The Fatherhood Fallacy

Every now and then, someone strolls into my life with a smug little grin and a half-baked theology degree from TikTok University and says something like, “Well, Jesus called God ‘Father’ in Matthew 7. That must mean He wasn’t talking about the wrathful, tribal God of the Old Testament.”

Oh boy. Here we go.

Let’s just start by clearing the smoke: this argument is not new. It’s not clever. And it’s not biblical. It’s a reheated version of a 2nd-century heresy with a 21st-century filter slapped on top. The only thing new here is the platform it’s being posted on.

So why does this claim gain traction? Simple. Because it sounds comforting. It scratches the itch of every Western ear that flinches at the idea of a God who’s not tame, soft, or perpetually smiling like a mall Santa. People read Matthew 7:9–11, see Jesus talking about bread and fish instead of fire and brimstone, and assume they’ve found a theological loophole.

Let’s look at the passage:

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? So if you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!” —Matthew 7:9–11 (BSB)

Now, on its face, that sounds gentle. Fatherly. Relational. And it is. Praise God for that. But the assumption—that this somehow sets Jesus’ Father apart from the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and yes, even the flood—reveals a tragic level of biblical illiteracy and theological cherry-picking.

Because here’s the truth: Jesus is not introducing a new God. He’s introducing the same God more clearly. He’s not flipping the script. He’s fulfilling it. He’s not rejecting Yahweh—He is Yahweh in flesh, putting on sandals and showing us exactly who the Father has always been.

So buckle in. If you've ever been confused by the soft, squishy version of Jesus presented by people who’ve never read Nahum, this series is for you. If you’re wrestling with real, honest questions about the nature of God—and you’ve been told by the culture (or even other Christians) that the God of the Old Testament is outdated, angry, and incompatible with the loving Father of the New—you’re not alone.

And if you’re the person who heard someone say, “I believe in Jesus, but I could never believe in the God of the Old Testament,” and thought, “Wait a minute... aren't they the same?”—you’re already asking better questions than the guy with the YouTube deconstruction channel.

In this blog, we’re going to walk straight into the eye of that storm. We’ll tackle:

• Why the “two gods” theory is not just wrong—it’s a dumpster fire of theology.
• Why Matthew 7:9–11 doesn’t contradict the Old Testament but confirms it.
• How Jesus quoted, honored, and embodied the God of Israel—not replaced Him.
• What it really means to call God “Father,” and how the Old Testament is full of that imagery long before Jesus said a word about fish.
• And why rejecting the God of the Old Testament is not just doctrinally lazy—it’s spiritually dangerous.

But before we go there, let’s make something pastoral clear. I get it. These questions don’t come from nowhere. Some of you have been deeply hurt by warped portrayals of God. Maybe you grew up with hellfire preaching that forgot to mention grace. Maybe you were taught rules without relationship. Maybe you’ve seen God weaponized to justify all kinds of evil.

That’s real. I see you. And I’m not here to throw stones at your questions. I’m here to walk you into the full counsel of Scripture with open eyes and a bold heart.

Because if you’ve only ever met half of God, you haven’t met Him at all. And if your view of Jesus is disconnected from the God who parted the sea, thundered from the mountain, and walked with Abraham—then your “Jesus” might be nothing more than a projection of your preferences.

So let's tear down this false dichotomy, not out of arrogance, but out of reverence. Not to win arguments, but to restore the awe and wonder that comes from knowing the God who is both fire and Father, both Judge and Redeemer, both thunder on Sinai and grace at the table.

Jesus isn’t introducing a new deity. He’s pulling back the curtain on the One who’s always been there.

Why This Claim Is Absolutely Bonkers

Let’s not sugarcoat it—this claim that Jesus is referencing a different God in Matthew 7:9–11 because He uses the word “Father” is theological nonsense with a high self-esteem. It’s the equivalent of reading a single sentence from Shakespeare and deciding he was a modern sitcom writer. Not only is it biblically bankrupt, but it betrays a level of historical and theological disconnect that borders on willful ignorance.

In this section, we’re going to walk through why this idea doesn’t just crumble under pressure—it disintegrates. We’ll deal with two major axes of failure in the argument: Jesus’ overwhelming reliance on the Old Testament, and the unchanging attributes of God as found in both testaments.

Ready? Let’s put this myth on trial.

Jesus Quotes the Old Testament Constantly

You want to know who Jesus couldn’t stop quoting? That “mean old” God from the Old Testament—the same One some claim He was trying to distance Himself from.

