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Why Most Christians are Really Paulians and Jobians

Why Most Christians are Really Paulians and Jobians

Last updated on: June 19, 2026 at 9:31 am by Derrick Day

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Why Most Christians are Really Paulians and Jobians 2026-06-19T09:31:18-07:00 Derrick Day

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Why don’t Christians question what they believe? | Image created in GPT by the author.

I Don’t Care, But It Matters

Let’s get this out of the way: I’m not a Christian. Haven’t been for a while. I don’t care what you believe. Honestly, if worshipping a carpenter-rabbi from Nazareth, a fiery desert prophet, or a guy who wrote letters while dodging Roman guards gives you peace, have at it. You do you.

But here’s the kicker: while I don’t care for me, it absolutely matters for you. Because if you’re still carrying around the cross like it’s a gym membership card that proves your spiritual fitness, then what you believe—and who you choose to elevate as your theological GPS—has consequences. For your life. For your politics. For the way you treat people who don’t share your Sunday playlist.

And that’s where the problem comes in: modern Christianity has quietly (or maybe not so quietly) shifted the spotlight from Jesus onto other figures—Paul, Job, and the Old Testament prophets. In doing so, Christians have ended up building entire theological McMansions on foundations Jesus never laid.

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about how, theologically speaking, Adam > Jesus with regard to contemporary theology. In that light, let’s talk about why most Christians never even question what they believe, why Paul and Job get more airplay than Jesus, and why subordinating Jesus to Paul makes you a Paulian, not a Christian. And along the way, we’ll roast the nonsense with some humor, wit, and irreverence—because if theology can’t take a joke, maybe it shouldn’t be running your life.

Why Most Christians Don’t Ask “Why?”

First question: why don’t Christians question what they believe? The short answer: conditioning. The long answer: conditioning with a side of fear, control, and a dollop of laziness.

Fear of Hellfire. From Sunday School onward, believers are spoon-fed the idea that doubt isn’t curiosity—it’s treason. Question the pastor? Risk eternal torment. Question Paul? Risk eternal torment. Question Jesus? Risk eternal torment and the church potluck committee cutting you off from the mac and cheese.
Authority Structures. Religion runs like a well-oiled multi-level marketing scheme. Your upline (pastor, bishop, pope) assures you that the product works. If you question the product, you don’t just question them—you threaten the whole pyramid scheme.
Confirmation Bias. Once you’ve memorized a handful of Bible verses and welded them into your worldview, every new piece of information gets filtered through that lens. Think of it like theological duct tape: once stuck, it only tears flesh if you try to rip it off.
Comfort in Certainty. Let’s be real: certainty feels good. Asking “why?” means walking into the fog where the answers aren’t neat, where life is messy, and where you might realize the foundation you’ve built your life on is more like a Jenga tower than a fortress.

So, most Christians simply don’t. They take their theology like they take their Starbucks orders: pre-packaged, branded, and delivered to them without ever looking behind the counter.

Why Paul Gets More Mic Time Than Jesus

Now let’s talk about the elephant in the cathedral: Paul. If Christianity were a band, Jesus would’ve been the founding singer-songwriter who got the group together, but Paul is the over-zealous manager who decided the brand needed re-packaging for the Gentile market. And somehow, two thousand years later, Paul gets more stage time than Jesus.

Why?

Volume of Material. Paul wrote more. Or at least, letters attributed to him wrote more. Jesus shows up in four short gospels, Paul’s got a whole New Testament mixtape. Volume equals authority in religious marketing.
Theological Rigidity. Jesus was annoyingly flexible. Love your neighbor. Turn the other cheek. Forgive seventy times seven. Paul, on the other hand, gave church leaders the rulebook they craved: women shut up, gays bad, slavery fine. Structure sells.
Institutional Preference. Church fathers building doctrine didn’t want followers running around like free-spirited hippies quoting “Blessed are the peacemakers.” They wanted order. Obedience. Hierarchies. Paul gave them that in spades.

But here’s the part most Christians don’t stop to consider: Paul never actually met Jesus. Not once. His “authority” comes from a vision on the road to Damascus that, let’s be honest, looks a lot like a heat stroke or a migraine with aura. He wasn’t there for the Sermon on the Mount. He didn’t break bread at the Last Supper. He didn’t hear Jesus say “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” Yet somehow, his words are treated as equal—or superior—to the actual words of Jesus. That’s like quoting a roadie over the lead singer.

Was Paul a Roman Agent? The Conspiracy Theory That Refuses to Die

Here’s where things get spicy. Some scholars and skeptics have floated the theory that Paul wasn’t just a zealous convert with a shaky backstory—he might have been a Roman agent, intentionally rebranding the Jesus movement to neuter its revolutionary bite.

The Context

Rome had a Jesus problem. Not Jesus the man—he was already crucified—but the movement he sparked. The Way (as it was called before it was ever branded “Christianity”) was gaining traction. It wasn’t just a religion; it was a direct threat to empire. Equality, compassion, liberation, community—all the stuff that undermines hierarchy, exploitation, and Caesar’s absolute authority.

