What the Gods Couldn't Give

 "Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.” Euripides wrote that centuries before Christ walked the earth, his words had a ring of chilling truth. The gods he spoke of—Zeus and Apollo—were not gods at all, but shadows. Reflections of human vice and wrath, dressed in power. They were not holy; they were not kind; they were not the Living God. 

  For all its beauty, the Greek pantheon was built on fear, destruction, and desire. In contrast, the God of Abraham bends low to lift the broken, offering mercy and love. Greek gods looked like men—only worse. They were prone to pettiness. Quick to rage. Addicted to power. And behind their golden masks, Scripture told us what was truly at play: demons masquerading as deities—But I say that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons, and not to God. I do not want you to have fellowship with demons. (1 Corinthians 10:20)

  Because demons hate what God loves. And what God loves—profoundly, eternally, unshakably—is humanity.

  So what better strategy, if you’re out to destroy people, than to make them mad first? Not mad as in anger, though that’s part of it. Mad as in twisted. Lost. Consumed by chaos. Severed from the truth. Blinded by pride or poisoned by lies. A madness of the heart and the mind. A madness that leads a soul straight to ruin.

  But God—our God—is not like that.

  He is not plotting our destruction. He’s pleading for our return. The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. (2 Peter 3:9)

  If the enemy’s goal is to confuse and consume, God desires to rescue and restore.

  Where the ancient world imagined gods who crushed the weak for entertainment, the God of Abraham bends low to lift the broken. Where their temples demanded blood and spectacle, ours bears a cross—where Love Himself bled, not to destroy us, but to save us.

  God is not the author of madness—For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace…

(1 Corinthians 14:33). He is the giver of mercy. And in that mercy, He waits.

  He waits while the Gospel stretches its arms across oceans and generations. He waits while missionaries brave jungles and city streets. He waits while prodigals come limping home, and children in remote villages whisper Jesus’ name for the first time. He waits because He is patient. He waits because He is love.

  And He waits for you.

  In John 14, on the eve of His death, Jesus speaks words that have carried believers through centuries of storms and silence: Let not your heart be troubled…

  Can you imagine the weight in the room? The disciples had just learned that Jesus would soon leave them. Their Messiah. Their friend. The One who calmed seas and opened eyes. The air must have been thick with confusion and sorrow.

  But He says, "Don't be troubled."

  He doesn’t dismiss their fear—He comforts it. He doesn’t chastise their doubt—He answers it. Because that’s who He is.

  The Son of the Living God, arms open, voice steady, eyes full of the Father’s love.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also. (John 14:3)

  That is the heart of God: not to abandon, but to welcome. Not to destroy, but to dwell with us—forever.

  Then comes Thomas, often remembered by the wrong name.

  They call him Doubting Thomas as if he were weak in faith. But read carefully—Thomas wasn’t doubting so much as he was honest. He wanted clarity. He needed to understand. “Thomas said to Him, Lord, we do not know where You are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:5)

  And Jesus doesn’t rebuke him.

  There’s no sigh. No eye-roll. No shame.

  Only the truth spoken with compassion.I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. (John 14:6)

  There it is—the answer not just for Thomas, but for all of us who ask the same quiet question in our solitude. How can we know the way?

  The answer is not a map. It’s a Man. It is God.

  Jesus is The Way—not just to heaven, but to peace, to healing, to the Father’s embrace.  If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him. (John 14:7)

  What a mystery. What a mercy.

  God didn’t send a messenger. It was God Himself who showed up.

  But the disciples still struggled to grasp it. Philip speaks next, his voice full of longing: “Lord, show us the Father, and that is sufficient for us.” (John 14:8) In other words, Just show us God. That will be enough.

  And Jesus answers, tender but direct: “Have I been with you such a long time, and yet you have not known Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father.” (John 14:9)

  This is one of the most staggering revelations in all of Scripture.

  To see Jesus is to see the Father. To hear His voice is to hear the voice that spoke galaxies into being. To feel His touch is to feel the hand that formed Adam from the dust. The fullness of God—embodied in a carpenter’s son from Nazareth. Believe Me that I am in the Father, and the Father is in Me. Or else believe Me on account of the works themselves. (John 14:11)

  Jesus doesn’t hide from our questions. He invites them. And when we press in with confusion, He meets us with clarity.

  That’s what makes the disciples’ conversation in John 14 so important.

  They didn’t pretend to understand. They didn’t nod politely and walk away. They asked. They wrestled. They pressed in. And Jesus, with infinite patience, gave them answers. Not always the kind that silences every question, but the kind that guides the heart toward trust.

  That’s still His way.

  Maybe you’ve been told not to question, just have faith. That you’re supposed to understand everything right away. But the Bible tells a different story. The story of a God who welcomes questions—and answers with Himself. Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you. (Matthew 7:7)

  These aren’t empty words. This is a promise from a God who never grows tired of your knocking.

  But if we walk away—if we shrug, or scoff, or let our confusion become distance—then we’re the ones who leave empty. Not because God is hiding, but because we’ve stopped seeking.

  So don’t stop. You must keep asking and knocking.

  God is not a distant deity waiting to destroy you the moment you stumble. He’s your Father, leaning over the edge of heaven, waiting to answer.

  The truth is, the ones who end up destroyed are rarely struck down suddenly. More often, they’ve wandered so long in the madness of self and sin that they’ve forgotten how to ask for help. Or worse, they believe there’s no help left to ask for.

  But it’s not too late for us.

  If you’re still breathing, you can still knock. If your heart still longs, you can still ask. If you’re still wondering, then God is already listening.

  He is not willing that you should perish.

  And when you finally see Jesus for who He truly is—not just a teacher or a prophet, not a distant historical figure or a moral compass, but God in the flesh—then everything begins to change.

  The madness of the world will try to draw you back. But there is peace here, in the presence of Christ. A peace that steadies the heart. A voice that speaks even now, as it did then:

“Let not your heart be troubled.”

He is the Way. 

He is the Truth. 

He is the Life.  

And He is waiting for you.