Let’s talk numbers first. Jesus directly quotes the Old Testament over 60 times in the Gospels. And that’s not even counting the countless allusions and thematic echoes that permeate nearly everything He says. From Genesis to Malachi, Jesus is drenched in Torah, saturated with Psalms, and absolutely in love with Isaiah.

Let’s take a look at one of the most significant moments: Jesus begins His public ministry in Luke 4:16–21 by walking into the synagogue, opening the scroll of Isaiah, and reading this:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent Me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

He finishes the reading, sits down, and says, “Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” That’s not a mic drop—it’s a thunderclap. Jesus isn’t distancing Himself from the Old Testament. He’s planting His flag right in the middle of it.

Jesus the Torah-Keeper

Jesus didn’t just quote the Old Testament—He obeyed it. Not out of legalistic obligation, but out of covenantal faithfulness. He followed the Law perfectly because He was the only one who could.

• Circumcised on the eighth day? Check (Luke 2:21).
• Presented in the temple as prescribed in Exodus? Check (Luke 2:22–24).
• Celebrated Passover and the feasts? You bet (Luke 22:15).

He wasn’t just aware of Yahweh’s covenant with Israel. He was the fulfillment of it (Matthew 5:17).

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.”

He quotes Deuteronomy in His face-off with Satan (Matthew 4), references Jonah as a prophetic sign (Matthew 12), and affirms the Shema—the central declaration of Jewish monotheism—in Mark 12.

You can’t make the case that Jesus was introducing a new God when He’s literally doing exegesis on the old one every time He opens His mouth.

Jesus Calls Yahweh “Father”

The entire argument that Matthew 7 introduces a new deity depends on the idea that “Father” language is novel—that Jesus is revealing something previously unknown or contrary to the Old Testament.

But Jesus isn’t pulling a theological rabbit out of a hat. He’s simply personalizing something that had already been established. The prophets had spoken of God as Father (more on that in the next section), and Jesus is doubling down.

He calls the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob “My Father.” In John 8:54, He says:

“It is My Father who glorifies Me, of whom you say, ‘He is our God.’”

Catch that? Jesus says His Father is the same God the Jews already confess as theirs.

There’s no room here for theological fragmentation. There’s no bait-and-switch where Jesus quietly substitutes a gentler deity behind the curtain. There’s only continuity—clear, strong, and unapologetic.

Jesus and the Temple

Oh, and let’s not forget this gem: Jesus walks into the temple—the heart of Old Testament worship—and instead of dismissing it as obsolete or beneath Him, He calls it:

“My Father’s house.” (John 2:16)

Not “some other god’s house.” Not “the angry God of Moses’ house.” His Father’s house.

He sees no disconnect between the God of the Torah and the Father He reveals. In fact, He identifies them as the same Person.

A Brief Word on Trinitarian Theology

Lest we wander into confusion, let’s remember that Jesus isn’t claiming to be a lone agent of reform. He’s the second Person of the Trinity. The eternal Son, begotten—not made—of the Father. The same God who appeared to Moses in the burning bush is now wrapped in flesh and walking the dusty roads of Judea.

“Before Abraham was, I AM.” —John 8:58

That wasn’t poetic license. That was a claim to deity so clear they picked up stones to kill Him.

When Jesus refers to God as Father, He’s not pointing away from Yahweh. He’s standing in perfect union with Him. That’s what the Incarnation means.

So no—Jesus is not introducing a new God. He is quoting, honoring, obeying, and fulfilling the very same God His critics claim He was replacing. The argument falls apart not because it’s edgy, but because it’s wrong—textually, historically, and theologically.

Now, if the argument weren’t already in shambles, let’s drive the point home by comparing what Jesus says about the Father with how the Old Testament describes God. Spoiler alert: They sound exactly alike.

Let’s Talk Theology: God’s Fatherhood Isn’t New

If you’ve ever heard someone say, “Jesus introduced the idea of God as Father,” feel free to lovingly—but firmly—hand them a Bible and suggest they start somewhere before Matthew.

This theological myth—that God was only a Judge in the Old Testament and then magically became a warm, fuzzy Father in the New—isn’t just incorrect, it’s theological malpractice. It’s the kind of half-truth that preaches well in a deconstruction podcast but collapses the moment you open the Scriptures.

Let’s be honest: we like to imagine God evolving. It makes us feel better about ignoring the parts of Scripture that make us squirm. A God who judges sin in Genesis but hugs sinners in Galilee? That’s digestible. That’s marketable. That’ll sell books.