Enter Paul

Paul was uniquely positioned. He was a Roman citizen (a rare privilege in the ancient world). He had the education, the connections, and the mobility to move freely across Roman territories. He also had the audacity to flip from persecutor to preacher overnight. That’s either the biggest spiritual turnaround in history or the smoothest undercover op ever run.

The Subversion

What did Paul do? He shifted the narrative:

Jesus the revolutionary became Jesus the sacrificial lamb.
Liberation here-and-now became salvation someday-later.
Equality of all people became obedience to church leaders.

Sound familiar? That’s exactly the kind of ideological pivot an empire would love. Take the teeth out of a rebellion, dress it up in theology, and—voilà—you’ve got a docile, empire-friendly religion. It bears mentioning that Paul never actually met Jesus—he claimed he had a “divine revelation.” There was no fact-checking back then; the person who was the most vociferous and persuasive won the day. Compare this with modern-day preachers and theologians—if any of them claimed a similar supernatural encounter, they would be ridiculed and scorned.

Why It Sticks

Now, to be clear: this is still theory, not fact. But it lingers because it makes sense. If Paul was a Roman agent, then Christianity isn’t the Way of Jesus at all—it’s the Way of Rome, with a Nazarene mascot.

And if that’s true, then calling yourself a Christian while quoting Paul more than Jesus is doubly absurd. You’re not following Christ. You’re following Rome’s PR department.

Why Job Gets Misused as a Model of Faith

Now, let’s drag Job into the spotlight. Poor guy gets misquoted more than a teenager in a group chat.

Here’s where my own book Deconstructing Religion comes in. In the chapter Jobian Theology, I make the case that Job is basically the poster child for divine gaslighting. He loses everything—family, wealth, health—because of a cosmic bar bet between God and Satan. Then, when he dares to ask why, his so-called friends lecture him, and God finally shows up not with answers but with a divine flex: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?”

Jobian Theology, as I wrote it, illustrates how modern Christianity weaponizes Job’s story to demand blind faith in the face of suffering. Got cancer? Be a Job. Lost a child? Be a Job. Can’t pay rent? Be a Job. Translation: don’t question God, just suffer quietly, because questioning is dangerous.

But here’s the problem: if you’re modeling your theology off Job instead of Jesus, you’re not practicing Christianity—you’re practicing Jobianity. You’re following a story of submission to divine bullying rather than the teachings of love, liberation, and justice that Jesus supposedly embodied.

Paul vs. Jesus vs. Job vs. the Prophets: Who Wins Theology Idol?

So, between Paul, Jesus, Job, and the Prophets—who’s got the superior theology? Spoiler: if you’re still calling yourself a Christian, the answer has to be Jesus. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Paul. Sharp mind, relentless missionary, but let’s not kid ourselves—Paul twisted Jesus into a Greco-Roman religious framework. He turned a movement of liberation into a rulebook for controlling communities. And if the Roman-agent theory holds water, then he didn’t just twist it—he hijacked it for the empire.
Job. Inspiring in endurance, yes. Useful in teaching resilience, maybe. But as theology? It’s masochism with a divine stamp.
The Prophets. Fire-breathing truth-tellers who demanded justice. They set the stage, but they weren’t the headliner.
Jesus. If Christianity means anything, it’s supposed to mean Christ. His message boiled down to radical love, inclusion, and flipping tables in the temple of hypocrisy.

So if you’re prioritizing Paul, Job, or Isaiah over Jesus, you’ve effectively swapped out the brand. You’re not a Christian. You’re a Paulian. Or a Jobian. Or an Isaiah-ite. Own it.

The Adam > Jesus Problem

Here’s a link to my previous article on this subject. It’s great for context!

Why Subordinating Jesus Is Spiritual Identity Theft

When you subordinate Jesus’ teachings to Paul’s rulebook or Job’s stoicism, you’re committing spiritual identity theft. It’s like calling yourself a Beatles fan but only listening to Wings.

Prioritize Paul, and you’re a Paulian.
Prioritize Job, and you’re a Jobian.
Prioritize Moses, and you’re a Mosian.

But don’t call yourself a Christian unless Jesus is actually your theological North Star. Otherwise, you’re embracing false advertising.

Wrap Up: Call It What It Is

I don’t care if you call yourself a Christian, a Paulian, or a Jobian. That’s between you and your Spotify playlist of sermons. But it matters if you keep claiming allegiance to Jesus while subordinating his words to others. Because that kind of hypocrisy doesn’t just warp your theology—it warps how you treat others, how you vote, and how you justify exclusion instead of inclusion.

If Christianity is going to mean anything, it has to be Christ-centered, inclusionist, and universalist. Otherwise, you’ve built a faith where Adam > Jesus, Paul > Christ, and Job > Gospel.

And at that point, maybe it’s time to admit you’re not a Christian at all. You’re just another fan club president for your chosen biblical celebrity. Own it.

I think the words of Paul get more scholarly respect than the words of Jesus. What do you think? Sound off in the comments below.

Derrick Day is the author of multiple books and the host of The Forward Podcast.

Follow his website or catch him on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube

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