Stop Making Jesus Relatable—He’s God, Not Your Buddy or Boyfriend
No, sis, Jesus doesn’t want to go on a picnic date with you. He wants your knees on the floor and your sin on the cross.
Let’s talk about one of the most embarrassing trends to ever slither its way into Western evangelicalism: relatable Jesus.
You know the one. The softly lit, Pinterest-board Christ. The bro with tousled hair who wants to hear all about your day, slip you a love letter, and whisper sweet nothings over your anxiety. He’s affirming, always chill, allergic to confrontation, and super into your morning journaling habit.
He’s the Jesus of coffee mugs, worship concerts, and Instagram bios. The one who "wrecked me in the best way," and "pursues me like a lover."
He’s also nowhere in the Bible.
So buckle in. This blog is going to call you out, light your self-help theology on fire, drag it through church history, and offer you something far better in return: the real Christ, the reigning Christ, the terrifying and tender King of Kings who does not exist to make you feel good about your Enneagram.
I. The Cult of "Relatable Jesus"
In recent years, modern evangelicalism has peddled a Jesus who looks less like the risen Lord of glory and more like a spiritual boyfriend. A BFF with divine credentials. A therapy animal in sandals.
You’ll hear it in our music:
- *"You didn’t want Heaven without us, so Jesus you brought Heaven down…"
- "I’m so in love with You… You’re beautiful, so beautiful…"
You’ll see it in our books:
- Jesus is your partner in purpose!
- He dances over you!
- He’s the man who never gives up on you!
You’ll feel it in our church services: ambient lighting, breathy vocals, no mention of sin, judgment, wrath, or gasp holiness. Just a curated atmosphere designed to make Jesus as emotionally palatable as possible.
We’ve turned the Lion of Judah into a life coach.
II. Revelation Wrecks Your Boyfriend Theology
Let’s go to the book that modern evangelicalism avoids like a Leviticus footnote: Revelation.
"When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead." (Revelation 1:17)
This is John. The disciple whom Jesus loved. The guy who reclined at Jesus' side. The one who had the kind of access most of us envy. And yet when he sees the glorified Christ, he doesn’t run into His arms. He hits the floor. Face down. As though dead.
Jesus didn’t say, “Aww, John, get up. Don’t be so extra.”
He said:
“Fear not. I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.” (Revelation 1:17–18)
That’s not a buddy. That’s a King.
That’s not a boyfriend. That’s the Alpha and Omega.
That’s not the guy you sing vague emotional metaphors to—that’s the God who burns with holiness.
III. Church History Would Laugh (Then Weep)
Imagine plucking Polycarp, Augustine, or Spurgeon out of their eras, dropping them into a modern worship service, and watching them try to figure out who this breathy, romanticized deity is.
They’d be confused. Then horrified.
The early church did not die for a God who wanted to cuddle.
They were thrown to lions for proclaiming Jesus as kurios (Lord), a title reserved for Caesar. They faced fiery stakes, torture, exile, and martyrdom because they dared to say, *"He alone is worthy."
They weren’t swooning in fields with acoustic guitars; they were getting their heads chopped off.
Let’s contrast:
- Ignatius of Antioch (c. 110 AD): "Let me be food for the wild beasts… I am God's wheat, and I am to be ground by the teeth of wild beasts…"
- Modern Believer: "Jesus is like my boyfriend but better. He writes me little notes and loves my chaotic energy."
Are you kidding me?
IV. The Real Christ Is Terrifying
We need to talk about Isaiah.
"Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips… and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!" (Isaiah 6:5)
Isaiah didn’t write a ballad. He didn’t start swaying. He fell apart.
Because that’s what happens when sinful man stands before Holy God. You unravel. You fall on your face. You cry out for mercy.
We’ve lost this.
We talk about Jesus like He’s our chill big brother who wants to grab tacos and chat about our goals. But He is:
- The One whose robe is dipped in blood (Revelation 19:13)
- The One whose eyes are flames of fire (Revelation 1:14)
- The One whose voice is like the roar of many waters (Revelation 1:15)
That Jesus doesn’t just command reverence. He demands it.
V. We Are Not Equals—We Are Slaves
Ready for the word nobody wants to hear?
Doulos.
It’s Greek for slave, though most English Bibles soften it to “servant” or “bondservant.” Paul, Peter, James, and Jude all call themselves slaves of Christ.
"Paul, a servant [doulos] of Christ Jesus…" (Romans 1:1)
This isn’t metaphorical. It’s legal and absolute. A slave had no autonomy. No identity apart from the master. No agenda except obedience.
But modern Christians?
We want Jesus to be our co-pilot, our consultant, our dream-fulfiller, our cheerleader.
We don’t want a Master. We want a mascot.
But Christ didn’t die to co-author your self-help journey.
He died to own you.
"You are not your own, for you were bought with a price." (1 Corinthians 6:19–20)
VI. Romanticizing Christ Is Theological Cowardice
You want to know why people keep turning Jesus into a boyfriend or a self-help guru?
Because it makes Him easier to ignore.
If He’s just your personal hype man, He won’t confront your sin.
If He’s your cosmic soulmate, He won’t demand your repentance.
If He’s your emotionally available bestie, He won’t send you into the nations to die proclaiming His name.
It’s easier to market a Christ who never disagrees with you.
But that Christ can’t save you. He can’t sanctify you. He doesn’t even exist.
VII. Holiness Isn’t Optional
The root of all this sentimental nonsense is a hatred for holiness.
We don’t want a holy Jesus. We want a relatable one. Because holy means different. Holy means set apart. Holy means above. Holy means you don’t get to define Him.
"But as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct…" (1 Peter 1:15)
You want to get close to Christ?
Get low.
Get honest.
Get broken.
Because He’s not coming down to chill on your level. He’s calling you up.
VIII. Worship That Doesn’t Tremble Isn’t Worship
We’ve confused emotionalism for worship.
We think a good setlist = presence.
We think tears = truth.
We think chills = conviction.
But the angels don’t sing love songs in heaven.
They cry out:
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!" (Isaiah 6:3)
When was the last time your worship felt like that?
When was the last time your heart trembled before God instead of just vibing to the keyboard pad?
We need worship that bows before the throne, not worship that makes us feel good about ourselves.
IX. A Call to Repentance
Let me say this as lovingly and directly as I can:
If you’ve spent your walk with Jesus treating Him like a relatable accessory to your personal brand of spirituality, repent.
If your Jesus never disagrees with you, confronts you, disciplines you, or demands holiness—repent.
Because the real Christ is not your emotional support boyfriend. He’s your King.
And He’s coming back.
"From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations… On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords." (Revelation 19:15–16)
So burn the journal full of romantic Jesus poetry.
Toss the playlist that makes Him sound like a pop star.
And come, trembling, before the One who is holy.
X. Final Word: Worship the Christ Who Reigns
Christ isn’t cute.
He is crushing.
He is the Lamb and the Lion.
He is the Servant and the Sovereign.
He is the One who washed feet and commands angels.
He is relatable in His compassion, accessible in His mercy, but He is terrifying in His glory.
Stop dragging Him down to your level. Start lifting your eyes to His.
And when you do?
You’ll realize what the saints and martyrs and prophets and apostles knew:
He is worthy.
He is holy.
He is King.
And He is not your buddy.
He is God.
Thanks for reading.