But here’s the problem: it’s not true.

Jesus did not invent the concept of divine fatherhood. He didn’t stumble onto some forgotten attribute of Yahweh and decide to build a new theology around it. What He did was take something already there—already written, already sung, already prayed—and make it personal.

In fact, by the time Jesus starts referring to God as “Father,” He’s standing on centuries of rich covenantal language, prophetic imagery, and deeply rooted Hebrew tradition.

This wasn’t innovation. It was revelation.

So let’s walk through some actual Scripture—yes, from the Old Testament—and watch as this idea of God as Father unfolds long before Jesus ever taught a crowd on a hill.

Hosea 11:1 — “Out of Egypt I called my son.”

Let’s start here, because this one’s a double whammy.

In Hosea 11:1, God says:

“When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.”

On one level, this is a poetic retelling of the Exodus. God isn’t just recounting history—He’s expressing fatherly affection. Israel isn’t treated as a collective of random wanderers; they’re His son—beloved, chosen, delivered.

But here’s the twist: this verse is quoted in Matthew 2:15 and applied directly to Jesus.

“This fulfilled what the Lord had spoken through the prophet: ‘Out of Egypt I called My Son.’”

So let’s get this straight: the God speaking in Hosea—Yahweh—calls Israel His son. Jesus, speaking in the Gospels, identifies Himself with that same Sonship. And Matthew—the Gospel writer with the strongest Jewish lens—makes the theological connection clear.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s continuity.

The Father in Hosea is the Father in Matthew. Jesus isn’t replacing Yahweh; He’s revealing the family resemblance.

And side note? You don’t get to quote the Old Testament to prove New Testament legitimacy while simultaneously arguing the Old Testament God is obsolete. Pick a lane.

This is the heartbeat of covenant theology: God didn’t create a new family with Jesus. He fulfilled an ancient promise. He called His Son out of Egypt once, and then again—first through Moses, then through Mary.

So no, Matthew 7 is not a radical theological departure. It’s the next chapter in a very old story.

Deuteronomy 32:6 — “Is He not your Father, your Creator, who formed you and established you?”

Deuteronomy is one of those books that gets a bad rap for being “just laws”—like Leviticus with better storytelling. But if you actually read it, it’s loaded with relational, covenantal, and yes—fatherly—language.

Case in point: Deuteronomy 32:6.

“Is this how you repay the LORD, O foolish and unwise people? Is He not your Father, your Creator, who formed you and established you?”

Let’s dissect that.

God is addressing Israel as a Father frustrated with His children—not because He’s tyrannical, but because He’s been unbelievably good to them, and they’ve responded with rebellion.

This verse makes three things abundantly clear:

1. God is their Father — not metaphorically, not aspirationally, but covenantally.
2. God is their Creator — reinforcing that His fatherhood is both intimate and authoritative.
3. God formed and established them — which is exactly the language Paul will later use in places like Ephesians 2:10.

You want consistency? Here it is. The Old Testament doesn’t portray God as a cold judge hiding behind stone tablets. It presents a Father who formed a people, guided them, bore with them, and called them His own.

Sound familiar? It should. Jesus didn’t redefine God—He just pulled up a chair to the table and said, “He’s your Father too.”

When Jesus says “your Father knows how to give good gifts,” He’s echoing the very same sentiment Moses wrote in the wilderness.

There is no rupture between Deuteronomy and the Sermon on the Mount. There is only revelation—layer by layer, Father to child.

Malachi 2:10 — “Have we not all one Father? Has not one God created us?”

Malachi is the last book in the Old Testament and is often read with a sigh—mostly because it’s the start of a 400-year silence. But before God goes quiet, He makes a powerful final statement:

“Have we not all one Father? Has not one God created us?”

This verse demolishes the idea that “Father” is a strictly New Testament idea. In the final prophetic book before Christ appears, God affirms His Fatherhood over all His people.

It’s not a new concept. It’s the baseline.

Malachi’s audience wasn’t confused by the term “Father.” They understood it. They just weren’t living like it mattered.

And isn’t that still the issue today?

It’s not that people don’t understand divine fatherhood—it’s that they want to separate it from divine authority. We love the idea of a gentle, affirming Father—but we choke on the idea of a holy, righteous, commanding one.

Malachi ties both together. One Father. One Creator. One God.

The same God who speaks in Malachi is the One who sends the forerunner (John the Baptist) and then sends His Son.

So when Jesus says “Father,” He’s not inventing the wheel. He’s riding into town on a chariot that’s been rolling for generations.

