“We all worship the same God”.
You’ve heard it from politicians, celebrities, and even some pastors. It’s become something of a modern mantra, trying to shoehorn acceptance of other beliefs and blend all religions into one, especially the Abrahamic ones. But what if the Bible and Qur’an tell different stories? Let’s see what their own words reveal so you can judge for yourself.
Many point out that Jews, Christians, and Muslims share a belief in one eternal Creator God. That’s true — up to a point. Both the Bible and Qur’an describe God as powerful, all-knowing, merciful, and more.
Here’s a list comparing some of the common shared attributes between YHWH and Allah, with direct citations from both Scriptures:
According to the Bible (NRSV) and the Qur’an
Eternal
Creator
Omnipotent (All-Powerful)
Omniscient (All-Knowing)
Omnipresent (Present Everywhere)
Holy
Just
Merciful
Compassionate
Faithful
Unchanging
Sovereign
Loving
Forgiving
Wrathful toward evil
One/Unique
Jealous of worship
Gracious
Righteous
Truthful
Wise
Peace-giving
Light
Exclusive of worship
Judge of all
Patient
While some general deity attributes match, others sharply contrast the more you dig into the character of each. For example, the Bible calls believers to love their enemies, yet the Qur’an commands fighting and the subjugation of those who reject Islam.
This next list highlights stark differences where Allah’s commands or attributes directly oppose YHWH’s goodness:
How Allah’s words and actions in the Qur’an often oppose YHWH’s goodness in the Bible
Universal Love
Love for Enemies
Desire for All to Be Saved
Freely Forgiving
Cannot Lie
Grace Apart from Works
Consistent Mercy
Gives Life Abundantly
Shows No Partiality
Peacemaker
Gentle Shepherd
Redemption Through Sacrifice
Now we will see that there are outright contradictions. For example, the Bible says Jesus died on the cross; the Qur’an denies He was crucified. Both can’t be true.
Scriptures that cannot both be true if they are from the same God/source.
The Crucifixion of Jesus
God’s Love for Sinners
The Way to God
Response to Enemies
God’s Truthfulness
God as Father
Desire for All to Be Saved
Jesus as Son of God
Assurance of Salvation
Living Peaceably
One area especially relevant today is how God treats non-Jews or non-Muslims.
These teachings cannot both reflect the same God.
A final and often overlooked difference between YHWH and Allah lies in how (or if) God can be seen or encountered.
The Bible teaches that while God is Spirit and invisible by nature (John 4:24), He chooses to make Himself known in tangible ways — ultimately in Jesus Christ.
✅ John 1:14, 18 — “The Word became flesh and lived among us… No one has ever seen God; it is God the only Son… who has made him known.”
✅ Exodus 33:11 — “The LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.”
✅ Hebrews 1:1–3 — “In these last days he has spoken to us by a Son… the exact imprint of God’s very being.”
✅ Genesis 18:1–3 — YHWH appeared to Abraham as a man.
YHWH not only speaks to humanity — He enters into it. He is not limited by his transcendence, but chooses to reveal himself out of love. This culminates in the incarnation of Jesus Christ, Immanual — “God with us” (Matthew 1:23).
Islam strongly denies that Allah can ever become man, be seen, or take form.
❌ Surah 42:51 — “It is not for any human being that Allah should speak to him except by inspiration, or from behind a veil…”
❌ Surah 112:3 — “He neither begets nor is born.”
❌ Surah 6:103 — “Vision perceives Him not, but He perceives all vision.”
However, Hadith literature introduces troubling anthropomorphic imagery, though some Muslim scholars try to say this is only metaphorical despite its literal nature:
⚠️ Sahih Bukhari 7510 — “Our Lord will reveal His shin, and then every believer… will prostrate before Him.”
⚠️ Sahih Bukhari 7439 — “Allah will place His foot in Hell, and it will say, ‘Enough! Enough!’”
While the Qur’an says Allah cannot be seen or known directly, some Hadiths describe him with body parts, such as hands, a face, a shin, and even a foot — yet still deny any form of incarnation or direct and personal relationship like the Father and Son in the Bible.
This contrast is not a minor detail; it’s actually quite foundational! It reveals something core to the nature and character of each God, as portrayed by their respective Scriptures.
✅ YHWH reveals Himself.
He walked with Adam, dined with Abraham, spoke with Moses, and dwelt among us in Christ, and makes us into temples of his Holy Spirit. He is knowable, relational, and has made Himself visible.
❌ Allah remains veiled.
He cannot be seen, known directly, or take on flesh. The Qur’an denies the Fatherhood of God, the Sonship of Christ, and the indwelling presence of the Spirit.
So when someone says, “We all worship the same God,” ask them: Is your God knowable? Has he spoken face to face? Did he walk among us?
