Author: JD Merrill

“You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.” – John 5:39-40

Let’s play a game.

Close your eyes (wait—actually, don’t, because you’re reading this) and picture a Bible.

What does it look like?

Maybe it’s that big, leather-bound one on your grandmother’s coffee table, the one with your family genealogy scribbled in the front. Maybe it’s a pocket-sized New Testament, printed by the Gideons and left in a hotel drawer. Maybe it’s an app on your phone, offering verse of the day inspiration between doomscrolling sessions.

But now, let’s go deeper. What is the Bible?

Is it a divine rulebook? A history of the world? A flawless, dictated Word of God, dropped out of heaven, bound in King James English, and handed to us for all eternity?

Or is it something else entirely?

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: Most of what people believe about the Bible comes not from the Bible itself, but from centuries of religious institutions, political interests, and well-meaning (but often misinformed) preachers.

And the Bible itself? It’s much weirder, much messier, and far more human than most of us have been led to believe.

The Bible Didn’t Start as “The Bible”

Imagine walking into a library and pulling random books off the shelf.

You grab a collection of ancient war poetry. A few personal letters between religious leaders. Some legal codes from a long-extinct civilization. A book of erotic love poetry. A fiery political manifesto written under oppressive rule.

Now, mash them all together, translate them into a language that didn’t exist when they were written, and declare that this collection is the direct and inerrant voice of God.

That’s sort of what happened with the Bible.

The Bible isn’t a book—it’s a library of writings from different authors, across different time periods, in different languages, addressing different cultural contexts. The word Bible shares etymological roots with library and essentially means “The Books”. The people who wrote these texts weren’t writing “The Bible”—they were writing to their communities, responding to their struggles, trying to make sense of the divine and the human experience.

And yet, somehow, we’ve turned this wildly diverse collection into a singular, monolithic weapon—one that’s often wielded to uphold power structures, silence dissent, and justify just about every form of oppression known to humankind.

But let’s step back and ask: Is that what it was meant to be?

Who Decided What Belongs in the Bible? (And What Got Left Out?)

Most people don’t realize this, but there was never a single moment in history where someone declared, “Okay, folks, this is the Bible. Final draft. No more edits.”

The process of canonization (deciding which books were in and which were out) was long, messy, and full of disagreements.

• The Hebrew Bible (what Christians call the Old Testament) wasn’t fully settled until at least the 2nd century CE.
• The New Testament wasn’t finalized until the 4th century CE—a full 300 years after Jesus.
• Even today, different Christian traditions have different Bibles—Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant Bibles don’t all contain the same books.

Now, let’s pause and think about that.

If the Bible is supposed to be the absolute and unchanging Word of God, why did it take centuries of human debate to decide what belonged in it? And what does it mean that some texts were excluded? What happens when we realize that decisions about the Bible weren’t made by prophets or angels, but by councils of bishops, church leaders, and—let’s be honest—Roman emperors with political agendas?

Lost in Translation: How Words Change Meaning Over Time

Even if we all agreed on which books belong in the Bible, we’d still have another problem: Translation.

Because unless you read ancient Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek fluently, the Bible you’re reading is not the original text. It’s a translation. And every translation is an interpretation.

Let’s look at a few examples:

• The Hebrew word “Sheol”—which originally referred to the grave or the realm of the dead—was later translated as “Hell” in English, despite being a completely different concept. Actually none of the words translated as “Hell” actually mean hell.
• The Greek word “metanoia”, which means a radical change of mind, got translated as “repent”, which now carries connotations of groveling before an angry God. Not to mention the Hebrew and Jewish practice of Teshuvah, which is also translated as repentance.
• The word “Satan” wasn’t originally a proper name. It simply meant “the accuser”—it wasn’t necessarily an individual being, let alone the horned, pitchfork-wielding villain we imagine today.

See the problem? Entire theologies, doctrines, and worldviews have been built on mistranslations, misunderstandings, and cultural biases. And yet, people will say, “The Bible is clear.”

