No One Knows What It Means Series

Everyone says they’re a Christian these days.

Open a feed and you’ll see Bible verses beside zodiac signs, worship playlists next to self-help quotes, and a dozen different definitions of faith.

So I decided to ask a few self-described Christians what they actually believe.

Same questions every time: Who is Jesus? What’s salvation?

Five conversations later, I understood why the world’s so confused.

---

1. The Polished Believer

She was warm, polite, and organized. I asked, “Who’s Jesus to you?”

She said, “He’s our Savior—and our example so we can one day reach the celestial kingdom.”

Then she explained the three heavenly levels: telestial, terrestrial, and celestial.

Faithful people advance upward, she said, until they can be exalted—becoming divine themselves.

Heavenly Father is already busy creating spiritual children for new worlds, and we can join that work if we live faithfully.

It sounded structured, even inspiring—until you realize it turns grace into a ladder.

A God who rescues becomes a boss who promotes.

And somewhere on that climb, mercy fades into merit.

Thank goodness she was covenanted to a good Mormon boy—apparently I’ve got an inside track to the celestial kingdom!

My five-year-old, Eric, used to call them the “Norman boys.” Maybe he was on to something.

But jokes aside, if eternity depends on who you marry and how perfectly you perform, that’s not good news—that’s pressure dressed up as paradise.

---

2. The Devoted Door-Knocker

Next came another kind soul, pamphlet in hand.

I asked, “Who’s Jesus to you?”

She said, “He’s the first creation of Jehovah—Michael the Archangel.”

Crosses, she explained, are pagan; salvation requires loyalty to Jehovah’s organization.

When I mentioned some of my humanitarian work with the UN and the World Food Programme—places like Iraq and Albania—the tone changed instantly.

To her movement, the United Nations represents prophecy fulfilled, not people helped.

My relief work branded me suspicious.

It struck me how easily fear can distort compassion: when your worldview paints outsiders as enemies, even kindness looks dangerous.

She was sincere and disciplined, but devotion can’t replace truth.

You can be completely committed to a system and still miss the Savior it claims to serve.

---

3. The Cosmic Thinker

Then came someone who carried the scent of incense and optimism.

I asked, “Who’s Jesus to you?”

“An ascended master,” she said, “a teacher of divine energy. We all have that spark; we just need to raise our vibration.”

She spoke of the universe as a benevolent force that gives back whatever you project.

Speak positivity, attract positivity.

I asked, “Where does sin fit in that?”

She smiled. “Sin is just negative energy. Jesus came to correct our thinking.”

It sounded peaceful—until you realize it removes accountability.

God becomes energy, not a person; redemption becomes self-help.

An energy can’t love you back or lay down its life for you.

You don’t have to hate Jesus to lose Him; you only have to keep redefining Him until He disappears.

She was so heavenly-minded, she was no earthly good—floating in cosmic love while the rest of us were down here paying rent.

I wanted a plate of sushi with a side of caviar, but all she was serving was air.

Faith that tastes spiritual but never feeds the soul leaves you starving.

---

4. The Inclusive Influencer

Then came someone wonderfully compassionate, thoughtful, soft-spoken.

When I asked, “Who’s Jesus to you?” she said, “He’s divine—and so are we. The resurrection’s a metaphor. The Bible’s beautiful but human.”

She said, “Christianity is true for me but not the only truth. There are many ways to God.”

Her gospel had all the right words—love, inclusion, acceptance—but none of the weight.

Sin became “brokenness.” Repentance turned into “growth.”

The cross wasn’t the place where God took our punishment; it was simply “solidarity with suffering.”

And honestly, part of me wanted to join in.

Who doesn’t like a faith where nobody’s wrong and everyone’s affirmed?

But love without truth eventually collapses.

A message that never offends never transforms.

I had to fight the real urge to grab someone’s guitar and join hands singing Kumbaya.

Because if everyone’s spiritually satisfied and nobody’s changed, all that’s left is the chorus.

True inclusion isn’t pretending sin doesn’t exist—it’s opening the door wide enough for grace to walk through.

---

5. The Mirror

And then came the last conversation—the mirror.

She was relatable: cross necklace, worship playlist, quick smile.

When I asked, “Who’s Jesus?” she said, “He wants me to be happy. I go to church sometimes. I try to be a good person.”

She wasn’t hostile; she was comfortable.

Faith, for her, was like a subscription plan—renewed when convenient.

She liked Jesus as a life coach, not as Lord.

But comfort isn’t discipleship.

When faith costs nothing, it changes nothing.

That’s the danger zone: religious enough to sound committed, not transformed enough to stand when life falls apart.