The God Who Wouldn’t Be a Genie
There’s a version of Jesus that some people follow — but He’s not in the Bible.
He doesn’t ask for repentance.
He doesn’t confront sin.
He only gives you things when you ask, then disappears when you don’t get your way.
He looks more like a genie than a Savior.
I’ve met people who live by that version — but no one quite like Dylan.
Dylan’s a mechanic. A good one, too. Gifted with his hands. Quick with a joke. The kind of guy who walks into a room and makes people laugh — even if he’s quietly falling apart.
Behind all that charm, though, was a storm he never seemed able to outrun: gambling. Cocaine. Heavy drinking. Often all three in a single night.
Not long ago, Dylan binged through the night — no sleep, no break — gambling, drinking, doing lines of coke. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked into work the next morning. Still wired. Still high.
They fired him on the spot.
You’d think that would shake him. Wake him up. But it didn’t.
When I reached out to check on him, I didn’t expect what came next.
The messages started pouring in — long, heated rants. Accusations. Twisted theology. He called me a demon. Said I was “attacking the Jesus inside him.” Told me I was religious, blind, and part of a church system that doesn’t understand "spiritual elevation."
He said Jesus gave him personal revelations — and those revelations didn’t match Scripture.
They told him it was okay to lie, to manipulate, to move people like chess pieces “to get ahead.”
He believed God was teaching him how to use people strategically — like tools for a bigger blessing.
And when things didn’t go his way, he claimed God took those blessings away as punishment for others, not because of his own sin.
He spoke of God like a moody magician — someone who blesses when you win and punishes when you stumble.
The “Jesus” Dylan described sounded powerful, emotional, and personal.
But it wasn’t Jesus.
I tried to minister to him.
Not with condemnation, but with truth. I pointed him back to the Word — not just the parts that feel good, but the full Gospel: the Cross, the call to repentance, the refining fire of grace.
But every time I shared truth, he turned it into a debate.
It wasn’t a conversation anymore — it was a fight to justify sin.
I told him,
“This isn’t how it works. God doesn’t contradict Himself. He won’t bless what His Word condemns.”
But Dylan didn’t want truth. He wanted comfort.
He wanted me to cuddle him in his rebellion. To wrap his chaos in spiritual language and call it holy.
He wanted me to tell him:
“It’s okay. You’re fine. God understands.”
But I couldn’t. Because that’s not the Jesus I follow.
I told him:
“I don’t coddle sin. I call people to freedom. I’m not here to soothe demons. I’m here to see people set free.”
He didn’t receive it.
The conversation spiraled. His words got darker. He began saying things I knew weren’t from him anymore. Something else was speaking through him — and I could feel it.
I stepped back. I stopped responding.
Not out of fear. But because you can’t disciple someone who refuses the voice of the Shepherd.
The real Jesus isn’t a genie.
He doesn’t exist to serve our cravings.
He came to set captives free — and to die so we could live.
Dylan doesn’t see that right now. But I’m still praying.
Still believing that the seeds planted in truth might one day break through the lies.
Because even when someone’s far gone, God doesn’t give up.
He just waits at the edge of the road —
Ready to run when the prodigal turns around.
