The Kingdom Within: A Christian’s Awakening to Idealism and Quantum Truth

There comes a point in every spiritual journey where the questions start to deepen, and the safe, comfortable frameworks that once held our beliefs begin to feel a bit too narrow. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to live decades inside a worldview that values the authority of scripture, the power of prayer, and the life-changing message of Jesus. I was raised in it. I taught it. I built systems and schools to pass it along. But something happened along the way. It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t deconstruction. It was more like an expansion—a slow unfolding of something truer, more mysterious, and perhaps even more faithful than what I once believed.

For years I’d hear the phrase “walk by faith, not by sight,” and nod. It was a verse I’d quoted hundreds of times. But then I started wondering—what does that really mean? Isn’t that the very heart of philosophical idealism? That what we see isn’t the ultimate reality? That mind, or spirit, or consciousness—whatever language we choose—is more foundational than the physical world? As strange as it sounds, the teachings of Jesus and the writings of Paul began to feel more real, not less, when I allowed that possibility.

Take Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4:18: “We fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” That sounds like idealism to me. That sounds like a man who’s realized that what we perceive as solid and lasting is actually the fleeting part of existence—and that the invisible, the spiritual, the inner life is where eternity actually dwells. Isn’t that what Jesus meant when he said “the Kingdom of God is within you”?

If you’re an evangelical Christian reading this, I want you to know this isn’t an attempt to pull the rug out from under your faith. I’m not asking you to abandon Jesus or reject the authority of scripture. I’m simply asking you to go deeper. To consider that maybe—just maybe—there’s more than we’ve been taught to see. Maybe the spiritual worldview that the Bible gestures toward is bigger than the systems of theology we’ve inherited.

That’s where quantum mechanics started to blow open the door for me. I’m no physicist, but I don’t have to be to be in awe. Quantum physics teaches that particles behave differently when they’re observed. That what we think of as solid matter is mostly empty space. That what we call "real" is often nothing more than probabilities collapsing into form through interaction with consciousness. If that doesn’t sound like something Jesus would say, I don’t know what does. “As you believe, so it is done unto you.” “According to your faith, be it unto you.” Those weren’t just spiritual affirmations. They were invitations to awaken to our role in shaping the world through awareness, trust, and divine connection.

Some might say, “Sure, but you’re just reading science into scripture.” And maybe I am. But what if the Bible was always pointing to something deeper? What if the truths we call spiritual are truths because they align with the structure of reality itself—whether revealed through mysticism, philosophy, or even science?

That brings me to something I never thought I’d say in public: I’ve found wisdom in the Gospel of Truth. Yes, the one the early church didn’t include in the canon. The one labeled Gnostic. But if you can read it without fear, you’ll find something hauntingly beautiful. It doesn’t deny Jesus—it illuminates him. It doesn’t reject the cross—it reframes it. It suggests that our deepest problem isn’t guilt, but forgetfulness. That we’ve forgotten who we are, and Jesus came to help us remember. Isn’t that what Paul meant when he said, “You have the mind of Christ”? Isn’t that what the Father in the prodigal son story was doing—welcoming someone home who had forgotten his place, not condemning him for his mistakes?

You might be wondering how this all fits together. Idealism. Quantum physics. Non-canonical gospels. Evangelical faith. How can these coexist? For me, the answer is simple: because God is bigger than our categories. The Spirit of Truth didn’t stop moving in the first century. Revelation didn’t end with the last page of the Bible. We are still learning. Still discovering. And every discovery that leads us deeper into love, wonder, connection, and humility—I believe that’s from God.

The world is aching for something more than rigid dogma and surface answers. People are leaving churches, not because they hate God, but because they can no longer pretend that mystery doesn’t matter. We are waking up to the reality that the universe is not just a machine made of dead matter, but a living, pulsing field of consciousness in which we move, breathe, and have our being. That’s not New Age fluff. That’s Acts 17.

When I look back on everything I’ve taught, everything I’ve believed, and everything I’m still discovering, I don’t feel like I’ve lost my faith. I feel like I’ve outgrown the shell of it. What I carry now is something more resilient, more imaginative, more reverent. It’s a faith that lets Jesus be more than just a historical figure or a theological necessity. He becomes what the Gospel of Truth calls him—a remembrance. A revealer of what has always been true: that we come from God, and to God we return, and that the Christ within us is the light of recognition that shines through the illusion.

I know this isn’t the kind of thing that fits neatly into a doctrinal statement. And I’m okay with that. Maybe the new wineskin we need isn’t a revised systematic theology, but a deeper willingness to say: I don’t know, but I trust. I don’t see clearly, but I’m willing to look. I haven’t abandoned the Bible—I’ve just let it breathe.

If this resonates with you, even a little, then I invite you to lean in. Ask the questions you were once afraid to ask. Read what you were told not to read. Wonder about the things you were told to dismiss. Not to destroy your faith, but to let it bloom. There’s a bigger picture, a deeper song, a greater light—and it’s been shining all along.