Rejection is one of the deepest human wounds — and few things cut more painfully than being rejected by those who claim to represent God.

Many people walk away from faith because of the cruelty or hypocrisy they’ve seen in “religious” people. The irony is that Jesus Himself was betrayed, mocked, and crucified by the very same — those who wore religion as a badge but lacked love in their hearts. He faced their scorn, endured their judgment, and was ultimately crucified by the religious elite who could not recognise the Son of God standing before them. He knows exactly what it feels like to be misunderstood, abandoned, and condemned by those who should have loved Him. The very ones who memorised the Law could not recognise the One who fulfilled it. The hands that should have welcomed Him hurled accusations instead. The hearts that should have loved Him hardened with pride.

The Hebrew word for “sorrows” is mak’ōb, meaning deep pain or anguish. The word for “grief” is cholî, meaning sickness, affliction, weakness.

Jesus didn’t observe our pain from afar — He entered it. He became acquainted with grief so that none of our suffering would ever be foreign to Him.

When I look back, rejection has been a thread woven through my story — from family and friends to even within the Church. I’ve spent much of my life on the outside looking in, longing to belong but often finding that my honesty and tenderness made others uncomfortable.

When life began to unravel in 2007, the pain of abandonment cut deeper than I could bear. Those I trusted — my friends, my leaders, my spiritual family — withdrew. Their silence was deafening.

I was used to being rejected by the world, but being rejected and abandoned by the Body of Christ left me shattered into millions of pieces. The very people who were meant to hold me, to embody His love, became the source of my deepest wound.

The very people meant to reflect His love became the source of my deepest wound. In my grief and confusion, I turned away from God, crying out, “If this is Christianity, I don’t want it!”

Yet even in my rebellion, Jesus never turned away from me. I can see now that He stood at a distance, not in rejection, but in mercy — waiting for the right time to draw me back. Even as I ran, he waited — not in rejection, but in mercy — until I was ready to see that He had never left.

When everyone else’s absence echoed loudly, His presence became my quiet anchor. He is still the Man of Sorrows, but also the risen Saviour — the One who takes broken pieces and fits them together with grace.

He does not reflect the brokenness of His followers — He reveals the perfection of the Father’s heart.

Jesus is not the reflection of flawed followers; He is the revelation of a perfect Saviour.

The Hebrew word for receive in John 1:11 is “lambanō”, meaning to take hold of, to welcome, to embrace. Jesus came offering embrace — and even when we push Him away, His arms remain open.

He knew my pain because He had lived it too. People will disappoint us. They will misrepresent God’s heart, speak truth without love, and sometimes wound us in His name, but Jesus — pure, gentle, and steadfast — remains the same. He never turns away the broken, the outcast, or the questioning soul.

Where religion builds walls, Jesus builds bridges.

Where people shame, He restores.

Where hearts close, His love keeps reaching.

When the actions of others cloud your view of Him, remember this: Jesus is not the reflection of flawed followers but the revelation of a perfect Saviour.

If religion has wounded you, let Jesus tend to those places. Let Him show you the difference between religion and relationship, between human failure and divine faithfulness.