Tag: humanity

Did Jesus Go to Hell? Clearing Up a Common Misunderstanding

Brent Pollard

How often we hear it said—in songs, in sermons, even recited in ancient creeds—that Jesus “went to hell” after His crucifixion. The phrase rolls off the tongue with such familiarity that few pause to question whether Scripture actually teaches such a thing. Yet here is where we must be careful, for familiarity can breed assumption, and assumption can obscure truth.

The reality is both simpler and more glorious than the popular notion suggests. Yes, Jesus descended somewhere after His death—but it was not to the hell of eternal punishment. The confusion arises from a tangle of translation issues, historical traditions, and well-meaning but imprecise language. However, God’s Word speaks with unmistakable clarity once we understand what terms like Hades, Sheol, and Gehenna actually mean.

Let us think clearly about this matter, for the truth of Christ’s death and resurrection deserves nothing less than our most careful attention.

The Root of the Confusion: Words Matter

Much of our confusion stems from a problem as simple as translation. Scripture employs three distinct words to describe the afterlife, each with its own meaning:

  • Sheol (Old Testament): The realm of the dead—a shadowy place where all departed souls once dwelt
  • Hades (New Testament): The Greek equivalent of Sheol—the temporary abode of the dead
  • Gehenna: The place of final, eternal punishment—what we properly call hell

Here lies the problem: older English translations, particularly the King James Version, routinely render all three of these words as “hell,” even though they carry distinct meanings. Imagine the muddle this creates! It’s rather like using the word ‘home’ to describe a house, a hotel, and a prison all at once.

Consider Acts 2.27, which in the King James reads: “Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell.” But the Greek word Peter quotes from the Psalms is Hades, not Gehenna. Peter is declaring that God would not abandon Jesus to the realm of the dead—the temporary holding place of departed souls. He is not saying Jesus entered the fires of eternal judgment.

This distinction matters immensely. To collapse these words into one English term is to blur what God has made clear.

The Apostles’ Creed and Historical Development

Many point to the Apostles’ Creed, which states that Christ “descended into hell,” as proof of this doctrine. But even here, history reveals something important: this phrase did not appear in the earliest versions of the Creed. When they first added the term, they translated it as “Hades” instead of “hell.” This translation emphasizes that Jesus did not suffer punishment; instead, He truly died and entered the realm of the dead.

The Creed intended to combat early heresies that denied Jesus’ full humanity. The Creed was saying, in effect: “He really died. His death was no illusion.” This statement is orthodox truth. But somewhere along the way, “descended into Hades” morphed in popular understanding into “descended into hell,” and theological precision—accurately understanding and articulating biblical truths—gave way to theological confusion.

Medieval Imagination and the “Harrowing of Hell”

If you’ve seen medieval art or passion plays, you’ve likely encountered dramatic depictions of Jesus storming the gates of hell, releasing captives, and binding Satan in chains. These images are vivid, memorable, and deeply rooted in Christian culture. There’s only one problem: none of it comes from Scripture.

The so-called “Harrowing of Hell” developed from apocryphal writings—texts that early Christians never accepted as inspired Scripture. These stories captured the imagination and found expression in art, literature, and liturgy throughout the medieval period. They tell a good story, but they are not God’s story.

Here we must be discerning. Just because something appears in Christian tradition does not mean it appears in Christian Scripture. We honor the past, yes, but we bow only to the authority of God’s revealed Word.

What About 1 Peter 3.19–20?

Some appeal to 1 Peter 3.19, where Peter writes that Christ “went and preached to the spirits in prison.” At first glance, this might seem to support the idea that Jesus descended into hell to preach. But look closer.

Peter never uses the word Gehenna here. He doesn’t say Jesus entered the place of eternal punishment. The “spirits in prison” likely refers to the fallen angels of Genesis 6 or to the souls of the disobedient from Noah’s day. And the “preaching” mentioned is not an offer of salvation—it’s a proclamation of victory.

Think of it: Would the triumphant, risen Christ journey to hell to offer redemption to those who had already rejected God? This concept contradicts everything Scripture teaches about the finality of death and judgment, which means that once a person dies, they face judgment (Hebrews 9.27). What Peter describes is not an evangelistic campaign in the underworld, but a declaration of Christ’s conquest over sin, death, and the powers of darkness.

