusion.

The truth is evident in the way scripture has been wielded as a tool—not to uplift, but to condemn; not to bring people together, but to widen the chasm of misunderstanding between communities. Many claim their actions, words, or beliefs are inspired by God’s will, yet these displays of hatred and rejection bear little resemblance to the divine love described in sacred texts. Instead, they reflect a wayward sense of self—one ensnared by fear, ego, and a desperate need to assert control.

The projection of hatred upon the LGBTQ+ community isn’t rooted in divine love or moral certitude—it is rooted in a dissonance between the individual’s inner turmoil and their responsibility to uphold love. Projection, in this sense, is a rebellion against spiritual maturity.

To understand this, we must acknowledge that hatred often stems from an internalized insecurity. When a person encounters another who disrupts their worldview—whether through identity, belief, or experience—the discomfort they feel is rarely about the other person. Instead, it is their own inability to address the dissonance between what they believe to be true (or safe) and the reality unfolding before them.

This explains why many individuals project fear and hatred toward the LGBTQ+ community; it is not a reflection of God’s disapproval, but of their own fractured sense of self. They seek safety in absolutes and cling to dogmatic interpretations of scripture that offer certainty. Yet, in doing so, they become disconnected from the fluid, accepting, and profoundly inclusive nature of divine love.

To label others as “deviant” or “sinful” while simultaneously ignoring the command to “love your neighbor as yourself” is a contradiction that speaks volumes. Scripture repeatedly emphasizes love, forgiveness, and humility as cornerstones of faith. Love is presented not merely as a virtue but as a challenge—a call to extend grace even when it is uncomfortable.

Therefore, the ongoing strains between faith communities and the LGBTQ+ community illustrate a deeper crisis of spiritual consciousness. The chasm that has opened is not the result of divine will but of human waywardness. This chasm is a testament to our tendency to impose barriers where bridges are needed—to choose fear over understanding and self-preservation over selfless love.

How, then, do we repair this rift? The answer lies not in further condemnation or defenses of dogma but through radical inclusivity and self-reflection.

1. Questioning Intentions: When we invoke scripture to judge or exclude others, we must question whether our actions align more with divine principles or self-serving ideologies. Is the intolerance offered in service of love, or does it reflect a human fear of difference?

2. Rediscovering the Core of Faith: Returning to the idea of faith as an act of love is essential. Faith should not be understood as a rigid set of rules but as an evolving relationship between humanity and divinity—a relationship that calls for empathy over rigidity and understanding over judgment.

3. Learning from LGBTQ+ Communities: Instead of alienation, faith communities must seek dialogue with LGBTQ+ individuals. Recognizing their resilience, creativity, and love as gifts to humanity could illuminate pathways for spiritual solidarity. These individuals have often engaged in their own acts of faith by reconciling their identity with spirituality—a process that should be honored, not vilified.

4. Acknowledging Our Own Journey: None among us is without flaws, yet many are quick to throw stones under the guise of virtue. Faith invites continual self-discovery and growth, urging us to see the divine not only in ourselves but in others, no matter how unfamiliar their experiences may appear.

Ultimately, it is not our place as human beings to impose limits on God’s love. If divinity itself is limitless, can it not encompass LGBTQ+ individuals with the same grace and intention as anyone else? Every act of judgment veers us further from God’s will, replacing His boundless compassion with human fears that reduce, rather than elevate, our shared humanity.

The failure to accept and include others—especially those marginalized or misunderstood—underscores humanity’s greatest spiritual error. The more we project hatred outward, the further we wander from our true purpose.

Instead of perpetuating fear or alienation, may we strive to unify. May we create faith communities brimming with the kind of love that erases divisions, affirms human dignity, and reflects the unconditional nature of the divine. It is only then, in the space where hatred fades and love is allowed to flourish, that we will find God waiting to welcome us all.9

Faith communities and individual believers alike must ask themselves challenging but necessaquestions. Are we projecting our own fears as divine truth? Are we misinterpreting scripture to justify exclusion? Are we reflecting God’s will, or are we co-creating a fractured world in our own image?

The answers are not always easy, but they hold the key to building a reality where divine love triumphs over human discord. The task may seem daunting, but with a commitment to humility, introspection, and love, it is far from impossible.

Hate’s Dangerous Echoes Through History

Hatred, when nurtured and weaponized, never walks quietly through the pages of history. It stomps forward brazenly, leaving scars on human dignity and justice. The echoes of such hatred feel all too familiar today, reverberating chillingly against a historical backdrop that the world vowed never to repeat.

The rhetoric of division being directed at the LGBTQ+ community and immigrants in modern America bears an eerie resemblance to the darkest chapters of history—those written in Nazi Germany. While the contexts differ, the mechanisms of dehumanization, scapegoating, and isolation remain disturbingly persistent. It begs the uncomfortable question we might wish to avoid asking ourselves. Are we failing to learn from history?

During the Third Reich, Jewish people were not merely ostracized; they were purposefully targeted, categorized as “other,” and stripped of their humanity. Propaganda painted them as societal threats, scapegoats for economic turmoil, cultural decline, and the insecurities of a nation looking for someone to blame. This insidious cycle—us versus them, labeling “others” as dangerous—is a tactic as old as civilization itself.

Fast forward to today, and we must confront the troubling parallels. Marginalized groups, such as the LGBTQ+ community, are belittled by polarized political rhetoric. Words rooted in fear and pseudo-religiosity amplify “us versus them” sentiments because division is a reliable tool to rally one’s base. Immigrants, many of whom are seeking refuge from violence, poverty, or persecution, are painted not as individuals with hope but as invading threats. LGBTQ+ individuals, mothers, fathers, friends, and children, are reduced to caricatures cast as “immoral enemies” to societal order.

