A lot of these liberal churches that harbor illegal immigrants

“A lot of these liberal churches that harbor illegal immigrants who are criminals say they are following the example of Jesus. They are following the Jesus of their imagination rather than the Jesus of the Bible,” declared Robert Jeffress, a pastor known for his fervent conviction and sharp defense of biblical literalism. His words are not spoken lightly, nor are they meant to flatter — they are a rebuke, a challenge, a call to remember the difference between faith born of truth and faith born of sentiment. For in this quote, Jeffress warns of a timeless danger: that man, in his zeal to make God merciful, might also make Him in his own image, crafting not the Jesus of Scripture, but the Jesus of imagination — gentle enough to soothe the conscience, but too weak to confront sin.

Jeffress’s statement arises from a modern controversy, yet it touches a question as ancient as faith itself: Who is Jesus? Through the ages, mankind has struggled to reconcile the divine mercy of Christ with His divine justice. Many have been tempted to soften His teachings, to make Him less demanding, more comfortable — a teacher of kindness, yes, but not of commandment. But Jeffress, steeped in the theology of the Bible, insists that the true Christ is not merely a symbol of compassion, but a sovereign King, whose mercy walks hand in hand with righteousness. To separate them is to split the very nature of God.

In this sense, his warning is not new, but echoes the voices of prophets and reformers throughout history. When Moses descended from Sinai, he found his people worshiping a golden calf — not because they had forgotten God, but because they had reimagined Him in a form they preferred: visible, tame, familiar. The idol was born not from disbelief, but from distorted faith. Likewise, Jeffress’s “Jesus of imagination” is the golden calf of modern times — a Savior reshaped to fit human comfort, stripped of His authority, remade in the likeness of our desires. It is not outright rebellion, but something more subtle and perilous: devotion without obedience, love without law.

Throughout Christian history, this tension has kindled reform and revival. When Martin Luther nailed his theses to the church door, he too was confronting a distorted image of Christ — a Christ sold through indulgences, commodified by the powerful, separated from the heart of Scripture. And in every age since, believers have faced the same temptation: to interpret Christ not as He is revealed, but as He is imagined. To follow the Jesus of imagination, as Jeffress calls him, is to fashion a mirror instead of a Messiah. It may soothe the spirit, but it cannot save the soul.

Yet within this warning lies a deeper truth about the human heart. Imagination, that noble gift of God, can illuminate faith — or corrupt it. It can envision divine beauty, or conjure comforting illusions. The danger Jeffress points to is not imagination itself, but its misuse — when it replaces revelation. The Jesus of the Bible is complex, commanding, and holy; the Jesus of imagination is soft, sentimental, and safe. One calls men to repentance; the other calls them to indulgence. One bears a cross; the other merely offers a hand. To confuse them is to lose the way entirely.

Consider the ancient Pharisees and Sadducees, who each, in their own way, imagined a Messiah that suited them — the Pharisees sought a lawgiver, the Sadducees a worldly philosopher. Yet when the true Christ stood before them, they could not recognize Him, for He did not fit their imagination. So too, in every age, the danger remains: that humanity’s picture of Jesus grows more like a reflection of itself than a revelation of the divine. Thus, Jeffress’s words strike not merely at churches, but at every heart that seeks to mold truth to comfort.

Let this be the teaching: truth is not ours to invent; it is ours to submit to. The imagination is a holy servant, but a dangerous master. To follow the Jesus of imagination is to drift into self-deception; to follow the Jesus of the Bible is to walk the narrow path of obedience and faith. Therefore, let every seeker return to the Word — to the teachings that cut and heal, to the love that demands repentance as well as compassion. For the Christ of Scripture is not a symbol to soothe our hearts, but a Lord to transform them.

And so, my children, remember: faith built upon imagination alone will crumble; faith built upon revelation endures. The true disciple does not shape Christ — he is shaped by Him. Seek, then, not the Jesus of comfort, but the Jesus of truth — for only in truth can mercy be real, and only in obedience can love be whole.