A Pharaoh-God and a Loving Jesus: My Journey Through a Paradox
The journey of faith is often a process of unlearning—of peeling away the layers of fear, hierarchy, and control that have been imposed upon God.
The truth is, we are all shaped by the families and communities that raise us. In my conservative, spiritual upbringing, we sang as children about Jesus loving all the little children—red, yellow, black, and white—each one precious in His sight. But in the same breath, we also sang about being in the Lord’s army, marching in step, flying over the enemy, and firing artillery. Alongside our pledge of allegiance to the country, we pledged allegiance to God—though, looking back, I wonder exactly which version of God we were pledging to.
The message paradox was: "God loves you but…. work harder." That sounded like the Pharaoh I read about that people wanted to escape but then wished to return instead of the freedom and adventure of faith.
And yet, for all of this, my community was deeply loving. I was surrounded by people who cared for one another, who showed up in times of need, who genuinely wanted to honor God. They weren’t harsh or unkind; they were doing their best to be faithful. That’s what made the paradox even harder to untangle—how could such a loving community also hold onto an image of God that inspired so much fear?"
As I grew older and trained for ministry within this same tradition, the tension beneath my faith became harder to ignore. The Jesus I had come to love welcomed everyone, but the God I had been taught to serve seemed to keep a strict tally of who was in and who was out. It was a paradox I couldn’t make sense of—at least, not yet.
Tension Between Love and Control
For years, I didn’t have words for it. But looking back, I see that Jesus was showing me one kind of God—a God of boundless love—while my faith tradition often pointed me to another, one who kept score and demanded obedience. That tension was always there, even if I couldn't name it yet.
If Jesus revealed a God of radical grace, why do so many of us still imagine God as a cosmic Pharaoh—demanding, judging, and keeping score? Why do we resist the acceptance Jesus embodied? And why is it so hard to believe that we—and everyone else—are already deeply, unshakably precious, as James Finley so beautifully puts it?
It’s a strange paradox: we long for unconditional love, yet we often settle for a God who resembles a harsh ruler more than a tender parent. We claim to believe in grace but live as if we still have something to prove.
The Comfort of Control
As Richard Rohr would say this comes from our dualistic, either-or thinking. A Pharaoh-God fits neatly into a world of transactions—obedience earns favor, mistakes bring punishment, and some people are simply more “chosen” than others. It’s predictable, structured, and—ironically—comforting. A God who plays by strict rules is easier to bargain with than a God who loves freely, because at least we know where we stand.
The trouble is, this image of God is the very one Jesus came to dismantle. He showed us a God who is not a gatekeeper but a giver, not a tyrant but a father who runs to embrace the prodigal, not a ruler demanding sacrifice but the one who becomes the sacrifice. And yet, many of us find it easier to believe in judgment than mercy.
The Fear of Unworthiness
John O’Donohue, in his poetic way, would like to remind us that deep down, we fear our own radiance. To be fully loved means standing in full light—no masks, no performances, no hiding. That kind of exposure is terrifying. A Pharaoh-God allows us to stay small, to remain in the familiar prison of striving and guilt. A God of love, however, calls us to step into our divine dignity. And that, oddly enough, can be more frightening than judgment.
We often reject the love we most need because it feels too good to be true. We look at our flaws and think, Surely not me. But grace isn’t about being deserving; it’s about being.
The Difficulty of Accepting Others
And here’s where it gets tricky. If we struggle to accept our own belovedness, we will struggle to accept the belovedness of others. If we think we have to earn God’s favor, we will assume others do too—and we’ll be the ones deciding who measures up. This is why grace can feel so scandalous: it levels the playing field. It means the person we resent, the one we deem unworthy, the one we secretly think less of—is just as radically loved as we are.
A Pharaoh-God makes it easier to divide people into “good” and “bad,” “in” and “out.” The God of Jesus, however, refuses to play those games. Love is love is love.
How Do We Shift Our Image of God?
If we’ve spent years (or a lifetime) picturing God as a demanding ruler, how do we begin to see God as Jesus revealed? Here are a few ways:
Notice Where Fear Shows Up in Your Spirituality:If your faith is rooted in anxiety, guilt, or the fear of not measuring up, ask yourself: Is this really the voice of God? Love never speaks through shame.
Practice Receiving, Not Earning: Every day, remind yourself: I don’t have to prove anything today. I am already deeply loved.
Learn to See Beauty as a Reflection of God: John O’Donohue saw beauty as a doorway to the divine. Step outside, let creation speak to you, and see how God’s love is woven into everything.
Embrace Silence and Contemplation: Richard Rohr often says that silence is the only thing deep enough to hold God. Spend time in stillness, not to do something for God, but simply to be with God.
Let Go of Scorekeeping: When you find yourself measuring worth (your own or someone else’s), pause. Remember that grace doesn’t keep score.
Read the Gospels with Fresh Eyes: Pay attention to how Jesus interacts with people. Who does he challenge? Who does he embrace? What kind of God does he reveal?
Living as One Who is Already Loved
The shift from a Pharaoh-God to the God of Jesus is not just about theology—it’s about learning to trust love more than fear. It’s about noticing, in the quiet moments of life, where we are still clinging to the belief that we must earn what has already been given.
For years, I didn’t realize how much I still lived in the shadow of a Pharaoh-God. I believed in grace, but I also kept track—of my own failures, of how well I measured up, of whether I had done enough. Letting go of that mindset hasn’t been a one-time decision; it’s been a slow, daily practice of surrendering to a love that feels almost too good to be true.
But here’s what I’m learning: Jesus' image God's love is not waiting for us to figure it out. It’s already here. It has always been here. And the more we believe that, the freer we become—not just to receive love, but to give it. Not just to see our own worth, but to recognize it in those we once saw as outsiders.
The journey of faith is often a process of unlearning—of peeling away the layers of fear, hierarchy, and control that have been imposed upon God, so that we can finally encounter the boundless love that was there all along.
So, I wonder—what kind of image of God will we wake up to tomorrow? What if, just for a moment, we let go of the scorekeeping and the striving? What if we dared to believe that we are already held in a love that has no conditions?
And what might change if we began to live as if we accepted our acceptance and saw the "invincible preciousness" in everyone?