Old Testament Fatherhood Is the Framework

When Jesus speaks of God as Father in Matthew 7, He is not launching a new divine franchise. He is inviting us into an old, deeply rooted, covenantal relationship that spans the entire biblical narrative.

The Old Testament didn’t lack the concept of fatherhood. It established it.

Jesus didn’t need to introduce a new God. He just needed to remind us of the One we forgot—the One who rescues sons from Egypt, forms people in the wilderness, and lovingly calls out a rebellious bride until she finally hears His voice.

If your view of God’s Fatherhood begins in the New Testament, you’ve missed the majesty of what Jesus is revealing. And if you think Matthew 7 is Jesus inventing a softer version of Yahweh, then you haven’t read Yahweh very carefully.

The Old Testament introduced us to the Father.

Jesus came to show us His face.

What Jesus Is Actually Doing in Matthew 7

Alright, let’s set the record straight. When Jesus says in Matthew 7:11, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask Him?” — He is not handing out business cards for a newly imagined deity.

He is not starting a spiritual Kickstarter campaign to upgrade Yahweh 1.0 to some smoother, softer, grace-only model. He’s not slamming the God of Sinai so He can pitch the God of Hugs and Hospitality. He’s doing the opposite.

Jesus is rebuking bad theology, not rewriting the divine résumé. And bad theology didn’t start in the 21st century—it was alive and well in first-century Judea, too. That’s what Matthew 7 is about: taking people who should’ve known better, and shaking up their assumptions about what God has actually revealed about Himself.

Let’s dive deep and expose what Jesus is actually doing in this often-misused passage.

Jesus Is Rebuking Bad Theology—Not Replacing It

Let’s rewind the tape. Jesus is preaching the Sermon on the Mount, a sweeping declaration of what it looks like to live in the kingdom of God. And what does He spend time doing? Not inventing new ideas—but correcting twisted ones.

• “You’ve heard it said... but I say to you...” (Matthew 5)
• “Don’t be like the hypocrites...” (Matthew 6)
• “Judge not... remove the plank from your own eye...” (Matthew 7)

The entire structure of His sermon is about pulling the veil off the religion of the day, not the God behind it.

The problem wasn’t Yahweh. The problem was how people had misrepresented Him.

Jesus isn’t correcting Moses. He’s correcting the people who misread Moses, abused Moses, and built an entire legalistic power structure on Moses without understanding the covenant heart of God.

So when He gets to Matthew 7:9–11, He’s not saying, “Let Me introduce you to a new God who actually loves you.”

He’s saying, “You’ve missed the generosity of the very same God who delivered your ancestors from Egypt, gave you manna in the desert, raised prophets to call you back, and preserved you through exile. Let Me remind you of who your Father really is.”

It’s not a divine bait-and-switch. It’s a theological restoration project.

He’s Saying: “Even You Lot Know How to Give Good Gifts...”

Here’s the real kicker. Look at how Jesus sets up this point:

“If you then, who are evil...”

That’s not exactly a flattering lead-in, is it? He’s calling out human depravity as the standard, and then saying, “Even you know how to take care of your kids.”

This is a classic Jewish teaching technique—arguing from the lesser to the greater. It’s like saying, “If a vending machine can give you a candy bar, how much more can a trained chef give you a feast?”

Jesus is not introducing a new idea of God. He’s drawing on human experience to illustrate divine goodness.

The comparison isn’t between two gods. It’s between broken humanity and a faithful Creator.

He’s saying: “You get how fatherhood works. You know what generosity looks like—even in your fallen state. Now apply that understanding to the true, eternal, perfect Father in heaven—the One your Scriptures have described all along.”

So if someone reads this passage and concludes, “Aha! This must be a different deity,” they’re not reading Jesus—they’re reading into Jesus.

He’s Not Introducing a New God—He’s Refuting Pagan Theology

Here’s the irony: the only people Jesus is refuting in Matthew 7 are the ones who act like God is cold, detached, and stingy.

In other words, the pagans.

Ancient pagan religion was built on appeasing angry gods who were temperamental, unpredictable, and fundamentally indifferent to humanity. Sacrifices weren’t about worship—they were about bribery. You fed the gods so they’d bless your crops and not kill your kids.

Jesus comes along and says, “That’s not the God you serve.”

“Your Father in heaven gives good things to those who ask Him.”

It’s not manipulation. It’s relationship. It’s not transaction—it’s trust.