Which Bible? In which language? Interpreted by whom?

What If We’ve Been Reading It Wrong This Whole Time?

Let’s go back to Yeshua of Nazareth (because yes, Jesus’ real name wasn’t “Jesus”—that’s a Greek translation of a Hebrew name).

Yeshua didn’t walk around quoting the King James Version. He wasn’t interested in religious legalism. He wasn’t building an institution, creating a doctrine, or drafting a systematic theology.

In fact, he spent most of his time challenging the religious elites who were obsessed with law and control.

• He broke Sabbath laws to heal people.
• He told stories that made the religious establishment look like villains.
• He hung out with prostitutes, tax collectors, and social outcasts.
• He flipped tables when he saw religious leaders exploiting the poor.

And yet, somehow, modern Christianity has often taken the very system of control, hierarchy, and legalism that Jesus opposed—and made it the foundation of the faith.

A Contemplative Exercise: Read Differently

Take a deep breath.

Now, let’s do something radical: Read the Bible differently.

Instead of reading it like a rulebook or a science textbook, read it like a conversation.

Instead of asking, “What does this command me to believe?” try asking, “What questions does this raise?”

Instead of assuming certainty, sit with the mystery of it.

And most of all, instead of seeing the Bible as the end of the conversation, start seeing it as an invitation—to wrestle, to wonder, and to open yourself up to a deeper, more transformative truth.

Because maybe—just maybe—the Word of God was never meant to be just a book at all.

Maybe it’s something bigger. Something alive. Something that can’t be contained in pages or doctrines or institutions.

And maybe, just maybe, you already know it.

Sit with that. See what happens.

Reclaiming the Radical Rabbi

“Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?” – Luke 6:46 (ESV)

It’s kind of funny when you think about it—Jesus, the guy Christianity is named after, wasn’t actually a Christian. He didn’t plant a megachurch, didn’t lead worship with a Hillsong setlist, never had a journaling Bible, and definitely never said, “Accept me into your heart as your personal Lord and Savior.”

That’s because Jesus wasn’t trying to start a new religion. He was a Jewish mystic, a radical rabbi, and a walking, talking critique of religious and political corruption. And if you sat him down today in front of a modern evangelical sermon, I’d bet my last cup of coffee he’d flip some tables before Good Good Father was even over.

So, how did we get from Yeshua of Nazareth (technically, Yeshu Ha-Notzri), an Aramaic-speaking Jewish teacher, to the version of Jesus we see today—whitewashed, weaponized, and often used as a mascot for things he probably would’ve preached against?

Yeshua, the Jewish Mystic

First things first: Jesus’ actual name wasn’t “Jesus.” It was Yeshua (ישוע). That’s what his mother Miriam (not Mary) called him. “Jesus” is the result of a long game of linguistic telephone—Aramaic to Hebrew to Greek to Latin to Spanish to English. People in his time would have referred to him as Yeshua Ben Yosef by commoners or Yeshua Hamashiach by followers, and his students called him Rabbi which means “teacher”.

Yeshua wasn’t born into Christianity. He was born into Second Temple Judaism, a time when Jewish people were under Roman occupation and longing for liberation. He wasn’t out here trying to found a new faith; he was calling his people back to the true heart of their own.

And what did that look like? Not legalism. Not power-hungry priests. Not cozying up to empire. It looked like:

• Healing the sick for free (something that would absolutely get him labeled a socialist today).
• Eating with sinners, tax collectors, and sex workers (which made religious leaders uncomfortable).
• Telling the rich to sell their possessions and give to the poor (which still makes religious leaders uncomfortable).
• Challenging the religious elite and their oppressive interpretations of the Law.

Yeshua wasn’t a nice, soft-spoken pastor handing out inspirational quotes. He wasn’t Buddy Jesus from that Matt Damon movie or the Footprints poem guy. He was a disruptor—a deeply Jewish teacher who understood the Torah and Prophets better than the scholars and religious leaders of his time and had no problem telling them so. He wasn’t concerned about anyone becoming a Christian or worshipping him. No, Jesus was introducing us to the Way. The way that he lived and communed with the divine was not only his message, but his call to action for all of his students and followers.