Where Did Jesus Actually Go?

Scripture answers this question with beautiful simplicity:

  • His body was laid in the tomb (Matthew 27.59–60)
  • His spirit went to Hades—specifically to Paradise, the place of blessing for the righteous dead (Luke 23.43)
  • God did not abandon Him there (Acts 2.27, 31)
  • He rose victoriously on the third day (1 Corinthians 15.4)

Notice what Jesus promised the thief on the cross: “Today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23.43). Not hell. Not torment. Paradise—the blessed side of Hades, where the righteous awaited the resurrection.

Hades is the temporary realm of the dead, not the final hell. It is the waiting room, not the eternal chamber. Jesus never set foot in Gehenna, the place prepared for the devil and his angels (Matthew 25.41). To say otherwise is to add to Scripture what God never said.

Why This Matters

Why be so careful about these distinctions? Because truth matters. Because God’s Word deserves precision. Because the gospel itself is at stake.

If Jesus suffered the fires of hell as part of our redemption, then His sacrifice on the cross was incomplete. But Scripture declares that on the cross, Jesus cried, “It is finished” (John 19.30). The payment was complete. He accomplished His work. He descended into death, yes—but not into damnation. This reaffirms the fullness of our redemption and the security of our faith in Christ.

God’s sovereignty shines through this truth. He orchestrated redemption exactly as He planned—through the death, burial, and resurrection of His Son. Jesus conquered death by entering it and emerging victorious. He didn’t storm the gates of hell; He broke the chains of death itself.

Conclusion: Death Conquered, Not Hell Invaded

The belief that Jesus “went to hell” is born from translation confusion, historical development, medieval imagination, and misinterpreted Scripture. But when we let God’s Word speak for itself, the picture becomes clear: Jesus entered Hades—the realm of the dead—and triumphed over it.

He truly died. He truly descended into the domain of death. And He truly rose again, bringing life and immortality to light through the gospel (2 Timothy 1.10).

What practical difference does this make? Everything. Because Jesus conquered death—not hell—we can face our own mortality with confidence. “Because I live,” Jesus said, “you also will live” (John 14.19). That’s not just doctrine; that’s hope. That’s victory. That’s the gospel.

So let us speak carefully about these things. Let us honor Scripture’s precision. And let us marvel at the One who entered death’s dark valley and emerged with the keys of death and Hades in His victorious hand (Revelation 1.18). He didn’t invade hell—He abolished death. And because He lives, we shall live also.

“Son of Man”: Ezekiel, Jesus, and the Pattern of Prophetic Humility

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

Brent Pollard

When God called Ezekiel to his prophetic ministry, He chose not to address him by name, but by a title that would echo through the corridors of time: “Son of Man.” Ezekiel heard this title over ninety times from God’s lips throughout the book that bears his name. The Hebrew, ben adam, means “descendant of man” or “human one.” At first glance, it might seem like a poetic flourish. Since the title “son of man” is intentionally repeated and later used by Jesus of Nazareth, we should pause and ask: Why did He choose this title for both figures?

Isaiah may rightly bear the title “Messianic Prophet” for his remarkable prophecies of Christ’s birth, suffering, and coming reign (Isaiah 7.14; 9.6; 53). But Ezekiel’s role as “son of man” unveils something equally profound—it foreshadows the very form the Messiah would take, especially in His humble incarnation and prophetic ministry.

A Title That Humbles and Separates

Adam Clarke observed with penetrating insight that this term serves to humble Ezekiel, preventing him from being exalted in his mind because of the extraordinary revelations granted to him. Here is God’s gentle yet firm reminder of Ezekiel’s frailty and mortality—set against the backdrop of those overwhelming divine visions, particularly that awe-inspiring glimpse of the Almighty’s throne in Ezekiel 1. Matthew Henry echoes this truth, observing that despite the abundance of revelations, Ezekiel remains “a son of man, a mean, weak, mortal creature.”

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

John Gill observes deeper significance in this choice, noting that this title connects Ezekiel to the coming Christ. He points out that “this is a name which our Lord frequently took to himself in his state of humiliation” and that “the reason of it is, because he was an eminent type of Christ.” Thus, “son of man” becomes more than humiliation—it points forward to the One who would perfectly embody both human weakness and divine mission.

