Rediscovering the Root: A Gentile Journey into the Jewish Gospel - For When the Walk Becomes Difficult
From Believer to Disciple
There came a moment in my life when I finally reached the end of myself—when I was done chasing the American dream, done striving to become who I thought I was supposed to be. I laid everything down at the proverbial feet of Jesus. In that moment, I made a declaration: I would be the clay—moldable, teachable, and willing to be transformed by the Spirit. I gave God full control of my life.
A clean slate can be a beautiful thing. It gives the Author room to write something new—something true. That decision marked a pivotal turning point for me. From then on, seeking God and His Kingdom became the priority. Everything else had to fall in line behind that.
But starting fresh didn’t just mean new vision; it also meant surrendering my old ones. I had to let go of what I thought I knew—truths I had clung to, the biases and theological assumptions that had been handed down to me by the “church.” Many of those ideas, I realized, had never left room for God to truly move. After all, how many Christian denominations are there, each claiming to know the truth, yet divided?
When I gave God space to work freely in my life—when I truly invited Him to reshape me—He did. Looking back, that moment marks the beginning of my journey as a disciple. Believing in God and calling myself a Christian was one thing. But becoming a disciple—that was an entirely different step. Since then, God has been patiently un-teaching and re-teaching me. He’s reframed the way I see Him, the Bible, and what we often call “church.” I am not perfect. I am not finished. But I am willing—and I’m giving God the freedom to keep working in me.
How God Changed My Perspective
If I had to sum up how God reshaped my understanding, it would be this:
God taught me to see the Bible through a Jewish lens.
For much of my life, my “Christian” experience was centered around the idea of Jesus as the universal man—the Savior of all people, the builder of His church. While there are elements of truth in that message, I’ve come to realize it reflects a much later development in our understanding of the biblical narrative. Over the centuries, countless men and women have shaped and curated that message to explain the gospel, often with good intentions. But in doing so, we've drifted from the foundation.
We’ve lost touch with the roots—the Jewish people, the Jewish scriptures, and the context in which the story of redemption was first told. As a Gentile (a non-Jewish person, as the New Testament would describe me), I’ve come to understand that I’ve been grafted into their story. This isn’t about replacing Israel; it’s about joining a narrative that was already in motion—serving a Jewish Messiah within a Jewish framework.
Many churches, including those I grew up in, have developed their own creative ways of dealing with the Jewish people and the gospel. Some have effectively removed Israel from the story, merging them with all of humanity—making them no more special than anyone else. In that narrative, Jesus is simply the Savior of all people, equally available to everyone, and Israel becomes just another nation—unchosen, unelected, and no longer distinct in the eyes of the redemptive plan.
We must ask: Is this the story Scripture is telling? Or have we replaced the central role of Israel with a more comfortable, modern narrative?
Other churches still acknowledge Israel’s importance, but because many Jewish people haven’t accepted Jesus, their role is diminished—reduced to those who “just don’t get it.” Every denomination seems to handle the question of Israel differently. But in the end, there can only be one truth—one reality that accurately reflects God’s plan.
God has graciously opened my eyes to see the beauty and continuity of the Jewish narrative woven throughout the Bible. He’s helped me understand how I, as a Gentile, have been brought into that redemptive story—not to overwrite it, but to honor it, embrace it, and find my place within it.
Wrestling in the Pew
I currently attend a Christian church, and I have to be honest—it's been a deep struggle for me ever since God began opening my eyes to things I hadn’t seen before. The church often says they have a “pretty good theology.” What exactly that means is unclear, but it seems to carry the assumption that they’ve mostly figured it out—that their interpretation of Scripture is correct.
But many of the things God has revealed to me through personal study directly challenge the messages I hear from the pulpit. Sometimes the conflict is subtle, other times it’s stark. There are Sundays when I feel uncomfortable, squirming in the pew. And there are days I don't even want to get out of bed to go, because I fear the message might directly contradict what I’ve come to believe. I’ve even left church on occasion vowing not to return, simply because the theological gap feels too wide.
