Throughout history, we find numerous figures who gave their lives for a cause they passionately believed in. Mahatma Gandhi dedicated his life—and lost it—in the struggle to liberate India from British rule through non-violent resistance. Gaius Julius Caesar, in seeking to dismantle the corrupt Roman Republic that enriched a privileged few at the expense of the provinces, strove to establish a new political order, one he believed would serve the people more justly. Martin Luther King Jr., deeply inspired by Gandhi, led the American civil rights movement with a message of peaceful resistance and justice for African Americans. And in the early Church, Stephen, one of the first deacons, was stoned to death for preaching the Gospel of Christ.
All these individuals—and countless others—were driven by a profound conviction that their lives, even their deaths, could advance a cause that would outlast them. They were leaders, reformers, visionaries, and martyrs. They were remembered not because they achieved all their goals in life, but because their ideals eventually triumphed, often after their deaths.
Jesus of Nazareth is frequently placed among such historical figures—one more noble man who died for what He believed. But there is a critical difference that sets Him apart entirely.
Jesus did not die simply for a moral cause, or for justice, or peace, or reform. He died because He claimed to be someone altogether unique—the Son of God. No other religious leader in history made such a claim.
Take Muhammad, for example. He taught that the Archangel Gabriel had visited him to reveal the Qur’an, and he proclaimed himself to be a prophet, a chosen messenger, but not divine.
The Buddha also denied divinity. In one of the earliest recorded dialogues after his enlightenment, he was questioned by a group of seekers who were struck by his presence. The exchange is revealing:
“Are you a god?”
“No,” he replied.
“Are you the reincarnation of a god?”
“No.”
“Are you a sorcerer?”
“No.”
“Are you a wise man?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?” they asked, bewildered.
“I am the one who is awake.”
This profound answer helped define Buddhism’s spiritual path, but it made no claim to divinity.
Confucius never claimed to be more than a teacher and moral philosopher. Moses, revered in Judaism and Christianity alike, was God’s chosen servant, but never divine. Even Saint Paul, one of Christianity’s greatest apostles and theologians, never claimed to be God—only a servant of Jesus Christ.
But Jesus Christ is different. He did not merely speak for God—He spoke as God. He declared: “Before Abraham came to be, I AM.” (John 8:58), “I and the Father are one.” (John 10:30)
These declarations were so radical that the religious leaders of His time accused Him of blasphemy and demanded His death. As Thomas Schultz rightly observed:
None of the recognized religious leaders —not Confucius, not Moses, not Muhammad, not Buddha, not Paul—none of them have claimed to be God; the exception is Jesus Christ. Christ is the only religious leader who has ever claimed to be deity and the only person who has convinced much of the world that he is.
The Jewish people were raised with a singular and sacred conviction: that obedience to the Law was the only path to salvation. From childhood, a devout Jew was taught that strict adherence to the Torah—God’s Law given through Moses—was the one and only way to please God and gain entrance into eternal life. There was no alternative. The Law was everything.
And then, Jesus of Nazareth delivered what was, spiritually speaking, an atomic shock to that deeply religious society. He said:
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me. […] I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 14:1,6)
Would it be possible? Belief in Jesus, rather than in the Law, as the path to heaven?
Jesus did not say He was a way among many. He claimed to be the only way—a bold, categorical statement that directly challenged centuries of sacred teaching. The Law, revered and upheld by prophets and martyrs, was not the way to the Father, He said. He was.
For a devout Jew, this was almost unthinkable. The Books of the Maccabees, for example, recount the bravery of countless Jewish martyrs who endured torture and death rather than violate the Law. Their unwavering faith was in obedience—in keeping God’s commandments at all costs. And now Jesus says that He, not the Law, is the way to salvation.
All the prophets and holy men of the Old Testament had urged the people to return to God with sincerity, to obey His commandments, and to listen to His voice. But neither of them ever claimed divinity or offered themselves as the path to salvation. Their mission was to point away from themselves and toward the Father.
Consider John the Baptist, the final prophet before Christ. When the people questioned whether he might be the Messiah, he refused the title clearly and humbly: “He admitted the truth and did not deny it. He declared, ‘I am not the Messiah.’” (John 1:20)
He called the people to repentance, to conversion of heart, and to renewed fidelity to God. But he never claimed to save anyone. He knew full well that such a claim would be blasphemy, punishable by death.
And yet Jesus did make that claim—not subtly, but openly and repeatedly. On several occasions, He equated Himself with God the Father, with Yahweh, the Creator of all. “The Father and I are one.” (John 10:30)
The Greek word used here for “one” is hen, in the neuter form, not the masculine (heis). This grammatical choice is essential: it indicates that Jesus and the Father are not the same person, but that they share the same divine nature or essence. Jesus was not merely aligning Himself with God’s will—He was declaring ontological unity with God.
The religious leaders understood this perfectly. They were not confused or uncertain about what He meant. His claim to divinity enraged them, particularly because He did so publicly and boldly, even while breaking their legal traditions. For example, when Jesus healed a paralytic on the Sabbath, John recounts:
This was why the Jews were all the more determined to kill him: not only was He breaking the Sabbath, but He was also calling God his own Father, thereby making himself equal to God. (John 5:18)
There is no doubt that both Jesus and His Jewish audience clearly understood the meaning and implications of His words. This was not a parable, nor a veiled metaphor. Jesus was making an explicit and undeniable claim to divinity.
One of the most direct examples of this occurs in John 8:58, where Jesus declares: “Amen, amen, I say to you: before Abraham came to be, i am.”
