The illusory truth effect

Certainty doesn’t always come out of truth; sometimes, it just comes from repetition.

It’s a quirky thing our brains do—
we hear something enough times, and it starts to feel true, even if it’s not.

Psychologists call it the illusory truth effect.
The more familiar something sounds, the more believable it seems.
Not because we’ve proven it…
just because we’ve gotten used to it.

It starts early.
When we’re kids, we don’t fact-check—we absorb.
Whatever the grown-ups around us say, whatever’s repeated at home or school or church— it settles in before we even know it’s happening. By the time we’re old enough to ask questions, those answers have already taken root. And the deeper they’re planted, the harder they are to see—let alone pull up.

The original message

But sometimes, what we’ve been handed isn’t the original.
It’s a copy of a copy.
Something added. Something edited.
A version that drifted off course—so slowly, nobody noticed.

It happens in all kinds of ways—
A phrase gets mistranslated.
A teacher puts their own spin on it.
A new voice steps in and speaks louder than the ones who were actually there.

And before long, we’re holding a message that doesn’t quite match the one that started it all.

Not because we meant to change it—
but because no one stopped to check.

You may already sense what’s coming.
And if you do, you might feel some kind of way about it.
That’s okay.

We don’t have to agree.

Maybe what I’m about to say sounds outrageous.
Maybe you think it’s a bunch of cow manure.
That’s your right.

But if there’s even a chance it might be true—
then it deserves a fair listen.
Not because you owe that to me.
But because you owe it to yourself.

This is the story of a man called Paul.

Arguably the most influential figure in shaping what we now call Christianity.
A man without whom, there likely wouldn’t be Christianity as we know it.

I want to talk about Paul because, as we know, his letters make up about half the New Testament.

Let me just repeat that: the Christian Bible (you know- the portion of the Bible that was tacked on to the Hebrew Scriptures and then referred to as the “new” testament or “new” covanent)… HALF of that was written by one man - Paul. 

A man who never met Jesus.
Never studied under or with any of his students.
Didn’t speak their language.
Didn’t come from their culture.
And didn’t live in the same place, or even time.

And yet somehow—his words rose to the top. His letters got copied and passed around. His opinions got treated like- well… gospel.
And over time, his voice didn’t just join the conversation—it took over.

Most of us don’t choose our beliefs—we inherit them.

They’re handed to us early, wrapped in tradition, spoken with conviction, passed down by people we trust.
So we take them in.
We build our lives around them.
And we defend them—sometimes without ever stopping to ask where they came from.

But what if the picture we’ve been given doesn’t reflect the original image? What if, at the foundation of it all, there’s a story we’ve never fully looked at? That might be problematic, don’t you think?

This isn’t about rejecting anything. It’s just about tracing the path. Following the thread. Not to tear it apart, but to test it. 

If we care about the truth, about understanding what we’ve really been handed, then don’t we owe it to ourselves to ask: what exactly did Paul teach? And how does it compare to what came before? To the Hebrew Scriptures? To the words of the prophets? To the message Jesus himself would have lived and spoken?

What was the message at the beginning? And how did it change? What if it was shaped less by the teachings of Jesus and more by the interpretations of someone else?

It’s a simple question, but the answer takes us deep— into language, history, memory, and meaning… not to condemn or convert. Just to look. And, once we look, it’s up to you to choose what to do with what we see.

Who was Jesus?

Let’s start here:
Jesus was born, lived, and died a Jew.
His teachings were within the framework of Judaism, not outside it.

He prayed in synagogues.
He observed Shabbat.
He taught Torah.
He debated like a rabbi.
He used parables like the teachers before him.
He spoke to Jews, about Jewish law, and Jewish issues.

He never told anyone to worship him.
He never said the commandments no longer mattered.
He never announced a new religion.

When he quoted the prophets, it was to call people back—
back to justice, back to humility, back to the covenant.

Who was Paul?

Now contrast that with Paul.

Paul never met Jesus in his lifetime.
He wasn’t part of the original circle.
He wasn’t a witness to the teachings, the conversations, the decisions.
He claimed he had a vision on the way to Damascus, and then he appointed himself an apostle.
And he started writing letters. A lot of them.

Thirteen of the twenty-seven books in the New Testament are attributed to Paul.
That’s half of the New Testament—written by one man.

And in those letters, Paul doesn’t focus on Jesus’s life or teachings.
He focuses on his death.
And more than that—he builds a new framework around that death.

He shifts the center of gravity.
From mitzvot to belief.
From covenant to grace.
From what you do… to what you believe about one man.

That’s a major shift.

And if you read closely, you’ll see:
Paul’s message was often in direct tension with the people who actually knew Jesus.

Read Galatians. Read Acts.
Paul clashes with James—Jesus’s own brother.
With Peter. With the original disciples.
While they were emphasizing a life of Torah, Paul was preaching a faith that made Torah optional—especially for Gentiles.

No circumcision.
No commandments.
No Jewish identity required.

