​When we hear the word grace in a biblical context, especially within modern American Christianity, we almost exclusively interpret it as unmerited favor. This definition—so deeply embedded in our theological vocabulary—has been shaped over time by particular streams of Christian thought, especially those that rose to prominence after the Protestant Reformation.

In today’s Evangelical circles, grace is often synonymous with salvation. A verse like Ephesians 2:8–9 has become a theological cornerstone:

This is commonly interpreted to mean: God saves us through an undeserved gift, and we contribute nothing to the process. All we must do is “believe” that Jesus died for our sins, and in return, we receive salvation—often understood as “going to heaven.”

Such theology has been reinforced by generations of preaching shaped by the imagery of judgment and wrath—most famously Jonathan Edwards’ 18th-century sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. The title alone suggests a view of humanity as wretched and God as angry. From that worldview, grace is understood as God’s reluctant mercy rather than His generous gift.
​
But doesn’t Scripture also declare that “God is love”? (1 John 4:8). How might these cultural interpretations have colored, or even distorted, the biblical understanding of grace?

To begin rethinking grace, we must return to the Hebrew Scriptures. The verb most often translated “to be gracious” is ḥānan (חָנַן), and the noun is ḥēn (חֵן). These words are deeply relational in tone and usage.
​
According to the Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament:

​The Old Testament also translates ḥānan as “compassion” or “pity,” especially when a superior acts generously toward a subject. The noun ḥēn is often rendered “favor” or “gift.” In both cases, the emphasis is not legal or transactional—it is functional and relational.

​Grace as Living Water (a)

The ancient Hebrew mind did not define words abstractly, as we tend to do in modern Western thought. Instead, it thought concretely and functionally. Therefore, grace is not an abstract quality but any gift that comes to you.
​
A rich biblical image of this kind of grace is water from a spring—what ancient Israel called living water. In the land of Israel, there were three types of water:

In the Garden, Long Ago…

The song “O Last Adam” invites us into a cosmic story—a retelling of the human fall and the divine reversal. Drawing its inspiration from Paul's language in 1 Corinthians 15, the song poetically contrasts the first Adam who brought death into the world with Jesus, the “Last Adam,” who brings life. 
​
Where Adam failed, Christ prevailed. Where Adam grasped at equality with God, Christ emptied Himself (Philippians 2:6–8). This song beautifully captures that tension and triumph.

“Dust was shaped and breathed to life…” 
​
These opening lines place us in Eden, where humanity first received the breath of life (Genesis 2:7). The phrase “in the image of the Light” reflects both Genesis 1:27 and the deeper mystical tradition that understands God's image not only as form or function but as illumination. Yet, humanity—represented in Adam—reached for something not his: autonomy apart from God.

“Through one man came the shadow / And the world was clothed in shame.”
​
This line echoes Romans 5:12: “through one man sin entered the world.” But the language of “shadow” and “shame” makes this more than just a legal guilt. It’s about a cosmic disorientation—light replaced by shadow, innocence replaced by shame.

“You came / O Last Adam / Full of truth and endless grace…”
​
This is the heartbeat of the gospel. Jesus, the Last Adam, steps into the broken world not with condemnation but with grace and truth (John 1:14). The chorus serves as both proclamation and praise—a confession that where the first Adam brought darkness, the Last Adam brings dawn.

Why This Song Matters

“O Last Adam” is not just a worship song—it’s a theological proclamation in poetic form. It weaves together:

• Genesis and the Gospels
• The Fall and the Resurrection
• The first Adam and the final Christ

​And it invites us to see Jesus not merely as a figure in history, but as the one who redeems what we could never do.