Jesus isn’t ditching the Old Testament God. He’s rescuing Him from pagan misrepresentation.

This matters because modern people still act like God is a cosmic vending machine that needs to be hacked. If you insert the right combo of prayers, performance, and promises, maybe He’ll dispense a blessing.

Jesus says, “No. He’s your Father. Ask Him. He’s not hiding the fish behind a rock.”

And where did Jesus get that image of fatherhood? From the very Scriptures that these critics claim are incompatible with Him.

Psalm 103:13 — “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him.”

Jesus is quoting the spirit—and sometimes the letter—of the Old Testament. He’s not contrasting His Father with Yahweh. He’s exposing the false gods people have imagined Yahweh to be.

Stop Forcing Jesus to Say What He Never Said

Jesus isn’t passive-aggressively denouncing the God of Israel with clever metaphors. He’s confronting bad assumptionsabout the Father who’s always been there.

When Jesus says “your Father,” He’s not handing out an update. He’s inviting the people back into the covenantal heart of a God who has never stopped being good.

So if your theology of Matthew 7 leads you to a God who looks less like Yahweh and more like your childhood therapist, you’re missing the point.

The God Jesus refers to is not a new deity.

He’s the same God who gave bread in the wilderness, fish in the storm, and forgiveness from the mercy seat.

Jesus isn’t rewriting the story.

He’s helping you remember how it’s always been told.

Where This “Two Gods” Nonsense Really Comes From

Alright. Let’s quit pretending this debate is new or innovative. Let’s call it what it is: Marcionism 2.0—the ancient heresy that just won’t stay dead.

Back in the second century, a man named Marcion showed up with some bold opinions and a pair of scissors. His theology? The God of the Old Testament is angry, petty, and tribal, while Jesus came to show us the real God—loving, spiritual, forgiving, and oh-so-much more palatable. Sound familiar? Yeah, we’ve heard that song before, and it was off-key back then too.

Marcion literally cut the Hebrew Scriptures out of his Bible. He chopped off most of the New Testament too, keeping only a mutilated version of Luke and some of Paul’s letters—just the parts that didn’t mention judgment, wrath, or the continuity of God’s character. Unsurprisingly, the early church called him a heretic, booted him from the community, and wrote volumes refuting his nonsense.

And yet, somehow, 1,800 years later, his ghost keeps showing up in modern pulpits, coffee shops, and progressive blog posts with a new wardrobe and the same tired lies.

Marcionism 2.0 — An Ancient Heresy with Modern Packaging

Today’s version doesn’t come with a bold declaration of heresy—it sneaks in under the banner of “Jesus-centered.” It’s subtle. It sounds spiritual. It uses words like “loving,” “inclusive,” “nonviolent,” and “Christlike.” And it insists that any picture of God that doesn’t align with this hyper-sanitized version of Jesus must be wrong.

The God who flooded the world? Too violent. The God who judged Egypt? Problematic. The God who demanded justice in Canaan? Canceled.

This is Marcionism dressed up in skinny jeans and a podcast mic. It’s theology built not on revelation but on preference. It’s not what the text says—it’s what we want it to say.

But here’s the problem: the Jesus of the Gospels doesn’t fit in that box. Not even close.

Jesus Talks About Hell. A Lot.

Let’s just settle this. If Jesus came to erase all the judgment and wrath talk of the Old Testament, He forgot to tell Himself.

Matthew 10:28:

“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear Him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”

That’s Jesus. Red letters. Straight from the lips of the Lamb.

Jesus talks about hell more than anyone else in the entire Bible. Not just in passing, either. He uses vivid metaphors: outer darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth, unquenchable fire. He warns. He pleads. He doesn’t downplay judgment—He doubles down.

Parables? Many of them end with someone cast out. Sermons? Full of warnings. Rebukes? Sharp, unapologetic, and frequent.

So if your theological system has no room for a Jesus who warns about hell, your system is not built on Scripture. It’s built on sentiment.

Emotional Discomfort Is Not Theological Authority

Let’s be honest. This whole “two gods” narrative doesn’t come from study—it comes from discomfort.

People read stories of divine justice in the Old Testament and cringe. They don’t understand the cultural context, the covenant structure, or the depth of human sin involved. And rather than doing the hard work of exegesis, they default to emotional reaction:

“That just doesn’t sound like a God I’d want to worship.”

You know who else didn’t like God’s justice? Jonah. Remember him?

“I knew that You are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger, abounding in love... that’s why I fled.” —Jonah 4:2

Jonah wasn’t mad that God was mean. He was mad that God was merciful to people he hated.