That wasn’t a side disagreement.
That was a different system entirely.

Take Romans 10:9.
Paul writes,
“If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”

That’s Paul’s formula.
Confess. Believe. You’re in.

But compare that to Deuteronomy 30.

Moses is speaking to the people, laying it out plain:
“It is not in heaven… it is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, so that you may do it.”

It doesn’t say, “So that you may believe the right thing about the right person.”
It says, “So that you may do it.”

The emphasis is on action.
On returning.
On obedience.
On living in alignment with God’s instruction.

No middleman.
No blood sacrifice.
No divine intermediary.

And that’s consistent across the entire Hebrew Bible:

• Jeremiah 31:30 – “Everyone will die for their own sins.”
• Ezekiel 18:20 – “The soul who sins is the one who shall die.”
• Micah 6:8 – “What does the LORD require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

That’s the pattern Jesus followed. That’s the foundation.
Not substitution. Not belief-as-access.
Responsibility. Justice. Humility. Return.

It was Paul who came in with this new model— a model where someone else can take the weight for you.
Where your sins are transferred onto a human sacrifice.
Where belief is the currency, not conduct.

That doesn’t come from Moses.
It doesn’t come from Isaiah.
It doesn’t come from Jesus.

That comes from Paul.

Pauline Christianity

Most modern Christian’s don’t realize they’re practicing Pauline Christianity, not the faith of the Hebrew Bible, not the path walked by Jesus, and not the message carried forth by those who actually knew him. 

Why?

Because Paul’s letters were canonized, distributed, and repeated—
often louder and more frequently than anything else.
Over time, his theology didn’t just shape the faith.
It became the faith.

He universalized it.
He spiritualized it.
He disconnected it from the land, the people, and the law.

Imagine you’re standing in a gallery, admiring the works of a great master.
You see a crowd gathered around, listening to a tour guide.

The man at the front is confident. Charismatic.
He speaks like he knew the artist personally.
He gestures at the brushstrokes like he was in the room when they were made.

But here’s the thing:

He never met the artist.
He never studied the early drafts.
He doesn’t speak the artist’s language.
And a lot of what he’s saying—if you’re really listening—
goes against everything the artist actually stood for.

And when someone points that out, he says,
“Trust me. I understand what the artist really meant—better than his students did.”

That man… is Paul.

And for some reason, his interpretation became the headline.
People stopped reading the art.
They just started quoting the tour guide.

Would you try to convert Jesus?

So let me ask you something:
If you met Jesus… would you try to convert him?

Would you try to convince him to get saved?

Because that’s what it comes down to, right? Isn’t that the whole premise?

If Jesus walked into most churches today— as a Torah-observant Jew,
reciting the Shema, keeping Shabbat,
calling people back to justice and humility and the commandments—
he would be just as out of place as I would be.

He wouldn’t fit in.

Not because he’d be too radical—

but because he’d be too Jewish.

Too rooted in Torah.

Too committed to the very commandments that most people were taught no longer apply.

How did we end up with a version of faith where the central figure would be considered outside of the very religion that claims to follow him?

The answer, again, is Paul.

It was Paul who introduced the idea of a divine messiah figure who pre-existed the world, took on human form, and had to be worshiped to receive salvation.

That framework?

It’s not in the Hebrew Bible.
And it’s not in the teachings of Jesus.

Not once—and I mean not one time anywhere —do they even hint that someone else can step in and carry the weight of your sins for you.

Not once do they propose that belief in a person is what saves you.

Not once do they suggest you can abandon the law, or imply that the commandments have been fulfilled, finished, or replaced.

Here’s what is in the Hebrew Bible:

“God is not a man…” — Numbers 23:19
“I am the LORD and there is no other…” — Isaiah 45:5
“To whom will you compare Me?” — Isaiah 40:25
“Do not trust in princes, in mortal man in whom there is no salvation.” — Psalm 146:3

In the Hebrew Scriptures, there is no category for a god-man.
No allowance for worshiping a human.
No precedent for prayer through a mediator.

And yet—Paul builds an entire belief system around all three.

So let’s be honest:

If you brought Paul’s theology to Moses…
would he recognize it?

If you showed it to Isaiah, to Jeremiah…
would they bow to a man?

If you laid it before Jesus himself…
would he sign off?

Or would they all tear their garments
and grieve at how far we’ve drifted?

If Jesus stood in front of you today—
quoting Torah, praying to the Creator, calling for justice and humility—
would you recognize him?

Or would you say,
“That’s not the Jesus I believe in”?

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If your theology requires you to convert Jesus…
you might not be following him at all.

You might be following someone else.
Someone he never knew—and would never follow.

So if you really do love Jesus,
then be like him.

Study Torah.
Live with integrity.
Walk humbly.
Worship the One he worshiped.
Follow the path he followed.

Don’t just believe in him.
Believe with him.
Believe like him.

Because he didn’t need a middleman.
And neither do you.

Amen.