When Jesus Became Christ™

So, if Jesus never set out to create Christianity, where did it come from? Enter Paul of Tarsus.

Now, I know this might ruffle some feathers, but if you look at the New Testament with fresh eyes, you’ll notice something weird: Paul talks about Jesus more than Jesus talks about Jesus.

Paul (formerly Saul) was a Pharisee, who was killing followers of the Way.

I persecuted the followers of this Way to their death, arresting both men and women and throwing them into prison (Acts 22:4 NIV)

On his way to Damascus, (with followers of the Way in captivity, might I add) had a dramatic conversion experience and started spreading his understanding of the message of Christ to the Gentiles. This was a huge and controversial shift—Jesus’ ministry was primarily to the Jewish people, but Paul helped shape what would eventually become Christianity as we know it today. Even though he never actually met the man named Yeshua.

Paul’s letters—written before the Gospels—start reinterpreting Jesus’ message in ways that make it more universal. But as Christianity spread, things got… complicated. Over time:

• The Jewish roots of Jesus’ teachings were downplayed or erased.
• The Roman Empire co-opted Christianity, turning it into a tool of power (Looking at you, Constantine).
• Jesus went from a radical, brown-skinned Middle Eastern rabbi to the brown-haired, blue-eyed poster child of Western religion and fifth member of Tame Impala.

And before long, Christianity wasn’t just different from Mystical Judaism—it was weaponized against it. The very faith Jesus practiced became an afterthought, and instead of focusing on his message and way of life, people got obsessed with doctrines about his blood and death. If you go to a church today, pay attention to how often they preach from one of Paul’s letters compared to what Christ taught. It’s kind of astonishing once you realize it.

So, What Does This Mean for Us?

If Jesus wasn’t a Christian, maybe the real question isn’t “Are we Christians?” but “Are we actually following Jesus?”

Because following Jesus doesn’t look like building empires, controlling people, or gatekeeping salvation. It looks like:

• Prioritizing love over dogma or what’s accepted in christian culture.
• Praying and Meditating, Fasting, Eating Well, and caring for Creation.
• Calling out religious hypocrisy.
• Communing with Nature, aligning himself with the Source.
• Serving the marginalized, the unhoused, the incarcerated, the political ‘enemy’, the poor, and the broken amongst us.
• Living in a way that reflects divine abundance rather than fear and scarcity.

Yeshua’s teachings weren’t about creating a belief system—they were about awakening people to the reality of God’s presence in everything, everyone, and everywhere. That’s a message that transcends religion entirely. And if you’re someone who’s uncomfortable with a word or title like “God”, go ahead and swap that out for a word like Universe, Source, Love, or use my favorite: the Divine. Don’t let the wording hold you back from this. My definition of “God” looks very very different from what you’re used to, I promise. I’ll be talking to Alex O’Connor or some other atheist/skeptic podcaster about it at some point, I’m sure.

Yeshua came to fulfill the law. The law that he knew and loved. The law that he lived. And not the law as its written, but the Spirit of the law. That is why when asked by a Lawyer who was a Pharisee which commandment was the greatest, Yeshua sums it up with Love God and Love Your Neighbor as Yourself.

So, whether you’re Christian, Deconstructing, Atheist, Spiritual-but-not-Religious, or just here for the existential crisis, one thing is clear:

Maybe it’s time to stop asking, “Am I a Christian?” or “Why did Jesus die?” and start asking, “Am I living like Jesus?” or “How did Jesus live?”

Because that’s the real Way of the Source.

If you’re here, that means one of two things: Either you’ve been on a faith journey long enough to start questioning everything you were ever told about God, or you clicked the wrong link and you are about to have a mild existential crisis. Either way—welcome. You’re in good company.

