Are “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness” Biblical?

Stop me if you’ve heard this:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness.

Yeah, okay, sure, most Americans would recognize it as a line from the Declaration of Independence. And most of us have absorbed its ideas deeply, including Christians. After all, it says these rights are “endowed by their Creator” and are “unalienable,” which sounds comfortably close to Christian language. So many Christians instinctively accept that these rights include “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness.” What fewer of us stop to ask is this: are those categories actually biblical? Not exactly.

Thomas Jefferson (a deist) wrote it, not with Scripture in mind, but with John Locke in mind. Locke argued for rights from a Creator and listed “life, liberty, or possessions” as divinely given, grounding that claim in humanity’s creation by God. But even there, the main concern was not “human rights” in the modern moral sense so much as limits on civil government. In other words, the argument was largely about what the state may not rightfully invade. That matters, because Christians can affirm political limits on government without confusing those limits with the Bible’s own primary way of speaking.

The truth is that the Bible does not ordinarily speak in the language of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” “unalienable rights,” or a government charged with securing them. Instead, it speaks in categories such as creation, covenant, duty, justice, obedience, stewardship, and God’s authority over all human life. Scripture presents us first not as autonomous individuals asserting claims, but as creatures accountable to our Creator and as neighbors bound by moral obligation. That does not mean human beings have no value or protections; it means the Bible grounds those realities in a different place. Human dignity rests in bearing God’s image (Gen 1:26-27; James 3:9), moral order rests in God’s law, and justice rests in God’s own character. So even when modern rights language overlaps with biblical concerns, it should not simply be equated with them. We do not control the boundaries of our lives, because our lives belong finally to God (Deut 32:39; Rom 14:7-8). We do not possess absolute liberty, because true freedom in Scripture is ordered toward obedience to Him (2 Cor 10:5). And “the pursuit of happiness” cannot function as a moral blank check, especially when what we desire conflicts with God’s commands (Gal 5:13-14).

What do we have, then? Biblically, we have the dignity of being made in the image of God, and, for believers, the added reality of being fellow heirs in Christ. That means human beings may not be treated as disposable (Gen 9:6), because they are not raw material for other people’s desires, the state’s convenience, or society’s calculations. Our worth is not self-created, socially assigned, or granted by the state; it is grounded in what God has made us to be. And our obligations toward one another do not arise merely from mutual consent, but from God’s command to do justice and to love our neighbor (Mic 6:8; Matt 22:39). Yet we are steadily eroding that truth in practice. We tolerate the destruction of life in the womb (Psa 139:13-16), and we increasingly measure the value of people by their “quality of life,” productivity, or usefulness. So if we are going to talk about rights, we should be careful at both ends of the argument. First, we should not claim that God has guaranteed what He has not actually promised. Second, we should not deny the dignity and protection owed to people whom God says bear His image. Both errors distort the biblical picture.

When “Hyperbole” Becomes an Excuse

Let me introduce a figure of speech that you already know, even if you have never stopped to name it: hyperbole. Hyperbole is deliberate exaggeration that is not meant to be taken literally. It is meant to emphasize truth, not evade it. When someone uses hyperbole, the listener understands that the literal statement is not true, but that the truth being emphasized is. If I say, “I’m so tired I could sleep for a year,” no one assumes I literally mean twelve months of uninterrupted sleep. The point is obvious: I am extremely tired and likely to sleep longer than usual. But if the truth is that I am not especially tired at all and only need a brief nap, then that statement is not hyperbole. It is a lie.

Hyperbole, then, is a valid form of communication, and Scripture uses it freely. When the Pharisees said of Jesus, “the world has gone after him” (John 12:19), they obviously did not mean every individual on earth. When Mark wrote that “the whole city was gathered together at the door” (Mark 1:33), we do not need to imagine every last resident pressed against the house to understand the point. The truth being conveyed is clear: large crowds were following Christ, and many people had gathered at the door. But if the reality had been only a small handful of people, then those statements would not have been hyperbole. They would have been false.

What about other instances of biblical hyperbole? Consider David’s words in Psalm 51:4: “Against You, You only, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight, so that You may be justified in Your words and blameless in Your judgment.” At first glance, the wording seems too strong. What about Bathsheba, whom David took? What about Uriah, whom he killed? What about Joab, whom he deceived? David is plainly using hyperbole, but the question is not whether he is exaggerating. The question is what the exaggeration is meant to communicate. Surely he does not mean that he did not sin against other people. Rather, he is saying that although he sinned against many, his sin was supremely and decisively against God. If every injured party could line up to bring a charge against David, God would stand at the head of the line. David’s point is not that human victims do not matter, but that all his sins are ultimately and most seriously sins against the God whose law he violated. And if that is not what he means—if he merely means, “I did something wrong against God and others”—then the statement is no longer hyperbole. It becomes falsehood. In fact, David clarifies his meaning in the rest of the verse: “so that You may be justified in Your words and blameless in Your judgment.” He is acknowledging that God’s judgment is right, and that whatever God says about him is just.

Or consider the repeated claim that “there is none who does good” (Psa 14:1, 3; Psa 53:1, 3; Rom 3:12). To many readers, that sounds like obvious hyperbole. After all, people commonly assume that human beings are basically good and that everyone does some good at some point. But if that were the truth being conveyed, then this would not be hyperbole at all. It would be a lie. If people are naturally capable of doing true good on their own, then the statement is not an exaggeration of reality but a contradiction of it. Yet Scripture also says that we are “created in Christ Jesus for good works” (Eph 2:10), and Paul calls believers to “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling” (Php 2:12). So yes, this is hyperbolic language, but we must not flatten it into something like “people are mostly good.” “No, not one” presses in the opposite direction. Jesus says, “Without Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5), and Paul adds that “it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Php 2:13). The point, then, is not that believers never do good, but that any good they do is the result of God’s work in them. On our own, we are sinners, unrighteous, and unable to do good in the fullest sense God requires. So we cannot neutralize the force of the “none who does good” texts by labeling them hyperbole. If we do, we empty them of the truth they were meant to intensify.

Hyperbole is a legitimate way of telling the truth through exaggeration. But once we strip the exaggeration of the truth it is meant to press upon us, we have not interpreted it; we have overturned it. That is the real issue. Hyperbole does not weaken truth. It sharpens it. It drives it home with force, urgency, and clarity. So when Scripture speaks this way, we should not appeal to hyperbole as a way of softening the point, dodging the point, or reversing the point altogether. We should ask instead: What truth is this exaggeration meant to make unmistakable? Once that question is answered, the meaning becomes clearer, not less demanding. Hyperbole is not an escape hatch from truth. It is one of the ways truth insists on being heard.

The Love That Allows Suffering—and Hell

I just did an entire series of posts on the “problem of Hell” as it were. I gave and answered objections. I pointed to Abraham’s concern about God’s justice. I considered the nature of sin. I pointed to the nature of God. Sure, there was a News Weakly in there and a brief detour for Memorial Day, but then I … threw in a post about a hymn? Some might have thought I was changing subjects. I wasn’t. The hymn in question claimed that God leads His dear children into all sorts of difficulties, and I pointed out that Scripture makes the same argument. Is that connected? Yes … yes, it is. The hymn wasn’t a detour; it was a setup. If God lovingly leads His children through suffering in this life, then suffering cannot be incompatible with His love—and therefore Hell cannot be dismissed on the grounds of love alone. You see, here’s the basic complaint. How is it possible that a God of love would want or even allow for the possibility of Hell? Obviously, He can’t, so … Hell is right out. Let’s consider that for a moment. First, there is a fundamental problem. The entire “Problem of Evil” is that if there is evil in the world, it is because God is either not powerful enough to stop it or not loving enough to stop it. Are we now going to argue that He’s not? If we argue that a loving God would never allow unpleasant things, we unintentionally adopt the very premise of the Problem of Evil—that suffering disproves God’s love or power. But Scripture rejects that premise outright. Think it through.

Consider the premise. Love and Hell are opposed. More precisely, if we love someone, we would never want unpleasant things to happen to them. Seems obvious, but is it? It's obvious if we’re talking about a “feel-good” love like today’s use of the word. Modern love is therapeutic. Biblical love is transformative. Our culture’s definition of love is not the Bible’s definition of love. If it was, we’d have all sorts of problems.

