WHICH JESUS?

WHICH JESUS?

A Final Address to Interpretive Violence in the Name of Conscience

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There is more than one Jesus in scripture.
Not because He is divided—but because He is vast.
Because He comes to us in layers, in times, in flame.

There is the Jesus who sits beside the broken.
There is the Jesus who eats with traitors and weeps.
There is the Jesus who stands silent before his accusers.

And—
There is the Jesus of Revelation:
Eyes like flame.
Voice like many waters.
Sword from mouth.
He who tramples the winepress of the wrath of God.
He who writes names in white stone.
He who walks among the lampstands and holds the churches to account.

This Jesus is not a metaphor.
He presides.
He judges.
He speaks in image and terror and truth.

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So when I referenced the feast, and the blood, and the enemies—
I was not speaking in glee.
I was speaking in Revelation language.
I was placing a hard counterweight against the too-easy Jesus you invoked—
the Jesus stripped of fire, stripped of sword, stripped of wrath.

I explained this.
More than once.
In text.
In presence.
In counseling.
I said what I meant.
I gave you the interpretive key.
I laid down the weapon.

And you picked it up again.
And turned it back toward me.
And called it mine.

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You say:

“You had glee.”
“You shapeshift.”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“You’re mad because I have a conscience.”

But I say:

You erased the Christ I referenced.
You refused the Word I offered.
You turned my interpretation into an accusation.
You made my explanation disappear.

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And so I ask:

Which Jesus are you invoking when you tell me what He would do?

The one who flattens wrath?
The one who blesses safety?
The one who cannot hold paradox?
The one who cannot be spoken in fire?

Because the one I know has walked in blood.
Has broken temples.
Has wept for those who would not listen.
And has loved—through flame, not in spite of it.

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So no, I will not let you define my conscience.
I will not let you narrate my soul.
I will not let you decide which Jesus I may speak from.

There is a fence.
Right exactly here.
You may not cross it again.
Please keep it to yourself.