Why I believe: A Journey Into Understanding Christianity

I was born into a Christian family. We had daily family prayer, never missed a church service, but I never had a personal copy of the Bible. I never read any Biblical literature growing up. We never had any conversations about what Christianity meant for our lives—nothing about its teachings on family, self, or community. I joined the rituals because everyone else did. I never paused to ask why.

Ironically, my earliest spiritual influences came not from the Bible, but from my mother, a Tamil teacher. I read the Mahabharata, the Ramayana, and a range of Tamil religious texts long before I ever opened a Bible. In fact, my first exposure to Christian ideas came not through deep theological study, but through those Tamil writings.

Things changed when I turned 18 and entered college. A senior invited me to a prayer cell. That simple invitation opened a door. For the first time, I had my own copy of the Bible, and I began reading it regularly. For the next six years, I read it without digging deeper—taking the words as they were, but not pausing to reflect or question.

It wasn’t until I turned 30 that something shifted in how I engaged with the Bible. I began approaching it with fresh eyes—not just reading, but reflecting. I started to notice how its truths stood apart from the texts I’d grown up with. That contrast stirred a deeper struggle. I found myself wrestling—not only with the meaning of the text, but also with my identity and the culture that had formed me. I was no longer just learning about Christianity. I was beginning to live it.

Through that journey, I’ve come to appreciate Christianity in three dimensions:

• the idea of the self
• the idea of our relationship with others
• the idea of community

# A New Way to See Myself

All my life until college, I battled an inferiority complex. Despite getting good grades, I always felt small around others—too dark, couldn’t speak English well, and terrible at sports.

I don’t know if the inferiority made me an introvert or the introversion fed the inferiority. Maybe they kept feeding each other. What I do know is I got stuck in a doom loop. My grades started to slip. My confidence sank lower. Everyone expected me to get into one of the top engineering colleges in the state. But I landed in a third-tier one instead. I felt low.

But maybe that “failure” was the beginning of something better. In college, a friend named Arun Edwin changed my mindset and with it, changed everything. He remarked, "Joseph, you are created in the image of God. You are inferior to nobody and superior to nobody." This idea hit me like lightning.

Until then, all I had known about gods was this idea that we’re dolls in their hands—they bless you one day, crush you the next. But this was different. This was the first time I heard that I carried the image of God. That I wasn’t an accident. That I was made with an intent. That I had worth, not because of what I achieved or how I looked or what language I spoke—but because of who made me.

The college was surrounded by mountains. On weekends, I’d trek alone through the hills. Surrounded by natural beauty, I’d stand in awe—tall trees, wind in my face, mountains watching silently. And I’d whisper to myself: "I’m made in the image of the God who created all this. I can shape my life. I have the power to create." That was a huge mindset shift for someone who had always seen himself as smaller than everyone else.

I explored the idea of "being created in God's image" seriously. More importantly, I started practicing it. I started to talk to friends a lot more confidently. I started to get on stage and preach. Though I fumbled on English, I persisted. After all, I'm created in the image of God.

There were still seasons when I drifted. I slipped into old patterns. I forgot who I was. But those seasons brought me closer to another deep truth of Christianity: grace.

Grace is when God meets you exactly where you’ve fallen—not with judgment, but with strength. It’s not just about forgiving sins. It’s about lifting you up when you can’t lift yourself. There were times I didn’t even meet the standards I set for myself, let alone God’s. In all those times, grace carried me.

Looking back, I see it clearly now: grace carried me. That’s why I’m still standing. Still growing.

This is why I'm a Christian: I’m made in His image. I’m sustained by His grace.

# Seeing Others Through God's Eyes

When it came to how I saw others—or rather, how Christianity taught me to see others—it was the same concept that had reshaped how I saw myself. If I am created in the image of God, then everyone else is too. That truth changes everything.

Whether it was little children or grown-ups, rich folks or slum dwellers, women or men—didn’t matter. If they bore God’s image, they deserved to be treated with dignity. So I made it a point to respect them, speak with kindness, and see them as valuable.

Over time, this way of living got noticed. People began to call me humble. They said I was respectful. But I was only doing what the Bible showed me—to treat people the way God sees them.

On the flip side, I didn’t place anyone on a pedestal either. Just as I wasn’t inferior to anyone, I wasn’t going to make anyone else superior in my mind. That meant I approached everyone with critical thinking, even those in authority—pastors, preachers, leaders. I wouldn’t blindly accept something just because it came from someone the world deemed important. Like the people of Berea testing Paul’s words, I wanted to examine things for myself. That made me unpopular in some circles—seen as disloyal or rebellious. But I wasn’t trying to stir trouble. I simply didn’t believe in hero worship.

This wasn’t a middle path between arrogance and submission. It was a whole new lens—a way of seeing people not by status or power, but by divine design.

Even now, I regularly have lunch with slum dwellers and I dine with corporate CEOs in five-star hotels. One doesn’t change my attitude toward the other. I respect both the same.

The world often plays favorites. It flatters the powerful and forgets the weak. But Christianity taught me something different. Everyone bears the image of God. Everyone deserves to be treated that way.

# Belonging Without Losing Yourself

Christianity’s take on community has always fascinated me. On the surface, it places a high value on the individual—after all, it teaches that every person is created in the image of God. Taken to the extreme, that idea could steer someone toward a path focused solely on individual worth, individual destiny, individual flourishing.

But then, Christianity does this strange thing. It pairs seemingly opposing ideas and asks us to hold them both. Jesus is both a lion and a lamb. He commands us to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves. In the same way, while we are individually made in God’s image, we are also asked to live in deep connection with others. To submit ourselves to a community—not by force, but voluntarily.

That’s not easy. At first, I thought being part of a community—especially a church—would limit my freedom. I imagined it would flatten me, force me to fit into someone else's mold. But it’s been the opposite. When I choose to stay rooted in a community, not losing who I am but offering who I am, I flourished. I discovered roles I didn’t know existed. I found space to grow—not by competing, but by contributing.

The early church practiced this beautifully. Everyone brought something to the table—literally. It was a kind of potluck living. Not in a way that erased their individuality, but in a way that honored it. No one was above or below. Everyone gave. Everyone received.

I still find this paradox hard to explain. How can you retain full selfhood and yet be fully part of something bigger? How can you subject yourself to others without losing your uniqueness?

I don’t have a complete answer. But I’ve experienced something real. The more I root myself in a community, the more I grow.

# Still learning to be a Christian

Christianity is not just meaningful; it is useful. Its ideas have helped me build a quiet confidence—one that isn’t shaken by success or failure. And by treating others with respect and dignity, I’ve gained far more than I’ve given. It’s become easier to stay humble because I see everyone, including myself, as made in the image of God.

Without this foundation, I often noticed how we swing between confidence and fear. When things go well, we feel invincible. When they don’t, we feel small and unsure. But with Christ, there’s a deeper anchor. I can attribute outcomes to God and just keep walking the path in front of me—faithfully, steadily, without losing myself in the highs or lows.

These convictions didn’t come overnight. They’ve taken root slowly over the last 30 years. And yet, in many ways, I feel like I’m just getting started. There’s always more to learn, more to live out. That’s what keeps me going—this ever-deepening journey that shapes who I am and how I live.

Image by: Aaron Burden