Outgrowing The God I Was Handed

I’ve outgrown the version of God I was raised with. Not the God of unconditional love and oneness, but the God of fear, control, threat, and obedience. I actually outgrew this version a long time ago, but I keep getting pulled back in and a little triggered by the current resurrection of politically-charged evangelical Christianity. So I keep deconstructing it as I go through my life, and reconstructing an ever-evolving version.

I’ve been drawn to the Gnostic gospels recently, especially the Gospel of Mary and the Gospel of Thomas, and they have a name for this controlling God… the demiurge. I like to think of the demiurge not as a literal being, but as a pattern of energy or steam of consciousness that builds systems of power and control, and then calls them divine.

I grew up immersed in a version of God that shaped my nervous system before it ever shaped my theology. A God who demanded loyalty above all else. A God who “loved” us, but hated what we do so much that He required the violent sacrifice of His own son. A God who offered salvation — but only if we accepted the story exactly as it was told in the Bible. A God who would otherwise allow us to burn forever, and not think twice about it. That image of God shaped my whole sense of safety in the world.

Jesus, as I’ve come to know him, wasn’t obsessed with control. He didn’t seem motivated by fear or punishment. He talked about love, compassion, forgiveness, mercy, presence. He talked about the kingdom being within us — not locked behind institutions, doctrines, or blood contracts.

As a kid, I was warned about the Anti-Christ — the deceiver who would appear as an angel of light. And later in life, I notice the irony that some of the loudest expressions of modern Christianity feel less like the spirit of Christ and more like the opposite of it. More about fear, less about love. More about control, less about transformation. More about power, less about compassion.

I sometimes wonder if Jesus was crucified not because he was saving the world from sin, but because he was telling people the kingdom was already within them, and that was too big a threat to the system. He was pointing people inward. Reminding them that divine presence wasn’t owned by priests, politicians, or institutions.

Even writing that still triggers a faint echo of fear in me — a little leftover reflex from childhood that I might be being heretical and blaspheming the Holy Spirit — which tells me just how deep the conditioning went.

I’m not trying to tear anyone else’s faith apart. I’m not claiming I know how the cosmic story ends, although I don’t think anybody burns in hell for eternity. I’m just being honest about my own evolution, in case it might help someone else be honest with theirs.

The Jesus I trust now feels less like a religious mascot and more like a living consciousness of love and awakening. An invitation to go inward and truly believe the kingdom is within. If there’s a kingdom, I don’t think it’s something we earn later. I think it’s something we remember now.

When I remember, it reconnects me to my Source, and in a way, it lets Jesus feel like love again.