If God’s love means the absence of unpleasantness, Scripture should reflect that. Instead, it shows the opposite. Joseph told his brothers, “You intended it for evil, but God intended it for good” (Gen 50:20). That is “God intended it.” It wasn’t a surprise. It didn’t “slip through.” God … intended it … for good. Intended what? The bad things his brother did to him. Or there’s Job. When he lost everything, he “did not sin or charge God with wrong,” but declared, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21-22). And when God allowed Satan to strip away his health and his wife said, “Curse God and die,” he said, “Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?” (Job 2:9-10) If a loving God never wants unpleasant things to happen to His loved ones, Job was drastically wrong. Jeremiah claimed God had robbed him of hope (Lam 3:1–18), yet in the same chapter he finds his hope in the steadfast love of the Lord (Lam 3:21–24). Jeremiah did not believe that a loving God never intended unpleasant things for His own. Paul suffered from a thorn in the flesh, prayed to have it removed, and was denied. God told him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” and Paul boasted in his weakness. Paul certainly didn’t believe a loving God didn’t want unpleasant things for His loved ones.

The problem, you see, is that our version of “love” is different from God’s version. Culture’s definition of love is not the Bible’s definition of love. Am I making that up? No. Jesus explained it Himself: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Now, that “God so loved the world” is not a quantity, but a quality. “God loved the world in this way.” What way? He gave His Son for those who believe. That’s not “He doesn’t want unpleasant things for those He loves.” Jesus did not say, “God loved the world by shielding it from pain.” He said God loved the world by giving His Son — which assumes the world is already perishing. He promises unpleasant things for those He loves (e.g., John 16:33; Acts 14:22; James 1:2-4). This is the God who is love. His love is not the love we’ve redefined it as. His love is much better. Scripture keeps repeating that we are perfected in suffering (James 1:2-4; Rom 5:3-5; 1 Peter 5:10; Heb 12:5-11; Heb 5:8-9; 2 Cor 12:7-10; 1 Peter 1:6-7; 2 Cor 4:16-17; Acts 14:22). God's love allows and plans suffering for a good purpose. God wills "to show His wrath and to make known His power" on "vessels of wrath prepared for destruction" (Rom 9:22).

God’s love requires freedom for us, and we’re free to choose Hell. God’s justice has consequences. God’s holiness requires separation from sin. All of these combine to give mercy meaning. If God’s love does not eliminate suffering in this life, we have no grounds to claim it must eliminate the possibility of Hell in the next.

God Leads Us Along

There is an old hymn, written by George A. Young in 1903—God Leads Us Along. It is probably better known as “God Leads His Dear Children” because the line is repeated in each verse. It’s a warm and tender song about God’s care for His own … right up to the refrain. Then, we get this:

Some through the waters, some through the flood,
some through the fire, but all through the blood;
some through great sorrow, but God gives a song,
in the night season and all the day long.

“Oh, no,” many of us protest. “That’s not right. That’s not loving. That’s certainly not God’s doing. He doesn’t do that to His children.” Is our gut response correct? Does this chorus survive a biblical interrogation?

The refrain of “God Leads Us Along” stands up very well to biblical scrutiny, and when you read it as a piece of devotional theology rather than poetic sentiment, it becomes clear that it is drawing directly from Scripture rather than embellishing it. Look at what Isaiah says.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. (Isa 43:2)

The refrain describes the varied paths God’s people walk: some are led “through the waters,” others “through the flood,” still others “through the fire,” and many “through great sorrow.” This is not a romanticized view of the Christian life but a deeply biblical one. Isaiah 43:2 explicitly names these same images—waters, rivers, fire—and frames them as the very places where God’s presence is most profoundly experienced. The hymn is not promising deliverance from trials but God’s faithful leading through them, which is exactly the pattern of Scripture.

The line “but all through the blood” is the theological anchor of the entire refrain. It reminds the singer that although the outward circumstances of believers differ dramatically, the basis of their salvation and their perseverance is the same for all: the atoning blood of Christ. This is the consistent witness of the New Testament, from Ephesians 1:7 to Hebrews 9 and 1 Peter 1. The hymn is not suggesting that Christ’s blood is merely a comfort in suffering; it is asserting that the blood of Christ is the means by which every believer is sustained, preserved, and ultimately brought safely home.

The closing thought—that God “gives a song in the night”—is also thoroughly scriptural. Job 35:10 uses that exact phrase, and the Psalms repeatedly speak of God’s song being with His people in the night seasons. The hymn captures the paradox of Christian experience: sorrow is real, but so is the God who meets His people in it with sustaining joy.

Taken as a whole, the refrain is not only biblically correct but biblically rich. It avoids the shallow optimism of some modern religious language and instead embraces the full biblical pattern: suffering is varied, salvation is singular, and God’s presence is constant.

Memorial Day, 2026

Memorial Day, I often like to tell the stories of Medal of Honor recipients. Meet Louis Cukela, one of the very few who won both the Army and the Navy Medal of Honor awards for the same action.

On July 18, 1918, deep in the smoke‑choked Forest de Retz near Villers‑Cotterêts, the 5th Marines found themselves pinned to the earth. German machine guns, hidden in a fortified nest ahead, swept the woods with fire so constant it seemed to stitch the very air shut. Every attempt to advance ended the same way—splinters, dirt, and bullets exploding around the men until they hugged the ground again. The line had stalled, and the Germans knew it.

Among the Marines was Louis Cukela, a stocky, sharp‑tongued immigrant from the Balkans whose reputation for fearlessness was already the stuff of barracks legend. He studied the German position for a moment, then—without announcement, without drama—simply dropped to his belly and began crawling forward.

His comrades shouted for him to stop. The fire was too heavy. The move was suicide. But Cukela kept going, inching through the brush, slipping from crater to crater, working his way not toward the front of the strongpoint but around it. He crawled so close to the German lines he could hear the gunners shouting over their own weapons.

When he reached the rear of the position, he rose in a sudden burst of motion and charged. The Germans never saw him coming. In the chaos that followed—bayonet, rifle, and raw aggression—Cukela overwhelmed the machine‑gun crew. Some fell where they stood; others fled into the dugout below.

Inside the emplacement, Cukela found a cache of German grenades. He grabbed several, yanked the cords, and tossed them into the dugout. When the smoke cleared, four stunned German soldiers stumbled out with their hands raised. Cukela marched them back toward the Marine lines, leaving behind a silent machine‑gun nest that had, moments earlier, held up an entire company.

With the obstacle gone, the Marines surged forward again. What dozens of men could not do under fire, Louis Cukela had done alone—through audacity, instinct, and a complete disregard for his own safety.

For that single action, both the U.S. Army and the U.S. Navy awarded him the Medal of Honor, making him one of the rare double recipients in American history. He survived the war, served for decades more, and retired as a Marine Corps major. But his legend rests most firmly on that morning in the Forest de Retz, when one Marine decided that if the enemy wouldn’t move, he would.

Consider God’s Holiness

If our struggle with hell begins with emotion and our misunderstanding of sin begins with minimization, then our struggle with God’s justice begins with a diminished view of His holiness. Scripture does not present holiness as one divine attribute among many; it presents holiness as the defining reality of God’s being. Holiness is not simply God’s moral purity. It is His absolute otherness, His blazing perfection, His unapproachable majesty. To understand judgment, sin, grace, or salvation, we must first understand the holiness of God.

When Isaiah saw the Lord “high and lifted up,” the seraphim cried out, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts” (Isaiah 6:1–3). No other attribute of God is repeated three times. Scripture never says God is “love, love, love” or “wrath, wrath, wrath.” But it does say He is “holy, holy, holy.” The repetition is not poetic flourish; it is emphasis. God is not merely holy—He is infinitely, unchangeably, overwhelmingly holy.

This holiness is not abstract. It is morally radiant. When Isaiah saw it, he did not feel uplifted; he felt undone. “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips” (Isaiah 6:5). The holiness of God exposes the unholiness of man. It is a light that reveals everything. It is a fire that consumes impurity. It is a standard that no human being can meet. This is why Scripture says, “Our God is a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29) and why even the heavens are “not pure in His sight” (Job 15:15).

God’s holiness is also the foundation of His justice. Because God is holy, He cannot overlook sin. Because He is holy, He cannot call evil good. Because He is holy, He cannot be indifferent to rebellion. “You who are of purer eyes than to see evil and cannot look at wrong” (Habakkuk 1:13). Holiness demands justice. Holiness requires judgment. Holiness insists that sin be addressed, not ignored. When God revealed His name to Moses, He declared Himself “abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” yet also the One “who will by no means clear the guilty” (Exodus 34:6–7). His mercy is real, but so is His justice, and both flow from His holiness.

This is why the presence of God is both beautiful and dangerous. When the ark of the covenant was mishandled, Uzzah died instantly (2 Samuel 6:6–7). When Nadab and Abihu offered “unauthorized fire,” they were consumed (Leviticus 10:1–3). God explained the reason: “Among those who are near Me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.” Holiness is not optional. It is not flexible. It is not subject to human preference. God’s holiness is the blazing center of reality, and everything that approaches Him must conform to it or be consumed by it.

