To say Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are Abrahamic religions may appear inclusive, even noble. But it is, in effect, a form of theological idolatry—a reduction of revealed religion to the shared sentimentality of ancestry.
By Dr. Tim Orr
I want to begin by saying that I deeply value interfaith ministry. It’s a privilege to engage with people from other faith traditions, listen, learn, and build meaningful relationships. But my commitment to interfaith work has firm boundaries shaped by my loyalty to the gospel. I will never compromise the core truths of my faith for the sake of unity.
That brings me to the focus of this post. The phrase “Abrahamic religions”—used to group Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—might sound inclusive, even admirable. But in truth, it represents a kind of theological mirage. It reduces the revealed uniqueness of each faith to a vague notion of shared ancestry. It subtly turns Abraham from a man uniquely called by God into a generic symbol of moral conviction, spiritual striving, and monotheistic respectability (Levenson, 2012).
The danger is real, though often overlooked. Abraham becomes a theological blank slate, stripped of his covenantal identity and repurposed as a tool for promoting religious pluralism. This shift may feel charitable, but it ultimately distorts the very foundations of biblical faith.
Yet Scripture never treats Abraham generically. In the Old Testament, he receives a covenant that will determine the fate of nations and the path of salvation history (Genesis 12:1–3; 15:6; 22:15–18). That covenant is redefined and fulfilled not through broad religious agreement, but through a narrowing of promise—from Abraham to Isaac to Jacob to Judah, and ultimately to Christ (cf. Matthew 1:1–2; Galatians 3:16). If Abraham becomes a symbol without content, Christianity loses not only its historical roots, but its eschatological claim (Reynolds, 2018).
Islam, on the other hand, reads Abraham as the archetype of submission. The Qur’an (Surah 3:67) not only declares Abraham a Muslim, it does so in contrast to Judaism and Christianity. The verse is not attempting harmony; it is issuing a correction. Abraham, according to Islam, was never “one of them.” He was ours—an early witness to tawḥīd (the oneness of God) and the ideal ḥanīf (pure monotheist). His actions—smashing idols, challenging his father, reasoning about the heavens—parallel Muhammad’s life, effectively portraying Abraham as a theological forerunner to the final prophet (Akyol, 2021).
In Judaism, Abraham is honored as the first patriarch and the father of the Jewish people. He is seen as the model of faith and obedience, chosen by God to enter into a covenant that promised land, descendants, and blessing. His devotion to one God and his righteous character make him a central figure in Jewish tradition and theology. Unlike Christianity and Islam, Judaism does not view Abraham as a forerunner of a new religion or as a prophet of a future revelation, but as the founding figure of a distinct covenantal relationship between God and the Jewish people (Levenson, 2012).
We see not a shared foundation but three mutually exclusive theological architectures that cannot coexist without one relativizing the others. To call these traditions “Abrahamic” is to trade specificity for sentiment and to invite theological incoherence under the guise of interreligious respect.
The central problem isn’t merely about historical interpretation—it’s about the election. Who are the people of God? Who inherits the promise? Is salvation tied to genealogical descent, covenantal obedience, or spiritual adoption?
In Judaism, Abraham’s significance flows through Isaac and Jacob. The line is both literal and covenantal. As Levenson (2012) notes, the Torah is not given to all nations but to Israel. And Israel is not merely a generic people of God—it is a covenant family, chosen in love (Deuteronomy 7:6–8), with a mission to live under God's rule and to be a light to the nations. But the covenant is not democratized. Gentiles may participate, but they do so on the periphery.
Christianity reframes this entire narrative through Christ. Paul’s radical argument in Galatians 3 is that the promise to Abraham finds its true fulfillment not in the collective seed (plural) of ethnic Israel but in the one Seed (singular), Christ. “If you belong to Christ,” Paul writes, “then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:29, NIV). This is a theological revolution: inheritance is no longer genetic but Christocentric. The blessing of Abraham flows not through ethnicity or religious law, but through union with Christ by faith (Beverley & Evans, 2021).
Islam, by contrast, reclaims Abraham as the original Muslim, circumvents Israel, and redirects divine election to the Ummah. The Qur’an affirms that God's promises were not limited to one lineage but were entrusted to those who submit (Surah 2:124–129). Thus, Abraham and Ishmael become builders of the Kaaba, establishing Mecca as the true center of worship. In this telling, Islam doesn’t just claim Abraham—it rewrites salvation history (Shumack, 2020).
