Newfound Revelations by Shaun

Newfound Revelations by Shaun - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

One careless scroll before bed shouldn’t have shown me how easily faith can be twisted by fear.

But it did.

As usual, my room was quiet, with my phone’s dim glow lighting up my sleepy face. A swipe later, a video of a Republican political candidate speaking filled my screen: “Muslims, Hindus, and everyone who isn’t a Christian shouldn’t be allowed into this country.”

My thumb froze.

Each Sunday growing up, sitting next to my mom in a wooden church corridor, there was a common theme from the pastor’s mouth: “Treat others as you would want to be treated.” From this, I learned to respect the freedom of religion for those around me. Wasn’t this essential liberty something we all believed in?

The source of this teaching itself, Matthew 22:39, centered in my head: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” I often heard these words to where they became another habit. That night they meant more. I realized that if we Christians want to practice our faith freely, it’s only fair to support everyone having the same right. Yet that politician didn’t agree. Why? Who voted for them? These questions led to goosebumps. For me and billions of people, religion is our foundation. Who could so heartlessly threaten that pillar for anyone?

Early the next morning, I dug deeper to understand this harmful belief’s popularity. My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing as I typed the candidate’s name into Google. I prayed for zero. Then the statistic of forty thousand appeared.

Forty thousand humans…about forty times my school’s population.

Then I thought of those hallways I walked through five times a week. That was it. If exclusion had real momentum, I needed to know more about those it would affect, like my religious friends at school.

Walking through there in the morning, for the first time I focused on the sounds of Urdu, Turkish, and more. Each syllable opened a window into a different culture. The meaning of the languages was beyond me, yet I obtained insight into what I was seeking: religion itself.

Eventually, lunch came, and I asked a Muslim friend what Islam and this nation meant to him.

He smiled. “Why do you want to know?” he half-teased. I paused. I’d never seemed interested before.

“When I pray, I feel closer to God. And moving here has helped my parents financially.”

Later, I spoke with a Hindu friend. “Hinduism keeps me in good behavior. As for America, coming here gave my family a fresh start.”

As I listened, there was a familiarity in their testimonies. Guidance? Purpose? It’s what I felt after every sermon.

That’s it. My faith isn’t about creating boundaries, but focusing on what unites every human. Everyone, in their sacrifices to come here, deserves to belong.

That stayed with me until next Sunday, when I stumbled upon the last person I needed to speak with: a proponent from the other side.

Yet he belonged to my very church.

In the lobby, the man’s mutter to his friend overfilled my ear: “Have you seen these mosques and weird temples lately? They can take that back home.”

What?

“Jesus wouldn’t be okay with what you’re saying. Other people besides Christians can exist too, you know,” I blurted.

Silence. Was this confrontation a mistake?

Pretending not to hear me, they awkwardly walked away. Yet guilt remained. Did my words come from compassion or anger? I had no choice but to pray for them and me.

The scroll that became a question, then an objection, now becomes one more thing: a call.

A call to confront the lie of exclusion. The lie that convinced the politician, misled my fellow believers, and continues to quietly spread like a plague. The lie that hurts my non-Christian friends. My neighbors.

The truth? Religious inclusivity supports God’s will for love.

And the solution? A bridge made of questions and compassion. One that I’ll start building.