Relatable to Jesus

Jesus humanized himself far more than modern media often portrays. Google images of Jesus yield an otherworldly figure—pale, serene, draped in flowing robes, striking poses reminiscent of pagan gods. These depictions bear little resemblance to a real human, let alone a Jewish rabbi born in Bethlehem, just 40 miles from Egypt’s border. Egyptians, historically, were not fair-skinned, and Jesus, as a Middle Eastern Jew, would have looked more like the brown skin men with long black beards that many Americans have assumed are terrorists since 9/11.

In films, Jesus glides through scenes in pristine white garments, performing miracles with an air of invincibility. He appears detached, unbothered by the world’s chaos, as if his divine status as the Son of God renders him untouchable. This polished image suggests nothing can harm him unless he permits it. But this is not how Jesus lived. He embraced the full weight of humanity, including its vulnerabilities, temptations, and limitations. He didn’t float above the messiness of life—he waded through it.

Jesus didn’t walk the earth flexing divine power, though he could have. Instead, he moved as a man, born into the marginalized existence of an oppressed Jew under Roman rule. His humanity was not a mere costume; it shaped his choices and experiences. Consider the moment he rebuked Peter, calling him “Satan” after Peter declared him the Messiah (Mark 8:33). This wasn’t Jesus rejecting the title but correcting the misunderstanding behind it. In the first century, “Messiah” carried heavy connotations—divine authority, a liberator king who might challenge Rome. For a Jew to be hailed as such was dangerous, inviting scrutiny from Roman authorities who crushed any hint of rebellion.

Had Jesus openly embraced the Messiah label, he could have taunted Rome, daring them to touch him. With a word, he could have summoned legions of angels to topple empires. But what would that have taught us? If Jesus had flexed his divinity to single-handedly overthrow Rome, how could we relate to him? That would make Jesus look more like Superman. And Superman, despite his popularity, is not a relatable superhero because he’s pretty much invincible, and comes from another planet. On the other hand, Jesus was born on earth and came through a woman’s womb like everyone else. A savior who rules through raw power inspires fear, not love. Jesus chose a different path. He didn’t come to dominate but to demonstrate God’s love through humility, sacrifice, and connection with the broken.

Even demons recognized his true identity, calling him “Son of God” (Mark 3:11). Their proclamations weren’t born of reverence. More likely, they aimed to expose him prematurely, to stir trouble before his mission was complete. By declaring his divinity, they could draw the attention of Roman or Jewish leaders, who might see Jesus as a threat. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus repeatedly silences those who proclaim his identity (Mark 1:44, 5:43, 8:30). This wasn’t denial but a strategy. He knew the risks—Roman authorities could interpret “Messiah” as sedition, as they eventually did at his trial (Mark 15:2). Jewish leaders, too, might view such claims as blasphemy or a challenge to their authority. By delaying public declarations, Jesus ensured his teachings took root before the inevitable confrontation.

Jesus’ ministry unfolded thoughtfully. He spent much of his time in Galilee, a rural region far from Jerusalem’s Roman garrisons and priestly elite. Only at Passover, a time charged with spiritual and political significance, did he enter the city boldly (Mark 11). This wasn’t cowardice but purpose. Jesus didn’t dodge conflict—he orchestrated its timing. He could have marched into Jerusalem with divine wrath, angels at his side, and dismantled Rome’s power instantly. But that wasn’t his mission. His goal was to reveal God’s heart, not to wield God’s fist.

This humanized Jesus challenges the sanitized, untouchable figure we often see. He felt the weight of oppression, the sting of rejection, the temptation to take the easier path. He wept for friends (John 11:35), grew weary from travel (John 4:6), and anguished over his coming death (Luke 22:44). These weren’t theatrics but the raw reality of a God who chose to live as we do. His miracles weren’t flashy displays of dominance but acts of compassion—healing the sick, feeding the hungry, restoring the outcast. Each act pointed to a kingdom built on love, not fear.

Modern portrayals often strip Jesus of this grit, presenting him as a distant deity rather than a man who laughed, cried, and bled. But his humanity is what makes his story resonate. He didn’t need to overpower Rome to prove his divinity; he transformed lives through relationships, teachings, and ultimately, his sacrifice. By embracing our struggles, Jesus showed us a God who doesn’t stand aloof but walks beside us, offering love that endures beyond empires.

In today’s Christianity, we are bombarded with Jesus’ sinless life. We put more emphasis on his perfection than on his humanization. We think about following Jesus, we think about living a sinless life. We feel like we ain’t never going to be sinless and that alienates us from what Jesus came to show us. Jesus came to show us how to live a life with one purpose, one will–to follow God’s will.