For the most part, we agree on all the central “Jesus” points—His divinity, His death and resurrection, and the call to follow Him. But the root of the tension, as I’ve come to see it, is this: What does the church do with Israel and the Jewish people?
That question alone reveals so much. It shapes how a church interprets the Bible, how they understand Jesus in His original Jewish context, and how they view Paul, the Torah, grace, and even the very purpose of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. It ultimately affects the vision of where we, as God’s people, are going.
What I’ve come to realize is that replacement theology exists on a spectrum. At one end, it fully removes Israel from the redemptive story—casting them as merely the past, while the Church becomes the future. On the more subtle end, Israel is still acknowledged as God’s people, but the law is dismissed, the Mosaic covenant is seen as obsolete, and the Church is rebranded as “true Israel.”
Of course, many churches fall somewhere in between. But no matter where a church lands, this single question—What do we do with Israel?—is deeply revealing. It exposes the lens through which we interpret the entire Bible. And for me, it has become the dividing line between the theology I once accepted and the understanding God has been reshaping in me.
When Truth Becomes a Lonely Road
Maybe your experience mirrors mine. Or maybe it's the complete opposite—perhaps you’ve never felt the need to question what your church or pastor teaches. And that’s okay. I don’t see myself as a revolutionist or someone trying to stir up trouble. But I do see myself as someone who seeks truth—truth that isn't built on assumptions, tradition, or inherited bias, but rooted in God's Word.
Seeing myself as joined to the Jewish people and the Jewish message of the Bible has transformed my life. It’s changed everything—my understanding of Scripture, my relationship with God, and even my place in the broader faith community.
And yet, with that transformation has come a deep sense of isolation.
In many ways, I now relate to how the Jewish people have often felt in their relationship with the Christian church—marginalized, misunderstood, and pushed to the edges. By embracing a Jewish framework of faith, I’ve suddenly become the outsider. The oddball. The black sheep. The one who just doesn’t seem to “get it” anymore. And the emotional toll of that can be exhausting.
There are moments when I just want to retreat—to close the door, sit alone with my Bible and God, and let the rest of it go. I get tired of having the same conversations over and over, trying to explain a perspective that feels so clear to me but is met with confusion or resistance by others. Some days, I want to walk away from the church entirely—not from God, but from the never-ending cycle of theological dissonance.
It feels like a spiritual rollercoaster—highs of revelation, joy, and encouragement, followed by deep lows of discouragement and isolation. Some days I feel like I’m thriving, full of clarity and purpose. Other days I feel defeated, wondering if I’m the only one seeing what I see.
I Am Not Alone
I am not alone in this journey. I am not fighting this battle without God at my side.
By aligning myself with the Jewish narrative and reading the Bible through a Jewish lens, I’ve found something I didn’t know I was missing—I’ve joined myself to the heart of the story. I’ve joined myself to the message of Israel and the faith of those who came before me.
Yes, it’s true that many Jews today have not accepted Jesus as the Messiah. But the New Testament is filled with countless Jews who did—men and women who believed in Jesus and yet remained deeply rooted in their Jewish identity. They didn’t abandon their heritage; they embraced the Messiah within it.
And now, I find myself joined to their vision and purpose. I stand with the apostles and disciples who, in their own day, found themselves at odds with the religious norms and expectations of other Jews who didn’t yet believe. They, too, discovered truth that didn’t fit the prevailing narratives of their time.
I’m not walking a new path—I’m walking an ancient one. And I’m not walking it alone.
A Gentile Grafted In
I am a Gentile—like the God-fearing Gentiles of the first century—who has come to fear the God of Israel and recognize Him as the one true God, the Creator of all things, and the covenant God of the Jewish people. From the beginning, this God has been on a mission—a mission to redeem all mankind and all of creation, and He chose to carry out that mission through Israel.
Now, I’ve joined myself to that story. I’ve embraced that message. And by God’s grace, I share in the inheritance alongside my Jewish brothers and sisters.
Like the God-fearers of old—and many modern Christians—I have long felt at odds with the pagan culture around me, a world that refuses to acknowledge and worship the true source of life. But now, I find myself also at odds with many fellow Christians—those who have not aligned their faith with the Jewish narrative and have not recognized their calling to stand with the Jewish people as co-heirs of God’s promises.