My name is JD, and I have spent my life tangled up in the divine. Raised as a Pentecostal, I was deep in the world of revival services, charismatic sermons, and the very real fear that watching The Rugrats might somehow open a portal to hell. (To be fair, Phil and Lil would probably have been down with that)

Later, I helped build a successful church as a worship leader, fronted a Christian metalcore band touring the country screaming about Jesus, and then-somewhere along the way-realized the god I was worshiping was, well, kind of a monster. The angry, wrathful sky-dad who needed blood sacrifices to forgive people? Yeah, that god had to go. And when he did, I was devastated. I grieved that loss. Of course, when you deconstruct something you have believed in for your entire life and built your career and friendships around, it ceases to be an intellectual exercise; you are setting fire to your whole world.

For awhile, I would’ve called myself an atheist. And that felt like home for awhile, but I could never shake this pull that while the current systems were not serving us, there was more to the story of what was going on here… so I dug deeper. And what I found wasn’t less real than the god I had left behind—it was so much more. While I had lost god as a being that was “out there” somewhere, I found something more akin to a mystery that was the ground of being itself. I began to find a divine presence that wasn’t bound by time, space, gender, or the petty need to smite people for eating shrimp. A presence that is woven into every breath, every heartbeat, every song, every star, every photon of light. A Source.

This blog is about that journey.

What You’ll Find Here

I’m passionate about language, etymology, and ancient literature. I get excited about the actual meanings of words in the original texts, not just the mistranslations that have fueled centuries of bad theology. (Looking at you, 1946, when ‘homosexual’ magically appeared in the Bible for the first time). I believe Jesus was far more mystical, radical, and inclusive than modern Christianity gives him credit for. And I believe that when you strip away the fear-based dogma, what remains is something truly transformative—something that leads not to judgment, but to love.

Here We’ll Explore

• The actual meanings behind ancient biblical and extra-biblical texts
• What Jesus was really teaching (hint: it wasn’t about creating megachurches and hoarding wealth)
• The ways spirituality, philosophy, science, and mysticism intersect
• How deconstruction doesn’t have to end in nihilism, but can open the door to something more beautiful and real than you ever imagined

And, of course, there will be sarcasm. Because if we can’t laugh at the absurdity of believing we had it all figured out at age seven, then what’s even the point?

If You’re Here, You Belong

This space is for the questioners, the misfits, the ones who have been burned by religion but still feel the pull of something bigger than themselves. It’s for those who have been told they were too much, too curious, or too heretical—but who know deep down that truth isn’t afraid of being questioned. It’s for those who have walked away from certainty but still long for meaning.

So, welcome to The Way of the Source. I don’t have all the answers. But I do have some really good questions, a deep love for the mysteries of the divine, and a pretty solid playlist for spiritual crises. Let’s figure this out together.

Many of us long for a deeper experience of the Divine—something beyond theology, beyond words, beyond what we can fully grasp. Something profound and ineffable. In Exodus 33, Moses makes the boldest request possible: “Show me Your glory.” But the way God responds reveals something profound—not just about Moses’ journey, but about ours as well.

This passage is often read as a historical account of Israel’s journey through the wilderness, but what if it’s also a map for the soul? What if it teaches us something about encountering the Divine, not just in theory, but in direct experience?

If we read Exodus 33 with a mystical lens—especially looking at the pictographic meaning of the Hebrew words—we uncover a timeless message about presence, transformation, and seeing God in ways we never expected.

God’s Presence vs. God’s Messenger (Exodus 33:1–3)

At the beginning of the chapter, God tells Moses that He will send an angel to lead Israel, but He Himself will not go with them:

“I will send an angel before you… but I will not go with you, because you are a stiff-necked people.” (Exodus 33:2-3)

This might seem strange. Why would God say this? And why does Moses push back, insisting that God’s presence is essential?

The Hebrew word for angel is מַלְאָךְ (mal’akh), which means “messenger” but also suggests a force that carries out divine will. In other words, an angel is an emanation of God—something divine, but not the fullness of God’s presence.

