Most people’s beliefs about God are inherited, not discovered. The religion someone claims is most often determined by the geography and culture they’re born into—not by a careful examination of truth. This reality alone casts a long shadow over the certainty with which many religious institutions declare their exclusivity. The frameworks people are handed from birth are frequently designed to reinforce belonging to a system rather than connection to the divine. As a result, the concept of “divinity” becomes distorted, abstracted into metaphysical categories, and wrapped in ritual and authority, rather than rooted in the direct, simple, and relational way it is presented in the gospel.
The gospel as Jesus preached it presents something radically different. In John 10, when accused of blasphemy, Jesus quotes Psalm 82—“I said, you are gods”—not to deny his divine identity, but to reframe it. He points out that if Scripture itself could call human beings "gods" because they received the word of God, how much more justified is he, the one sanctified and sent by the Father, to call himself the Son of God? He isn’t arguing theology for its own sake; he’s exposing the blindness of those who cling to rigid ideas of divinity while missing the divine presence right in front of them. In this way, Jesus redefines divinity not as something remote or philosophical, but as something active, relational, and recognizable in love, obedience, and truth.
Rather than building an inaccessible system of divine attributes, Jesus revealed a God who is near, who enters humanity fully, and who invites others into shared sonship. "The glory that you have given me I have given to them," he prays in John 17. This isn't metaphysical speculation—this is participation. The divine, in Jesus’ teaching, is not a static category that separates God from humans, but a living reality that God offers to share with those who know Him. As the epistles later affirm, those who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God, not merely followers or subjects.
The early church, especially outside the centers of political power, often held more closely to this vision. Communities like the desert fathers, the Syrian mystics, and others living at the margins of empire sought to embody the presence of Christ rather than define him through philosophical systems. But as Christianity became entangled with imperial power, theology became a battleground, and divinity became less about communion and more about control. Debates over nature—whether Christ had one, two, or a mingled nature—often lost sight of the gospel's core: that Jesus became like his brethren in every way, yet without sin. His brethren were fully human—single-natured—and so was he. But unlike them, he was without sin, and in that sinless solidarity, he became the way for us to return to the Father.
The gospel invites us not to argue endlessly about categories of essence, but to enter into the same life Jesus lived: one of trust, obedience, and love. It invites us to be known by the Father, not merely to theorize about Him. The idea that divinity must look like philosophical perfection—untouchable, unchangeable—is a human projection. Jesus reveals something much more unsettling and beautiful: a God who weeps, who bleeds, who is rejected, and who still calls us brothers. And that, perhaps, is the truest view of divinity we could ever be given.
Stephen D Green with ChatGPT