Walking in Paul’s Footsteps
There was a time, as a Christian, when I saw the apostle Paul as someone in conflict with his fellow Jews—perhaps even as someone who left his Jewish identity behind. But now, I see him differently. I see him for who he truly was: a faithful Jew who fought for Gentiles like me to be included in God’s redemptive plan without having to become Jewish.
Paul wasn’t rejecting Israel; he was working to help others—both Jew and Gentile—understand God’s deeper purpose: to unite the nations with Israel, not in replacement, but in partnership.
Ironically, the apostle who once confused and frustrated me with what seemed like a “Christianized” message is now the one I relate to the most. Paul lived in the tension I now feel—trying to help others grasp the beauty of God’s inclusive plan, even when it didn’t fit their existing categories. He bore that struggle daily, especially among Jews who believed Gentiles needed to convert fully to Judaism. And in many ways, I carry a similar burden today.
Paul spent countless hours trying to convince his fellow Jews that it was not only acceptable—but part of God’s plan—for Gentiles to serve Him, to follow Jesus, and yet remain Gentiles. He fought for their inclusion without demanding their conversion.
Today, I often find myself in a strangely reversed position: trying to help Gentile believers understand that it is just as acceptable—and just as essential—for Jews to follow Jesus while remaining fully Jewish.
Paul also spent much of his time teaching Gentiles how to walk faithfully before God without erasing their identity. He helped them understand their role in the broader faith community, not as outsiders or second-class citizens, but as co-heirs—participants in the promises of God without needing to become something they were not.
I, too, am on that same journey. I’m still learning how to live as a Gentile who honors the God of Israel, walks in the footsteps of Messiah, and respects the covenant God made with His people. I’m still learning how to see myself rightly within the story—grafted in, but not replacing. Invited in, but not rewriting.
It’s a message that requires constant reorientation. And much like Paul, I’ve discovered that helping others understand it can be both deeply rewarding and incredibly exhausting.
Refocusing on the Unchanging Mission
In the midst of exhaustion, it’s easy to lose focus—to feel defeated, to wonder, “Why do I keep trying?” I imagine this must be how God has felt about humanity since the earliest days of creation. And yet, He never gave up. If we are made in His image, then we are called to reflect His nature and His actions. He is faithful. He is patient. He is merciful. And He continues to pursue us with grace.
God has not changed. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. His message and His purpose for mankind have remained constant. Though we, especially in the modern church, may be far removed from the original Jewish message communicated through the Jewish people and the Jewish scriptures, the message itself has never changed—from God’s perspective.
Over time, the church has reimagined, redefined, and even reshaped God and His gospel message. But God’s vision remains the same. For those willing to align their lives with that original vision—those who are willing to root themselves in His revealed purpose—He will open their eyes to the truth. He will transform how we see Israel, how we see the nations, and how we see ourselves in His redemptive plan.
God will remind the Jewish people of their unique calling.
God will remind the Gentile nations that they are grafted in—joined to a story with deep Jewish roots.
And the church, when it fully embraces this foundational truth of the gospel, will find renewed clarity, purpose, and power. Our faith will be grounded in something far more stable than trends, culture, or redefined theology—it will be rooted in the covenants God made with Israel.
As Gentiles, we have no covenant directly made with us. Instead, we are invited to partake in the covenants God made with His chosen people. That is our place, and it is an honored one—not second-rate, not peripheral, but purposeful and included by divine design.
I sat down to write this as a reminder to myself—to remember where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I’m going in my walk with God and in my understanding of His redemptive plan. I wrote this to encourage my own heart and strengthen my spirit for the days when the weight of being out of step with the mainstream Christian message feels heavy.
When I submitted to God’s will and committed to becoming a disciple—not just a believer—He began a work in me. And any work God does in me is never meant to stop with me. I am called to be a vessel, a pathway of blessing, to help others rediscover the mission and message that once turned the world upside down.
It’s the same message that gripped the apostles—a message they believed in so deeply, they were willing to die for it.