How the Bible's Spiritual Kindness Comforts

Scripture offers key promises that invite deep reflection. Luke 2:14 declares, "...and on earth peace, good will toward men," suggesting a peculiar cosmic intent for harmony and benevolence toward humanity.

Jeremiah 29:11 further emphasizes this: "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end." This passage highlights a purposeful cosmic plan centered on inward tranquility.

Isaiah 66:13 evokes a nurturing image: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you."

Together, these verses portray a compassionate living Mind over the individual and extending solace when needed.

The Challenge of Understanding Spiritual Fulfillment

While many who study the Bible know these passages, their deeper meaning can be elusive. John 4:24 states that "God is a Spirit," and Luke 24:39 clarifies that "a spirit hath not flesh and bones." This non-physical nature of “God” raises questions: How can an incorporeal Being provide tangible comfort, peace, or good will in a realistic way?

Consider these questions: How does a spirit, without a body, offer consistent human-like comfort? What kind of good will comes from an entity outside of humanity? Can peace stem from a source that doesn’t ultimately experience it physically? What thoughts can a non-physical being have for those bound by flesh?  

Often, interpretations lean on inherited teachings or cultural assumptions rather than the Bible’s own logic. Without grounding in its context, one might drift into speculation, forming beliefs that stray from its intent. This risks misrepresenting the "peace" and "good will" a spiritual (no-flesh-having) “God” provides.

How Does Such a God Provide Comfort?

This leads to a central question: If God is Spirit, and if a spirit does not have flesh and bones, how can or does a spirit comfort? Without a physical form, this Being’s comfort cannot rely on physical means. While traditional theology offers various answers drawn from various ecclesiastical perspectives, the Bible itself points to one solution.

 The answer is "righteousness"; not ritualistic practice, but a certain type of kindness. Titus 3:4 describes this as "the kindness and love of God our Saviour toward man." Titus 3:5 elaborates: "Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost."

It is through the regenerating of what is within, or the cleansing of what is within, that this living Mind comforts. In other words, that comfort is manifested as one executes the saying, “Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace...Receive...from his mouth, and lay up his words in thine heart” (Job 22:21,22).

Two Forms of Righteousness in Scripture

The Bible presents "righteousness" in two contrasting ways, each with significant implications for spiritual or devotional freedom.

The first is a rigid adherence to handwritten religious rules. This form of righteousness binds individuals to external dictates, suppressing genuine devotion and personal freedom. We learn about this from how it says, “That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20). Beauty from religious law is the first form of “righteousness,” and this form is false.

In contrast, the manner of righteousness within the Hebrew Scriptures restores freedom. It liberates the conversation’s inner dialogue from external constraints, granting autonomy in thought, emotion, action, and behavior. This aligns with Isaiah 61:1: "To proclaim liberty to the captives." Here, “righteousness” is not obligation but emancipating grace, in that one says, “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10).

The Gospel: Liberty Through Kindness

The gospel, or "good news," is often misunderstood as a call to emulate, whether by ritual or by religious law, a divine literary figure’s nature. Instead, Scriptures frames it as a "good will,” a kindness aimed not really at individuals, but at their inner devotional culture. This liberation from false devotion is the essence of the Bible’s philosophy, which consistently states, “...through knowledge shall the just be delivered” (Proverbs 11:9).

By viewing the Bible in its cultural and philosophical context, one can pursue its intended peace, comfort, and good will. Our experiences extend beyond traditional teachings or assumed knowledge. Religious systems often shape our spiritual lens, obscuring the deeper reality. The "expected end" promised in Jeremiah 29:11 is freedom from these doctrinal constraints to personally know the character of the Bible’s Mind, encouraging a devotion reflecting its kind will for our personal and devotional self. When studying Scripture, this pursuit of authentic “righteousness” should guide our focus, leading to true spiritual fulfillment.

Are You On The Wrong Spiritual Path?

What if you uncovered a secret so life-changing it forced you to rethink who you are? Picture it shifting the energy that drives you, like a storm clearing to reveal a new sky. What if you realized the path you thought was yours wasn’t meant for you at all? How would you respond? Would you hold tight to what’s familiar, or step boldly into the unknown?