This is also why salvation is so astonishing. The holy God does not lower His standards to save sinners; He raises sinners to His standard. He does not compromise His holiness; He upholds it. He does not ignore sin; He atones for it. “Be holy, for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16) is not a suggestion but a command—and a promise. God gives His people new hearts (Ezekiel 36:26), writes His law on their minds (Jeremiah 31:33), and conforms them to the image of His Son (Romans 8:29). Salvation is not merely forgiveness; it is transformation. It is the holy God making an unholy people holy.

The cross is the clearest display of God’s holiness. At Calvary, God’s justice and mercy meet. Sin is punished, yet sinners are pardoned. Wrath is poured out, yet grace is extended. God remains “just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (Romans 3:26). The cross is not a contradiction of holiness; it is the triumph of holiness. It shows that God takes sin seriously enough to judge it and loves sinners enough to bear that judgment Himself.

When we see God’s holiness, the question of hell changes. Hell is no longer seen as divine overreaction but as the necessary consequence of rejecting the infinitely holy God. Sin is not small, because God is not small. Judgment is not unjust, because God is not unjust. The problem is not that God’s holiness is too severe; the problem is that our view of God is too soft.

This is why the seraphim still cry “Holy, holy, holy” and why the redeemed in Revelation fall before Him in worship, saying, “Who will not fear, O Lord, and glorify Your name? For You alone are holy” (Revelation 15:4). Holiness is not merely God’s standard; it is His beauty. It is not merely His purity; it is His glory. And when we see God as He truly is, Abraham’s question becomes our own: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). Yes. And His holiness is the reason why.

News Weakly - 5/23/2026

Message Received
I worked with a nice lady in the 90's who was a close relative of Robert Wyland. She introduced me to Wyland's iconic murals of whales. So this story … felt bad. Dallas, Texas decided, without telling anyone, to paint over one of his beloved murals occupying two walls of a parking garage painted in 1992. Why? Because they're hosting the World Cup this summer and want to paint over it with a soccer-related picture. The public is upset. I think it is an apt statement about our notion of the importance of public image in general and the trivial and trending in particular over a love of nature and concern for the public. Message received, Dallas.

Misplaced Emphasis
The NAACP is concerned about voting rights in the South. They're calling on black athletes, recruits, fans, and donors to withhold athletic and financial support … from state universities in the South. Whether or not their concern is valid, I'm always disappointed when these groups (all kinds of groups) target their protests at those who have no say in the matter. Universities don't make laws or policy. Why boycott them? Whether it's a protest blocking a freeway that fouls an entire city's traffic or an organization boycotting universities for something the governments are doing, I don't understand this misplaced emphasis as a strategy.

Maybe Not The Best Strategy?
In a bid to end the war, Iran has made a remarkable step at forming peaceful links. They’ve declared the Strait of Hormuz a “controlled maritime zone” where they plan to charge tolls of up to $2 million in tolls for passage. Yeah … that should settle the whole question. Or … maybe … make most governments turn on them. I don’t know.

Monkey See, Monkey Do
Two teen gunmen shot up the Islamic Center in San Diego, killing three, and then killed themselves. It illustrates a stupid trait among too many of us. We hate something about another group … so we express it … the way we hate they do. Like a son who hates his alcoholic father and gets drunk about it. Or a woman who becomes overbearing and obnoxious to men she hates for being overbearing and obnoxious. Sin rots the brain.

Your Best Source for Fake News
With the spate of fires around Los Angeles (actual story), the Bee takes the opportunity to note that the smoke signals Karen Bass is still mayor. And Zillow, seeing the trend, added a new feature showing if California homes listed are currently on fire. Helpful, aren't they? In other news, scholars have determined that John the Baptist chose the name to differentiate between his primary competitor, John the Presbyterian. Thanks, John.

Must be true; I read it on the internet.

Consider Sin

If the doctrine of hell is emotionally difficult, the doctrine of sin is intellectually difficult. Most objections to eternal punishment arise from a diminished view of what sin actually is. We instinctively treat sin as a collection of moral missteps — small failures, human frailties, lapses in judgment. But Scripture presents sin as something far more serious, far more destructive, and far more deeply rooted in the human condition. To understand why eternal punishment is just, we must first understand the nature of sin.

Sin is not small because God is not small. Our culture measures sin by the size of the act; Scripture measures sin by the worth of the One sinned against. David understood this when he prayed, “Against You, You only, have I sinned” (Psalm 51:4). He had sinned against Bathsheba, against Uriah, and against Israel, but he recognized that the ultimate offense was against God Himself. Sin is not primarily horizontal; it is vertical. A crime against a neighbor is finite. A crime against the infinite God is not.

This is why Scripture describes sin as lawlessness (1 John 3:4), rebellion (Isaiah 1:2), enmity against God (Romans 8:7), and falling short of His glory (Romans 3:23). Sin is not merely doing wrong; it is rejecting the God who is right.

Nor is sin merely a series of isolated acts. Scripture describes it as a condition, a nature, a posture of the heart. The heart is “deceitful above all things and desperately sick” (Jeremiah 17:9). People are “darkened in their understanding” (Ephesians 4:18). The mind set on the flesh is “hostile to God” (Romans 8:7). Apart from grace, “no one seeks for God” (Romans 3:11). We do not merely commit sins — we are, by nature, sinners (Ephesians 2:3). This is why salvation is not self‑improvement but new birth (John 3:3), new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17), and resurrection (Ephesians 2:5–6). The problem is not that we occasionally do wrong; the problem is that we are spiritually dead.

R.C. Sproul famously called sin “cosmic treason,” and Scripture agrees. When Adam sinned, he did not merely break a rule — he attempted to dethrone God by becoming “like God” (Genesis 3:5). Every sin repeats that impulse. Every sin says, “I will decide what is good. I will define what is right. I will be my own god.” This is why Paul describes sinners as “haters of God” (Romans 1:30) and “children of wrath” (Ephesians 2:3). Sin is not passive error; it is active rebellion. And rebellion against an infinite King carries infinite weight.

Sin is not merely wrong — it is ruinous. It corrupts the mind (Romans 1:21–22), enslaves the will (John 8:34), blinds the heart (2 Corinthians 4:4), fractures relationships (James 4:1–2), and brings death (Romans 6:23). Sin is not a harmless flaw; it is a terminal disease. It is the anti‑God force in the universe, the root of every sorrow, every injustice, every death. If God is good, He must deal with sin. If God is just, He must judge sin. If God is holy, He must oppose sin. Hell is not an overreaction; it is the necessary response of a holy God to the horror of sin.

There is another dimension we rarely consider: sin is eternal in its direction. Sin is not only an act; it is a trajectory — a movement away from God. Those who reject God in this life are not neutral; they are moving, willingly, toward a future without Him. Scripture says that people “refused to love the truth” (2 Thessalonians 2:10), “did not see fit to acknowledge God” (Romans 1:28), and “loved darkness rather than light” (John 3:19). Sin is not temporary. Sin is not self‑correcting. Sin is not finite in its direction. Left to itself, sin never repents, never turns back, never seeks God. Left to itself, sin continues forever. Eternal rebellion receives eternal consequence.

And yet, the seriousness of sin magnifies the grace of God. If sin is this deep, this pervasive, this ruinous, then salvation is that much more astonishing. God makes the dead alive (Ephesians 2:4–5). He gives rebels new hearts (Ezekiel 36:26). He justifies the ungodly (Romans 4:5). He adopts His enemies as sons (Galatians 4:4–7). The more we understand sin, the more we marvel at grace. The more we grasp our guilt, the more we rejoice in the cross. The more we see the justice of hell, the more we treasure the mercy of heaven.

Our emotional objection to hell often reveals a theological misunderstanding of sin. We think sin is small, so eternal punishment seems unjust. But Scripture shows us that sin is against an infinite God, rooted in a corrupt nature, rebellion against divine authority, ruinous to creation, and eternal in its trajectory. When we see sin as Scripture sees it, Abraham’s question becomes our own anchor: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). Yes. And His justice is not the problem. Our view of sin is.

Consider Abraham

The whole question of hell — the biblical image of eternal torment for sin — is deeply problematic for a lot of people. Truth be told, the objection begins as emotional recoil, not logical reasoning. The idea of torment at all is disturbing, and eternal torment seems unbelievable and unacceptable. But the problem, of course, is that it’s biblical. It’s not a medieval invention crafted by religious extremists. Jesus Himself said it.