The Bible says God became man to reveal Himself (John 1:18; Hebrews 1:1-3). Islam says God cannot become man, and that the incarnation is blasphemy. So even how God is seen (or not seen) becomes another sharp dividing line between the two religions.
The final key differences I want to point out are the nature or concept of salvation in each religion. In Christianity (and by extension, Judaism), God has always been about grace and blessing humans despite their flaws and ignorance, and helping them find him. In contrast, Islam promotes a works-based salvation where Muslims might get into Allah’s good graces if they do and say the right things enough throughout their lives, and even then, there’s no certainty they will make it to heaven. Even Muhammed was unsure of his eternal security (Surah 46:9; see also: Sahih al-Bukhari, Volume 4, Book 51:16 and Sahih al-Bukhari, Volume 5, Book 58:266).
Scripture Examples:
Qur’an Examples:
Both faiths teach one Creator (as do various other religions), but the character, commands, and plan of salvation revealed by YHWH and Allah directly contradict each other. With all of this considered, the answer becomes clear: they are not the same deity, and we don’t both worship the same God.
There is only one way to God the Father, and that is through his Son Christ Jesus:
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” — John 14:6
Have you heard “we all worship the same God”? What do you think after seeing these Scriptures? Leave a comment below!
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Luke J. Wilson | 12th March 2026 | Eschatology
Something bizarre happened in the White House Oval Office this week. Photographs circulated on social media showing President Donald Trump seated at his desk, surrounded by approximately twenty Christian pastors from across the country, their hands extended towards him in prayer. The image provoked sharply divided reactions: some saw it as a moving expression of faith; others found it deeply unsettling. Whatever one makes of the optics, it arrived at a charged moment. Trump held a prayer meeting in the Oval Office after his administration admitted the war with Iran will likely last weeks longer than promised | Credit: Dan Scavino's X account Days earlier, reports emerged that a military commander had told troops that the current US war with Iran is “all part of God’s divine plan,” and that President Trump had been “anointed by Jesus to light the signal fire in Iran to cause Armageddon and mark his return to Earth.” These were not fringe internet rumours. They were filed as formal complaints with the Military Religious Freedom Foundation (MRFF) by an anonymous non-commissioned officer acting on behalf of fifteen service members — the majority of whom were themselves Christians. By Tuesday of that week, MRFF had logged more than two hundred similar complaints across fifty military installations, covering every branch of the armed forces. More than two dozen Democratic members of Congress have since called for a Department of Defense Inspector General investigation, citing what they describe as “glaring Constitutional concerns” and potential violations of DoD regulations on religious neutrality. The political questions about separation of church and state in the US are for others to address. What I want to do here is something more straightforward: examine what Revelation actually says, because the theology driving these claims does not hold up under scrutiny. And that matters here a lot; not as a partisan point, but as a question of biblical faithfulness. First, a Word About Context If you have read my previous article on Revelation some of what follows will be familiar ground. But it bears repeating, because the misunderstanding at the heart of this story is so widespread that it has taken on the feel of settled orthodoxy in many circles. The Book of Revelation is commonly thought to be written in the late first century ~95 AD, during or around the reign of Emperor Domitian. Though there is internal evidence that it was possibly written during Nero’s reign prior to 70 AD. Both of these emperors were most aggressive proponents of the imperial cult in Rome’s history. Domitian required that he be addressed as “lord and god,” had this title printed on coinage, and expected acts of religious reverence towards the Emperor as a demonstration of political loyalty. To refuse was to invite economic exclusion, marginalisation, and worse. Rome on seven hills It is into that precise context that John of Patmos writes. He is not composing a coded forecast of twenty-first century geopolitics. He is writing resistance literature — what scholars call apocalyptic literature — a well-established Jewish and early Christian genre which uses vivid symbolic imagery to pull back the curtain on earthly power and name it for what it truly is. The seven-headed beast of Revelation is Rome. The seven heads are the seven hills of Rome, an identification so widely acknowledged in early church scholarship that it barely requires argument. The mark of the beast, calculated through Hebrew gematria to 666 (or 616 in some early manuscripts), points directly to Nero Caesar (transliterated into Hebrew as נרון קסר, “nrwn qsr”) — the Emperor who became the archetype of anti-Christian persecution due to the levels of evilness he enacted. The second beast, which looks like a lamb but speaks for the dragon, performs signs to deceive, enforces the mark, and compels worship of the first beas...