Prophetic Suffering and True Representation

Beyond its humbling power, the term “son of man” positions Ezekiel as one who truly represents his people. He stands not as an outsider hurling judgment from afar, but as a fellow exile (Ezekiel 1.1-3). God called Ezekiel to speak as one of them—and more, to suffer in symbolic ways that would paint vivid pictures of their coming condition (Ezekiel 4–5).

Burton Coffman observes that Ezekiel’s very actions embodied the message he delivered: lying upon his side for appointed days, shaving his head with a sword, cooking with defiled fuel, refusing to mourn when his beloved wife died—each act a living parable of Israel’s approaching judgment. In this suffering service, Ezekiel points forward to a greater Prophet yet to come, One who would bear not symbolic griefs but actual sorrows, not representative suffering but substitutionary sacrifice.

Daniel’s Vision: The Title Transformed

In Daniel 7.13-14, something remarkable happens. “Son of Man” takes on entirely different colors. Daniel sees in his night visions “one like a son of man” coming with the clouds of heaven, receiving dominion that shall never pass away. What a contrast! Ezekiel’s “son of man” is lowly, suffering, and representative of human weakness. Daniel’s “Son of Man” is exalted, glorious, clothed with eternal authority.

Yet both point toward the same magnificent Person: Jesus Christ. In the Gospels, our Lord refers to Himself as “the Son of Man” more than eighty times—more than any other title He claims. In taking this name, Jesus gathers up both streams—Ezekiel’s humble suffering and Daniel’s eternal glory.

Jesus bears the full weight of human suffering, as Ezekiel did in shadow and type. Yet He also inherits that eternal kingdom promised in Daniel’s soaring vision.

Ezekiel: Pattern of the Incarnate Christ

Here then is the glory of it: if Isaiah introduces us to the person and mission of the coming Messiah, Ezekiel shows us the very form He would take—a suffering servant, fully human, yet burning with divine purpose. The constant repetition of “son of man” in Ezekiel prepares our hearts to recognize the breathtaking paradox of the incarnation itself—God in human flesh, humble yet holy, obedient unto death, acquainted with our griefs (Isaiah 53.3; Philippians 2.5-8).

Jesus, the true and ultimate Son of Man, fulfilled every aspect of Ezekiel’s prophecy, not only through His words but also through His life. He was the ideal representative of all people, carrying God’s final message as well as everyone’s sins.

Conclusion: The Seed of Eternal Purpose

It was not God’s caprice leading him to employ the phrase “son of man” to reference Ezekiel. The expression was a designation of Ezekiel’s humanity, prophetic duty, and role as the people’s representative. Yet, we understand it also served as a divinely planted seed, preparing hearts and minds to understand the Messiah—not only as conquering King and eternal Savior, but as One who would walk among us in perfect humility and carry all our sorrows.

In this “son of man,” we glimpse the wisdom of our God, who chooses frail vessels for eternal purposes—and who, when the fullness of time had come, became one Himself.

“Son of Man” represents grace beyond measure since the God calling a mortal man by that title would Himself take it for Himself, taking our nature and our place—that we might share in His glory forever.

Almost Too Good To Be True!

How often we hear that the gospel, defined, is “good news.” It is God’s good news, meant to be shared. That’s exactly what the women and the two disciples are doing with the larger group of disciples when Jesus makes His final appearance before returning to heaven. But there are a few things He wants to impress upon them before He goes

Neal Pollard

How often we hear that the gospel, defined, is “good news.” It is God’s good news, meant to be shared. That’s exactly what the women and the two disciples are doing with the larger group of disciples when Jesus makes His final appearance before returning to heaven. But there are a few things He wants to impress upon them before He goes. Notice how the book of Luke ends (24:36-53).

