My Testimony A short read on hope, atonement, and what to do with a world like this one What do we make of existence? Of a world, as the Oxford mathematician John Lennox puts it, full of both beauty and barbed wire? If there’s a God behind it, is he good? And what do we do with all the suffering in the meantime? I’m not asking those questions abstractly. There was a period in my life when despair had closed in on me so completely that I couldn’t function at work, couldn’t quiet my own mind, and genuinely feared I’d lose myself to it entirely — a fear sharpened by watching mental health struggles run through my own family. Scripture has old language for that kind of darkness: a sky that feels like bronze overhead, a heart in constant suspense, mornings you wish were evening and evenings you wish were morning. I lived inside that description for a while, not as poetry, but as my actual Tuesday. What pulled me out wasn’t a technique. It was three words I hadn’t really understood before, sitting with a book by Jerry Bridges on a cold day in December. Atonement, propitiation, expiation. They sound like seminary jargon, but they’re really just three angles on the same rescue. Propitiation is about God’s own justice — his righteous anger toward sin actually being satisfied, not waved away. Expiation is about the sin itself — not appeased, but removed, wiped clean, the way Micah says God casts our sins “into the depths of the sea.” And atonement is what happens when both of those are true at once: a broken relationship traded for peace, two sides who were at odds now genuinely at one. What struck me, reading it, was that this wasn’t a legal transaction happening somewhere far away. It was for me — not people in general, but me, specifically, by name. And something happened when that landed: a peace I hadn’t engineered, a sense of being washed clean that didn’t stay confined to my own heart — the whole world outside my window looked different afterward, like it had been rinsed. Paul has a name for this: if anyone is in Christ, he’s a new creation. The old has gone. Genuinely new has come. I bring this up not to perform a testimony, but because I think the question underneath it is the one you’re actually asking too: where do you put your hope in a world this mixed? Not in the things of this world — they weren’t built to hold that kind of weight. C.S. Lewis put it simply: if you find in yourself a desire nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that you were made for another world. Hope works the same way. If hope has to be solid to be worth anything, it can’t be built out of things that are, by nature, always shifting. That’s why Hebrews calls hope an anchor for the soul — not a feeling, an anchor, dropped somewhere hope can’t be undone by weather. It’s anchored in a specific place: behind the curtain, in the most sacred room that ever existed, where Jesus went ahead of us, carrying his own blood as the very sacrifice this whole thing required. A God who doesn’t shift. Who is, in his own words, the same yesterday, today, and forever. I don’t have every answer to suffering. I’m still working through plenty of it myself. I’m not writing this as someone who has it all figured out — just as one voice, among a lot of others, who was in real trouble with no way out on my own, until I wasn’t. So: where is your hope right now? And is it built to hold the weight you’re putting on it? If you want to talk more about any of this, my email’s linked below — I mean that. And if you want to go deeper on the ideas here, there’s a reading list linked as well. christianerudition123@gmail.com Further Reading: Beauty and Barbed Wire Short list — the sources actually referenced in the piece, plus one or two natural next steps. * Jerry Bridges, The Gospel for Real Life — the book at the center of the testimony itself; a clear, pastoral treatment of atonement, propitiation, and expiation for readers who want the fuller explanation. * C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book III, ch. 10 (”Hope”) — source of the “desires nothing in this world can satisfy” argument, worth reading in full context. * John Lennox, Where Is God in a Coronavirus World? — a short, accessible book working through the “beauty and barbed wire” framing at greater length than a single talk allows. * Deuteronomy 28:65–67 — the source of the “sky like bronze,” “if only it were evening” language quoted early in the piece; worth reading in its full, harder context. * Micah 7:18–19 — “he will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” — a short passage, worth reading slowly rather than only as a quoted line. * Hebrews 6:19–20 — the “anchor for the soul” passage; short enough to read in two minutes, dense enough to sit with for a lot longer. * 2 Corinthians 5:17–21 — Paul’s “new creation” language, immediately followed by his own explanation of reconciliation — the theological heart of the whole piece in one paragraph. If you only read one: Hebrews 6:13–20, in full, slowly. It’s short, and it’s the actual anchor (literally) the whole essay is built on. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit christianerudition.substack.com