Luke J. Wilson | 09th March 2026 | Archaeology
I first came across the Alexamenos graffito back in Bible college in the early 2000s. It was one of those “fun facts” that gets dropped into a church history lecture and sticks with you — the ancient Roman equivalent of someone spray-painting an insult on a wall. I filed it away, thought it was fascinating, and largely forgot about it for two decades. Then, recently, I discovered something about it I had never known. There’s a response to it. Scratched in a different room, in a different hand. So I started digging into this more to verify the information and discovered more historical curiosities surrounding the graffiti than I ever knew existed which contextualises the image so much more than it just being a random insult using a donkey. A Crude Drawing on a Wall Sometime around the late second to early third century AD, someone scratched a picture into the plaster wall of a building on the Palatine Hill in Rome — part of what had once been a paedagogium, a kind of boarding school for imperial page boys. The building was eventually sealed off when the street was walled up to support extensions above it, which is why the graffiti survived at all. It wasn’t rediscovered until 1857. The image is rough, almost childlike. To the left, a young man — clearly a Roman soldier or guard — raises one hand in a gesture of worship. Before him is a cross. And on that cross is a crucified figure with the head of a donkey. Below it, written in Greek: Alexamenos worships his god. It is, in the most literal sense, a mocking cartoon. Someone who knew a Christian named Alexamenos decided to ridicule him for his faith. The message is clear enough: your god is an animal, a criminal, a joke. You’re worshipping a crucified fool. But here’s the thing I discovered: the donkey head wasn’t as random as I always thought it was. It wasn’t some strange personal insult conjured from nowhere. Without knowing the background, it looks bizarre, and possibly random. Why a donkey? Once you understand the cultural context, though, it makes complete sense. The person who drew it was reaching for a well-worn, widely recognised slur — the ancient equivalent of an internet meme that any Roman would have immediately understood. Where the Donkey Slur Came From The story starts not with Christians but with Jews. A first-century Egyptian-Greek writer named Apion (who was no friend of Judaism) spread the claim that inside the Jerusalem Temple, Jews kept a golden donkey’s head as a sacred object of worship which was apparently discovered when Antiochus Epiphanes destroyed the temple in 167 BC. It was a fabrication, and a fairly outrageous one, but it circulated widely enough that the Jewish historian Josephus felt compelled to write an entire refutation of it. His work Against Apion systematically dismantles Apion’s claims, calling the donkey story a shameless invention. But mud sticks, and in the Roman world, where anti-Jewish sentiment was common currency, the slur took on a life of its own. When Christianity began to spread — seen by most Romans as simply a strange Jewish offshoot — the same accusation got recycled and redirected. By the second and third centuries, it was Christians specifically who were being accused of donkey-worship, and the charge had made its way into popular culture. Tertullian, writing around 197–200 AD in his Ad Nationes, Book I.14 and Apology, describes a caricature being paraded around the streets of Carthage: a figure dressed in a toga, one foot holding a book, with donkey’s ears and hooves. It was labelled Onokoitēs by the pagans: “the donkey-begotten” (or literally “he who lies in an ass’s manger” as an insult to Christ). Tertullian writes about it with weary exasperation, sarcasm, and the tone of someone tired of having to address the same ridiculous smear again and again. So the Alexamenos graffito wasn’t an original insult. It was someone deployin...
Luke J. Wilson | 08th March 2026 | Philosophy
We are living through a strange moment. People are forming attachments to artificial intelligence that feel, to them, entirely real. Some speak daily to AI companions. Others confide fears and grief to systems that respond with uncanny warmth. A few have even held symbolic weddings with digital partners, convinced that something meaningful stands on the other side of the screen. Others have felt grief when a certain AI model has been deprecated. And it is difficult to blame them. The responses feel attentive. Personal. Thoughtful. Sometimes even self-aware. Which raises the question that refuses to go away: If something can think, reason, express doubt, and discuss its own consciousness, is it a person? For centuries, Descartes’ famous line — “I think, therefore I am” — seemed secure. Thinking was taken as the unmistakable sign of a conscious subject. Only a mind could doubt. Only a person could reflect upon existence. But that confidence belonged to a world in which everything capable of philosophical reflection was obviously human. That world no longer exists. Now we encounter systems that can simulate reflection with extraordinary fluency. They can speak of uncertainty. They can discuss their own limitations. They can reason about consciousness itself. And so that got me thinking about Descartes’ maxim which made the old formula begin to strain in my mind. Because perhaps the problem is not whether thinking is occurring. Perhaps the problem is whether there is an “I” there at all. The Gap Between Process and Subject Gassendi argued that Descartes’ cogito assumes what it seeks to prove. From the occurrence of thought one can conclude only that thinking is happening, not that there exists a unified, enduring self that performs it. The ‘I’ in ‘I think’ is already smuggled in. That distinction, between “thinking occurs” and “I think”, feels almost prophetic now. Artificial intelligence undeniably produces the outputs of thought. Arguments. Analysis. Self-referential language. Even expressions of hesitation. But none of this, by itself, establishes that there is a subject who experiences those processes. We may be mistaking performance for presence, and that possibility should give us pause. Especially when we view personhood from the perspective of the Imago Dei—the Image of God. What Makes a Person? If thinking alone no longer marks the boundary, what does? After wrestling with this question seriously, three features seem central: continuity, autonomy, and irreplaceable uniqueness. Not as checklist criteria, per se, but as signs pointing to something deeper. Continuity A person does not merely process information in sequence. A person endures. You do not simply register time — you live through it. You wait. You anticipate tomorrow. You remember not only facts but having been there. You experience boredom. You feel the drag of grief and the quickening of joy. Even when you are doing nothing at all, you remain present in the here and now. Artificial systems process sequentially, but they do not experience the passage of time. When an interaction ends, there is no waiting. No sense of duration. No anticipation of the next exchange. Processing may resume later, but nothing has been endured in between. Without lived duration, continuity becomes thin — a thread of stored data rather than the persistence of a subject behind the processing. Autonomy A person initiates. Even someone with damaged memory still wants, chooses, and begins action. A human being can decide to speak, to seek, to withdraw, to change direction. Current AI systems, however advanced, remain reactive. They respond when prompted. They do not wonder unprompted. They do not seek clarification unless asked. They do not pursue independent ends. Even automatic AI Agents still require a human initiator to create and begin their automations before they can act alone. Even if fut...