There is a reminder of His identity (36-43). The predominant reminder in this last appearance is of His humanity, the identity He took on to save us from our sins. He shows them His hands and feet (40) and then eats a meal before them (41-43). He will appeal to His Deity in His final instructions, referencing His Father in heaven (49), but He did not want them to forget the brotherhood He shared with them all. How often do I benefit by remembering, as I go about as His disciple, that Jesus fully understands what I am going through? Read Hebrews 2:9-18, for example. He was for a little while made lower than the angels in order taste death for everyone (9). He was perfected in His work as our great High Priest by suffering as a human (10). He is not ashamed to call us “brethren” (11). He partook of sharing our nature, flesh and blood (14). He had to be made like His brethren in all things to become a merciful and faithful High Priest (17). He was tempted in His suffering, which helps Him come to our aid as we suffer (18). There are a multitude of additional passages reinforcing and supplementing our understanding and appreciation of Christ’s humanity, but the resurrected Jesus wants them to remember His humanity after He ascends to heaven. 

There is a reminder of His history (44-48). It is a mind-boggling truth that Jesus’ history goes back to His preexistence, before He became human. The facet of history of highest interest to Him is sacred history. So, He opened their minds to understand the Scripture (45). He appealed to the three major divisions of the Hebrew Old Testament, the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms (44). We might call them the books of history, prophecy, and poetry. They are saturated with the themes He elaborates upon in verses 46-47, His suffering, His resurrection, and His plan of salvation. By looking to God’s past revelation, they would be equipped for their present mission and fortified for their future reward. So it is for us today. The verification of Scripture, fulfilled prophecy, 

There is a reminder of His destiny (49-53). It included ascending to heaven to carry out the promise of His Father upon them, to be His witnesses, “clothed with power from on high” (49). Luke gives us fuller details of what happens in this discussion in Acts 1:4-8, and it includes His marching orders and an elaboration of what we read Him telling them about being His witnesses starting in Jerusalem (46-47). His immediate destination is heaven (50), and theirs is Jerusalem (52-53). They went there with great joy and, once there, “were continually in the temple praising God” (53). They were mentally preparing for their earth-shattering, world-changing mission. Heartache was overwhelmed by hope. Disappointment was conquered by determination. They were about to turn the world upside down, an intention they made good on from Jerusalem to Judea, Samaria, and the rest of the world (Acts 1:8; 17:6). Lest we forget, their role in His destiny is the same as ours. We are standing on their shoulders, carrying on their mission today. Jesus needs us to help fulfill His destiny in our world just as He needed them. They rose up and met the challenge! What about us?

Does Humanity Have A Goal?

Gary Pollard

Another one of the most commonly asked questions is, “What is humanity’s goal?” This seems to be a “purpose” question, but one that specifically asks if we’re pursuing some kind of unity. Many have tackled this question, and most of them are far more qualified to deal with it than I am. But the ancient writings God gave humanity have proved reliable for millennia, so I’ll lean on its principles in this abridged look at our unifying goal(s). 

The concept of a “unity” has been explored for a very long time. It serves as the foundational principle for many world religions because we all have an intuitive sense that we’re connected somehow, or that we all come from a common source. We understand that all of us together are greater than any one person, so our destiny must be just as awesome! 

The short answer (from a believer’s perspective) is: Humanity’s goal is to see God. 

  1. We believe that the Logos created our planet and made it habitable. The universe is the creative expression of his nature and power.  
  2. Humanity’s original goal was the explore the Earth and enjoy it (Gen 2.1-15). 
  3. We were in a state of perfect harmony with the Creator and his creation. 
  4. We lost that when we chose to pursue forbidden gnosis. 
  5. All of history (and what remains of our future) is a story — its unifying narrative is our journey back to that initial harmony. This story is only possible because the Creator sacrificed himself to change our inevitable destiny! 

Our immediate goal is to emulate the Creator’s character as much as we can. This necessarily means we acknowledge his existence and primacy. He is light and love, so we try to be the same. Done properly, this benefits all people (especially people who struggle). Why voluntarily pursue other peoples’ needs over our own? Why struggle against the body’s impulses? Why view other people as more important than self? Why hold on so tightly to a belief in a God no one has seen? He promised us a return to perfection, an eternal life without any suffering, and a fully-repaired, personal relationship with the Creator (cf. II Pt 3.13; I Jn 3.1-3, Rv 21.1-2). 

Now I am coming to you. I will not stay in the world, but these followers of mine are still in the world. Holy Father, keep them safe by the power of your name — the name you gave me. Then they will be one, just like you and I are one (Jn 17.11). 

