Not Your Grandma’s Jesus

I’ve realized something recently.

I think there are two versions of Jesus floating around Christianity.

Now… before anyone grabs their pitchforks and starts typing a response, hear me out.

There is only one Jesus.

But there is the Jesus we’ve created in our own imagination, and then there is the Jesus revealed in Scripture.

Those aren’t always the same person.

Somewhere along the way we’ve polished Him up. We made Him softer where He was bold. Quieter where He was confrontational. We turned Him into someone who simply tolerated everything because “love.”

Meanwhile… the actual Jesus called religious leaders whitewashed tombs.

He flipped tables.

He looked Peter in the face and said, “Get behind me, Satan.”

He wasn’t passive.

He wasn’t cruel either.

He was perfectly truthful.

We’ve confused meekness with weakness, and they couldn’t be more different.

Meekness isn’t the absence of power.

It’s power under control.

Jesus could have called down angels. He could have ended every argument with one sentence. He could have defended Himself every single time.

He simply chose not to.

That’s strength.

Not weakness.

And while we’re here…

Can we have an uncomfortable conversation?

Jesus wasn’t a blue-eyed European man with perfectly conditioned hair, rosy cheeks, flawless skin and a freshly pressed robe.

He was a Middle Eastern Jewish man.

A carpenter.

Someone who worked with His hands.

Someone who probably had callouses.

Dust.

Sweat.

Sunburn.

If Jesus showed up today looking exactly as He did two thousand years ago…

Well…

Let’s just say I’m not convinced we’d recognize Him.

In fact, depending on where He crossed a border, we’d probably debate whether He belonged there.

Ouch.

Maybe our image of Jesus says more about us than it does about Him.

How we behold Jesus affects how we behave.

If I misunderstand who He is…

I’ll misunderstand what it looks like to follow Him.

Maybe that’s why there are so many misrepresentations of Jesus today.

We’ve created a Savior who agrees with our politics, our preferences, our personalities and our opinions instead of allowing Scripture to introduce us to who He actually is.

Turns out…

Jesus doesn’t need a PR team.

He just needs people willing to read the whole story.

One of my favorite little words in Scripture is “then.”

Such a tiny word.

But it carries so much weight.

Matthew 4 doesn’t just begin with Jesus wandering into the wilderness because He was looking for an adventure.

It begins with “Then…”

Whenever you see “then,” it’s usually worth asking…

What happened before?

Matthew 3 is beautiful.

Jesus is baptized.

The heavens open.

The Holy Spirit descends like a dove.

Then the Father speaks:

“This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17, NIV)

Before Jesus performed one miracle.

Before one sermon.

Before one healing.

Before one disciple.

The Father affirmed Him.

That convicts me, because ministry was never meant to be done for affirmation.

It was always meant to be done from affirmation.

God looks beyond our activity and into our motives.

Then…

Chapter 4.

Immediately after heaven speaks…

Hell starts talking.

The very thing God affirmed is the exact thing Satan questions.

“If you are the Son of God…”

Notice he doesn’t begin with bread.

He begins with identity.

He did the same thing in the garden.

Adam & Eve already were what the serpent tempted them to become.

He didn’t introduce new truth.

He questioned the truth God had already spoken.

& honestly…

He still hasn’t changed strategies.

Whatever you hear in chapter 3 the enemy is going to test in chapter 4.

Every.

Single.

Time.

God says you’re forgiven.

The enemy argues it.

God says you’re loved.

The enemy debates it.

God says you’re called.

The enemy questions it.

God says you’re enough because of Christ.

The enemy hands you a measuring tape.

His primary attack has always been arguing with the truth.

Which is why Paul writes:

“For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God…” (2 Corinthians 10:3–5, NIV)

I used to read “strongholds” and picture chains.

Handcuffs.

Prisons.

But a stronghold is actually more like a fortress.

A fortified place.

A place where wrong thinking has settled in and refuses to leave.

It’s an unbiblical thought pattern that feels so normal we stop questioning it.

“I’ll never change.”

“I’m too broken.”

“God could never use me.”

“I’m what happened to me.”

Those aren’t facts.

They’re arguments.

Paul doesn’t tell us to negotiate with them.

He says demolish them.

Not because they’re loud.

Because they’re lies.

One thing I absolutely love about Jesus in Matthew 4 is…

He clapped back.

Respectfully…

Biblically…

But He absolutely clapped back.

Every temptation.

Every accusation.

Every argument.

His response wasn’t His feelings.

It wasn’t His experience.

It wasn’t what everybody else thought.

It was…

“It is written.”

Satan wasn’t simply trying to get Jesus to eat bread.

Jesus had every right to be hungry.

Hunger isn’t sinful.

It’s human.

The temptation wasn’t hunger.

It was allowing His appetite to become His authority.

& whew…

That’ll preach, because we’re all hungry for something.

Acceptance.

Recognition.

Comfort.

Success.

Control.

Relationships.

Validation.

None of those things are inherently bad.

The question is…

Who’s leading?

My appetite?

Or my assignment?

One of the enemy’s oldest tactics is simply wearing us down.

Not necessarily taking us out.

Just exhausting us enough that we stop resisting.

That’s why God’s Word has to become more familiar than my feelings.

My experience isn’t my authority.

The Word is.

I’ll be honest…

I used to be really proud of how quick my mouth was.

Still kind of am…flesh, you know.

If words were an Olympic sport, I’d probably win medals.

Gold, silver… maybe bronze on a humble day.

I could cut someone down with a sentence and make it rhyme while I was at it.

Lately I’ve found myself praying a different prayer.

God…

Give me the wit of Jesus.

Not so I can win arguments.

So I can respond with truth.

Let my tongue become a weapon led by the Holy Spirit instead of my emotions.

Because Jesus proved that the sharpest tongue isn’t the one that humiliates people.

It’s the one that rightly handles truth.

Maybe that’s the kind of clap back I’m after now.

Not one that leaves someone speechless.

One that leaves the enemy powerless.

So today…

I’m not trying to conquer the next ten years.

I’m not trying to win every future battle.

I’m not even worried about tomorrow’s temptation.

I’m just trying to win today.

Not today, Satan.

Maybe you got me yesterday.

Maybe last week wasn’t my finest hour.

Maybe I believed some lies.

Maybe I entertained some arguments I never should have entertained.

But today?

Not today.

If I have to take it one hour at a time…

I’ll do that.

If I have to take it thirty minutes at a time…

I’ll do that.

If all I’ve got is the next five faithful minutes…

Then five faithful minutes it is.

Because yesterday already belongs to grace.

Tomorrow belongs to God.

But today…

Today, I’m choosing truth.