He spoke of “eternal punishment” (Matthew 25:46) and described a place where “their worm does not die, and the fire is not quenched” (Mark 9:47–48; cf. Isaiah 66:24). He said of the unpardonable sin that such a person will not be forgiven “in this age or the age to come” (Matthew 12:32). Paul referred to “eternal destruction” (2 Thessalonians 1:8–9). Revelation is explicit: “the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever” (Revelation 14:11), and the devil, the beast, and the false prophet are “tormented day and night forever and ever” (Revelation 20:10). That phrase “forever and ever” is the same phrase used for eternal life (cf. Revelation 22:5; John 3:16), which creates a serious problem for anyone who wants to make it mean “not eternal.” Scripture’s language is stubbornly consistent.

In thinking about this objection, Abraham came to mind.

When God came to Abraham and told him what He intended to do to Sodom and Gomorrah, He said, “Their sin is very grave” (Genesis 18:20). Abraham — compassionate, perceptive, and deeply concerned for justice — protested: “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” (Genesis 18:23). His concern was not sentimentality; it was justice. His protest was correct: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25).

Isn’t that our protest over hell? “That’s not fair! That’s not just! Eternal torment for our little sins is not a reasonable response.”

God’s response to Abraham is instructive. He did not rebuke Abraham for questioning. He affirmed the very principle Abraham appealed to: God will not punish the righteous with the wicked (cf. Psalm 7:11; Romans 2:5–11). If there were even ten righteous in the city, He would spare it (Genesis 18:26–32). God promised justice. No one would suffer wrongly.

You remember the outcome. God removed Lot and his family to safety (Genesis 19:15–17), and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah became legendary — the archetype of “fire and brimstone” (Genesis 19:24–28; Jude 7). And of the “righteous” people God saved, Lot’s wife looked back and was turned to salt (Genesis 19:26), and his daughters got him drunk and committed incest (Genesis 19:30–38). Scripture calls Lot “righteous” (2 Peter 2:7–8), but clearly not because of his moral performance. His righteousness was the result of God’s covenant mercy, not his own virtue (cf. Genesis 15:6; Romans 4:3–8).

This is precisely the point.

When we apply that story to the question of hell, we find ourselves standing where Abraham stood. We ask, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” And God answers the same way He answered Abraham: Yes. He will (Deuteronomy 32:4; Psalm 89:14).

If, then, God does punish some with eternal torment, we can be absolutely certain it is just. Our responsibility is not to reshape God into the image of our emotional preferences, but to reshape our understanding of justice to match His (Romans 9:14–23).

And perhaps the deeper issue is this: Our “little sins” are not little. They are not minor missteps or trivial moral blemishes. They are assaults on the infinite worth of the Most High God (Psalm 51:4). The seriousness of sin is measured not by the size of the act but by the dignity of the One sinned against (cf. Hebrews 10:29). A violation against the Eternal God carries an eternal weight (Romans 6:23).

So Abraham’s question becomes our anchor: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” Yes. And when His justice and our emotions collide, it is our emotions — not His justice — that must yield.

Hell's Objections - Part 2

Yesterday the naysayers had the floor. I offered a variety of objections that people have to the concept of eternal conscious torment (ECT) or hell for short. Now I'll offer some of the responses to the objections for you to consider.

Defenders of eternal conscious torment respond to the moral objection — that finite sins cannot deserve infinite punishment — by reframing the nature of sin itself. They argue that sin is not measured merely by the duration or finiteness of the act, but by the dignity of the One against whom it is committed. In this view, sin is fundamentally a rejection of the infinite God, a refusal of His rightful rule, and therefore carries an infinite moral weight. Just as an offense against a head of state carries greater consequences than the same offense against a neighbor, so sin against God is of a different order altogether. The punishment, then, is not disproportionate but fitting, because it corresponds to the gravity of the One offended.

To the objection that eternal torment contradicts God’s love, proponents of ECT argue that divine love and divine justice are not competing attributes but perfectly harmonious in God’s character. The God who is love is also the God who is holy, righteous, and just. They point out that Jesus Himself speaks more vividly and frequently about hell than any other biblical figure, suggesting that divine love does not negate the reality of judgment. Instead, God’s love is expressed in the offer of salvation through Christ; rejecting that offer has real and eternal consequences. In this framework, hell is not a blemish on God’s love but a necessary expression of His justice — a justice that refuses to trivialize evil or force reconciliation upon those who do not desire it.

The linguistic objection — that aionios (“eternal”) may not mean everlasting — is met with a straightforward exegetical response. Defenders note that in Matthew 25:46, the same word describes both “eternal life” and “eternal punishment.” If the punishment is temporary, then so must be the life. Moreover, the imagery of “unquenchable fire,” “undying worm,” and torment “day and night forever and ever” in Revelation is taken to indicate ongoing, conscious experience rather than annihilation. Even if some of the imagery is symbolic, they argue, symbols in apocalyptic literature typically point to realities more intense than the symbols themselves, not less.

The concern that eternal torment undermines moral agency is answered by emphasizing human freedom. According to this view, hell is not a place where God actively tortures people but the final confirmation of a person’s freely chosen trajectory. Those who reject God in this life continue in that rejection eternally; hell is self-exclusion from the presence of God. C.S. Lewis famously suggested the doors of hell are locked on the inside, capturing the idea that the damned persist in their rebellion rather than repent. Revelation’s depiction of the wicked continuing in unrighteousness even after judgment is often cited as evidence that the posture of rebellion is not extinguished but solidified.

Philosophical objections about finite beings committing infinite offenses are countered by returning to the nature of sin as a relational rupture with the infinite God. The issue is not the metaphysical capacity of the sinner but the moral seriousness of rejecting the One who is the source of life, goodness, and truth. Moreover, some defenders argue that the punishment is not infinite merely because of past sins but because the sinner continues in a state of rebellion. In this sense, the punishment corresponds to an ongoing reality rather than a single moment in time.

Historical objections — that eternal torment was not universally held in the early church — are met with the observation that while there was diversity of thought, the dominant and most consistently attested view across the centuries has been some form of eternal conscious punishment. The teachings of Jesus, the writings of Paul, and the imagery of Revelation all point in this direction, and the early creeds assume a final judgment that results in everlasting separation for the wicked. While some early theologians entertained universalist or annihilationist ideas, these were minority positions, and the mainstream tradition has consistently affirmed the eternal consequences of rejecting God.

Finally, pastoral objections about the emotional difficulty of heaven coexisting with eternal suffering are addressed by appealing to the transformation of human understanding in the age to come. Defenders argue that in the resurrection, the redeemed will see reality with perfect clarity, including the justice of God’s judgments. The tension we feel now arises from our limited perspective and imperfect moral vision. In the new creation, God’s righteousness will be fully revealed, and His judgments will be seen as true, good, and worthy of praise. The redeemed will not rejoice in suffering itself but in the vindication of God’s holiness and the final defeat of evil.

So ... there are some answers to objections. I've tried to make them as plain and straightforward as I can because emotions on both sides usually run pretty high and the higher the emotions, the less thoughtful we are. You can read it and decide for yourself. What you cannot do is say either, “There are no objections worth considering” or “There are no answers to those objections.”

Hell's Objections - Part 1

Scripture is not vague about the doctrine of hell ... what scholarly-types refer to as  "eternal conscious torment (ECT)". While, perhaps, the idea of "eternal fire" in a literal sense is a misunderstanding, replacing that with "no such thing at all" doesn't make it better. In fact, most of what we know about hell comes from Jesus. So it seems a done deal. Not too fast. There are objections from various places. So in this post, I'll highlight the objections without correction. In the next one, I'll offer answers.

ECT has faced sustained criticism from theologians, philosophers, and ordinary believers who struggle to reconcile it with the character of God and the nature of justice. One of the most common objections is moral in nature: it seems intuitively disproportionate that finite sins committed within the span of a human lifetime should merit infinite, unending suffering. Even in human legal systems, punishment is expected to be proportionate to the offense, and torture is universally condemned. Critics argue that if God is perfectly just, His justice should be at least as morally coherent as the best human systems, not less.

Closely related is the objection that eternal torment appears incompatible with the biblical portrayal of God as loving, compassionate, and “abounding in steadfast love.” The idea that God would sustain a person in conscious agony forever strikes many as inconsistent with the God who commands His people to love their enemies and who takes “no pleasure in the death of the wicked.” For these critics, eternal torment seems to depict God as vindictive rather than merciful, and they question whether such a portrayal aligns with the God revealed in Jesus Christ.

Another major objection concerns the biblical language itself. Some argue that the key term often translated as “eternal” (aionios) does not necessarily mean “everlasting” in a temporal sense, but can refer to something belonging to the age to come. If that is the case, then “eternal punishment” might refer to the quality or finality of the punishment rather than its duration. This opens the door to alternative interpretations such as annihilationism, which holds that the wicked ultimately cease to exist, or universalism, which sees divine judgment as ultimately restorative.