[In the garden long ago
Dust was shaped and breathed to life
Adam stood with open eyes
In the image of the Light
But he reached for what was not his
Turned away from holy flame
And through one man came the shadow
And the world was clothed in shame
 

But You came
O Last Adam
Full of truth and endless grace
You walked among the broken
Love poured out in every place
Where the first brought the darkness
You brought the dawn anew
O Last Adam
You redeemed what we could never do

 
In the desert wild and barren
You withstood the tempter’s lies
Forty days of hunger
Yet Your strength would not subside
Where the first man faltered
You stood firm
You did not fall
Through Your perfect sacrifice
You answered the ancient call
 

Yes
You came
O Last Adam
Full of truth and endless grace
You walked among the broken
Love poured out in every place
Where the first brought the darkness
You brought the dawn anew
O Last Adam
You redeemed what we could never do
 

The thorns became Your crown
The cross Your final throne
Through Your wounds
We are healed
Through Your death
Life is known
The stone rolled away
Now the grave has no claim
O Last Adam
Forever we’ll sing Your name
 

Oh
You came
O Last Adam
Full of truth and endless grace
You walked among the broken
Love poured out in every place
Where the first brought the darkness
You brought the dawn anew
O Last Adam
You redeemed what we could never do

​In Part 2 of our deep dive into John chapter 2, we explore the process of transformation—and why it’s so difficult.

Transformation isn’t instant. It’s painful. And that’s why John frames his Gospel with a call to zeal—a passionate commitment that carries us through the soul-wrenching work of becoming who God calls us to be.

In this lesson, we explore:

      ✅ The Hebrew word qorban (offering) and its root qarab, meaning “to come near”
      ✅ How offering something valuable is the way we draw close to God
      ✅ Paul’s teaching that we are the offering—a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1)
   ✅ Why Paul uses Jesus’s suffering, death, and resurrection as metaphors for spiritual formation
    ✅ What it means to undergo an ego death—putting to death the parts of us that no longer serve the goal of abiding with God

This teaching emphasizes a powerful principle:

​“The more psychologically difficult the commandment, the greater the self-sacrifice it demands—and the closer it draws you to God.”

​To love your neighbor, forgive those who’ve hurt you, and pray for your enemies—these are not easy tasks. They demand the death of pride, bitterness, and self-justification. But in surrendering those parts of ourselves, we step into the resurrected life of Christ.

📖 Join us as we journey deeper into the symbolic meaning of John 2 and discover what it truly means to offer ourselves in zeal and grace.

Lesson Handouts:

Lesson Outline - CLICK HERE

Article - Zeal, Grace, and Transformation: A Deeper Look at John 2

Article: Rethinking Grace: A Biblical Word Reexamined

​In the opening verses of Genesis, before there was light, time, or stars, the world is described with two haunting Hebrew words: tohu va’vohu—formless and void. The deep waters of chaos covered everything, and darkness was over the face of the abyss. It was a picture of disorder, silence, and emptiness.

But the Spirit of God--Ruach Elohim—hovered over those waters like a mother bird brooding over her nest, carrying with it the anticipation of new life.

And then came the Word. God spoke: “Let there be light.” In that instant, chaos bowed, order emerged, and creation began to dance to the rhythm of heaven.

This ancient picture of God speaking creation into existence has been retold countless times through sermons, commentaries, and songs. But in our new piece, From the Deep, entirely created by ai, we’ve reimagined it through the sounds and rhythms of reggae rap—a genre built on beat, movement, and prophetic voice.

From the Deep takes its inspiration directly from Genesis 1, blending the Hebrew imagery with the pulse of reggae and rap:

• Chaos and Void: The opening verses describe the dark waters, the formless expanse, and the silence before creation.
  
• Spirit Moving: The Ruach hovers over the waters, portrayed as energy waiting to break forth, “broodin’ deep like a mother’s sigh.”
  
• The Word Spoken: When God declares, “Let there be light,” it’s imagined as a beat drop—fire blazing out of endless night and setting the rhythm of creation in motion.
  
• The Six Days: The lyrics walk through the ordering of creation—sky, sea, land, plants, stars, sun, moon, and living creatures—each word of God becoming a work of law, bringing structure to the world.
  
