Not long after, our Sunday School canceled bus pickups. To keep my parents happy, I began attending a Brethren-run Sunday School a few blocks away. I had a schoolmate named John who also went there. He constantly asked me if I wanted to become a Christian—even though he wasn’t one himself. I told him to stop bothering me.
During this time, I developed a sort of “intellectual” interest in the Bible—cataloging names, places, and events like trivia. I became a walking summary of the Bible (or so I thought), and started living a hypocritical life. I recited verses rhetorically and flaunted my knowledge, even though I wasn’t saved—and deep down, I knew it.
I kept attending church, flipping randomly through Scripture for “guidance” like a horoscope. I never prayed. Eventually, John—my persistent friend—found salvation and wanted to share his testimony with me. I refused to listen. I even accused him, Bible in hand, of not being a real Christian. That’s how arrogant and self-deceived I had become.