Could this be the gospel?

Across the world's sacred writings and mythologies, there is a striking and persistent theme: the idea that human beings are not adrift in a chaotic universe, but are instead intimately connected to a divine source—one that is not only powerful, but conscious, benevolent, and deeply present. Whether expressed through the Hebrew psalms, Hindu scriptures, Buddhist sutras, or Hermetic philosophy, this shared vision speaks to an ultimate assurance that life is meaningful and that we are not alone. The message isn’t always packaged as dogma or doctrine, and it often transcends the boundaries of religion entirely, resting instead in the mystical intuition that something higher is holding us, sustaining us, and calling us to remember who we really are.

In the 23rd and 91st Psalms, for example, we find words of comfort that speak directly to the soul’s deepest fears. These ancient Hebrew songs declare that even in the presence of danger, loss, or death, there is nothing to fear—for the Divine is present as Shepherd and Shelter. These verses do not present God as distant, demanding allegiance through fear, but as an ever-present guide and protector. The power of these psalms lies not just in their poetic reassurance, but in the deep metaphysical truth they point toward: that we are already in the care of the Divine, whether we realize it or not. Similarly, in The Kybalion, we are reminded that within the Father-Mother Mind, all mortal children are at home. There is “no Power outside of THE ALL,” and therefore, there is nothing to fear. The Hermetic promise is not one of external salvation, but of internal realization—that we are forever contained within the Infinite Mind, rocked in the cradle of the deep, unthreatened by anything that lies outside, because there is no “outside.”

This same idea surfaces again and again in the myths and sacred texts of other traditions. In Hinduism, Krishna promises in the Bhagavad Gita that whenever dharma is in decline, he will manifest to protect the good and restore balance. It is not merely an occasional intervention but a recurring assurance that the cosmos is morally ordered and that divine presence actively works through time. In Mahayana Buddhism, the Bodhisattva vows to remain in the cycle of existence until all beings are liberated—a sacred commitment rooted in compassion that promises no one will be left behind. In Islam, God assures believers that He is closer than their own jugular vein, suggesting that Divine intimacy is not something to earn, but something to realize. Even in the primordial Mithaq, the covenant between Allah and all human souls before they are born, there is an echo of the Hermetic idea that we have forgotten who we are, but we have never ceased to belong.

And so we see a pattern—not just of doctrines, but of deep spiritual recognition. That at the heart of reality is not absence, but Presence. Not judgment, but care. Not abandonment, but belonging. The myths, from the Greek story of the soul’s descent and return, to the Native American stories of origin and harmony with the Earth, to the Gnostic Gospel of Truth’s portrayal of Jesus as the one who came to help us remember—we find the same whisper: that our core problem is not sin, but forgetfulness. That our healing comes not through punishment, but through awakening. We are not alienated sinners pleading for mercy; we are children of the Divine who have forgotten where we came from and who we are.

So we must ask: is this the “good news”? Is this the gospel? Not in the institutional sense, not in the form shaped by councils and creeds, but in the root meaning of the word—euangelion—a joyful proclamation. Could it be that the gospel is not confined to a single story, religion, or book, but is instead the universal truth that breaks through the veil of separation and fear? That the good news is that we are already held, already loved, already one with the Source from which we came? That there is, in fact, nothing to fear—because the Divine is not far off, but closer than breath, more intimate than thought, and the very ground of our being?

If so, then the promise we see echoed across sacred traditions is not a collection of contradictory claims, but a chorus of voices harmonizing to reveal the same truth. Whether called God, the ALL, Brahman, the Tao, or the Great Spirit, this Presence holds all things together. The gospel, then, may not be a message we must accept to be saved, but a reality to awaken to—a truth that, once remembered, sets us free.