• The Human Heart: Finally, the song turns from the cosmic to the personal. Just as God spoke into the formless void at creation, He still speaks into the broken, chaotic places of our lives. The refrain repeats: “From the deep, You speak and give us life.”
  

The beauty of reggae rap is its ability to hold together both lament and hope, chaos and order, protest and praise. Genesis 1 is not just a story about the past—it is a promise about the present.

• Chaos is never final. Even when life feels formless and void, the Spirit still hovers.
  
• The Word is creative. God’s Word does not return empty; it calls forth light, order, and purpose.
  
• Creation is ongoing. God is still speaking. He is still turning chaos into cosmos, both in the world and within us.
  

The line “When my life feels empty too, I remember how the story start—God still speaks into broken hearts” reminds us that Genesis is not just about how the world began; it is about how God works today.

In Scripture, the prophets often delivered their messages in poetic rhythm. Their words carried both warning and hope.

​Reggae, with its roots in spiritual longing and resistance against oppression, becomes a modern echo of that same prophetic tradition. Rap, with its cadence and flow, emphasizes word, rhythm, and memory—exactly the tools God used in the beginning.
By setting Genesis 1 in this form, From the Deep reminds us that creation is not just a theological concept but also a song. The universe itself is God’s rhythm, pulsing with life, order, and beauty.

The opening chapter of Genesis tells us more than how the world was made. It tells us who God is:

• A God who speaks into chaos.
  
• A Spirit who hovers near even when life feels formless.
  
• A Creator who brings light, life, and order where there once was none.
  

From the Deep is both a retelling of creation’s story and a prayer for our own lives—that the same God who once spoke light into darkness would speak again into our world today.

Take a few moments to listen to From the Deep. Read Genesis 1 slowly. Feel the rhythm of creation as chaos yields to order. And remember: no matter how deep the waters may feel, the Spirit is still hovering, and God is still speaking.

​ Yeah man…
Before the light, before the time
Before the stars began to shine…
It was chaos, it was void
But Jah spoke—creation over noise!
 
Tohu and vohu, wild and wide
Darkness on the water, no place to hide
No shape, no form, no morning breeze
Just the deep and the dark and the silent seas
 
But the Spirit—yeah, Ruach move
Hoverin’ low with somethin’ to prove
Broodin’ deep like a mother’s sigh
Waitin’ for the Word to split the sky
 
Then Jah say: “Let there be light!”
And fire blaze outta endless night
Day and night begin to part
The rhythm of heaven start workin’ its art
 
 From the deep, from the low
You speak the word and the gardens grow
You split the chaos, tame the tide
Bringin’ that order, sanctified
Spirit dance over wave and foam
Turn this wild into Your home
From the deep, from the strife--
Jah, You speak and give us life  🎶
 
 
Six days, six moves, watch the structure form
From the formless void to the world reborn
Sky gets lifted, sea gets placed
Stars get hung in the great expanse
 
Land from sea, seed from tree
Sunshine rollin’ through canopy
Every word is a work of law
Creation stand back in holy awe
 
From nothin’ to somethin’, breath to clay
Order marchin’ in perfect sway
And the chaos had to take a seat
When the voice of the Most High dropped that beat!
 
 
So when my life feel empty too
When shadows rise and block the view
I remember how the story start--
God still speaks into broken hearts
 
Tohu va’vohu—He still reign
He brings purpose out of pain
He bring peace to stormy seas
He speak and still creates in me
 
From the deep, from the low
You speak the word and the gardens grow
You split the chaos, tame the tide
Bringin’ that order, sanctified
Spirit dance over wave and foam
Turn this wild into Your home
From the deep, from the strife--
Jah, You speak and give us life 🎶
 
So speak again, Most High, Most Wise
Bring Your kingdom, open our eyes
From darkness You always reap
A world of beauty--

From the deep.

