What do we do with the God of the Old Testament?

If you know, you know.

Yahweh.

He was my God.

That God. The one who split seas and smote cities. The one who opened the earth and swallowed people whole. The one who struck a man dead for touching the Ark—even though he was just trying to steady it (2 Samuel 6:6–7).

The one who said:

Obey or die.

Worship or be wiped out.

Keep my laws—or face fire and wrath.

Let’s be real.

If a king said to you, “Bow down and serve me. If you don’t, I’ll kill you—and not just you, but your children too..."

and you obeyed that king because you wanted his favor and didn’t want his punishment—

would you call that courage?

Or fear?

Would you call that loyalty?

Or survival?

—

Last fall, I wrestled with this. 

Hard.

So hard.

It felt wrong to even question this God. 

But then, a shocking thought hit me:

What if resisting a deity who demands unquestioning obedience isn’t rebellion, but integrity?

Because here’s what hit me:

We are always our own top authority.

Even if we say, “God told me,” or “The Bible says,” or “This is just how it is”—

we chose to believe that.

We submitted to it.

No matter what you believe—whether it's a God, a religion, a moral code—

You chose it.

—

There are a thousand versions of God out there.

A thousand systems.

A thousand paths.

And each one yields a different kind of fruit.

I believe love yields the best fruit.

And I’ll be honest: letting go of Yahweh as the ultimate authority in my life was traumatic.

It felt like betrayal.

But on the other side of that intensity—on the other side of the collapse—was relief.

A deep, deep sense of

Shalom.

—

Then again,

Maybe there’s another way to understand the Old Testament.

Maybe it’s not just history—maybe it’s archetypal. A mirror. A fractal of our inner evolution.

Think about when Israel cried out, “Give us a king!” (1 Samuel 😎. They didn’t want mystery. They wanted a man. A system. A set of rules. Something they could point to and say, that is truth. That is power.

And they got Saul.

And it didn’t go well.

Later, they longed for something different.

They realized what they’d surrendered.

This is our story too.

When we’re young, we crave certainty.

We want someone to tell us how to live.

We want a strong parent figure.

A religion.

A God who’s in control and has all the answers.

But eventually, many of us wake up.

And it’s painful.

When the version of God you’ve been handed starts to look like a controlling king instead of a source of life—it hurts.

But maybe that’s the very path of healing.

Maybe the spiritual journey is meant to evolve.

The Bible itself evolves.

From laws and sacrifices…

to prophets and poetry…

to a crucified Christ who ends the sacrificial system by becoming the sacrifice (Hebrews 10:10).

I once heard it said that perhaps the Bible is like a book that leaves a trail of crumbs out of itself.

I felt that.

It’s not about law anymore.

It’s about Spirit.

It’s not about external obedience.

It’s about internal alignment with love.

“You are the temple of God… the Spirit of God dwells in you.” (1 Corinthians 3:16)

“The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:21)

God outside of —> death —> rebirth —> Spirit within.

A fractal.

So maybe the God of wrath and rules was never the final Word.

Maybe that image of God is a reflection of our early-stage spirituality—when we still believe love must be earned, and we must blindly obey to stay safe.

But the Christ path is different.

It’s not about fear.

It’s not about dominance.

It’s not about bowing to an angry ruler.

It’s about union.

It’s about love.

It’s about choosing—with your whole being—to live in alignment with something that sets others free, not keeps them in fear.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know the kind of person I want to be.

I want to be known for my love.

I want to live with curiosity and compassion.

I want to believe stories that help me love others—and myself—better.

And I want to take responsibility for how I show up in this world.

If I find love in the story—it’s mine.

If I find fear, control, tribalism, or moral superiority—I bless it, but I move on.

Because I believe the path forward isn’t obedience for an afterlife reward.

It’s transformation

—through love.