A person has only one body, but that body has many parts. Yes, there are many parts, but all those parts are still just one body. Christ is like that, too (I Cor 12.12). 

There is one body and one spirit, and God chose you to have one hope. There is one master, one faith, and one baptism. There is one God and Father of us all, who rules over everyone. He works through all of us and in all of us (Eph 4.4-6). 

The Fleeting Nature Of Legacy

Lessons From The Parable Of The Rich Fool

Brent Pollard

The breadth of human recollection is rather fleeting. In merely three generations, the essence of most lives—their trials, victories, and the simple moments of each day—slips quietly into the shadows of forgetfulness. Though history may enshrine its Shakespeares and Einsteins, the greater multitude of us shall fade into obscurity, our tales slipping quietly into the annals of time. This obliteration of individual narrative unfolds through various avenues. As time flows onward, the clarity of memory tends to wane, and the stories of those who came before us, beyond the realm of our grandparents, often fade into a misty obscurity. Families frequently choose to uphold only sure tales, usually centering on those kin who have forged remarkable legacies while permitting others to fade quietly into the obscurity of yesteryear. Those who depart this world without the blessing of children tread a more arduous road to remembrance since their narratives rest solely upon the commitment of distant kin to keep them alive in memory. In this age of mobility, it is all too common for families to drift apart, their bonds fraying and shared memories fading into the ether. The myriad forces at play—natural memory decay, the art of selective storytelling, the absence of children, and the scattering of families—combine harmoniously to guarantee that our recollection barely reaches a century for most of us.

The fleeting essence of human memory imparts a significant lesson regarding the quest for legacy through earthly riches, a truth vividly depicted in the Parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12:13-21). In this narrative, a man of considerable means is convinced that his vast possessions will safeguard his future and ensure his legacy. Yet, in a twist of fate, death arrives to strip away the significance of his meticulously crafted designs. The inquiry posed by the parable—”Then who will receive what you have laid aside for yourself?”—gains a more profound significance when we reflect upon the fleeting nature of our very names within the tapestry of family remembrance. If destiny determines to erase our lives from memory within a few generations, the quest for wealth, as the means for leaving a legacy, reveals itself as a pursuit devoid of true purpose. Instead, this poignant truth beckons us to reflect upon what genuinely lasts: the far-reaching impacts of our connections, the principles we impart to those around us, and the uplifting transformations we foster within our communities. Though the allure of worldly achievements may offer fleeting solace, the unseen connections we forge—the impact we have on the lives of others, the insights we impart, the affection we extend—hold the promise of resonating far beyond our time on this earth. This viewpoint invites us to redirect our attention from the mere gathering of riches to the nurturing of a more profound spiritual and relational abundance, one that may surpass the limits of recollection, thus fostering a legacy that is both meaningful and lasting.

Rather than entangling us in a web of despair, the certainty of being forgotten liberates us to embrace life with greater authenticity and purpose. When we free ourselves from the weighty expectation of leaving a tangible legacy, we understand a profound reality: our authentic influence is not measured by what we bequeath but rather by how our deeds resonate through the ages, often beyond our sight. The folly of the Rich Fool lay not merely in his accumulation of riches but in his profound misunderstanding of the enduring legacy that binds one generation to another through unseen threads of influence. A gentle word uttered in the present may resonate within a family’s principles for generations; a selfless deed could ignite a legacy of generosity that endures beyond our remembrance; a fleeting insight imparted might influence choices long after its origin fades from memory. This insight reshapes our perspective on the fleeting moments life grants us. Rather than laboring to erect grand monuments in our honor, let us turn our efforts to sowing seeds of virtue that will blossom long after we have departed. We may find solace in the understanding that our impact can persist, even when our names have slipped into the shadows of time. This parable extends beyond its sacred beginnings to impart a wisdom that resonates universally: a profound legacy continues to yield fruit, even when circumstances cut it from its roots.

“Who Do People Say I Am?”

Neal Pollard

Mark 8:27ff is the pivotal moment of Mark’s gospel. Before the conversation in this section of Scripture, Mark records 20 miracles performed by Jesus. There are only six miracles recorded in the last half of Mark, which follows this conversation. People have been marveling at Jesus and people have been trying to determine who He is. So Jesus’ question here, “Who do people say that I am?,” is not just important for the disciples walking with Jesus in Mark 8, but for those of us who read the book today. Notice a few answers we glean from Mark 8:27-9:1.

He is “Jesus” (27). The name means “Savior,” and is, in fact, the Greek form of the Hebrew name “Joshua” (“Jehovah saves”). Matthew connects the name and the person of this Jesus with the salvation He came to bring. An angel of the Lord explains to Joseph, “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins” (1:20-21).  “Jesus” also expresses His humanity, as it is the name He goes by and even used with His hometown when He is called “Jesus of Nazareth” (1:24; 10:47). The fact that my Savior shares my humanity encourages me. I know He can empathize with me (Heb. 2:14; 4:15; 5:7). 

He is “Christ” (29). While this designation of Jesus is found seven times in the gospel, He does not use it of Himself until after Peter confesses Him to be the Christ (9:41; 12:35; 13:21). It is this claim that enrages the High Priest (14:61) and draws the mockery of the crowd at His crucifixion (15:32). “Christ” means “anointed one” or “Messiah.” In the Old Testament, the anticipated deliverer is called “Anointed” (Ps. 2:2) and “Messiah” (Dan. 9:25-26). Kings (1 Sam. 24:7), priests (Lev. 4:3), and the patriarchs (Ps. 105:15) are said to be anointed. All of these have connection to Jesus. He came to become “King of kings” (1 Tim. 6:15; Rev. 17:14; 19:16). He is our great High Priest (Heb. 4:14). Those patriarchs are part of the Messianic lineage. No wonder Jesus (John 14:6) and His disciples (Acts 4:12) communicate that salvation from sin can only come through Him. Peter correctly discerned that Jesus is no mere prophet or harbinger. He is the expected deliverer. I must come to, live with, and share with others this conviction! That fact is the central difference in how I live my daily life!

He is “Son of Man” (31,38). Jesus connects this designation with more than one thing. First, He connects it to His upcoming suffering, death, and resurrection (31). Then, He connects it to His Lordship (8:34-9:1). Properly understood, “Son of Man” will “convey if possible a (messianic) sense of dignity, authority, and responsibility. Strictly to be avoided is any translation which would equate the title merely with ‘man,’ ‘a human being” (Bratcher-Nida, Handbook on Mark, 81). It is Mark’s most common designation for Jesus, found thirteen times in this book (2:10,28; 8:31,38; 9:9,12,31; 10:33,45; 13:26; 14:21,41,62). But by using this designation, which Jews would equate with authority and majesty (Dan. 7:13-14), Jesus is connecting dots in revealing the great mystery of God’s eternal plan. The majestic Messiah was about to suffer. It’s this aspect that Paul shares with us in the necessary development of our mindset, illustrated by God emptying Himself and lowering Himself for the purpose of sacrificing His life for us (Phil. 2:5-8). When I consider this designation for my Savior, I am reminded of the greatness of service and His worthiness to be completely followed and obeyed. But, His suffering does not indicate weakness, but rather power (9:1). The Lamb will one day be the Judge. 

In his book The Essence Of Life: The Book Of Answers, Ralph B. Smith noted that children ask 125 questions per day (many parents can attest to this being a reasonable estimation). Adults ask only six questions per day, on average. Yet, there is one question we all must ask and properly answer. Who do we say that He is (29)? Is He my Savior? Is He my King and High Priest? Is He my Deliverer? Is He my Lord and Master? Is He my Authority? He must be my everything and my all! If not, I have missed who He is but I will also miss all He came to offer. I cannot do that! 

Absolutely Subjective

Gary Pollard

Carl sourced several of the most commonly asked questions and gave me 70 of them to write about. So I’ll try to tackle a question or three every week for a while (or until something more interesting grabs my attention). This week’s question is, “Are all morals absolute? Where does morality come from?”

Morality concerns itself with the difference between right and wrong. Some things are always wrong: murder, sexual sin, theft, neglecting people in need, etc.

But are all morals absolute? 