For years, scholars puzzled over Paul’s Greek phrase, translated as “works of the law” in Galatians and Romans. The expression was unique in Greek literature, and it was clear that Paul was pushing back against a certain Jewish attitude in the first century: that specific commandments—usually purity laws—could justify someone before God.

Each sect in Judaism believed that its interpretation of the Torah made it the “true Israel” and would secure God’s favor when the end came. Paul firmly rejected this, but until the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, scholars had little direct evidence of what lay behind his language.

That changed with the publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls, particularly the document known as
4QMMT. The title comes from the Hebrew phrase Miqsat Ma’asei Ha-Torah—translated “a selection of the works of the law.” At last, scholars had a text from the Second Temple period using almost the exact phrase Paul employed.
​
4QMMT is a letter-like document, likely from the Qumran sect, and it consists of three main
sections:

These rulings (halakhot, “ways of walking”) were non-negotiable for this sect. Disagreement about
them created division, making shared fellowship impossible. The writer of MMT accuses the
Jerusalem priesthood of failing to keep proper ritual purity and insists that righteousness at the
“end of time” depends on following these particular rulings.

One line reads:​

“And it shall be reckoned to you as in justice [justification] when you do what is upright
and good before him”

In other words, for this sect, being declared righteous hinged on observance of these specific "works of the law."

This is exactly the mindset Paul confronted. He insisted that righteousness is not reckoned through sectarian halakhic observances but through faithfulness—trust in God and in the Messiah Jesus.

Paul’s critique was not aimed at obedience to the Torah, requirements for charity, or good works in
general. Rather, he opposed the elevation of purity rulings and sectarian identity markers as if they
alone secured justification before God.

Since the Reformation, Protestant traditions often interpret Paul’s phrase as a rejection of all works and any suggestion that Christians are required to obey commandments in the Torah, leading to the doctrine of “faith alone.”

But this reading creates tensions, especially when trying to harmonize Paul with James or with
Paul’s own insistence that God “will repay each one according to what they have done” (Rom. 2:6). The discovery of 4QMMT helps resolve this: Paul was not rejecting works of love or obedience to God’s will, but the legalistic use of halakhic boundary markers as the basis of justification.

During the Maccabean crisis, it appeared that the spread of Hellenism might completely erase
Judaism. Jews were persecuted for circumcising their children or refusing unclean foods (1 Macc.
1:60–63). In that setting, identity markers such as circumcision, dietary laws, and Sabbath
observance became vital for the survival of Judaism itself—a sign of God’s faithfulness in
preserving His people and their covenant identity.

Over time, however, these same markers began to harden. By Paul’s day, they had shifted from
being symbols of God’s sustaining faithfulness to rigid boundary lines, dividing sects against one
another, each claiming to be the true Israel.

Jewish literature of the Second Temple period shows the same impulse to draw sharp boundaries.
Jubilees 22:16 warns against eating with Gentiles or imitating their ways. Philo wrote that Israel
must never abandon its ancestral practices (Life of Moses 1.278)

These concerns were rooted in real historical trauma: during the Maccabean revolt, faithfulness to
these markers cost many their lives. As Dunn observed, “these demands of the law had become a
principal target of Syrian persecution,” and so they naturally became central to Jewish self-identity.
But by Paul’s time, that survival instinct had calcified into sectarianism.

This dynamic has a familiar ring: just as halakhic rulings fractured Jewish sects in the first century,
so doctrinal disputes have divided Christian denominations. Each group elevates certain practices or doctrines as the defining marks of God’s true people, often with suspicion toward outsiders.

Paul’s message remains vital: justification is grounded in faithfulness to God through Christ, not in human-defined markers of righteousness. Yet faith and works are not opposed. Good works flow out of faith—they are the fruit of a covenant relationship and the manifestation of God’s kingdom in the world.

