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Prologue

Words Are All We Have

Before I tell you why the words in this book matter, I need to tell you why they matter to me. I spent much of my early adult life as an atheist who called God "Xerxes the space ruler" and laughed at anyone who believed in Heaven. How I got from there to writing a 300-page book about eternal life is a story I will tell you in the Introduction. But first, we need to talk about words -- because words are the only tools we have, and someone is trying to take them away from you.

Of all the ways God could have introduced Himself, He chose this one.

Not "In the beginning was the Mystery." Not "In the beginning was the Experience." Not "In the beginning was the Feeling." Not "In the beginning was the Ritual."

The Word.

God identified Himself with language. With meaning. With communication. That is not accidental. It tells you everything you need to know about how God operates: He speaks, and He means what He says.

This book is about words. Specifically, it is about the words God used to tell the human race how to have eternal life. And before we examine a single denomination, before we audit a single theological system, before we open a single debate about baptism or works or perseverance, we need to establish the one thing that makes all of it possible.

Words mean things.

Words Built Everything

Words ended slavery. Words declared independence. Words convicted the guilty and freed the innocent. Words sent men to the moon and brought them home. Every treaty ever signed, every constitution ever ratified, every marriage vow ever spoken, every last will and testament ever filed -- all of them depend on one simple assumption: that words mean what they say.

Remove that assumption, and civilization collapses overnight.

Every single day, you trust words to mean what they plainly state:

A medicine bottle says: "Take 2 pills every 8 hours." You do not say, "Well, that is unclear. Maybe it means 20 pills."

A traffic sign says: "STOP." You do not say, "That is just one interpretation. Maybe it means slow down."

If words do not mean what they plainly say, courts cannot function. Doctors cannot prescribe. Teachers cannot teach. Parents cannot instruct their children. Nothing works.

And yet, when we open the Bible and read the clearest, simplest statement Jesus ever made about eternal life -- "Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes has eternal life" (John 6:47) -- suddenly, an entire industry of theologians, commentators, and church leaders appears to explain why those words do not really mean what they clearly say.

"Believes" does not really mean believes, they tell us. It means "truly commits your whole life." "Has" does not really mean has right now. It means "will have if you persevere." "Eternal" does not really mean eternal. It means "eternal unless you forfeit it through serious sin."

They would never accept this treatment of words anywhere else in their lives. But they accept it -- and even insist on it -- when it comes to the most important words ever spoken.

This book refuses to play that game.

The Stakes Demand Clarity

We are talking about eternal destiny. Heaven or hell. Forever.

If God wanted to communicate how to be saved, would He hide it in complex, ambiguous language that requires a seminary degree to decode? Would He make it so unclear that honest, seeking people cannot figure it out?

Or would He make it crystal clear -- so clear that a child can understand it, a dying man can act on it, and anyone in any language can grasp it?

"Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes has eternal life." (John 6:47)

Clear. Simple. Direct. Words that mean what they say.

God called Himself "the Word." He chose language. He chose clarity. He chose to communicate.

This book takes Him at His word.

Now, with that foundation firmly in place, let me tell you how I got here -- because I did not start out believing any of this. I started out as an atheist who called God "Xerxes the space ruler" and laughed at anyone who believed in Heaven.

Turn the page for the Introduction, and I will tell you the story.

Introduction

The Maze Has an Exit

The Atheist

I spent much of my early adult life as an atheist. God was a fairy tale for people who couldn't face reality, religion was a crutch for the weak-minded, Heaven was wishful thinking invented by humans who couldn't accept their own mortality, and Hell was invented to scare people into behaving well and giving money to "the church." I had it all figured out.

My father, a salesman who found sobriety and Jesus through Alcoholics Anonymous, tried to sell me on salvation every time we were together. I wasn't buying it. In an effort to get him to talk about something else, I would mockingly call God "Xerxes the space ruler" and laugh at the gospel he so desperately wanted me to hear. My life was a highlight reel of sins, and I didn't care. There were no consequences. There was no God. There was no judgment.

Then my daughter was born.

I remember holding her in the hospital, this impossibly small person with fingers like tiny works of art, and something cracked inside me. Emotionally yes -- but more philosophically. As I looked at her, I knew: there has to be a God. There is no way she could emerge as perfect as she was and chalk it up to primordial goo struck by lightning. I couldn't shake a question that had never troubled me before: What if I'm wrong? What if I'm wrong about ALL of it?

In that moment, my atheism shattered. But this realization brought no comfort -- only terror.

The stakes of being wrong were massive. If the atheists are right, then death is simply the end. Game over. Nothing goes on. It's sad but final. Very final. But if the Christians are right -- if there really is a Heaven and a Hell, if eternity hangs in the balance -- then I had been playing Russian roulette with the only thing that actually matters: my eternal destination.

And my spiritual rap sheet was long. I had lived a hedonistic lifestyle without a thought for God. I had mocked my father's faith. I had called God "Xerxes." I was certain my past actions, especially my mockery, had disqualified me forever.

I knew I was not good enough to go to Heaven. How would I ever stop sinning enough to get in?

The Maze

Flip through Christian radio stations on any given Sunday, and you'll hear a dozen different answers to the most important question in the universe.

One preacher says, "Just believe in Jesus -- that's all it takes." The next says, "Faith without works is dead -- you must prove your faith through obedience." Another insists, "You must be baptized or you cannot be saved." Yet another warns, "If you don't persevere to the end, you were never truly saved at all."

They all quote the Bible. They all claim to teach "the Gospel." They all seem sincere. But they're teaching different gospels.

I found myself drowning in theological noise. The Catholics said you need sacraments and couldn't be certain of salvation until after death. The Calvinists said God has already chosen who will be saved, and no one can know for sure if they're on the list. The Jehovah's Witnesses said Heaven is closed to almost everyone. The Mormons said you need temple ordinances and celestial marriage.

Every denomination added something to "believe in Jesus." Faith plus baptism. Faith plus works. Faith plus perseverance. Faith plus commitment. Faith plus obedience. Faith plus church membership. Faith plus sacraments.

The maze had a thousand corridors, and each one claimed to be the only exit to everlasting life in Heaven.