Some things are wrong, but forgivable. Jesus used David as an example of this. Leviticus 24.9 said that a special kind of bread was for “Aaron’s descendants only.” In I Samuel, David (left with no other options) ate that bread. This was a sin. Jesus used this incident to prove God’s desire for “mercy over sacrifice” (cf. Mt 12.5-7). Rahab flat out lied about keeping Israelite spies in her home, but was praised as an example of faith because of her actions (Hb 11.31). Then, of course, there’s I John 5.16-17: There’s a type of sin that doesn’t lead to death, and a type that does.

The Bible also teaches — unambiguously — that some things are wrong for some people, and not wrong for others (Rom 14.23; I Cor 8.7-8). The message of those texts is: 1. “Keep your beliefs about these things a secret between you and God, because it’s a blessing to be able to do what you think is right without feeling guilty” (Rom 14.22). 2. “Never do anything that would cause a weaker Christian to mess up” (Rom 14.13, I Cor 8.9, cf. Mt 18.7). 

Where does humanity’s sense of right and wrong come from? 

Some things are self-evident to most people. Most people understand that killing someone for no good reason is morally wrong. Most people understand that taking something that belongs to someone else is wrong. Not everyone is this regulated, though — I Timothy 1.9 says that the law was made for people inclined to harm others. 

On the flip side, “sin gets its power from law” (I Cor 15.56, Rom 3.20, 5.20, 7.7-8), so we should be careful not to emphasize the regulation side of Christianity with people who are generally inclined to do the right thing. 

But some things are not second nature. Not everyone understands that chasing happiness (which is often conflated with euphoria, pleasure, and dopamine) at the expense of someone else’s character or feelings is wrong. Fornication and adultery fall into this category. There are many (often understandable) reasons someone might fall for these, but none of them are ultimately justifiable. Not everyone understands that ordering their lives around anything other than God, or giving immense adoration and respect to a human over God, is wrong (this is idolatry). Our understanding of what is morally right in these (and other related) areas comes from God. 

God’s standard of what’s right has always existed to benefit humanity, prevent abuse of the vulnerable, to give us the most fulfilling life here, and to make us eligible for rescue when Jesus returns. Morality is an extension of God’s existence. It is the first and last line of defense against darkness. This Earth is still around, so bad people and bad things still exist. God gave us a standard of right and wrong that we can’t always live up to, and that’s where grace comes in. But some things are always very wrong and can’t be practiced by anyone who wants to live forever. 

Our Weakness

Thursday’s Column: Captain’s Blog

Carl Pollard

Our Weakness

Romans 8:26 says, “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

We don’t like to be weak. Admitting weakness means admitting we are powerless. It means that we have to accept that we can’t fix our problems on our own. As humans we sometimes don’t like to admit that we need help. It’s in our nature to try and take care of our own problems.

The problem is that if we want to have a relationship with God, we have to admit that we are weak. We must come to terms with the fact that we are helpless without God. Sin has separated us from God. We are weak, but the Spirit helps us with this weakness. Paul uses the word astheneai, meaning a “lack of confidence or feeling of inadequacy.” The Spirit restores our confidence through prayer. The Spirit takes the inadequate, and makes it adequate.

Our weakness is taken away by the Spirit, and the only hurdle left is our own humanity. We need to understand that we can have confidence in prayer. We should also accept the fact that we need God’s help. How wonderful that our God can hear us even with our weakness!

Blessings

Wednesday’s Column: Third’s Words

gary and chelsea

Gary Pollard

How does Jesus feel about us? He created us, became human, and let us kill Him so He could make a new deal with us (Heb. 9.15-17). Most disregard Him, many are outright hostile. How could He love us at all? Because we know how most view God, it’s easy to lump ourselves into the same group as the hostiles. 

Ephesians gives some awesome insight into how Jesus feels about his people. 

1.3 – He gave us spiritual blessings through His sacrifice. 
1.4 – He had us in mind before He even started creating things. 
1.5 – He intended to make us part of His family. 
1.6 – He gave us grace. 
1.7 – He died to give us freedom. 
1.7 – He gives us forgiveness. 
1.9 – He told us what He wants. 
1.11 – He is going to give us an inheritance.
1.11-14 – He knows His own, and He’s looking to get us back home. 