A further objection focuses on the nature of moral agency. If the damned continue to exist forever in a state of rebellion, then hell becomes an eternal cycle of sin and punishment with no possibility of repentance or transformation. Critics argue that this makes evil everlasting, which seems to contradict the biblical vision of a renewed creation in which God is “all in all.” Others point out that if repentance is impossible after death, then eternal torment serves no rehabilitative purpose and becomes pure retribution — a form of justice many find morally troubling.

Some objections are philosophical rather than strictly theological. For example, critics question whether finite creatures are even capable of committing an “infinite offense” that would justify infinite punishment. They argue that the idea of infinite guilt requires a metaphysical framework that is not clearly taught in Scripture and is difficult to defend logically. If humans are limited beings, then their moral failures, however serious, are also limited.

Historical objections also arise. While eternal torment has been the dominant view in much of Christian tradition, it was not the only view in the early church. Some early theologians leaned toward universal restoration, while others emphasized destruction rather than torment. Critics argue that the diversity of early Christian thought suggests that eternal torment was not universally assumed and may have been shaped by later theological and cultural developments.

Finally, many believers raise pastoral or emotional objections. They struggle to imagine experiencing eternal joy in heaven while knowing that loved ones — or anyone at all — are suffering endlessly. This raises questions about the nature of redeemed humanity: would the saved need to be indifferent to the suffering of others, or even approve of it, in order to enjoy heaven? For many, this emotional tension becomes a theological one, prompting them to reconsider whether eternal torment is compatible with the hope of a fully restored creation.

I Identify

We live in a world that thinks the phrase “I identify as …” shapes reality. But simply declaring an identity doesn’t make it true. And it’s not just “out there” ... “them.” All of us carry a distorted sense of who we are and assume it’s accurate. God’s Word, however, tells us something radically different about who we truly are in Christ.

We have identity issues centered around our wounds and insecurities ... who we are to God. We often feel defined by our past, but in Christ we are a new creation (2 Cor 5:17). Many feel unwanted or unseen; Scripture says we are God’s beloved children (Eph 5:1). We feel guilty or condemned, but God declares us righteous in Christ (Rom 5:19). Many feel spiritually orphaned or alone; God says we are adopted heirs (Rom 8:15–17). We may feel overlooked or insignificant; God says He chose us before the foundation of the world (Eph 1:4).

We have identity issues revolving around our purpose, calling, or position ... who we are in the world. We often feel too tied to earthly identity; Paul says our true citizenship is in heaven (Phil 3:20). We may feel purposeless or inadequate; Scripture says we are God’s crafted masterpiece (Eph 2:10). We often feel defeated; Paul says we overwhelmingly conquer through Christ (Rom 8:37). We feel weak or unworthy; God says His Spirit dwells in us (1 Cor 6:19). We feel spiritually unqualified; Scripture says we are a royal priesthood (1 Pet 2:9).

Scripture consistently overturns our standard human assumptions:

What We Assume	What God Says
I am what I’ve done.	You are what Christ has done.
I am what others think of me.	You are what God declares over you.
I am my failures.	You are God’s workmanship.
I am alone.	You are adopted.
I am stuck.	You are free.
I am insignificant.	You are chosen and sent.

The gospel doesn’t just forgive — it redefines who we are at the deepest level.

Malnourished Worship

Paul wrote, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God” (Col 3:16). He lists three categories of “Christian music”—psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. What’s the difference? Truthfully, the distinctions aren’t crystal clear, but it appears as if he is listing three theological categories. “Psalms” would be songs drawn directly from Scripture. “Hymns” would be songs, rich in theology, written by believers. And “spiritual songs” would be more testimonial, personal, expressive. Psalms, then, are about what God said, hymns about who He is, and spiritual songs about our spiritual response … loosely speaking. The categories overlap and interweave, and they counter heresy (“teaching and admonishing”) by anchoring us in His Word and clearly articulating His doctrines while making sure it doesn’t become dry or merely intellectual.

Think about that. Think about, say, “psalms” as “scripture-based.” That would include the classic The Lord's My Shepherd written in 1650, or the newer Getty version, Psalm 23. You know ... “Psalms.” But go farther. “From Scripture” would include The Christ Hymn directly from Philippians 2:5-11 or Oh, the Depth of God, right out of Romans 11:33-36. Or “hymns” might be like Reginald Heber’s enduring hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy, based on Revelation 4:8, but a celebration of the Trinity. Or the more modern, In Christ Alone, that declares plain biblical truth. (In 2013, the Presbyterian Church (USA)’s Committee on Congregational Song voted 9–6 to exclude the popular hymn from its new hymnal. The decision centered on a single line from the third stanza: “Till on that cross as Jesus died, The wrath of God was satisfied.”)

We have a rich heritage of Christian music for worship, “sanctioned” by Paul in both Colossians and Ephesians (Eph 5:19). Today, however, the first two categories—Scripture‑songs and doctrinal hymns—seem largely sidelined in favor of the “spiritual songs” category that focuses more on our personal feelings and experience. This category is also “sanctioned” by Paul, and I wouldn’t want to diminish it, but if we are commanded to teach and admonish through our music—if this three‑layer system is part of how we teach and admonish—then neglecting the Scriptural and doctrinal layers is unwise. There is a depth in those first two categories that is not always present in the experiential one. Perhaps this is why modern worship gravitates toward the experiential—we naturally resonate with songs that express our feelings. But Paul’s vision is broader. If “the word of Christ” in Colossians 3:16 refers to the words from Christ (Rom 10:17) and the message about Christ—the gospel as revealed in Scripture—and if “dwell in you richly” means that this message is to make its home among us, saturating and shaping the church’s shared life, then we need all three categories. Each plays a role in letting the word of Christ dwell richly in us.

News Weakly - 5/16/2026

No Fear of Peace
A 45-year-old Somali-born man in London stabbed a “friend” and two Jews in what is a rising war on Jews in London. Labeled a terrorist act, police are linking it to arson attacks on synagogues and rising antisemitic incidents. Apparently there’s no fear that peace might break out soon

No Love of Life
The Supreme Court stepped up and shot down the latest attempt of those who value life to slow the murder of babies in the womb. They preserved access to the abortion pills without a doctor’s visit. I’ve asked it before ... if a woman can’t kill her own baby, who can she kill? Come on, guys, get over your “right to life” notion. Canada is already on board with killing more than babies. Shouldn’t we be leaders in it?

Religion of Peace?
You probably thought Al Qaeda was dead. You’d be wrong. In Mali, they’re trying to take over the government there to impose their version of Sharia law. Because that’s what peaceful people do.

No Fear of Peace … Again
In Haiti, a new wave of gang violence has forced hundreds to flee their homes while gangs now hold 70% of the capital, Port-au-Prince. I suppose you could say it raises a reasonable question as to the “basic goodness of humanity.”

Your Best Source for Fake News
Trump’s visit to China got off to a bad start when he demanded to negotiate directly with General Tso. Another faux pas, I guess. The other faux pas was when Trump gifted President Xi with a pot of honey from the White House beehive. (You might need some background on that to get the joke. In China, “Winnie-the-Pooh” memes are censored.) In Los Angeles, it’s Karen Bass vs Spencer Pratt for mayor. The Democrats are accusing Pratt of not wanting to destroy California, and Bass has been endorsed by California Wildfires, so it looks like she’s a shoo-in. Too many pesky Californians are known for voting with their thumbs instead of their brains.

Must be true; I read it on the internet.

The Engineer that God Built

Come and listen to my story about a man named … Steve. (If you heard banjo music in your head, you’re my kind of reader.) I met him when I got out of the Air Force in the early ’90s. He was an engineer at the company that hired me; I was a technician. We became friends, and over time he told me his story.

Steve lost his dad young. Raised by his mother with a brother and sister, he was a teenager in the late ’60s—and acted like it. In high school he was arrested for marijuana. By good luck (read "Providence"), he ended up before a judge who had something better in mind than juvenile hall. Instead, Steve was sent to a Christian boys’ ranch.

There, surrounded by godly men with open hearts and steady hands, he learned in the forest and in the classroom. They taught him about the world and its Maker. Before he graduated, Steve professed faith. When he returned home, he met the love of his life—a good church girl who wasn’t supposed to fall for a bad boy but did anyway. They married, and suddenly Steve realized he was responsible for someone other than himself.

So, he went looking for work. He walked into a power-supply company and asked for a job. “What can you do?” they asked. “Whatever you want,” he said. They hired him to clean bathrooms. And he did. But he also paid attention. The owner noticed and trained him as an electronics assembler. Steve kept learning, kept asking questions, and eventually he was designing power supplies.