We’re still doing the same thing, just with a reversed target. We want a God who is merciful to everyone—even if that means silencing His justice.

But here’s the deal: God doesn’t answer to our emotional preferences.

He is who He is. Not who we wish He’d be.

A False Dichotomy Creates a False Gospel

If you pit Yahweh against Jesus, you fracture the gospel. You sever the very foundation that makes the cross make sense.

• If the God of the Old Testament wasn’t just, why would Jesus need to die to satisfy justice?
• If Yahweh wasn’t righteous, what law was Jesus fulfilling?
• If the wrath of God wasn’t real, what exactly did Jesus endure for us?

This isn’t a minor interpretive error. It’s a fundamental gospel collapse.

The “two gods” argument isn’t just wrong—it’s dangerous. It trades biblical revelation for emotional comfort. It exchanges covenant theology for curated spirituality. And in the end, it leaves you with a Jesus who saves you from nothing because the God you invented never had a problem with sin to begin with.

Don’t Just Reject Marcionism—Bury It

The early church didn’t shrug at Marcion. They stood up and threw him out. Why? Because they understood what was at stake: the integrity of the gospel and the truth of God’s Word.

If we’re going to be faithful pastors, faithful Christians, faithful thinkers—we have to do the same.

Jesus is not the correction of Yahweh. He is the revelation of Yahweh—in flesh, on earth, fulfilling the Law, drinking the cup of wrath, and rising again in glory.

You can’t split the Testaments without splitting the Trinity.

This isn’t about tone. It’s about truth.

Stop trying to clean up God’s image. He doesn’t need a PR team. He needs a church that will proclaim the whole counsel of God, from Genesis to Revelation, without apology.

Rebuking the Error — With Teeth and Grace

Alright, it’s time to put the gloves on—but keep the shepherd’s crook close. Because what we’re about to say needs to hit hard and land with grace.

Here’s the uncomfortable reality: if you believe Jesus came to introduce a new God, you are not just confused. You are calling Jesus a liar.

Yes, I said it. And yes, I meant it.

This isn’t theological nuance. This isn’t a debate over Greek participles or eschatological charts. This is a gospel-level problem. When you say that Jesus was correcting Yahweh or distancing Himself from the God of the Old Testament, you are accusing Christ Himself of either lying or being theologically ignorant. Neither of those options ends well.

Let’s let Jesus speak for Himself.

John 10:30 — “I and the Father are one.”

Not similar. Not aligned in vibe. Not on the same team. One.

The Jews who heard this didn’t miss the implication. They picked up stones to kill Him. Why? Because Jesus was making Himself equal with God—the same God they knew from the Law and the Prophets. He wasn’t pointing to a higher power behind Yahweh. He was claiming to be Yahweh in flesh.

John 14:9 — “Whoever has seen Me has seen the Father.”

Let’s pause there. Read it again. Slower.

If you’ve seen Jesus—you’ve seen the Father. That includes the God who walked in the garden, thundered at Sinai, and burned with holy jealousy when His people chased idols. Jesus doesn’t offer an updated version of God. He is the incarnate revelation of the same God who always was, always is, and always will be.

He Didn’t Arrive to Clean Up God’s Image

One of the worst modern misreadings of Jesus is the idea that He came to do divine damage control. As if the Old Testament was just bad PR and the Trinity had a meeting and said, “We need someone with a more approachable tone.”

No.

Jesus didn’t come to clean up the Father’s image. He came to fulfill what the Father always promised.

• He fulfilled the covenant with Abraham.
• He fulfilled the Law given to Moses.
• He fulfilled the promises of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel.

He didn’t sidestep judgment—He absorbed it. He didn’t cancel holiness—He embodied it.

You can’t read the Gospels and say Jesus is anything less than the full, final, physical disclosure of the God of Israel.

If you think otherwise, you’re not reading the Gospels—you’re reading your emotions onto the page.

This Isn’t Just a Minor Error — It Undermines the Entire Gospel

Let me be as clear as Moses’ tablets: this is not a harmless doctrinal mix-up. This is a false teaching that guts the gospel like a fish.

Because if Jesus came from a different god—one who had no wrath, no law, no judgment, no covenant—then He came for nothing.

There’s no need for atonement without a Law that’s been broken. There’s no power in the cross if there’s no wrath to bear. There’s no resurrection hope if the Judge of all the earth isn’t also the Savior who bore the sentence.

If Jesus didn’t come from the God of the Old Testament, then guess what?

