The Pre-Good: Pointing All Towards Redemption

I used to lead worship at a church where the lights got brighter and the trust got dimmer.

I wasn’t the flashy type. I was quiet, reverent. My focus was never on performance, but on creating space for people to encounter the Divine. But when the numbers started dipping, I noticed a shift. The leadership began to question my song choices. They wanted more energy. More pizazz. More… entertainment.

Eventually, I wasn’t trusted to plan the music anymore. They wanted to take control of it. The worship gathering began to feel more like a marketing strategy than a holy invitation.

Something in me started to crack. Not with rage—but with sarcasm. Little comments slipped out, half-shielded pain wrapped in cynicism. It was my way of holding on to a sliver of power, a way to say, “This isn’t right,” without knowing how to say it out loud.

Then came the conversation. The pastor sat me down and said he was tired of my “relationship.” Not the relationship between us—just mine. As if the damage had all been one-sided. As if the pain I carried was simply a flaw in my character.

I walked away feeling blamed, discarded, and unseen. Like something sacred had been trampled on—not just in me, but in the very act of worship itself.

For a long time, that experience fed a quiet bitterness in me. I won’t pretend it didn’t. I carried the weight of betrayal like a hidden bruise, and the judgment I felt toward that pastor and the church began to shape how I saw others too.

But even in my bitterness, I knew—somewhere deep down—that I wasn’t helping the situation. Or myself. I didn’t have the tools to process spiritual trauma back then. I didn’t know how to name what was happening inside me, or how to move through it without getting stuck.

It took years—years of stumbling through healing, letting go, forgiving, reclaiming. Years of learning how to set boundaries without building walls, how to speak truth without poisoning my own heart.

And even now, I find myself wondering:

How do I process pain without letting it harden me?

How do I hold people accountable without slipping into judgment?

How do I stay rooted in love, even when I’ve been wounded by those who claimed to carry it?

Those questions have led me to a deeper reflection on the nature of good and bad. What if the way we see good and evil is part of our healing? What if there’s another way to look at what’s broken—one that offers clarity without condemnation?

Four Ways of Seeing Good and Evil

As I sat with those questions—how to hold pain without hardening, how to stay rooted in love—I began noticing something curious: the way we understand good and evil deeply shapes how we respond to suffering, both in ourselves and in others.

Over time, I started to see four distinct patterns—four ways people tend to see the world. And each one creates a very different relationship with judgment, healing, and compassion.

All Is Bad

This view often grows out of pain. When someone has been repeatedly hurt, let down, or disillusioned, it becomes easier to believe that everything is corrupt. That people are selfish. That the world is getting worse. That God is silent—or absent.

This lens is colored by despair. It feels honest at first—like you're finally waking up to the truth—but over time, it drains your hope. If everything is bad, what’s the point of trying to love, or change, or trust again?

All Is Good

On the other extreme, some people refuse to see anything as truly wrong. They say “Everything happens for a reason” and slap a spiritual sticker over real suffering. This view often masks a deep fear of acknowledging pain. It feels safe to stay positive, to avoid conflict, to keep things “nice.”

But pretending everything is good doesn’t make it so. And when we deny injustice or minimize suffering, we become complicit in it. Not everything that happens is good. Sometimes people do real harm. And love requires the courage to say so.

Good vs. Bad

This is the most common lens, especially in religious spaces. It draws a clear line between the good people and the bad ones—usually based on beliefs, behaviors, or moral codes. “We” are the good. “They” are the bad. And the job of the good is to stay pure and fight the bad.

This view creates division. It breeds self-righteousness. It gives us a false sense of control. But it also makes it nearly impossible to heal or grow, because once someone is labeled “bad,” we stop seeing their soul.

I lived in this view for a while—especially after I was hurt. It felt righteous to judge. But over time, I realized that moral superiority is just another kind of prison.

Good and Pre-Good

And then… there’s a fourth view. One that has quietly emerged through mystics, sages, and the soft voice of the Spirit.

In this view, all things are either in alignment with Divine Goodness—or on the journey toward it.

Badness isn’t a permanent identity. It’s a distortion. A forgetting. A separation from truth. It’s not excused—but it’s not eternal either.

In this view, we don’t deny harm. We don’t minimize injustice. But we hold a deeper hope:

That even the most lost soul is not beyond redemption.

That what looks evil may actually be pain, ignorance, or untransformed shadow.

That everything—everything—is in motion, being drawn back toward the Light.

This doesn’t make judgment disappear. But it softens it. It humbles us. It gives us room to say,

“This is not good… yet. But it could be. It wants to be. And so do I.”

What Is Pre-Good?

The idea of pre-good came to me as I was thinking through my pain—an intuition beneath all the noise. What if the world isn’t divided between good and bad… but instead, between what is fully awake to Love, and what is still asleep?

What if what we call bad is not a fixed identity, but an early stage? A blockage. A distortion. A soul still in process.

In this light, evil doesn’t become acceptable—but it does become redeemable. And that changes everything.

This way of seeing isn’t new. It’s the quiet thread that runs through many mystical and esoteric traditions—the ones that dare to believe in the eventual restoration of all things.

Origen and the Restoration of All Souls

In the early Christian church, long before doctrines hardened, theologians like Origen of Alexandria taught the concept of apokatastasis: the eventual return of all creation—even the devil himself—back into union with God.

To Origen, evil was not an eternal condition. It was a fall into ignorance, a misuse of freedom, and ultimately a detour in the soul’s journey back home.