Another company hired him next—a spaceborne tape recorder manufacturer building machines for NASA and others. They brought him on as a test engineer but soon groomed him into a full-fledged electronics engineer. By the time I met him, he was designing advanced systems.

I started as a technician and eventually became a test engineer. He became a primary engineer, and I became his test engineer. We grew close, talking theology and life. When my wife left me, he invited me to his church, where they welcomed me with open arms. Steve introduced me to the woman who is now my wife—we’ve been married 33 years. Steve and his church girl have been married more than 50.

Steve eventually retired to a small town in Texas, surrounded by his wife, kids, and grandkids. But for years we worked side by side. We became elders together. We served, shared the gospel, laughed, and cried together. I was with him the day he held his first grandchild in the hospital. Our wives are still in touch.

Steve is one of those “men of God” who are simply a joy to watch. Not because he’s flashy or loud, but because he’s clearly a man God has shaped—hammered out of loss, hardship, and bad choices, and rebuilt into a faithful husband, father, and follower of Christ. He’s a living reminder of what God can do with a willing heart.

I’ll always appreciate Steve—for his friendship, his example, and the quiet testimony of a life transformed.

Learning to Tremble Before Love

“The fear of the Lord” is a well‑known biblical phrase. Scripture ties it to good judgment (2 Chron 19:9), wisdom (Job 28:28; Psa 111:10; Prov 9:10; Prov 15:33), knowledge (Prov 1:7; Prov 2:5), a hatred of evil (Prov 8:13; Prov 16:6), long life (Prov 10:27), confidence (Prov 14:26), and even riches, honor, and life (Prov 22:4). It is a delight to God’s people (Isa 11:3) and a treasure (Isa 33:6). Clearly, it is something profoundly good. But what is it?

Scripture uses the word “fear” in two distinct senses. One is the ordinary kind—dread, terror, the instinct to “cut and run.” The other is awe—but not the watered‑down modern version. Historically, “awe” meant “a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.” It includes reverence, yes, but also a sense of trembling before something overwhelmingly great. Biblical awe is not casual admiration; it is reverence shaped by God’s holiness.

John helps us sort out these categories. He writes, “Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God… There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment” (1 John 4:15–19). John is not eliminating all fear. He is eliminating one kind of fear: the fear of punishment. Those who remain under judgment rightly dread God. But those who abide in His love no longer fear condemnation. Perfect love drives out that fear.

What remains for the believer is not dread but awe—reverential trembling before God’s majesty. This fear is not rooted in the expectation of punishment but in the recognition of who God is: holy, sovereign, glorious. It is the fear that produces wisdom, obedience, and joy. It is the fear that treasures God rather than hides from Him.

So Scripture calls us to fear God in two different ways depending on our standing with Him.

• Those outside His love fear punishment.
• Those inside His love fear Him with awe.

And God’s perfect love does its work: it removes dread and produces love in us (1 John 4:19). The fear that remains is the kind that draws us nearer, not the kind that drives us away.

Making Sense of Forgiveness

Jesus said, “If you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matt 6:15). Instead of refusing to forgive, we’re supposed to forgive as God has forgiven us (Eph 4:32; Col 3:13). So … if we’re His followers, we are supposed to forgive. But … God doesn’t always forgive (e.g., John 3:36; Matt 12:31). He offers it universally (Acts 17:30; 1 Tim 2:4), but it is conditional (repentance and faith). How does that work?

As it turns out, forgiveness is trickier than we first thought. You see, as we discussed earlier, mercy and justice are … terms that don’t play well together. Justice “balances the books” and mercy withholds the just penalty due for … imbalanced books. The only way for mercy and justice to coexist is to have the “crime” paid for and then not apply to the “criminal” the penalty due. To us, mercy and justice feel opposed because we cannot satisfy justice ourselves. But in God, mercy and justice meet perfectly at the cross. Jesus paid it all, so He bore our penalty. God can apply mercy to us while still being just. But … what about us? When we forgive others their trespasses, where’s the justice? Are we simply refuting it? No. In Micah we read, “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does YHWH requires of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Mic 6:8). We aren’t supposed to ignore justice; we’re supposed to do it. So how does that work? Here’s how. We assign the justice to God and offer interpersonal mercy on our end. When we forgive someone, we don’t pardon their sin. We don’t have that capacity. Remember? Only God can forgive sin (Mark 2:7). So we say, “It’s not my place to pass condemnation on you.” We offer, “I have been guilty of similar things and I will treat you as I want to be treated.” We say, “I will let God carry out His own judgment” (Rom 12:19). So … when we forgive, we don’t do it by circumventing justice. We lay it on the “Judge of all the Earth” (Gen 18:25; Heb 12:23) to accomplish and offer temporal mercy. We are not suspending divine justice; we are suspending our right to retaliate.

We are commanded to forgive those who trespass against us, and I’m embarrassed about how bad we are at that. But sometimes we seem to think that God is supposed to forgive like we are … on command without regard for justice. He is not. Neither are we. Justice is essential. It’s just that we aren’t actually qualified to know justice perfectly, so we lay it in His perfectly just hands and let Him handle it. We forgive because God is just, not in spite of His justice.

God on Trial

Scripture is not shy about presenting an angry God who hates sin and punishes evil (e.g., Exo 32:10; Deut 6:15; Psa 7:11; Nahum 1:2; Isa 13:9; Prov 6:16-19; Mark 3:5; John 2:15-17; Rom 1:18; Rom 2:6). The ultimate punishment, biblically, is eternal with descriptions of “fire” and “torment” that, likely, are used because the reality of this punishment exceeds human comprehension. Therefore, it is claimed, any such “God” cannot be regarded as “good” and anyone who holds to such a claim is blaspheming the truly good god who … you know … isn’t actually pulled from Scripture, but from other sources. It’s a serious charge—against the God who breathed Scripture and those who believe Him—and it deserves a serious answer.

This doctrine is emotionally difficult, but Scripture never treats it lightly. The easiest answer to the accusation takes place in the pages of Scripture itself. Paul is describing how God shows grace and mercy to whomever He chooses (Rom 9:6-18) where he claims, “So then He has mercy on whomever He wills, and He hardens whomever He wills” (Rom 9:18). I’m sorry, but that plays right into the accusation we’re looking at. But Paul addresses that accusation directly. “What shall we say then? Is there injustice on God's part? By no means!” (Rom 9:14). There is no injustice with God.

We’re not left to Paul as our sole source of thinking here. Scripture gives the foundation; theologians across centuries have clarified its implications. R.C. Sproul points out that the real scandal isn't that God sends people to hell for their sin, but that He allows any sinner into heaven at all (à la Rom 9:22). Sproul writes, "The question is not why God punishes sinners, but why He doesn’t punish us all immediately." C.S. Lewis argues that God doesn't force anyone into heaven. He famously held that "the doors of hell are locked on the inside." Because people choose hell. Major theologians like John Stott, J.I. Packer, and the bulk of classical Protestants argue that God delays judgment to allow repentance (2 Peter 3:9) and offers salvation to all. Packer argues that hell isn't cruelty; it's God taking evil seriously. Earlier theologians like Augustine, Aquinas, and Calvin insist that humans are not morally neutral and that the accusation against God is a misunderstanding of the scale of human sin. Sin is not a misstep or a moral accident; it is a deep corruption of the will. Aquinas argues that if God is obligated to give grace ... it's not grace. Calvin holds that God's justice demands punishment and hell shows what Christ endured for His people. His thinking is "If hell is unjust, then the cross is unnecessary." Theologians from Jonathan Edwards through Tim Keller reason this way. "Without hell, God’s justice is trivial. Without mercy, God’s love is absent. The cross is where justice and mercy meet." To them, if you don't believe in hell, you don't understand the depths of God's love. Across almost all traditions, the position is "God is not unjust for condemning sinners; He is astonishingly kind for saving any. Hell is not a blemish on God’s character; it is the unavoidable expression of a moral universe governed by a holy God."

This notion of judgment and separation from God is neither modern nor peripheral. It’s central. It started in the Garden of Eden at the Fall. It continued throughout human history. It explains a holy God, the moral outrage of sin, the absolute necessity for justice and for a Savior, and the reason God loved the world by sending His Son to die for those who believe. “Justice” is that which is right and if Scripture is right and hell is real, justice explains that our sin is proportional to eternal punishment because the violation of a holy God demands it. Eternal punishment preserves the seriousness of God's holiness, the meaningfulness of human moral agency, God's moral structure of the universe, the meaning of the cross, the substance of grace as unmerited favor, and the moral weight of rejecting God. Without it, God’s holiness is diminished, human sin is trivialized, the cross is emptied, grace is cheapened, and justice is denied.