The Dead Sea Scrolls document 4QMMT gives us a window into the very debates Paul was
addressing. It shows that “works of the law” were not obedience to the Torah or general good
deeds, but halakhic identity markers used to define “who is in” and “who is out.” Against this,
Paul insists that the covenant family of God is marked by faith in Christ, a faith that naturally
expresses itself in love and good works.

Footnotes:

David H. Stern (1992), Jewish New Testament Commentary, Jewish New Testament Publications, pp. 536- 537.

James G. Dunn, 4QMMT and Galatians, New Testament Studies, Vol. 43, 1997, pp. 147-153.

Albert Baumgarten (2020), Ancient Jewish Sectarianism in The Jewish Annotated Apocrypha, pp. 551-557.

​In this first of a two-part series on John chapter 2, we uncover the brilliant literary and symbolic structure that John uses to communicate a deeper message--transformation through divine grace requires zeal.

John brackets the chapter with key references to the number three, ritual, and zeal, guiding the reader toward the center of a chiastic structure where the heart of the message lies: God's grace transforms us from the inside out.

In this episode, we explore:

​Join us as we begin to unpack John 2's symbolic brilliance and the call it places on each of us to become vessels of God’s grace.

👉 Don’t forget to watch Part 2, where we dive into the cleansing of the Temple and the connection between grace, sacrifice, and inner renewal.

Articles:

Article​ - Zeal, Grace, and Transformation: A Deeper Look at John 2

Article - Rethinking Grace: A Biblical Word Reexamined

In the second half of our study of John chapter 2, we explore the Jewish expectation of a rebuilt Temple—one that would surpass even the glory of Solomon’s Temple.

Throughout the Second Temple period, Jewish writings imagined different scenarios:

     - Some believed God Himself would rebuild the Temple
     - Others expected the Messiah to oversee its construction

We’ll walk through these ancient texts and discover how they shaped the hopes of Jesus’ generation. Then, we’ll unpack the shocking claim Jesus made: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”

In mystical Jewish thought, the “Original Adam” or “Heavenly Man” was seen as the cosmic body—the universe itself functioning as the Temple of God. The Apostle Paul draws from this imagery when he says we are members of one body (1 Corinthians 12:12-27) and calls Jesus the “image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15).

If the universe is God’s Temple, and Jesus is its cornerstone, then His statement is far more than a metaphor—it’s a revelation of how heaven and earth meet in Him.

Join us as we explore:

     - Jewish visions of the future Temple
     - The connection between the Temple and the Body of Christ
     - How Jesus fulfills—and redefines—centuries of expectation

1. Primary Lesson Handout: CLICK HERE

2. Temple Mount Soreg Description: CLICK HERE

3. Article - Background to "Destroy this Temple" - CLICK HERE

In this lesson, we explore the dramatic moment in John chapter 2 when Jesus clears the Temple courts. What provoked such zeal from the Prince of Peace?

One possible answer lies in something called the Soreg—a dividing wall in the Second Temple that separated Gentiles from the inner courts of worship. The penalty for crossing it? Death. 

In Jesus’ day, this physical barrier symbolized deeper religious and cultural divisions, born from centuries of foreign intrusion—Antiochus Epiphanes desecrating the sanctuary, Pompey entering the Holy of Holies, Pilate defiling the gates with Roman symbols.

In response, the people erected barriers—both physical and spiritual. And in many ways, we do the same today.

As secular culture presses in, some churches lock down, creating their own modern-day Soregs to protect what they believe is sacred. But in doing so, are we possibly excluding the very people God wants to welcome in?

Join us as we examine:

     - The historical and religious meaning of the Soreg

     - How Jesus’ actions challenge a fortress mentality

     - Paul’s message in Ephesians 2 about tearing down the dividing wall of hostility

This lesson will challenge us to reflect on our own attitudes and how we use Scripture: Do we build walls that divide—or doors that invite?

Lesson Handout: