Evil’s Loss

Sunday Teaching

Apr 19

The full video of this teaching is available at the bottom of this post and this link.

CAR WRECKS, MUDSLIDES, and MURDER

I’ve always been drawn to evil.

Don’t worry, not in the way a fish is drawn to a lure. It’s more like how we slow down to rubberneck a car wreck. We do not want to see it, not really—but we look anyway. There’s something in us that wants a glimpse of the thing that should not be. Twisted metal, shards of glass, and broken bodies are a brutal reminder of what we never wanted from cars and roads.

I was twenty-two when I spent two weeks serving at an orphanage in El Salvador, a place that housed eighty children, all made orphans by one mudslide. One storm. One hillside collapse. Parents, aunts, uncles—everyone who could have cared for them—gone in a single torrential rainfall.

I played with the kids as an unmistakable clarity settled in:

This is not what God had in mind in Genesis 1 and 2.

That experience triggered something deeper. I started reading accounts of the most evil figures in history—the names you already know. I will not repeat their horrors here. But still, to this day, on occasion, I watch videos of the worst kinds of human-on-human violence. I’ve watched Islamic militants carry out beheadings. I’ve watched cartels livestream their horrific acts against rival cartel members. I’ve watched the self-recorded GoPro footage of a mass shooter killing ten innocent people in a grocery store.

And I do it—not to feed some grotesque curiosity—
but because as a sociologist, theologian, and pastor,
I feel compelled to look evil in the face.
To know its grotesque depth.
To hold it up to the light of Scripture.
To measure the chaos against the truth.

Because if I am going to speak of the win of Jesus’ Resurrection,
I want to see clearly the magnitude of Evil’s loss.

So many people are quick to reject Jesus—not because they hate Him, but because they cannot square the pain they see with the God they were told about.
A God who is supposedly all-knowing.
All-powerful.
And loving.

Yet somehow,
there are kids in orphanages,
cancer in the bodies of good people,
and human beings beheaded over what they believe about God.

To them, the math does not work.
And maybe, at times, it has not worked for you either.

BOO! I DON’T LIKE THAT

One famous biologist put it like this:

“The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good,nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.” —Richard Dawkins

Dawkins drops that line in The God Delusion to drive home his point: suffering and randomness are not surprising—they are precisely what we should expect. What we call evil is not evidence against God's goodness, he argues. It is evidence that God is not there at all. If the universe is driven by survival of the fittest—by blind, pitiless indifference—then of course we see cancer in children, violence in the streets, and the extinction of whatever cannot keep up.

That is not a flaw in the system.
It is the system.

It sounds brutal.
But to many, it makes sense.

Alex O'Connor, a well-known atheist thinker and debater, puts it this way:

"Moral judgments are not statements of fact but rather expressions of emotional attitudes or preferences. There is no universal "truth" to moral claims; they are subjective and vary from person to person."

Evil. For those who reject God, it is not a category that reflects something real in the universe. It is just a word we use when we do not like something. Language. Preference. “Boo, I don’t like that,” or “Yeah, I do like that.” But nothing more. (A.J. Ayer, Emotivist Ethics)

In other words, when someone says something is evil, they are not describing a fact about the world. They are just reacting to it. Like someone rating a meal. Or a movie. Or a playlist. The Holocaust? Torture? School shootings? These aren’t “evil”—they’re just unpleasant. To you.

It is a worldview where evil is not real—just a matter of taste.

Explaining away evil by rejecting God might, on the surface, seem logically consistent.

But it fails miserably on empirical grounds.
This creation—its beauty, order, and even its brokenness—does not point to random chaos. That kind of explanation would never be accepted anywhere else, not even by the atheist making the argument.

And it fails even worse on experiential relevance.
Try telling the person being tortured that what they’re experiencing is not evil—just someone else’s preference. That their agony is not objectively wrong, just subjectively unpleasant. Because while they scream in pain, the torturer is smiling.
Enjoying it.
Calling it good.

Any rejection of evil as a reality—even when well-intentioned—is, at best, an academic exercise—
misguided,
vacuous,
and gross.

And in reality, it is destructive.

Hopeless.
And it strips life of all meaning.

THE BIBLE AND EVIL

I am a Christian for many reasons, but one of the most compelling is this: no worldview tells the truth about evil like the Bible does. It names evil, locates it, grieves it, and ultimately defeats it.

From the very first pages, we’re given a picture of beauty, of intentional design, of God who speaks life into being and breathes His own image into humanity (Genesis 1-2). We are created with purpose and dignity, the freedom to love, the freedom to obey, and the freedom to walk away.

And we did.

Genesis 3-11 does not give us a sanitized myth. It gives us a mirror: the temptation to seize autonomy, the decision to redefine good and evil on our own terms, and with that, the crack in everything: broken relationships, fear, shame, blood, and banishment. The human story, as Scripture tells it, is not a slide into meaninglessness—it’s a rebellion against the meaning we were given.

But the Bible does not stop there. It is not just a story of evil. It is the record of God not giving up. He comes looking for us in the garden. He calls broken men and women into His redemptive plan. He moves with prevenient grace—steady, relentless, and long before we know it is there.

And evil, according to Jesus, is not just what happened in Eden. It is not limited to tyrants or corrupt systems. It lives in us. “Out of the heart come evil thoughts,” He says—“murder, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander” (Matthew 15:19). Evil is not just something we observe. It is something we’re capable of. It is what drives people to crucify prophets (Matthew 23:29–35), harden their hearts (John 12:40), and suppress truth when it demands repentance (John 3:19–20).

In Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection, God does not merely acknowledge the weight of evil—He steps directly into it and carries it Himself (Isaiah 53).

No secular theory, counterfeit religion, or academic lecture match the scope of what the Bible tells us about evil, redemption, and final justice.

Evil threw everything it had at Jesus.
Betrayal. Lies. Beatings. Thorns. Nails. Mockery. Death.
And Jesus took it all—on purpose.

He looked His enemies in the face and said, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing” (Luke 23:34).
While evil screamed, He forgave.
While hell celebrated, He stayed silent.

And then, with the last breath in His lungs and death at the door, He said, “It is finished” (John 19:30).

The veil tore. The earth shook. The tombs cracked open (Matthew 27:51–52).
The plan of redemption wasn't falling apart—it was coming together.

And when He gave up His spirit, it wasn’t stolen.

He handed it over—“Father, into Your hands I entrust My spirit” (Luke 23:46).
Even in death, Jesus was not out of control.
He was in command.

Three days later, the tomb was empty.

Not because evil changed its mind,
but because it lost.

Sin—paid for.
Death—defeated.
The grave—robbed.
The devil—disarmed.

What looked like loss was a setup for victory.
What looked like silence was the sound of evil collapsing.

The resurrection is not just a miracle.
It is a declaration.

Evil loses.

EVIL UNMASKED, CREATION REBORN

In the Garden of Gethsemane, before His crucifixion, the powers—religious, political, spiritual—move in to crush Him. And Jesus doesn’t resist. Not because He’s unaware, but because He sees exactly what’s happening. “This is your hour,” He says, “and the power of darkness” (Luke 22:53). He knows they chose the shadows. He knows they wouldn’t confront Him in the light of day. But He names the moment for what it is—the hour when darkness is allowed to act. He lets it play out. Not because darkness is in control, but because it’s being exposed. And its time is running out.

The cross looks like evil’s win. It gathered every tool it had—fear, injustice, political manipulation, betrayal, violence—and concentrated them on Jesus.

Three days later, the stone was rolled away. And history shifted forever.

God’s Kingdom is coming for everything evil tried to ruin—

For bodies broken by disease, addiction, and despair—raised in power, walking free, dancing in the streets of the new Jerusalem.

For minds tormented by fear, trauma, and lies—washed clean, lit with clarity, singing again with thoughts that don’t spiral but soar.

For families torn apart by bitterness and betrayal—gathered at tables with laughter in their lungs and forgiveness in their eyes.

For systems built on greed, oppression, and injustice—flipped over like temple tables, rebuilt with mercy and truth in every brick.

For nations ravaged by war, corruption, and pride—kneeling before King Jesus, flags laid down, weapons melted into garden tools.

Not someday.
Already underway.

COMFORTABLY NUMB

But maybe you’ve been able to keep the problem of evil at arm’s length.

Maybe your world is comfortable enough, your calendar full enough, your savings account thick enough that you’ve been able to drown out the groaning. You do not see the orphanage. You do not feel the war. You scroll through funny videos while the world bleeds in real time.

And maybe—without ever meaning to—you’ve told yourself that if you do not stare too long into the pain, you can avoid it.
But deep down, you know better.
You know wealth does not drown out the cries of evil.
You know comfort cannot keep death out of your house.
You know the injustice, the trauma, the ache—they demand more than an academic rejection of evil’s existence.

And all your strategies to ignore it, manage it, numb it, or fix it have left you exhausted.

So hear me now:
Jesus did not come to build you a bubble.
He came to break the curse.

He came to look evil in the face and take it head-on—not just for the world, but for you.
And His invitation is not to self-help.
It is not to behavior management or spiritual performance.
It is to new life.
A new creation.
A new start—sealed by His blood, confirmed by His resurrection, and waiting for you right now.

So if you're tired of pretending the world is fine—if you're done propping up a peace that cannot hold—turn.
Turn to the One who knows evil, bore it, crushed it, and rose again.

Turn to Jesus.
The King.
The Lamb.
The Victor.

There’s room in His Kingdom.
There’s room in His story.
And there is room—right now—for you.

JESUS INVITES YOU

The promise is not vague.
It is personal.
It is real.

“Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” —2 Corinthians 5:17

You do not have to stay in the cycle.
You do not have to carry your shame.
You do not have to pretend you are fine.
You can begin again.

A PRAYER FOR A NEW START IN CHRIST

Jesus,
I have seen the evil in the world—and I have seen it in myself.
I confess that I have tried to manage it, outrun it, ignore it.
But today, I turn to You.
The One who faced it, carried it, and overcame it.
I believe You died for me.
I believe You rose again.
And I believe You are the only One who can make me new.
So I surrender.
All of it.
My past. My pain. My pride.

I want to walk with You into the life You’ve promised.
The life that starts now and never ends.

Jesus, I am Yours.

Make me new.

Amen.

EASTER BLESSING

May you walk from the empty tomb
not as someone who forgets what was buried,
but as someone who knows what stayed dead—
fear, shame, sin, and the lie that Evil gets the final word.

May the risen Christ be your strength when the world breaks,
your clarity when the fog rolls in,
your joy when the darkness whispers that hope was buried.

May you join Him in the work of new creation—
binding up the broken, pushing back the shadows with His Light,
carrying resurrection in your voice, your hands, your life.

And may this Easter be more than tradition.
May it be your turning point.
Your new start.
Your declaration:
Evil lost, and Jesus lives!