The cross means nothing, and you are still in your sins.

Let that sink in.

This is why we fight for clarity. This is why we refuse to let bad theology slide under the radar with a wink and a shrug. Because when you distort the identity of God, you destroy the foundation of the Gospel.

Now, if you’ve been guilty of believing or repeating this error—hear me: this is not about humiliation. It’s about invitation.

Come back to Scripture. Come back to the Word made flesh. Come back to the whole God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—eternally consistent, perfectly holy, shockingly merciful.

You don’t need to cut the Bible in half. You need to bow your knee to the God who wrote the whole thing.

Jesus didn’t come to protect you from Yahweh. He came to bring you back to Him.

And that’s not just gospel truth. That’s eternal life.

The Real Issue: You Don’t Like Authority

Let’s go ahead and rip the bandage off. This “Jesus must have been talking about a different God” theory? It doesn’t grow in the soil of honest confusion. It thrives in the rot of rebellion.

This isn’t about misunderstanding Hebrew verbs or missing the cultural context of Canaanite judgment. No, this is about control—plain and simple. It’s the same old rebellion with a new theological accent. The problem isn’t that God is too confusing. The problem is that we don’t want anyone telling us what to do.

Let’s call this what it is: a rejection of divine authority.

This Heresy Thrives Not on Misunderstanding, but on Unwillingness to Submit

You can dress it up however you want—deconstruction, progressive theology, spiritual awakening—but the fruit doesn’t lie. This entire heresy thrives because people want a god who serves their vision of justice, love, and spirituality—not the God who made the heavens and the earth and dares to command.

It’s not an academic objection. It’s not born from serious study. It’s born from a deep, gut-level “Don’t tell me what to do.”

People don’t want a God who rules. They want a God who agrees.

They don’t want a Father—they want a cheerleader.

They don’t want a holy Creator—they want a cosmic concierge.

So when they read about a God in the Old Testament who commands, confronts, judges, and disciplines, the knee-jerk response isn’t curiosity—it’s hostility.

And so begins the theological gymnastics. Twist the text. Reimagine the timeline. Paint Jesus as a revolutionary who came to set us free from His own Father.

Cute.

But utterly false.

The God of the OT Makes Demands. He Issues Commands. He Holds People Accountable.

That’s what really grinds people’s gears. The God of the Old Testament isn’t trying to earn your approval. He’s not up for reelection. He is holy, sovereign, and utterly unconcerned with modern man’s obsession with autonomy.

• He tells Noah to build a boat, and doesn’t explain Himself.
• He tells Abraham to leave everything and go—and Abraham goes.
• He gives Moses stone tablets with laws etched by fire and says, “Follow these.”
• He sends prophets not with soothing affirmations, but with warnings.

The God of the Old Testament doesn’t offer suggestions. He commands obedience. And that’s the real scandal.

Not that God is angry. Not that God is distant. But that God dares to tell us how to live.

Modern culture says, “Follow your heart.” God says, “The heart is deceitful above all things. Follow Me.”

See the clash?

The “New God” Theory Is a Spiritual Escape Hatch

Let’s get brutally honest: the reason people cling to the idea that Jesus was talking about a different God is because it lets them off the hook.

If Jesus’ Father is some reimagined, deconstructed, divine bestie who just wants to vibe with your journey, then suddenly...

• Sin doesn’t need to be repented of.
• Holiness is optional.
• The cross is a symbol, not a sacrifice.
• Scripture is inspirational, not authoritative.

Congratulations. You’ve found the theological equivalent of a fire escape. It doesn’t lead to life. It leads away from truth.

But Jesus didn’t come to offer spiritual escapism. He came to fulfill the covenant. He came to **call sinners to repentance.**He came to say, “The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent and believe.” (Mark 1:15)

The only people shocked by God’s authority are the ones who have never truly bowed the knee.

Jesus Calls God “Father” Because He Is the Same Holy, Covenant-Keeping God Israel Always Knew

And here’s the beautiful irony: Jesus didn’t soften Yahweh—He showed us what covenant love looks like in the flesh.

The same God who gave the Law also gave the Lamb. The same God who parted the sea also opened the tomb. The same God who called Israel “My son” in Exodus 4:22 is the Father to whom Jesus prayed, obeyed, and ultimately returned.

You should tremble at that.

Not because God is unstable. Not because He’s cruel. But because He is consistent, and you are not.

That’s what makes grace so shocking. The God whose holiness should have consumed us is the God who sent His Son to redeem us.