Differences in Perspective

In Romans 3, Paul sums up his argument about God’s wrath being righteously displayed against Man’s sin. He told us how bad it is and who is responsible and finally, tells us his summary. But it’s hard to read. It’s so … harsh … and sweeping … and absolute. I’ve compiled an explanation of the various views of Romans 3:10-12 to illustrate how hard it is to read … and to give you an option to find out which is closest to the actual text.

Different theological traditions approach Romans 3:10-12 with distinct assumptions about human nature, grace, and the meaning of righteousness, yet all of them must grapple with Paul’s uncompromising language. The Reformed or Augustinian tradition tends to align most directly with the text’s own rhetorical force. It reads Paul’s statements—“none righteous,” “none who seeks God”—as literal descriptions of humanity’s condition before God, not as exaggerations. In this view, Paul is making a legal argument: no one meets God’s standard of righteousness, and therefore all stand condemned apart from grace. This interpretation fits tightly with Paul’s courtroom logic in Romans 1-3, where the goal is to silence every mouth and demonstrate universal guilt. The Reformed reading does not deny that people can do outwardly good things; it simply insists that such acts do not constitute God‑pleasing righteousness. In terms of fidelity to Paul’s argument, this tradition sits closest to the text’s own contours.

Roman Catholic theology shares much of this assessment but frames it differently. Catholics agree that Paul is describing humanity apart from grace and that no one can justify themselves. However, they resist the idea of total depravity and maintain that humans retain the capacity for natural virtue and cooperation with grace. Their reading of Romans 3:10-12 emphasizes that Paul is describing the inability of fallen humanity to achieve salvific righteousness, not denying the possibility of morally good actions. This interpretation remains broadly faithful to Paul’s argument, though it tends to soften the radical edge of Paul’s “no one seeks God” language by emphasizing the role of grace in restoring human ability.

Arminian or Wesleyan interpreters also affirm the universality of sin that Paul describes, but they introduce the concept of prevenient grace—God’s universal enabling grace that restores the ability to respond to Him. In this framework, Romans 3:10-12 describes humanity strictly “as fallen,” not humanity as it exists under prevenient grace. Arminians take Paul’s absolutes seriously, but they add a theological mechanism that is not explicit in the text itself. Their reading remains close to Paul’s intent in describing universal guilt, though it overlays the passage with a broader theological system.

Eastern Orthodox interpreters approach the passage from a different angle. They tend to read Paul’s statements less as legal declarations of guilt and more as descriptions of humanity’s corruption and mortality. Sin is understood primarily as a disease rather than a legal offense. As a result, “none righteous” becomes a statement about humanity’s brokenness rather than its forensic standing before God. While this captures an important biblical theme, it does not fully match Paul’s judicial tone in Romans 3, where the emphasis is on accountability, judgment, and the inability of the Law to justify. The Orthodox reading is therefore somewhat less aligned with the specific argumentative structure Paul is using here.

Modern liberal or critical interpretations often treat Paul’s language as rhetorical hyperbole—a sweeping generalization meant to emphasize widespread human sinfulness rather than literal universality. This approach tends to struggle most with the text itself. Paul is not merely making a moral observation; he is quoting Scripture as legal evidence in a carefully constructed argument. His conclusion that “every mouth” is stopped and the “whole world” held accountable depends on the absoluteness of the statements. Treating the language as exaggeration undermines the logic of the passage and does not fit well with Paul’s use of the Old Testament citations.

In sum, the traditions that adhere most closely to the text’s own structure and purpose—Reformed, Arminian, and Roman Catholic—take Paul’s universal language seriously and preserve the forensic thrust of his argument. Traditions that read the passage primarily through therapeutic or rhetorical lenses tend to drift farther from Paul’s explicit intent. Romans 3:10-12 is meant to function as the decisive proof that all humanity stands guilty before God, and the interpretations that honor that function align most faithfully with the text.

Mother's Day, 2026

Proverbs 31 contains the classic “Excellent Wife” passage, describing what Scripture considers a good wife (Prov 31:10-31). She’s not, frankly, what anybody expected. Oh, sure, lots of her characteristics are expected, but when it describes her providing food and buying fields (Prov 31:16), there is a segment of us that cringe. You know—“A woman’s place is in the home.” Apparently not always the case. When it says she provides “portions for her maidens” (Prov 31:15), it can be jarring for some … the lady of the house feeding the servants. The image isn’t of a quiet slip of a girl, but a strong woman (Prov 31:17) selling merchandise (Prov 31:18) and standing against the elements (Prov 31:21). She doesn’t weaken her husband with her strength (Prov 31:23) and teaches others (Prov 31:26). Not quite the “model woman” in everyone’s mind, but she is in God's mind.

It’s Mother’s Day and I find myself drawn today to the climax of this particular text.

Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.” Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears YHWH is to be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates. (Prov 31:28-31)

I know mothers like that. I have a mother like that. My wife has been a mother like that. Their children rise up and “call her blessed.” These women fear the Lord. They “surpass them all”. I’m particularly interested in the part that says, “A woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” because the women I know like that are humble and would be embarrassed. But it’s God who says they should be, so, today, I stand up with others to give the proper praise to the women of this world who are mothers, serving their husbands and children and those around them, with strength and diligence and dignity. For them I say also, “Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates” ... especially today.

News Weakly - 5/9/2026

The Strange Tale of the Ended War
Last week we were told the war in Iran was over. This week we've seen renewed clashes with Iran. Ships and oil ports are hit. Fighting continues. We were told the war had ended. "You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means."

Culture of Death
A 17-year-old has been charged in the fatal stabbing of a 39-year-old man from Massachusetts in Time Square. The motive? The man stopped him from jumping turnstiles at the subway, a testament to our current "culture of death."

Culture of Death?
Yes ... a culture of death. We cry out against Israel defending themselves against the Palestinians and against Trump moving on Iran ... then we cry out against the court that limited access to abortion pills for the sake of medical safety and the Supreme Court restores access. Because if women can't kill their babies at will, who can they kill?

News of Importance
Then there's this critical news item. A horse named Golden Tempo won the Kentucky Derby this week. Now, that is "news you can use" ... right?

Your Best Source for Fake News
A judge unsealed Epstein's suicide note from 2019 (actual story). Apparently it was written on Hillary Clinton's personal stationery? Is it weird that that makes some sense? A Dutch cruise ship is quarantined off the coast of Cape Verde in the Atlantic after three people have died of the hantavirus on board (actual story). Fauci has reported it as "amazing results" in "gain-of-function research" on a "cruise ship laboratory." He's pretty excited about it. Finally, California Governor Gavin Newsom is threatening to send more Californians to the rest of the nation if we don't give in to his demands. It's been a successful strategy so far, sending Californians to Red States to alter their voting results. Watch out, America. Then ... a bonus story. News has leaked out that the makers of the series, The Chosen, are going to pull a fast one this next season by killing off their main character and having him be resurrected. Come on, guys.

Must be true; I read it on the internet.

How the Early Church Fathers Read "None Good"

One of the most difficult texts to read in all of Scripture seems to be Romans 3:12 where Paul writes (quoting the Psalms), “No one does good, not even one.” “Of course there are good people," we all want to counter. "Just open your eyes. Even bad people do good things.” We even contend that humans are “basically good” in direct opposition to this text. But the text isn’t ambiguous. So I ask myself, “How did the early church fathers interpret this text?”

The early church fathers read “There is none good; no, not one” with remarkable unanimity and seriousness. They did not treat Paul’s words as exaggeration, nor did they soften them into general moral observations. Instead, they understood the phrase as a literal description of humanity’s condition apart from God’s grace. What varies among them is not whether the statement is true of all people, but how they explain the depth and cause of that universal condition.

Origen (early 3rd century) interprets the phrase as a theological diagnosis of humanity “in Adam.” For him, Paul is not denying that people can perform outwardly virtuous acts; rather, he is saying that no one possesses the kind of goodness that counts as righteousness before God. Origen emphasizes that even the most virtuous pagan philosophers fall short of divine goodness because their virtue is not rooted in the knowledge of the true God. Thus, “none good” means “none good in the way God defines goodness.” Righteousness must be given, not achieved.

John Chrysostom (late 4th century), the great preacher of Antioch and Constantinople, takes Paul’s words as a deliberate leveling of all humanity. In his homilies on Romans, he stresses that Paul’s purpose is to “cut off all boasting” by showing that no one, Jew or Gentile, has any natural claim to righteousness. Chrysostom interprets “none good” as referring to the inward disposition of the heart rather than outward deeds. People may appear good, he says, but no one naturally seeks God or fulfills His will without divine help. Chrysostom’s reading is pastoral and moral, but it is also uncompromising: the human heart is bent away from God unless God intervenes.