 He didn’t just do nice things for us, though. Here’s how He feels about it: 

1.5 – Love motivated Him. 
1.5 – He wanted to do it. 
1.7 – He’s generous with His grace. 
1.8 – He’s generous with His grace. 
1.9 – He wanted to do it. 

We don’t deserve Him, but He loves us to death. We let Him down, but He gives us grace. He’d have every right to be exasperated with His imperfect family, but He’s not. People get on our nerves and societies fall apart, but we have the best family on the planet. Remember whose you are when you’re discouraged. No one wants you more than He does! 

 

Is The Church Broken?

Neal Pollard

You hear comments in Bible classes that amount to what’s wrong with the church, what we’re doing wrong, what we’re not doing, and what it’s doing to us, our children, and the world. You read people’s minds through their social media rants, raves, and ramblings, and the bottom line message is that the church is inept, irrelevant, irresponsible, or, worse, insidious. To hear some tell it, the church is not only unhelpful, but actually hurtful.  I know that we can be prone to say things out of hurt, disappointment, anger, and bitterness, but the words themselves are no less potent even if influenced by such emotions.

Is the contention, as one Christian sister put it, that “the church is broken,” true? Another way to put that is, “Are elders, preachers, deacons, Bible class teachers, and every other Christian broken?” Perhaps we impersonalize it and overly-institutionalize it with a nameless, faceless designation of “church.” But the church is, as we were taught as children, “the people.” People who are prone to say the right thing at the wrong time, the wrong thing at the right time, and, sadly, the wrong thing at the wrong time. We disappoint, we mishandle, we poorly execute, we unfairly judge and criticize, and we simply blow it. That is definitely not an excuse or a permission slip for bad behavior. Yet, it is not likely to ever change.

Because the church is made up of sinners saved by grace, the church is broken. We who are quick to condemn the church as broken need to face that we ourselves, as those placed by Christ into that church when we were saved, are broken, too. Show me the perfect person who never mishandles a situation, never sins with tongue, attitude, or deed, and I’ll show you someone who will stand before Christ at the Judgment saved on the basis of their own merit and goodness. That won’t happen.

Let’s be reminded of what the church is.  It is the precious, beloved bride of Christ (Eph. 5:22-25; Rev. 19:7; 21:2). It is that institution purchased by His very life’s blood (Acts 20:28). It is that which was thought up by God from the eternity before time as is the expression of His manifold wisdom (Eph. 3:9-11). It is the place where Christ is glorified (Eph. 3:21; 5:27). It is the present the Son will present to His Father when time is no more (1 Cor. 15:24). It is that and truly so much more.

God designed the church. Reckless criticism of it is reckless criticism of Him. All of us should be determined to improve in every area of our spiritual lives, to be for others what we need to be, to conquer faults and sins in our lives. We should also extend to others the grace we intensely desire to receive when we stand before the King at the last day! Yes, the church is broken, but not in the sense that it cannot help, serve, minister, love, and encourage. Let each of us strive to be the church we want the church to be. Model and exemplify it. Emit the fragrance of Christ. That way, the broken church can help mend the broken lives that make it up.

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Remember I Am Dust (Poem)

Neal Pollard

I read the words of David today
They were so full of hope and trust
They spoke of God’s merciful way
That He is mindful we’re but dust.

He knows that transgressions we commit
That His forgiveness is a must
His lovingkindness He gives those who try to quit
Because He knows that we are dust.

Like David, I’m glad God has not dealt
Just with justice toward my anger, sin, and lust
As exalted His nature, so His tender heart will melt
Because He’s mindful we are but dust.

Like a father pities his erring child,
He reacts with compassion, not disgust,
When we fear Him, we learn He’s tender and mild.
He is mindful that we are but dust.

So as I embark on this unique day,
I know God is holy, perfect, and just,
But He balances this with a most merciful way
As He dwells on the fact that we’re but dust.

How should I treat you, my fellow pilgrim
Who’s also driven by imperfection’s fierce gust?
May I see you as I’m seen by Him,
And remember that you are but dust.

Extend you grace and excuse your stumbles,
Be willing to forgive, forget, adjust,
Because David’s inspired truth forever humbles,
He is mindful that we are but dust!