So when Jesus says “your Father in heaven,” He’s not rewriting the script. He’s pulling you into a story older, deeper, and more demanding than you ever imagined—and infinitely more beautiful.

You Don’t Need a Softer God. You Need a Bigger Surrender.

The problem isn’t with the God of the Old Testament. The problem is with us—our pride, our self-sufficiency, our allergy to authority.

Stop trying to trade a King for a counselor. Stop trying to swap a Lord for a life coach. Stop running from the God who commands.

Because He’s also the God who saves.

You don’t need a new god. You need to bow to the One who’s been there from the beginning.

You’re Not Smarter Than the Church Fathers

Let’s wrap this up with a little dose of reality: you’re not smarter than the early church.

I don’t say that to crush your spirit—I say it to snap you out of your self-styled spiritual superiority. If you’ve bought into the idea that Jesus came to introduce a softer, more palatable God than the one we see in the Old Testament, I’ve got news for you: the early church saw that claim coming and crushed it 1,800 years ago.

You are not the first person to have this thought. You are just the latest person to be wrong about it.

The early church fathers—men who lived closer to the time of Christ than your favorite YouTuber—didn’t leave this question up for debate. They were surrounded by heresies, pagan philosophies, Gnostic fairy tales, and full-on theological dumpster fires. And yet, they stood firm.

They didn’t throw the Old Testament in the recycling bin. They embraced it.

They didn’t “rediscover” a God of love—they saw Him on every page of Scripture.

They didn’t act shocked when Jesus claimed to be one with the Father—they built creeds around it.

If You’ve Bought Into This Lie, It’s Not Too Late to Repent

Let’s make this pastoral: if you’ve believed that Jesus came to show us a “different” God—a God who finally got His act together and calmed down—it’s time to repent. Not with shame, but with clarity.

You were sold a lie. A soft, sentimental, Pinterest-board theology that has zero spine and even less biblical support. But the good news? You can let go of it today.

You don’t need to stay stuck in theological fog. You don’t need to keep doing mental gymnastics every time you read Joshua or Judges. You don’t need to keep distancing Jesus from His Father like they’re divorced and you’re stuck in the middle.

You can come back. Back to the Word. Back to the whole counsel of God. Back to the God who doesn’t need to be explained away—just trusted, feared, and loved.

You Don’t Need a Rebranded Deity. You Need the Real God.

Seriously, stop searching for a god who fits your preferences. You’re not looking for a Savior. You’re looking for a mirror.

The real God isn’t here to vibe with your spiritual aesthetic. He’s not here to validate your evolving moral intuitions. He’s not here to offer you self-care tips and flexible truth.

The real God—the one Jesus called Father—is holy. Unchanging. Merciful. Just. He crushes sin and carries sinners.

And Jesus? He didn’t come to replace that God. He came to reveal Him.

Colossians 1:15 — “He is the image of the invisible God.” Hebrews 1:3 — “He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of His nature.”

You don’t need a rebrand. You need a reverent heart.

Jesus Didn’t Point to a New God. He Pointed to the Eternal One—and Invited Us to Call Him Father

This is the beauty of it all. The mystery that should make your knees buckle.

Jesus didn’t say, “Now that I’m here, forget everything you thought you knew about God.”

He said, “If you’ve seen Me, you’ve seen the Father.” (John 14:9)

He came not to introduce, but to invite. Not to edit God’s identity, but to embody it.

And the shocking grace of Matthew 7 is this: the same God who descended in fire at Sinai, who struck down Nadab and Abihu, who parted seas and silenced kings—that God invites you to call Him “Father.”

But don’t get cocky.

Don’t Twist That Invitation Into a License for Error

Yes, Jesus opens the door. Yes, He bids you come. Yes, He gives you access to the Father.

But that access is not license. It’s not permission to cut out the parts of Scripture you don’t like or to recast God into your cultural mold.

Come boldly—but come humbly.

This isn’t a theology buffet. It’s a throne room.

You come on His terms, or you don’t come at all.

He’s the Same God. Worship Accordingly.

Jesus didn’t come to fix God’s image problem. He came to fix your sin problem.

The Father He reveals is not a new character in a new story. He’s the Author of the entire book.

So stop looking for loopholes. Stop pretending that emotional discomfort is the same as doctrinal discovery. And stop acting like you know better than 2,000 years of faithful, Spirit-filled, Scripture-saturated theology.

Jesus is not your introduction to God. He is your confrontation with the God who has always been.

And that’s good news.