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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
A label can’t save you when the storm hits; only a living relationship can.
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The Turn
Five conversations.
Five different gospels.
Not one the real thing.
We laughed at first—but it’s sobering.
We crave spirituality without surrender, community without conviction, resurrection without a cross.
Maybe people didn’t reject Christianity—they just never met it.
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The Real Story
The real Jesus wasn’t a reformer, an angel, or an energy.
He’s God in human form.
He didn’t say, “I’ll show you a path.” He said, “I am the Way.”
He didn’t offer advice; He offered Himself.
And He proved it by walking out of His own tomb.
This isn’t a call to be more religious; it’s an invitation to be remade.
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Personal Moment
I used to be that last person.
I said I believed, but my life looked identical to before.
Jesus had a reserved seat in my Sunday, not in my schedule.
Then I realized I wasn’t doubting God; I was doubting all the knock-offs of Him I’d made.
When I met the real Christ—the one who doesn’t just forgive but re-creates—you can’t go back.
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Invitation
So, which Jesus have you been following?
The rule-keeper? The vibe-creator? The one who never disagrees with you?
Or the real One who still whispers, “Follow Me.”
You don’t have to fix yourself first.
Just be honest.
You can start right now:
> “Jesus, I want the real You.
I’m done chasing versions of You that fit my comfort.
Teach me to walk with You—for real.”
That’s not a formula; it’s a direction—the first step of something alive.
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Reflection Close
Everyone’s got a label—Christian, spiritual, deconstructing.
But labels can’t hold you when life breaks.
A Person can.
And He’s still saying, “Follow Me.”
Truth isn’t narrow to exclude;
it’s narrow so you can find the door.
When everyone claims to be a Christian,
the only question that matters is:
Do you actually know Christ?