Ambrosiaster (4th century), whose commentary on Romans was widely read in the West, interprets the phrase in a way that anticipates Augustine. He argues that Paul is describing the universal corruption inherited from Adam. For Ambrosiaster, “none good” means that all people are born with a nature inclined toward sin, and therefore no one can claim goodness before God. He does not deny that believers can become righteous through grace, but he insists that no one begins in that state. His interpretation is one of the clearest early articulations of what would later be called original sin.

Augustine (late 4th-early 5th century) takes the fathers’ consensus and systematizes it. For him, Romans 3:10-12 is a foundational text proving that humanity is universally sinful and incapable of doing good without grace. Augustine repeatedly cites “none good” in his debates with Pelagius, arguing that if even one person could be good without grace, Paul’s argument would collapse. Augustine reads the phrase as absolute: no one, apart from God’s regenerating work, does good in the sense that God requires. His interpretation is the most rigorous, but it is not a departure from earlier fathers—it is a sharpening of what they already affirmed.

Even fathers who emphasize human freedom, such as Justin Martyr or Clement of Alexandria, still acknowledge that Paul’s statement describes humanity’s natural state apart from divine aid. They do not interpret “none good” as referring only to particularly wicked individuals. Instead, they see it as a universal truth about fallen humanity: goodness, in the full biblical sense, is impossible without God.

In short: The early church fathers consistently interpret “There is none good; no, not one” as a literal, universal statement about humanity’s condition apart from grace. They differ in how they explain the mechanics of sin and grace, but they agree that Paul means exactly what he says. No father treats the phrase as hyperbole, and none restrict it to a subset of humanity. For them, Paul is describing the spiritual reality of the human race in Adam—a reality that only God’s grace can overcome.

One of Those Sticky Texts

Paul’s statements in Romans 3:10-12 sound stark because they are meant to be. He is not making an off‑hand remark about human behavior but delivering the climax of a carefully constructed courtroom argument that began in 1:18. After demonstrating that Gentiles are guilty (Rom 1:18-32), that moralists are guilty (Rom 2:1-16), and that Jews—despite possessing the Law—are also guilty (Rom 2:17-29), Paul raises the decisive question: “Are we Jews any better off?” His answer is an unqualified no. All humanity, without exception, stands “under sin.” To prove this, he cites Israel’s own Scriptures, especially Psalm 14 and Psalm 53, not as poetry to be admired but as legal testimony establishing universal guilt before God.

When Paul quotes, “There is none righteous, no, not one,” he is not describing human psychology or claiming that people are incapable of kindness, justice, or admirable behavior. His point is more precise: no one meets God’s standard of righteousness. The issue is not whether humans can do relatively good things in society but whether anyone, by nature, does the kind of good that satisfies God’s holy requirements. In that sense, Paul’s language must be absolute. If even one person could be righteous on their own, the entire argument of Romans 1-3 would collapse, and the necessity of the gospel would be undermined. Paul’s purpose is to show that the gospel is not a luxury for the especially sinful but a universal necessity for all.

The Old Testament context reinforces this reading. Psalm 14, which Paul quotes, describes humanity in its natural state—apart from God’s saving work—as turned away, corrupt, and not seeking God. Yet the same Psalm acknowledges that God has a people, “the generation of the righteous.” This means the Psalmist is not denying the existence of believers but describing humanity as humanity, left to itself. Paul uses the text in exactly that way. He is not denying that people can perform civil or moral good; he is asserting that no one, apart from grace, does God‑oriented, God‑pleasing righteousness. That is why he concludes the section by saying the Law’s purpose is to “silence every mouth” and make the whole world accountable to God.

In short, there is nothing in the text that suggests Paul intends his words in Romans 3:10-12 to be taken in a softer or more qualified sense. He means them exactly as they stand—but what he means is about righteousness before God, not about whether humans are capable of outwardly good actions. His goal is to bring every person, without exception, to the recognition that they cannot justify themselves and therefore must look to the righteousness God provides in Christ.

The Magnificent Kindness of God

What a wonderful text!

Do you think lightly of the riches of His kindness and tolerance and patience, not knowing that the kindness of God leads you to repentance? (Rom 2:4)

We live in a culture that worships “nonjudgmentalism” and “tolerance” and “inclusivity” (all while judging, not tolerating, and excluding those who aren’t up to our standards of those things). So we love this “prooftext.” “See?” we say. “It’s not His wrath or judgment or any such thing that leads to repentance. It’s His kindness that makes people want to repent.” Right there in the Bible. But is that really what it’s saying? Before we can answer that question, we need to notice where Paul starts his entire discussion. The thought begins in the first chapter of Romans, where Paul says he’s not ashamed of the gospel because it puts God’s righteousness on display (Rom 1:16–17). And strikingly, the very first way Paul shows God’s righteousness is not through kindness but through wrath (Rom 1:18). So if it’s His kindness that leads us to repentance, what’s Paul doing? In the flow of thought, Paul lays out the sin decay of the human race (Rom 1:18–32). But Paul refuses to let his audience treat chapter 1 as a spectator sport. In chapter 2 he turns to the reader and says, essentially, “If you can see it, you’re guilty of it” (Rom 2:1–2). At this point Paul isn’t talking about kindness at all — he’s talking about guilt.

So what does Paul mean when he says that “the kindness of God leads you to repentance”? Only after establishing universal guilt does Paul explain what he means by “kindness.” He explains that God’s judgment “rightly falls on those who practice such things” (Rom 2:2) … and yet, we aren’t immediately judged. Paul refers to God’s “forbearance” (Rom 2:4). That is the kindness the verse refers to. Paul’s verb, ἄγει (“leads”), does not describe internal motivation but external opportunity. Once we understand “kindness” as forbearance, the whole passage snaps into focus.

If God did not practice forbearance for sin, we would all perish — and rightly so. Instead, He practices “kindness and tolerance and patience” — justice delayed. It is this kindness that gives us room to repent. It’s this kindness that leads us to repentance. This kindness isn’t what causes us to repent; it’s what gives us the opportunity at all. Remember, the topic is how the gospel puts God’s righteousness on display. He’s righteously angry at sin. We’ve righteously earned His wrath. He would be completely right in judging us immediately, but He is right to show forbearance and kindness, and that displays His grace and mercy — His further righteousness. It’s not about how God, being nice, is what makes us want to repent. Scripture certainly speaks elsewhere of God’s kindness softening the heart, but that is not Paul’s point in Romans 2. It’s about God’s righteousness giving us the opportunity to repent. That’s the kindness in view, and it is a magnificent kindness. Not kindness as sentiment, but kindness as suspended judgment. Not kindness that makes repentance easy, but kindness that makes repentance possible.

Not Just a Fun Story

I loved that story in Mark about the healing of the paralytic. You remember that one. Jesus came home to Capernaum and started teaching the word (Mark 2:1-2). Interesting. Not “the gospel.” Not “healing.” He was “preaching the word to them.” Okay, so some people brought their paralyzed friend in to get healed by Jesus, but they were stopped. There was apparently a crowd (Mark 2:4). What do we know of this crowd? Well, the King James Version makes it clear. The media types were there. You know, the Jerusalem Chronicle and the Nazareth Tribune and the Capernaum Courier … like that. How do we know? The KJV says, “And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press …” (Mark 2:4). See? Okay, maybe not. So they took their ward up on the roof, dug a hole, and dropped him down in front of Jesus.

Imagine that. Jesus is doing what Jesus was supposed to do—being about His Father’s business, preaching the word. Then the ceiling gets ripped out and a sick guy drops out of the sky. The text says something very interesting. It says, “When Jesus saw their faith,” He responded (Mark 2:5). Not his faith; the faith of his friends. And He healed him … right? Well … yes and no. Jesus’s first concern was, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” You can hear His disciples hissing and warning Him not to … but … Jesus healed the man’s spiritual condition by forgiving sin … which can only be done by “God alone” (Mark 2:7). Jesus doesn’t hesitate. He knows what they’re thinking and says, “Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins …” and then told the man to take up his bed and walk (Mark 2:9-11). You understand how that works, right? Saying, “Your sins are forgiven” and “Pick up your bed and walk” are both outlandish ideas, but only one is verifiable. So He did both to prove that He could do the unverifiable. Well, the man walked and Jesus made His first big claim to be God while confirming He was a man (to the great dismay of the Jehovah’s Witnesses and other Arians). And the crowd was amazed and glorified God (Mark 2:12).

What’s the “take home” on this? I see a few. First, Jesus considered preaching the word to be His primary mission. Not healing or feeding the poor or any of that. Second, faith does not have to be complete to be “enough.” Jesus healed the paralytic on the basis of the faith of his friends. Third, Jesus had no hesitation claiming to be God in flesh. Neither should we. Finally, Jesus practiced what He preached (Matt 5:16). So should we.