One dangerous myth remains constant through it all—the belief that hatred such as this is harmless until it escalates. But history teaches us otherwise. Nazi policies began with words—name-calling, disinformation, and seemingly “small” acts of discrimination. It metastasized into laws designed to isolate the Jewish population, stripping them incrementally of their rights, their belonging, and their humanity. Words became policy and policy became catastrophic violence. That cycle wasn’t inevitable—it was enabled by apathy or complicity from too many who thought it wasn’t their fight to intervene.

Today, similar foundations are laid brick by brick. We’ve seen legislative efforts to strip rights from transgender youth and adults, attacks on the validity of queer families, and inflammatory policies targeting immigrants with brutal indifference. All paraded under the guise of moral superiority or protecting traditional values. These aren’t “just policies” or harmless demonstrations of opinion; they’re deliberate acts of erasure designed to marginalize entire communities.

Further fueling this narrative is the weaponization of distorted faith. The hateful rhetoric is often cloaked in language that claims to defend Christianity while betraying its very essence. True Christian teaching emphasizes love, compassion, and inclusion, even for those deemed “other.” Yet today we see communities of faith hijacked by leaders transforming scripture into a tool to justify discrimination rather than repair the fraying social fabric of our world. Where is the love in legislating people’s very existence? Where is the compassion in denying shelter to the vulnerable?

The comparison to the policies of Nazi Germany is uncomfortable, painful even, but it is not an exaggeration when considering the blueprint of hatred and systemic isolation. And as stewards of history, we, the people, have a choice to change the trajectory. Recognizing these behaviors as echoes of a dark past is one step closer to disrupting their perpetuation.

The outcome doesn’t solely rest in the hands of laws, leaders, or institutions—it depends deeply on everyday individuals. It depends on all of us. Speaking out against injustice, even when it feels futile or intimidating, matters. Choosing compassion for the marginalized over complacency matters. Because silence feeds oppression—history has proven that too.

If history warns us of our capacity for cruelty, it also reminds us of our capacity for care. Humanity has risen to fight injustice countless times. From ending slavery to the civil rights movement to fighting for marriage equality, progress is written by those who refuse to accept hatred as an inevitability.

The LGBTQ+ community, immigrants, and others being cast aside today need allies—not just in name, but in action. Donate, march, educate, and resist complacency. Refuse to replay history by choosing empathy over apathy, humanity over hatred.

The parallels to Nazi Germany may feel jarring, but the truth is clear. The seeds of hatred are not unstoppable, but the work to uproot them belongs to all of us. Whether the world bends toward justice or repeats its worst failures is not someone else’s fight—it’s yours, it’s mine, and it’s ours.

From Today’s News

Following a traditional inaugural prayer service at Washington National Cathedral on Tuesday, during which an Episcopal bishop called on President Donald Trump to show “mercy” toward LGBTQ people and immigrants, he told reporters the sermon “wasn’t too exciting” and added he “didn’t think it was a good service.”

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The National Prayer Service was one of several events presidents attend around being sworn in.

“What did you think? Did you like it? Did you find it exciting? Not too exciting, was it? I didn’t think it was a good service, no,” Trump said to reporters following the service.

Then, in a Truth Social post early Wednesday morning, Trump called the bishop of Washington, the Right Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde, “a Radical Left hard line Trump hater.”

“She brought her church into the World of politics in a very ungracious way. She was nasty in tone, and not compelling or smart,” Trump said.

“Apart from her inappropriate statements, the service was a very boring and uninspiring one. She is not very good at her job! She and her church owe the public an apology!” Trump added.

Budde defended her sermon against Trump’s criticism, telling ABC’s “The View” on Wednesday that she sought to create “unity” and to “counter the narrative that is so divisive and polarizing.”

“I wanted to emphasize respecting the honor and dignity of every human being, basic honesty and humility and then I also realized that unity requires a certain degree of mercy — mercy and compassion and understanding,” she said.

“I was trying to speak a truth that I felt needed to be said, but to do it as respectful and kind a way as I could,” she added. “And also to bring other voices into the conversation … voices that had not been heard in the public space for some time.”

When asked if she had an opportunity to share her thoughts one-on-one with the president, Budde said she had not been invited but would welcome the opportunity and would be “as respectful as I would with any person.” She added that the invitation would have to come from him.

In her sermon, Budde addressed Trump directly from the pulpit.

“In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican and independent families, some who fear for their lives,” Budde said.

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“They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals,” she continued. “They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, gurdwara and temples. I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.”

Throughout the sermon, Trump, in the front pew, had a stoic expression, flipping through his program and scanning the room.

He looked up only during the hymns, sometimes moving his head to the music. Melania Trump was seen stifling a yawn and shifting around to stay alert.

A majority of Trump family members were seated behind the Trumps.

Bishop Budde has previously spoken out against Trump.

In 2020, following Trump’s ordering of the National Guard to disperse protestors with tear gas to stage a photo-op with an upside-down Bible, she criticized the president for using the Church and a Bible to justify his actions.

Speaking to ABC’s Good Morning America, Budde said the president’s photo-op was “as if it were spiritual validation and justification for a message that is antithetical to the teachings of Jesus and to the God of justice.”

Trump slams sermon asking him to show ‘mercy’ toward LGBTQ people, immigrants originally appeared on abcnews.go.com