Each tradition claims the same figure but for different ends. Judaism locates God’s favor in covenantal obedience. Christianity grounds it in the cross and resurrection. Islam reestablishes it in prophetic succession. These aren’t overlapping claims. They are exclusive and irreconcilable.
What, then, does Abraham teach us about the gospel?
It is tempting to see Abraham as the “safe” starting point for gospel conversations with Muslims. After all, he’s honored in the Qur’an. He’s a model of faith, submission, and obedience. However, as Levenson (2012) and Reynolds (2024) help us see, such a strategy can backfire. By centering Abraham instead of Christ, we risk reframing the gospel itself.
The gospel is not “believe in one God like Abraham did.” That is law, not gospel. It is not “imitate Abraham’s obedience.” That is moralism, not grace. The gospel is that the promises given to Abraham have found their Yes and Amen in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20). Abraham believed God, and yet died without seeing the full realization of that promise (Hebrews 11:13). It is in Christ that the nations are truly blessed. And the cross reveals God's justice and mercy in ways Abraham never fully glimpsed.
Here, Paul’s interpretation of Abraham is not just informative—it’s polemical. In Romans 4, Paul deliberately contrasts Abraham’s justification by faith with any claim to righteousness through law or circumcision. He’s not trying to harmonize Abraham with other systems. He’s using Abraham to disrupt them. For Paul, Abraham is not a shared figure between Judaism and Christianity—he is a test case proving that salvation has always been by faith, not works (Reynolds, 2018; Beverley & Evans, 2021). That line of argument would be heretical to Islamic theology, which holds to a far more works-based soteriology (Shumack, 2020).
Thus, using Abraham as a bridge in evangelism may sound strategic, but it becomes a theological detour if not anchored in Paul’s gospel.
For those engaged in Muslim ministry, this discussion has vital implications. The goal of evangelism is not to affirm shared ancestry but to proclaim Christ's supremacy. While Abraham can be an entry point, he must never be the endpoint. The offense of the gospel is not that Christians believe in Abraham—we believe Abraham foreshadows Christ, but Christ fulfills and transcends him.
This is why missionaries and theologians must resist the interfaith impulse to begin at the lowest common denominator. The gospel is not the lowest common denominator. The most exclusive claim is that salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved (Acts 4:12).
In other words, the gospel does not find its root in Abraham—it is in the triune God’s eternal plan to glorify His Son by redeeming a people for Himself. Abraham’s story only makes sense in light of that greater plan.
Levenson’s critique, amplified by Reynolds’ sensitive questioning, invites us to deeper clarity, sharper discernment, and richer fidelity to the biblical narrative. We can acknowledge Abraham’s importance without distorting his role. We can respect Islamic reverence for Abraham without accepting its redefinition. Most importantly, we can proclaim that the true children of Abraham are those united not by blood, submission, or works but by faith in Christ (Galatians 3:29).
In a world desperately trying to unite religions under vague categories, Christians must not retreat from specificity. We must embrace the scandal of particularity. Only in that scandal- the scandal of the cross—do Abraham's promises reach their global fulfillment.
As Paul says, “He is not a Jew who is one outwardly, but one inwardly... if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Romans 2:28–29; Galatians 3:29).
That’s not a shared legacy. That’s the gospel.
Akyol, M. (2021). Reopening Muslim minds: A return to reason, freedom, and tolerance. St. Martin’s Essentials.
Beverley, J., & Evans, C. A. (2021). Getting Jesus right: How Muslims get Jesus and Islam wrong. Castle Quay Books.
Levenson, J. D. (2012). Inheriting Abraham: The legacy of the patriarch in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Princeton University Press.
Reynolds, G. S. (2018). The Qur'an and the Bible: Text and commentary. Yale University Press.
Reynolds, G. S. (Host). (2024, January 30). Jon D. Levenson: Abraham in history, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam | The Abrahamic religions myth [Video podcast episode]. In Exploring the Quran and the Bible. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7nqC4Ep4tA&t=315s
Shumack, R. (2020). The Muslim Jesus: Sayings and stories in Islamic literature. InterVarsity Press.