He stood with a trembling hand over the dish sink, years of work and prayer behind him, but still unsure. Michael had read the Gospels a hundred times. He had told his children, his small group, even strangers on airplanes: “Jesus is God.” But yesterday, his teenage daughter had looked up from her Bible and asked, “Did He ever actually say that?”
He hadn’t had an answer.
Did He?
Close your eyes for a moment and imagine this scene—dust swirling under sandals, tension thick as clouds before rain. Jesus stands surrounded by religious leaders. It's not a debate; it's a standoff.
“Very truly I tell you,” Jesus says, his voice steady, “before Abraham was born, I am!” (John 8:58, NIV).
Those words cracked the silence like thunder. The crowd gasped. Some stooped for stones. Why? Not because they misunderstood—but because they understood Him all too well.
To Jewish ears, “I am” was not just words—it was God’s name. The name YHWH revealed to Moses at the burning bush: “I AM WHO I AM.”
Jesus didn’t say, “I was.” He didn’t say, “I came from Abraham’s time.” He said something deeper—eternal. “I AM.”
This wasn’t metaphor. It was revelation.
Those who heard him picked up stones to kill him—not because he claimed to be a teacher or prophet, but because, in their eyes, he had committed blasphemy.
Later, he would say it again. As the shadows of the cross drew near, Jesus stood silently before the High Priest. He was asked directly, “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?”
Jesus answered, “I am… and you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:61–62).
A silent courtroom turned into chaos. No one needed a translator. That answer echoed with scriptural weight—Daniel 7, the Son of Man coming in glory, and Psalm 110, where David says the Lord will sit at God’s right hand. Once again, Jesus wasn’t being poetic. He was saying, “That’s me.”
We wonder if Jesus ever claimed to be God because He rarely said it in the way we expect. He didn’t say it in a press release or carve it into stone. He said it like He lived—through meaning, through power, and through presence.
“‘We are not stoning you for any good work,’ they said, ‘but for blasphemy, because you, a mere man, claim to be God’” (John 10:33).
His enemies knew.
Maybe you've felt the doubt creep in too. Maybe someone asked you a hard question—and the page suddenly felt unfamiliar. I think of Michael again, standing in his kitchen, praying to the Jesus he’s known for decades, hoping it wasn’t just belief without reason.
But Jesus doesn’t leave us with guesses. He leaves us with truth, spoken plainly and lived boldly.
And this God—this “I AM”—didn’t shout from a mountain. He walked among us. He touched lepers and silenced storms. He taught truth and wept at graves. And when they asked if He was the Son of God, He didn’t blink.
“I am.”
You can stack Scripture from cover to cover, dig through archaeology and theology. But sometimes the clearest answer is found when the firelight flickers, and a child lifts her head with a question too big for bedtime. What does it mean that Jesus is God?
It means God didn’t stay far off.
He came close. Arms-length. Bread-breaking, soul-healing close. He wore skin. He walked our roads. And He told the truth, even when it would cost Him everything.
“I am.”
He stood with a trembling hand over the dish sink, years of work and prayer behind him, but still unsure. Michael had read the Gospels a hundred times. He had told his children, his small group, even strangers on airplanes: “Jesus is God.” But yesterday, his teenage daughter had looked up from her Bible and asked, “Did He ever actually say that?”
He hadn’t had an answer.
Did He?
Close your eyes for a moment and imagine this scene—dust swirling under sandals, tension thick as clouds before rain. Jesus stands surrounded by religious leaders. It's not a debate; it's a standoff.
“Very truly I tell you,” Jesus says, his voice steady, “before Abraham was born, I am!” (John 8:58, NIV).
Those words cracked the silence like thunder. The crowd gasped. Some stooped for stones. Why? Not because they misunderstood—but because they understood Him all too well.
To Jewish ears, “I am” was not just words—it was God’s name. The name YHWH revealed to Moses at the burning bush: “I AM WHO I AM.”
Jesus didn’t say, “I was.” He didn’t say, “I came from Abraham’s time.” He said something deeper—eternal. “I AM.”
This wasn’t metaphor. It was revelation.
Those who heard him picked up stones to kill him—not because he claimed to be a teacher or prophet, but because, in their eyes, he had committed blasphemy.
Later, he would say it again. As the shadows of the cross drew near, Jesus stood silently before the High Priest. He was asked directly, “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?”
Jesus answered, “I am… and you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:61–62).
A silent courtroom turned into chaos. No one needed a translator. That answer echoed with scriptural weight—Daniel 7, the Son of Man coming in glory, and Psalm 110, where David says the Lord will sit at God’s right hand. Once again, Jesus wasn’t being poetic. He was saying, “That’s me.”
We wonder if Jesus ever claimed to be God because He rarely said it in the way we expect. He didn’t say it in a press release or carve it into stone. He said it like He lived—through meaning, through power, and through presence.
“‘We are not stoning you for any good work,’ they said, ‘but for blasphemy, because you, a mere man, claim to be God’” (John 10:33).
His enemies knew.
Maybe you've felt the doubt creep in too. Maybe someone asked you a hard question—and the page suddenly felt unfamiliar. I think of Michael again, standing in his kitchen, praying to the Jesus he’s known for decades, hoping it wasn’t just belief without reason.
But Jesus doesn’t leave us with guesses. He leaves us with truth, spoken plainly and lived boldly.
And this God—this “I AM”—didn’t shout from a mountain. He walked among us. He touched lepers and silenced storms. He taught truth and wept at graves. And when they asked if He was the Son of God, He didn’t blink.
“I am.”
You can stack Scripture from cover to cover, dig through archaeology and theology. But sometimes the clearest answer is found when the firelight flickers, and a child lifts her head with a question too big for bedtime. What does it mean that Jesus is God?
It means God didn’t stay far off.
He came close. Arms-length. Bread-breaking, soul-healing close. He wore skin. He walked our roads. And He told the truth, even when it would cost Him everything.
“I am.”