Moses recognizes the difference. He isn’t satisfied with a messenger or a representative of God—he longs for something more: direct communion.

Mystical takeaway:

How often do we settle for less than God’s true presence? We seek spiritual experiences, miracles, signs—but do we seek God’s presence itself? Moses reminds us that encountering the Divine isn’t about external manifestations; it’s about communion, a closeness that transforms.

The Tent of Meeting: The Inner Sanctuary (Exodus 33:7–11)

Moses sets up a tent outside the camp, where he speaks with God face to face. When he enters, a cloud descends, signifying God’s presence.

The Hebrew word for tent (אֹהֶל – ‘ohel) suggests “a place of strength and revelation.” It’s a sacred spacewhere the Divine meets humanity.

But notice—the tent is outside the camp. Why?

This is a pattern we see throughout Scripture: the deeper encounters with God often happen away from the crowd, in places of solitude. Jesus himself withdrew to quiet places to pray. The great mystics—both Christian and otherwise—describe their most profound experiences of God in silence, in stillness, in surrender.

Mystical takeaway:

The Tent of Meeting isn’t just an external structure—it’s a metaphor for the soul. If we want to encounter God deeply, we must make space for Him—not just in a physical location, but within ourselves. The “tent” is the inner sanctuary of the heart, where we meet God in stillness.

Moses’ Bold Request: “Show Me Your Glory” (Exodus 33:18)

Moses doesn’t just want guidance. He doesn’t just want a sign. He asks for something radical:

“Show me Your glory.” (Exodus 33:18)

The Hebrew word for glory here is כָּבוֹד (kavod), which comes from a root meaning “weight” or “heaviness.” It’s not just about light or majesty—it’s about the overwhelming, infinite nature of God.

This is more than Moses asking to see God. He’s asking to encounter the fullness of Divine Reality.

Have you ever had a moment where you sensed something so vast, so beyond comprehension, that it left you breathless? This is what Moses is asking for.

And God responds—but not in the way Moses expects.

“You Cannot See My Face” (Exodus 33:19–23)

God tells Moses:

“You cannot see My face, for no one may see Me and live.” (Exodus 33:20)

Instead, God places Moses in the cleft of a rock and allows him to see His back as He passes by.

What does this mean?

• The Hebrew word for rock (צוּר – tzur) suggests a place of stability and protection—a metaphor for trust and surrender.

• The cleft (נִקְרָה – niqrah) literally means a hollowed-out space—almost like a womb.

• The word for back (אָחוֹר – achor) comes from a root meaning “that which comes after.”

This isn’t about Moses seeing a literal body. It’s about a deep mystical truth:

We don’t see God directly—we see God’s movement in our lives.

Often, we recognize God only in hindsight—in the way things unfold, in the patterns of our journey, in the way grace has shaped us over time.

Mystical takeaway:

Sometimes, we want an overwhelming, undeniable revelation of God. But what if the true encounter with God happens in trusting the unfolding of the journey? The “cleft in the rock” represents the space of surrender, where we let go and allow God to reveal Himself in His own way.

What Does This Mean for Us?

Exodus 33 is more than an ancient story—it’s a spiritual blueprint for our own journey:

1. Don’t settle for secondhand spirituality. Like Moses, we must hunger for God’s presence, not just signs or intermediaries.

2. Create space for the Divine. The Tent of Meeting represents the inner sanctuaryof the heart. Are we making room for God in stillness and solitude?

3. Recognize God in hindsight. We may not always “see” God in the moment, but if we look back, we often find His fingerprints on our story.

4. Surrender to the mystery. The cleft in the rock is a place of humility and trust—sometimes, the greatest encounters with God come when we stop striving and simply rest in Him.

Like Moses, may we dare to ask, “Show me Your glory.” And may we have the eyes to see it—not always in the way we expect, but in the way we need.

What About You?

Have you ever had a moment where you only recognized God’s presence in hindsight? How do you create space for divine encounter in your life?

Let’s talk in the comments.