Kabbalah and the Shattered Light

In Jewish mysticism, the Kabbalistic story of creation tells how divine light was poured into vessels too fragile to hold it. The vessels shattered, scattering sparks of light throughout the world—hidden in the fragments of brokenness.

What we call evil, then, may simply be light trapped in distortion.

The work of the mystic is tikkun olam—to repair the world by recognizing and releasing those divine sparks. Even in darkness, the light waits to be reclaimed.

Teilhard de Chardin and the Omega Point

Teilhard de Chardin, a Jesuit paleontologist and mystic, saw evolution itself as a spiritual process. To him, all of creation was moving toward what he called the Omega Point—a final convergence of consciousness in Christ.

He believed we are not falling away from God, but rising into God—through every experience, even suffering. Evolution—biological, psychological, spiritual—is how the pre-good becomes Good.

Depth Psychology and Shadow Integration

Even modern psychology echoes this truth. In Jungian psychology, the shadow is the part of the psyche we reject, deny, or repress. But it isn’t evil—it’s unintegrated. Often, it contains vital energy, creativity, or truth we’re not yet ready to face.

Healing comes not by crushing the shadow, but by embracing and transforming it.

What we fear in others may be undeveloped in ourselves. And what others do in ignorance may still contain the seed of awakening.

A Universe in Motion

So in the view of pre-good, everything is in motion. Everything is becoming.

What’s good is aligned with Divine Love. What’s not-yet-good is estranged from that Love—but not forsaken.

It may cause harm, yes. And we must speak and act to protect what is sacred.

But we do so not from judgment, but from compassion that sees the deeper truth:

Nothing is static.

All things are on the path.

Even what hurts us may be, someday, made whole.

Living with the Pre-Good Mindset

Once you begin to see the world through the lens of pre-good, life starts to feel… different.

Not easier. But lighter. Not naïve—but full of quiet hope.

Like you’re in on a secret that doesn’t need to be shouted, only lived.

And the secret is this:

You are loved. Unconditionally. Absolutely. Without having to earn it, prove it, or perform it.

And so is everyone else. Even the ones who don’t yet know it. Even the ones still caught in their shadow. Even the ones who hurt you.

This mindset doesn’t ignore reality. It doesn’t deny suffering or excuse injustice. But it reframes it. It says:

“This isn’t the end of the story. Not for me. Not for you. Not for the world.”

Seeing Others as Becoming

When you meet someone who’s arrogant, cruel, manipulative, or just deeply asleep to love—you don’t have to label them as bad.

You can, instead, see them as unripened.

Unawakened.

Still becoming.

You can look at them with a kind of knowing smile—not mocking, not superior, just… curious.

Have they heard the secret yet?

And if not, that’s okay. Because somewhere, sometime—maybe not in this life, maybe not in this form—they will. Something will click. The blinders will fall. The light will break through. It’s inevitable.

That’s not your job to control. But it is your invitation to trust.

Modeling Another Reality

Until that awakening happens, what can we do?

We can live as if it’s true—as if every single person is on their way back to Love.

We can become a living signpost. A small ripple of Divine Light.

This looks like:

• Speaking gently, even when you could lash out.

• Holding boundaries without contempt.

• Asking curious questions instead of rushing to correct.

• Living with joy, because you’re not carrying the burden of fixing everyone.

• And offering dignity even to those who haven’t yet earned your trust.

Sometimes just being present with someone in unconditional love—not agreement, not enabling, but presence—is enough to plant a seed.

To live with a pre-good mindset is to live as a lightbearer in a world still waking up. You’re not a judge. You’re not a savior. You’re a gentle witness to the unfolding.

You walk through the world not with suspicion, but with wonder.

Not with armor, but with awareness.

And sometimes, with a twinkle in your eye that says:

“I know something beautiful is trying to emerge in you. And I’ll hold that vision, even if you can’t yet see it.”

Returning to the Wound with New Eyes

So what does all this mean for me—this lens of pre-good, this belief that everything is in motion toward the Light?

It means I can look back at that chapter of my life—the church, the stage, the rejection—and say, clearly and without flinching:

That was not good.

The way I was treated lacked care, empathy, and spiritual discernment.

It prioritized image over intimacy, control over connection, metrics over mystery.

And still… something Good came from it.

I walked away from that environment not in rebellion, but in self-preservation. I needed to regather myself. To disentangle from a kind of spiritual codependence—where I looked to leaders to define truth for me, to mediate my worth, to grant permission for my questions.

In that space of exile, I found something deeper. I learned how to trust my own inner compass. I learned to ask any question I wanted, even the uncomfortable ones. I learned to sit in mystery without needing quick answers.

And slowly, the path opened. A mystical path. A quieter, deeper current of spirituality that doesn’t rely on approval or applause. A path that listens to the whisper rather than the microphone.

Ironically, I don’t know that I ever would’ve gone down this path if I hadn’t been wounded first.

So no—I don’t carry resentment toward those leaders anymore. I’ve let that go. Not because they were right. But because I don’t need them to be wrong for me to be whole.

I trust that someday—maybe not soon, maybe not in this lifetime—they will see it too.

That the pursuit of power and numbers and hype is a hollow gospel.

That the Spirit moves not in performance, but in presence.

That true spirituality is not something you do—it’s something you become.

And until that day, I’ll keep walking this path with peace in my heart and a quiet twinkle in my eye.

Because I’ve heard the secret.

And I’ve seen where even the pain leads.

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