This declaration is remarkable for two reasons.
First, Jesus introduces it with the solemn formula “Amen, amen” (often translated “Truly, truly” or “Most certainly”), a strong and authoritative affirmation that signaled to His listeners the absolute truth of what followed. It was a rabbinic expression used to emphasize that the statement was not just opinion—it was a solemn, undeniable truth.
Second—and most dramatically—He refers to Himself as “i am” (Ego eimi in Greek), a direct reference to the sacred name of God revealed to Moses in the burning bush: “God said to Moses: i am who i am. […] This is what you are to say to the Israelites: i am has sent me to you.” (Exodus 3:14)
By taking this divine name upon Himself, Jesus was appropriating the incommunicable and unutterable name of the Creator (see Appendix A). And if any people on earth understood the gravity of invoking that name, it was the Jews—and Jesus Himself was one of them. This was not accidental or poetic—it was intentional and theological.
As if claiming to be the Messiah were not already controversial, Jesus went even further. He demanded the same honor that was due to God the Father:
The Father judges no one but has entrusted all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. Whoever refuses to honor the Son refuses to honor the Father who sent him. (John 5:22–23)
Before Jesus, no one—neither in the Old Testament nor in any known historical record—had dared to call God Abba. Jewish prayer traditions typically opened with the word Abhinu, meaning “Our Father”, a reverent address that expressed a plea for mercy and forgiveness. It was respectful and formal, reflecting the awesome transcendence of the Creator.
But Abba was something entirely different.
Abba was the term used within the intimacy of family life, akin to “Papa”, “Daddy”, or “Papi”. It was the most affectionate and personal form of address a child could use for his father. Not even King David, known for his deep relationship with God, dared use such familiarity. In Psalm 103, he writes: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.” (Psalm 103:13)
Yet Jesus broke this precedent. In the Garden of Gethsemane, amid anguish and anticipation of His Passion, He prayed with unprecedented intimacy: “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Take this cup away from me. Yet not what I will but what you will.” (Mark 14:36)
By addressing God as Abba, Jesus revealed the depth of His relationship with the Father, a relationship rooted not in fear, but in unity, love, and divine sonship.
Later, when Jesus stood before the Sanhedrin, He initially remained silent under questioning. But when the high priest pressed Him directly: “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” (Mark 14:61). Jesus broke His silence and replied with divine clarity: “I am. And you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.” (Mark 14:62),
Here, Jesus affirmed both His messianic identity and His divine authority using titles already charged with Old Testament weight: “Messiah” and “Son of Man”—titles used by prophets to describe the One sent from God, even God Himself in human form.
This is why Caiaphas tore his garments in horror and cried: “You have heard the blasphemy. What is your verdict?” (Matthew 26:65). To the high priest and the council, Jesus’ words were not misunderstood—they were blasphemy, unless they were true.
And this is the heart of the dilemma. If Jesus was not who He claimed to be, then He was not merely a misguided teacher—He was either delusional, or deceitful on a grand scale. He told people that faith in Him was necessary for salvation, that He alone could forgive sins, and that He and the Father were one.
When Jesus forgave sins, He did not act as a priest, interceding between sinner and God. He spoke as the One offended, with complete authority: “But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the paralyzed man—“I say to you, get up, pick up your mat, and go home.” (Luke 5:24). On another occasion, He went even further—pronouncing both forgiveness and salvation over a woman of ill repute: “Your sins are forgiven.” (Luke 7:48). The onlookers were scandalized: “Who is this who even forgives sins?” (Luke 7:49). But Jesus reaffirmed His verdict: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” (Luke 7:50).
This is not the behavior of a mere teacher. It is the behavior of someone who consciously claimed to be God.
The great Christian thinker C.S. Lewis, in his classic Mere Christianity, addresses this exact point:
I am trying here to prevent anyone from saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: ‘I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept His claim to be God.’ That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.
He would either be a lunatic—on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God—or else a madman or something worse.”
“You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon—or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.
In the field of information systems, we frequently use tools known as decision trees—logical diagrams that map out actions and outcomes based on a sequence of questions and answers. They help us visualize the process of rational decision-making, especially when multiple possibilities are at play.
This same model can be applied to Jesus’ claim to be God. When He made this extraordinary assertion, only two fundamental options exist:
- His claim is true.
- His claim is false.
If the claim is false, there are only two further possibilities:
- Jesus knew His claim was false.
- He did not know it was false.
If He did not know, then He was deluded—a lunatic—mentally unstable, yet paradoxically preaching the most morally profound teachings in human history. If, on the other hand, He knew His claim was false, then He was deliberately deceiving others—a liar, a hypocrite, and a manipulator who encouraged people to stake their eternal souls on a lie. Worse still, He would be a narcissist so committed to His delusion that He willingly accepted torture and death for it. Such a person would be not only wicked but also utterly irrational.
But if His claim is true, then Jesus is exactly who He said He is: the Lord, the Messiah, the Son of God, God made flesh.
The evidence—historical, textual, logical, and spiritual—points consistently to the truth of Jesus’ claim. But many still reject it—not because of flaws in the evidence, but because of the moral implications that acceptance would entail. To recognize Jesus as Lord means acknowledging His authority over one’s life, submitting to His teachings, and accepting His call to repentance and discipleship.
This is why the question of Jesus’ identity remains the most important decision any person can make. The title of this argument presents three alternatives:
Jesus was either a liar, a lunatic, or the Son of God.
Review the evidence. Consider the logic. Reflect with intellectual integrity and moral honesty.
Now make your choice.