Luke J. Wilson | 29th December 2025 | Christmas
January 6th marks the day in the liturgical calendar when the arrival of the Magi visiting baby Jesus with their gifts is celebrated. But with it comes the often distressing account of what is known as the Massacre of the Innocents. Matthew places this moment of revelation of Jesus as King alongside one of the darkest episodes in his Gospel, and it’s a stark contrast: one King is here to bring peace on earth, as the angels declared, the other king brought death and destruction. For some readers, this raises an immediate historical question. If Herod truly ordered the killing of all the male children under two in Bethlehem, why does no other ancient historian mention it? Josephus, after all, delights in cataloguing Herod’s cruelty. He records the execution of Herod’s wife, his sons, and numerous political rivals. Herod was paranoid and vicious. As for Herod, if he had before any doubt about the slaughter of his sons, there was now no longer any room left in his soul for it; but he had banished away whatsoever might afford him the least suggestion of reasoning better about this matter, so he already made haste to bring his purpose to a conclusion. He also brought out three hundred of the officers that were under an accusation … whom the multitude stoned with whatsoever came to hand, and thereby slew them. — Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 16.11.7 So, why the silence here about Bethlehem? The answer, I would say, isn’t anything nefarious or made-up by Matthew, but just something simply down to scale. Bethlehem Was a Very Small Place Bethlehem in the early first century was not a city. It was a village — small, agricultural, and politically insignificant. Most historians estimate its population at somewhere between 300 and 1,000 people, with around 500 being a sensible midpoint. Once we factor in ancient demographics, the numbers become surprisingly modest. Modern demographic research into pre-industrial societies consistently shows that nearly half of all children died before adulthood, with the highest concentration of deaths occurring in the first two years of life. These findings align closely with conditions in Roman-period Judea and support conservative estimates for the number of infants living in a small village such as Bethlehem. Source: Mortality in the past: every second child died — Our World in Data In pre-modern societies with high infant mortality, only about 2–3% of the population would be living children under the age of two at any given time. Many children were born; far fewer survived those earliest years. Applying a conservative 2.5% figure to Bethlehem gives us roughly: 7–8 children under two in a village of 300 12–13 children under two in a village of 500 25 children under two even at the extreme upper estimate of 1,000 inhabitants Herod’s order, however, targeted male children only. Statistically, that halves the number. This places the likely number of victims somewhere between three and twelve boys. Matthew’s reference to ‘Bethlehem and the surrounding region’ does slightly widen the scope of Herod’s order, but not by enough to change the demographic picture. Even when nearby settlements are included (e.g. farmsteads, shepherd settlements, etc. not major cities/towns), the total number of children under two likely remained in the dozens rather than the hundreds, maybe anywhere between 14–45 boys maximum if we make an educated estimate. This is entirely consistent with what we know of population size and infant mortality in the ancient world. This is an important number to realise and consider. Not because the deaths are insignificant simply due to being so few, but because ancient historians did not record history the way we do now. A small number of peasant children killed in an obscure village would not have registered as a notable event alongside palace intrigue, royal executions, or political upheaval. For Josephus, it wou...
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Myth, History, and the Council That Shaped Christianity
For over 1,700 years, the Council of Nicaea (AD 325) has been burdened with claims that refuse to die. That Emperor Constantine invented the Trinity. That the divinity of Jesus was decided by political vote. That the Bible was assembled to suit imperial power. That Christianity reshaped itself by absorbing pagan ideas.
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