In today's world, it's easy to feel like the ground beneath us is crumbling—both morally and materially. Wars rage on, natural disasters strike without warning, and diseases seem to sweep through entire populations with ruthless efficiency. One can't help but ask, "Where is God in all this?" It's a question that echoes through the ages, but the Bible, as always, provides the answer.
Our world was not always this way. It was once perfect, sinless, a pristine creation that reflected the glory of its Creator. But then came the fall—Adam and Eve handed the keys of the earth over to Satan (Luke 4:6), and with that act, sin entered the world, bringing death in its wake (Rom 5:12). And not just death, but a cascade of corruption that has tainted everything: violence, famine, disease—it's all part of the fallout (Rev 8:6).
Yet, even in this tragedy, God had a plan—a divine narrative of redemption that began with the promise of a Savior (Gen 3:15). But before the final act could unfold, God provided a temporary solution, a system of sacrifices where the blood of the innocent would cover the guilt of the sinner (Gen 3:21). This system was a shadow, a precursor to something far greater. It was never meant to be permanent because, as Hebrews tells us, the blood of bulls and goats could never fully take away sin (Heb 10:4).
Then, at the appointed time, God sent His Son, the Christus Victor, to crush the head of the serpent once and for all (John 3:16). But what does Christus Victor mean, and where does this idea come from?
Christus Victor: Contextualizing the Triumph
The term Christus Victor is Latin for "Christ the Victor" and refers to a specific understanding of Jesus’ work on the cross. This concept was first articulated in early Christian theology and later became a central theme in the writings of theologians like Gustaf Aulén in the 20th century. The doctrine emphasizes Christ’s victory over the powers of evil—sin, death, and the devil—through His crucifixion and resurrection. It portrays the atonement not just as a legal transaction or a moral example but as a cosmic battle in which Jesus triumphs over the forces that have held humanity captive since the fall.
This victory, however, is not merely an abstract concept; it is powerfully testified to by the Spirit of the Lord, who continues to confirm the message of the resurrection with signs following (Mark 16:20). For those who believe in His Name, these signs are not limited to physical miracles, though they certainly include them. The Spirit breathes life into the proclamation of the gospel, empowering evangelistic ministry with the very "muscle" of heaven. These signs serve as divine endorsements of the truth of the resurrection, providing tangible evidence that Christ indeed reigns victorious.
Yet, there is another miracle, perhaps even more profound, that accompanies the proclamation of this victory: the miracle of love, compassion, and mercy that believers "bleed out" for their enemies. This, too, is the work of the Spirit—the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead now enables His followers to embody the very heart of God. In a world hardened by sin, the selfless love that flows from the Spirit's indwelling is a miracle that speaks volumes, a living testimony to the transformative power of the resurrection.
But this victory isn't just spiritual; it's practical. It addresses the here and now as much as the hereafter. Today, we find ourselves in a society that has become all too comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that the hope of heaven has been eclipsed by the pursuit of health, wealth, and happiness. These pursuits, while valid, have come to dominate our thoughts, even within the church. The result? Heaven is preached as if it's already here on earth, and hell... well, hell has become something of a taboo subject.
The problem is that in our rush to make Christianity palatable, we've stripped it of its power. We've preached a gospel of comfort without the necessary discomfort of conviction. We've talked about grace but forgotten about truth. The cross of Christ has become an offense, not because it's preached, but because it's avoided.
Yet, if we are to believe in Jesus, we must believe in all He taught, and He taught more about hell than anyone else in the Bible. Hell is real, just as heaven is real, and both are critical to the Christian faith. They form the backdrop of Jesus' ministry and should be central to ours. If we fail to preach the full gospel—the good news that brings life and the bad news that makes the good news necessary—we fail to preach Christ at all.
Our world is in desperate need of the gospel—of the real Jesus, not the sanitized, culturally acceptable version we've sometimes tried to present. The quest for the historical Jesus, much like the quest for the historical dinosaur, often ends up being more about the interpreter's imagination than about actual fact. We've seen it time and again: scholars, driven by their presuppositions, paint pictures of Jesus that fit their own agendas, much like paleontologists imagining feathered dinosaurs. But the truth of Jesus is not found in our creative interpretations; it's found in the Word of God.
And that Word, dear reader, is a book of miracles. It's a book that defies naturalistic explanations and demands supernatural recognition. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the crux of Christianity, the event on which our entire faith hinges. And it is the Spirit of the Lord who testifies to this truth, confirming the message with signs that follow, and with the miraculous outpouring of love and mercy from those who have been transformed by it. If we deny this, we deny everything. If we accept it, we are called to live it.
So, do all religions lead to God? It's a question that looms large in our post-modern society, where moral relativism has become the "objective" rule. The answer, if we're honest and if we're Christian, is no. Christianity makes exclusive claims about truth, about salvation, and about God Himself. Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6). It's a claim that can't be reconciled with pluralism or inclusivism. Either Jesus is who He says He is, or He is not. There is no middle ground.
In the end, the divine narrative is one of redemption, of victory, and of truth. It's a story that has been unfolding since the beginning of time and will continue until its triumphant conclusion. And we, as believers, are part of that story. We are called to live out the reality of the gospel in a world that desperately needs to hear it, to see it, and to experience it.
So let's not shy away from the hard truths. Let's preach the whole counsel of God, not just the parts that make us or others comfortable. Let's engage with the world around us, not by conforming to its ways, but by transforming it through the power of the gospel. Because in the end, it's not about making life easier; it's about making life meaningful—both now and for eternity.