Preaching Heaven While Bringing Hell (John 3:16-21)

The Dissidents Guide to John, Part 5

Today we are taking a fresh look at John 3:16 and the theology that shaped (and misshaped) the Western Church

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Whats Really at Stake?

John 3:16 is everywhere. Bumper stickers. Endzones. Coffee mugs. You don’t even have to be religious to know it:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

I grew up in a tradition that took that verse very seriously. And, for what it’s worth, very literally.

The underlying framework was something called Penal Substitutionary Atonement—a theological system that said humanity had racked up an enormous moral debt, one that could only be settled through suffering. It was the theology of courtrooms and punishments. In short: we broke the rules, God got angry, and someone had to die for it.

This framework didn’t drop out of the sky—it was systematized by John Calvin in the 1500s, although the ideas go back further. It fit perfectly in a medieval world where torture chambers were state-sanctioned justice, and suffering was seen as an appropriate way to repay any kind of debt. And so in that system, God loved you, sure. But he was also angry at you. And unless you confessed faith in Jesus as your substitute—your stand-in to absorb God’s wrath—you’d end up in the cosmic torture chamber.

It was a theology focused almost entirely on the afterlife. You were either forgiven and admitted into heaven or condemned and thrown into hell.

But it had very little to say about this life.

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Theology with a Body Count

The thing about theology is that it always has consequences. This version of John 3:16, this afterlife-centric understanding of salvation, was the theology of the men and women who colonized much of the Western world. The theology of these colonizers justified (in their own minds) taking land and lives because “eternal souls” were at stake. The logic said that if we’re saving them from eternal conscious torment by teaching them the right ideas about God, the temporary suffering of conquest was worth it.

It was also the same theology that the slaveholders held to. Many of them also saw themselves as doing good, believe it or not. Slavery was a tool to get people to church. And once they were there, they’d hear about how to get into heaven.

Evangelist and Revivalist, George Whitefield, said in a letter from the 1740’s that “Had Negroes been made slaves only on account of their black complexion, it would have been both unlawful and wicked; but they have been brought from Africa with a prospect of being converted to Christianity, and if we are to regard the welfare of their souls, it must be acknowledged that this may be a providential mercy.”

And he was not alone:

“The African, thus providentially thrown upon our care, is placed in a school of Christianity.” — James Henley Thornwell, The Rights and Duties of Masters (1850)

“Slavery has been a gracious instrument in the hands of God for bringing the heathen into contact with the gospel. The Church has done more for the salvation of the Negro in bondage than Africa has in her freedom.” — Robert Lewis Dabney, sermon excerpt, 1860s.

The suffering endured here? Temporary. The suffering avoided in hell? Eternal. Therefore, good.

This is what happens when your theology is transactional and postmortem. And if you’re wondering, “Well, didn’t anyone see how messed up this was?”—some did. But systems like this create believers who are more interested in being “saved” than in being like Christ.

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What If We’ve Been Reading It Wrong?

Let’s rewind, zoom out, and drop John 3:16 back into its context.

Jesus didn’t shout this verse from a pulpit or write it on a scroll. It comes to the reader during a private, late-night conversation with Nicodemus—a man who was part of the religious elite. Nicodemus was one of the leaders in a system that exploited the poor, cozied up to empire, and was thoroughly uninterested in justice.

This whole conversation starts back at the beginning of chapter 3, where Jesus tells Nicodemus that he needs to start over—be “born again.” Not just personally, but spiritually, socially, politically. Everything needed to change.

Jesus is describing a new kind of life that’s already breaking into the present. And this is the moment where John 3:16 shows up. Let’s look at it again, slowly this time:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…”

“Son” isn’t just a sentimental term here. It’s a title—a reference to the Son of Man from Daniel 7. A figure who arrives in the clouds and is given authority to rule as king. The one true king.

Jesus is essentially saying: God didn’t send Herod. He didn’t send Caesar. He didn’t send your religious system, Nicodemus. He sent Me. A different kind of king. A different way.

“…that whoever believes in him…”

That word “believes” is pistis in Greek. It doesn’t mean intellectual agreement—it means allegiance.¹ Faithfulness. Trusting someone’s way enough to follow them.

“…shall not perish but have eternal life.”

“Eternal life” doesn’t just mean “going to heaven when you die.” The Hebrew concept behind it is olam—life of the age to come.² A new era, breaking into this one.

Eternal life is a new kind of life, beginning now.

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Like Robot Fish

I came across this story recently while working on my children’s curriculum for this passage. Scientists were studying fish populations that were—quite literally—destroying themselves. Their group behaviors were wired into them: follow the leader, stay with the school. But over time, those patterns led them into warmer, food-scarce, and deadly waters.

So scientists built robot fish. Ones that looked like the real thing but were programmed to lead them to better waters—cooler, safer, more abundant.

And they followed! The Robot fish led them into a new way, a new pattern of living; new rituals that helped them to thrive.

I know this illustration is silly, but that’s the idea in some way.

Humanity has been following bad kings—Herod, Caesar, empires, ideologies, egos—for centuries.And the patterns are killing us. And Jesus, like a robot fish (I’m so sorry), leads us in a new direction. He’s the true king who can lead us to life.

Not just later.

Now.

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The World Already Condemns Itself

John goes on:

“God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” (John 3:17)

Jesus didn’t come to crush or shame us. But if we keep on the path we’ve been, the path of empires, violence, injustice, and worldly power, we’re already on the path to destruction.

This isn’t just about what happens after we die. This is about now. If we keep believing in domination, violence, scarcity, power-hoarding—we will perish. We already are. But there is another way, and it’s hard.

Jesus said:

“This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.” (John 3:19)

You can’t get someone who benefits from the system to admit that the system is broken. They have too much to lose. So yes, the light has come, but don’t be surprised when some people try to snuff it out.

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The Judgement We Need

Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. ²¹ But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God. (Jn 3:20–21)

And so what about all of this judgment stuff? What are we to make of it?

Here’s my angle: Jesus does bring judgment—just not the kind we expected. Not fire-from-the-sky stuff. It’s the kind of judgment you feel when you’re in the presence of true goodness because it exposes all the ways you’re not.

I remember being in a Zoom session with my Cohort at Northern Seminary in 2017 when one of the most respected New Testament scholars in America appeared on the call for the first time. Suddenly, no one wanted to talk anymore. We all realized how confidently wrong we probably were.

That’s the kind of judgment Jesus brings. It’s not mockery or condemnation—just… presence. Its like when you experience love so deep that it makes you aware of how shallow you’ve been.

In C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce, many of the ghost-like souls can’t bear the presence of heavenly things—the grass hurts their feet, the light is too sharp, the joy too intense. They don’t want to stay. They flee back into the comfort of their own isolation, even though they’re welcome to stay in heaven. The idea is that divine presence reveals us, exposes us, and that if we’re clinging to darkness, the light feels unbearable.

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A Better Reading of John 3:16

So what if John 3:16 isn’t about a transactional afterlife?
~What if it’s an invitation to follow a different kind of king right now?
~To live in a different kind of kingdom?
~To be the kind of people who bring light, not darkness?

Paul said it best:

“Creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed…

That the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.” (Romans 8:19–21)

The world is aching for a different way, and Jesus has shown us one. May we learn to be bold enough to follow.

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1. For more on this topic, or gospel matters in general, Matthew Bates’ book, Salvation By Allegiance Alone, is a great place to start.

2. McKnight, Scot; Phillips, Tommy Preson. Invisible Jesus: A Book about Leaving the Church and Looking for Christ (pp. 114-115). (Function). Kindle Edition.