The Bible doesn't say what you were told, and what it does say didn't come true. Close readings of prophecy, the end times, and the verses nobody preaches.
Luke says he researched it. Paul stops four times in one chapter to say which rulings are his and not the Lord’s. A secretary named Tertius signs off on Romans. The bible’s own writers keep telling you when it was just them.
Two sayings, three gospels, six verses. He’s quoted promising the arrival to people standing in front of him — some of whom would still be alive to see it. They all died, and every defense exists to get around that.
Nobody. The word appears five times in the whole New Testament, never in Revelation, and the one letter that uses it defines it as a category of people who were already there.
The doctrine rests on one rule: no forgiveness without blood. The rest of the bible breaks it.
The owner published a standard for what can inherit his kingdom. The body Luke describes fails it, and no verse anywhere grants an exception.
The kingdom is not his. One gospel says four separate times that he has to be given it, and nobody in the bible ever heard the owner say so.
It wouldn’t. And that’s the whole problem.
A man who says his name was John. That's the whole of what can be established, and it's less than you were told.
Ireland, in the 1830s. And then, decisively, a study Bible published by Oxford University Press in 1909.
No. It calls Jesus that.
A period the New Testament writers believed they were already living in, and expected to see finish inside their own lifetimes.
Not because of anything a skeptic said to me. Because I read the book — and then dropped one assumption and read it again.