The Bible holds truths that sometimes require effort to uncover—verses to study, translate, and reflect on deeply. But other truths sit right in front of us, missed not because they’re hidden, but because we’re not paying attention. In those cases, the “secret” isn’t a secret at all; it’s our own failure to see what’s clear.

Take two verses that reveal something profound about how people chase knowledge, especially in religious circles. Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 says: “I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.” The writer of Ecclesiastes dove into the ways of the world (religious world), lived like those (priests) around him, and wrote about it. He saw that many people (priests) are given a heavy task by God: a restless drive to understand life, but only within the limits of what’s earthly, never grasping the full scope of the living God’s work.

Who are these “sons of men”? The phrase isn’t about literal sons. Hebrews 5:1 explains: “For every high priest taken from among men is ordained for men in things pertaining to God.” This points to a spiritual lineage, not a family tree. In Titus 1:4, Paul calls Titus “mine own son after the common faith,” and in 1 Timothy 1:2, he refers to Timothy as “my own son in the faith.” Here, “son” means someone shaped by another’s teachings, like a mentor passing down beliefs. Proverbs 29:21 adds: “He that delicately bringeth up his servant from a child shall have him become his son at the length.” The “sons of men” are priests or ministers trained by human institutions; think seminaries or universities; carrying ideas rooted in human thought, not in the Bible’s actual fact.

The writer of Ecclesiastes lived among them, adopted their ways, and recorded his findings in the book. He discovered they carry a kind of curse, as Ecclesiastes 1:13 puts it: “I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath God given to the sons of men to be exercised therewith.” Their curse is a fixation on understanding only what fits within their religious or intellectual world, unable to see beyond it. Their minds stay trapped, chasing answers that never reach the bigger picture. This, according to the Bible, is their gift.

Why does the Bible call this out? It’s not just criticism; it’s a response. These “sons of men” turn away from the Bible’s true message, choosing instead to lean on and lead by human-made doctrines. They claim to speak from Scripture while twisting its meaning. This matters because their path isn’t ours to follow. After living their way, the writer of Ecclesiastes saw it was empty and concluded in Ecclesiastes 3:18: “I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts.” Like animals driven by instinct, they stay stuck in their narrow ways, missing the wider truth.

We too can get caught up in their world, spending our time and energy on their ideas, repeating their patterns, letting their mindset shape our own. But real freedom comes from stepping away, rising above their limits. This isn’t about judgment; it’s about opportunity. By seeing what the Bible reveals, we can leave behind the “sons of men” and pursue an experience that’s more meaningful, one that connects us to the beauty within the scriptures,

So, what will you do with this truth now that you see it?

Reclaiming One's Heart: How Christology Lost Its Devotional Core

“Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” — Psalm 51:10

This cry, manifesting in the poetic layers of the psalmist’s soul, is the revelation of the Bible’s underlying philosophy. At its core, the Hebrew Scriptures call for inward transformation through a sincere acquaintance with its words: “Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace... lay up his words in thine heart” (Job 22:21–22). Knowledge, to the Bible’s mind, is not propositional or metaphysical. It is personal, reflective, and intimate: “...through knowledge shall the just be delivered” (Proverbs 11:9).

But what became of this simple, yet meaningful devotional experience, in early Christianity?

Paul and the Early Shift Toward Metaphysics

According to Marshall (1967), Paul's writings represent a critical theological shift. While Paul's letters include moral exhortations and personal struggles, his Christology primarily conceptualizes the Jesus character as a supramundane figure (p. 78), a being of divine essence who stands in metaphysical proximity to his God. In Galatians 4:4, Paul refers to his Christ as being sent from God, implying a preexistent, divine being rather than a prophetic teacher rooted in human history.

Marshall shows that by the time Paul writes, within only two decades of the Jesus character’s supposed crucifixion, a Hellenistic ontology begins to dominate, even an abstract framework emphasizing this figure’s divinity in cosmic, rather than existential, terms (pp. 86–88). This early Christian turn was not accidental; it was fueled by contact with Greek ideas of the “divine man” and Gnostic notions of a descending redeemer. Jesus was no longer merely to be thought of a real and living man, one who taught his hearers to be clean-minded before God, but a metaphysical solution to “sin”— a celestial ransom.

