It calls for a deeper exploration into why these terms matter—not just semantically, but spiritually. Christianity’s claim is bold and beautiful: the God who created the cosmos is not a remote lawgiver but a loving Father; not an abstract force but a relational triune Being.
The question of who God is—and how He reveals Himself—is not a peripheral issue. It is the heart of theology, and the foundation upon which entire worldviews are built. If we misunderstand the identity of God, we misunderstand everything else: love, justice, authority, purpose, and even what it means to be human. Imam Nasser Karimian’s critique of Christian theology, particularly the titles “Father” and “Son,” deserves more than a defensive response. It calls for a deeper exploration into why these terms matter, semantically and spiritually. Christianity’s claim is bold and beautiful: the God who created the cosmos is not a remote lawgiver but a loving Father; not an abstract force but a relational triune Being. That claim is not simply doctrinal—it is deeply personal.
In a recent lecture, Imam Nasser Karimian of Alhuda Mosque in Fishers, Indiana, raised a pointed critique of Christianity’s use of familial language for God—titles such as “Father” and “Son.” He argued that these terms are misleading and damaging to how men perceive themselves and their relationship to the divine. This concern deserves careful engagement, not dismissal. But I would suggest that the discomfort with these titles stems from a misunderstanding of what they are meant to convey. Christianity’s use of familial language is not about gender essentialism or patriarchy—it’s about relationship. It reveals a God who is not distant and impersonal, but one who desires to be known, to be loved, and to love in return. The language of “Father” and “Son” is not a metaphor of hierarchy but an expression of intimacy, origin, and communion (Sanders, 2007).
When Jesus taught His disciples to pray by saying “Our Father,” He was not reinforcing a gendered framework but revealing the nature of God’s nearness (Matthew 6:9, ESV). God is spirit (John 4:24), yet He chose to communicate in relational terms that evoke trust, familiarity, and love. To call God “Father” is to anchor our identity not in abstract theology but in the lived experience of being known and cared for. The term “Son” likewise speaks of shared nature and purpose. Jesus, the eternal Son, reveals the Father’s heart in ways no servant or prophet could. Far from confusion, this familial language clarifies our place in the divine story—we are not just created; we are called, adopted, and embraced (Romans 8:15).
Contrast this with the Qur’anic account of God, particularly in Surah 2, where the fall of Adam results in swift judgment without the relational pursuit found in Genesis 3. There is no question of “Where are you?” no covering of shame, no promise of redemption. In Islam, God issues commands from a transcendent distance. In Christianity, God walks in the garden, clothes His children, and promises salvation (Genesis 3:9–21). This is not a difference in detail but in vision—a God who enforces versus a God who pursues.
This leads us to one of the most misunderstood doctrines in Christian theology: the Trinity. Imam Nasser, like many Muslim theologians, perceives the doctrine as illogical—a violation of monotheism. However, this misunderstanding often arises from a failure to distinguish between being and person. Christians do not believe in three gods. We believe in one God who eternally exists as three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This is not a mathematical conundrum but a theological necessity. Love, after all, cannot exist in isolation. For love to be intrinsic to God’s nature, He must exist in relationship (Swain & Sanders, 2021).
The doctrine of the Trinity reveals that relationship is not something God initiates with creation—it belongs to His eternal essence. The Father loves the Son in the unity of the Spirit. This triune love overflows into the act of creation and redemption. When John writes that “God is love” (1 John 4:8), he is not poetic; he speaks of divine ontology. A solitary deity may be merciful or just, but he cannot be love in himself. Only a triune God is eternally and intrinsically love.
Ironically, even the Qur’an misrepresents the Trinity, suggesting in Surah 5:116 that Christians worship a trinity composed of God, Jesus, and Mary. No orthodox Christian tradition has ever made such a claim. This historical confusion underscores a deeper theological divide. Islam conceives of God as a singular will; Christianity as a communion of persons. One emphasizes command; the other, communion. One centralizes power; the other reveals love (Durie, 2013).
Another critique raised by Imam Nasser is the portrayal of the church as the bride of Christ. He sees this as emasculating, a slight against male identity. But the imagery of the church as a bride is not about gender roles—it’s about covenant. It speaks of love that sacrifices, faithfulness that endures, and intimacy that transforms. Jesus does not dominate His bride; He dies for her (Ephesians 5:25). That is the measure of true strength, not in conquest but in cruciform love.
Christian masculinity is not defined by dominance but by devotion. Christ redefines what it means to be strong. He kneels to wash feet. He weeps at graves. He carries a cross. This is not emasculation—it is redemption. The call to follow Christ is not abandoning manhood but fulfilling it in self-giving love. Meanwhile, Islamic legal texts routinely establish male superiority: women inherit less, their testimonies weigh less, and their rights in marriage are limited (Qur’an 2:282; 4:11; 4:34). These are not merely cultural dynamics; they are theological frameworks that shape how gender and power are understood.
Imam Nasser also cites Matthew 19:12 to argue that Christianity promotes literal castration or the suppression of sexuality. But this interpretation misses the Jewish context of hyperbole. When Jesus speaks of making oneself a eunuch “for the sake of the kingdom,” He is not endorsing physical mutilation. He is inviting a radical reorientation of life. Just as “cut off your hand” is not about amputation but about repentance (Matthew 5:30), so too the eunuch metaphor is about wholehearted devotion. And history bears this out. Christian celibacy has often borne rich spiritual fruit—missionary zeal, monastic care, pastoral attentiveness. It is not self-hatred but self-offering (Clark, 1999).
Ironically, historical Islamic practice includes literal castration, particularly of young boys who were enslaved and made to serve in harems. These practices, though disturbing, were not categorically condemned within Islamic jurisprudence. Christianity, by contrast, honors the body. We are to present our bodies as living sacrifices, not mutilated ones (Romans 12:1). Sexual restraint in Christianity is not denial of the body—it is its sanctification.
Perhaps most importantly, Imam Nasser warns that calling God “Father” risks sexual confusion. But Christianity offers a far more compelling and integrated vision of human sexuality. Sexuality is not primarily about hierarchy or function—it is about communion. Male and female are not power structures but signs of covenantal love. In the biblical vision, marriage reflects the mystery of Christ and the church (Ephesians 5:32). Singleness points to eternal union with God. Both vocations dignify the body and the soul.
Islamic frameworks tend to reduce sexuality to law, who may marry, how many, under what conditions. Even paradise is described in terms of male delight. But Christianity calls us to something deeper. Our bodies are not tools for pleasure or production—they are temples of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19). Sexuality, rightly ordered, becomes a window into divine love. Like stained glass, it may seem rigid from the outside. But when light shines through, its beauty becomes undeniable.
In closing, Imam Nasser suggests that Christianity weakens God by making Him dependent on a Son. But the gospel says something far richer. The Father sends the Son in love. The Son obeys in love. And the Spirit empowers that love in us. This is not divine weakness—it is divine wonder. Islam offers a God who commands from a distance. Christianity reveals a God who comes close, takes on flesh, bears our shame, and calls us sons and daughters. Not just a God who rules, but a God who redeems. And that makes all the difference.
Clark, E. A. (1999). Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity. Princeton University Press.
Durie, M. (2013). The Third Choice: Islam, Dhimmitude and Freedom. Deror Books.
Sanders, F. (2007). The Deep Things of God: How the Trinity Changes Everything. Crossway.
Swain, S. R., & Sanders, F. (2021). The Trinity: An Introduction. Crossway