My Easter Reflection

I recently watched a replay of a live session on Facebook that stirred something deep within me—something sacred, clarifying, and affirming of what I’ve long sensed to be my purpose on this earth. I’ve been on a journey, not of returning to the church as it stands, but of reaching those still within it who are suffocating beneath the weight of evangelicalism’s contradictions. I speak not as an outsider looking in, but as one who has walked that path, seen both the beauty and the brokenness, and now feels compelled to offer an alternative—a way forward for those who still feel tethered to the old framework but are awakening to something truer, gentler, and more whole.

First, let me state this plainly: I do not believe in penal substitutionary atonement. I never have. I don’t believe in hell as eternal conscious torment, and I certainly don’t believe that anyone needs to be “saved” in the way evangelicalism has defined it. As my friend Aaron often says—and I deeply agree—we are all safe. Whatever God is, whatever Jesus revealed, it is not fear-based. It is not built on appeasing wrath or earning worth.

Still, not everyone is at the same place in their journey. Some no longer need the symbolism of the cross. Some, like myself, have moved beyond it in many ways. But there are still many, especially those wounded by a toxic version of Christianity, who need a language of redemption—one not rooted in fear and shame, but in healing and reorientation. These are the people I’ve always felt called to serve.

Back in 2010, I felt the pull to help evangelicals break free from a double-minded gospel—a gospel that said “grace” but demanded performance. One of the most vital truths I was given to share is that justification before God does not come from our faith in Jesus, but from Jesus’ faithfulness. Romans 3:22 speaks to this when properly translated from the Greek: “the righteousness of God through the faith of Jesus Christ unto all, and upon all them that believe.” It is his faith, not ours, that accomplished what needed to be done—for those who need it. And that’s key. Not everyone does. But some do, and they deserve a liberating alternative to the twisted gospel they were fed.

Paul echoes this again in Galatians 2:16: “knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ.” And later in verse 20: “I live by the faith of the Son of God.” This is not about belief in a transaction. It’s about entering into a way of being that Jesus already embodied. For those traumatized by sin-consciousness and guilt, this reframing is not only helpful—it’s essential.

The traditional gospel taught many that we are broken and must believe rightly to be fixed. But what if the real message was that we were never separated in the first place? What if the cross wasn’t a payment, but a symbol? What if Christus Victor is the true lens—that Jesus overcame the fear of death, the powers of this age, and the systems of oppression that enslave the mind and soul? For those who need redemption—not from God’s wrath, but from trauma, addiction, shame, and despair—the cross can still hold meaning. Not as punishment, but as liberation. A sign that good overcomes evil, and that death—literal or symbolic—is not the end.

Perhaps that’s why the crucifix holds power in exorcisms—not because demons fear torture, but because they fear light, love, and the reclaiming of human dignity. Perhaps the resurrection’s deeper message is that nothing true, nothing beautiful, is ever truly lost. That even in our darkest night, there is a dawn not far behind.

Galatians 3:21–22 asks a question many evangelicals overlook: “Is the law then against the promises of God? God forbid… But the scripture hath concluded all under sin, that the promise by faith of Jesus Christ might be given to them that believe.” But here’s what I see: the faithfulness of Christ wasn’t reserved only for those who believe—it was extended to all. His act of love, trust, and divine awareness wasn’t dependent on our response; it was a gift to humanity in its entirety. For those who feel fallen, his faith becomes the ladder back to self-worth. But even those who never climb it were never excluded. His faith was a cosmic declaration of unity, not a conditional transaction. The gift is given whether it's received or not. That’s the kind of love that changes everything.

So no, I am not going back to church. But I am going forward into ministry—my own way. Not to deconstruct everything for everyone, but to minister to those still inside the walls of evangelicalism who feel trapped and afraid. They may not be ready to toss out the cross or abandon the Bible. But they are ready for something healthier, more coherent, more kind. And if I can help deliver that—even a little—then I am fulfilling my mission. Not to convince the whole world, but to offer peace to those who still think they need it.