From Jesus’ Simplicity to Council Complexity

Zachhuber (2021) highlights how this metaphysical focus deepened as Christianity moved into the fourth and fifth centuries. The Church councils, particularly Chalcedon (451 CE), did not just define who the Jesus character was—they codified him into philosophical categories derived from Greek metaphysics, such as physis, ousia, and hypostasis (Zachhuber, 2021, pp. 209–211).

As Zachhuber (2021) laments, Christology became so scholastic and technical that it lost the organic vitality of earlier Jewish spirituality. What once was a moral and relational appeal for a “renewed spirit” became a debate over whether “Jesus” had one nature or two, or whether his hypostasis aligned with divine or human substance. The devotional conversation had been colonized by the conceptual tools of Stoicism and Middle Platonism, not by the philosophy within the Psalms or the Proverbs.

Hellenistic Philosophy and the Loss of Hebrew Intimacy

The shift wasn't merely theological; it was philosophical. Zachhuber (2021) notes how later theologians like Gregory of Nyssa or Cyril of Alexandria absorbed and restructured Christian thought to mirror Platonic and Neoplatonic metaphysics (pp. 212–214). In doing so, the Jesus character was no longer primarily a teacher of the inward way but became the cosmic Logos—the rational principle of the universe.

This is a far cry from the personal yearning of the Hebrew Bible, where true knowledge is internalized in the heart and mind. As Psalm 51 indicates, devotion was never about metaphysical comprehension, but ethical devotional sincerity and inner transformation.

The False Images: Paul's Cosmic Christ and the Gospel Jesus

Both Marshall and Zachhuber help us see that the Christ of Paul—and even the progressively mythologized Jesus of the Gospels—represent a theological departure. As the church absorbed Greek categories, it replaced the Hebrew notion of “acquaintance with God” with allegiance to a doctrinal system.

Jesus becomes functionally divine in Paul’s letters, but that functionality is tied to sacrificial substitution rather than the transformation of character. In the Gospels, Jesus is slowly mythologized as a miracle-working demigod, drawing from Hellenistic Jewish and pagan traditions. The result: the devotional emphasis on the heart and spirit gives way to belief in personhood and doctrine.

Marshall (1967) warns us not to overlook this subtle but powerful transition. He writes, “It would be most curious if the early church had proceeded to use this title [Son of God] in a purely functional manner,” and yet this is precisely what occurred in both Pauline and post-Pauline theology (Marshall, 1967, p. 84).

The Way Back: Knowledge That Delivers

The Bible’s spirituality, as Proverbs teaches, rests on the deliverance brought through knowledge, not metaphysical speculation, but knowing in the Hebrew sense: encountering, internalizing, and embodying. “Acquaint now thyself with Him…” (Job 22:21) is not a call to creeds, but to presence.

Christian theology has spent centuries drifting from this central point. Zachhuber is keenly aware of this when he observes that the technical debates of the fourth century often "exact a real loss of religious meaning as the price for doctrinal sophistication" (Zachhuber, 2021, p. 216). The church may have constructed cathedrals of logic, but it did so on the ruins of Hebrew philosophical devotion.

To reclaim one’s clean heart, the devotional conversation must step away from the illusion of Christological precision and return to the raw, honest prayer of the psalmist’s soul. Not a metaphysical Jesus, nor a politicized Gospel Jesus—but a conversation with the living God, the one whose words renews and delivers.

Let the Heart Speak Again

Christians must reckon with the fact that what has been handed down to them (in their religious theory) is a compromised inheritance—one shaped more by Plato and Philo than by Moses and the Prophets. Paul's Jesus, and also the Gospel Jesus, have been so layered with foreign philosophy that one’s original devotional experience and conscience has been obscured.

But the Psalms still call. The Proverbs still promise deliverance through knowledge. Nothing has changed. And Job still reminds us that peace comes not through theology, but through acquaintance with the Bible’s words. The time has come to let our devotional heart speak again—unmediated, unencumbered, and undistracted by the philosophical scaffolding of a church that forgot how to pray, learn, and reflect.

References

Marshall, I. H. (1967). The Development of Christology in the Early Church. Tyndale Bulletin, 18(1), 77-93.

Zachhuber, J. (2021). Christology in the fourth century: a response.