The name “Jesus” makes me cringe. There’s a long history behind that, but it started with the church of my youth, the Worldwide Church of God.
“Jesus” was Protestant, fluffy, feel-good nonsense. It was always to be pronounced with the “e” stretched out almost a half second and was the name of a long-haired weakling. The WCG put its emphasis on the Old Testament God, who would soon return and set up a totalitarian regime known as the Kingdom of God. If Jesus was mentioned, his title had to be affixed: it was Jesus Christ to us, never just plain, Protestant Jesus.
As an atheist, “Jesus” was a crutch. A sign of weakness. An indication that whoever had the name on his/her lips couldn’t handle the rigors of life.
And so with all that baggage, I have a hard time even with the thought of Jesus playing a role — any role — in my life. “God” is fine; “Christ” doesn’t bother me so much. “Jesus” gets me.
It’s a gut reaction that will continue for some time, I imagine.