Growing up in a small evangelical church, I could recite the answer before the question was fully asked. “Why did Jesus come to earth?” The wooden pews would creak as children squirmed, waiting to chorus the approved response: “To die for our sins.” It was the theological equivalent of knowing your home address – something so fundamental it never required proof.
For years, I never considered that Jesus himself might have given a different return address. The idea first unsettled me during a college Bible study when someone asked, “Can anyone find where Jesus explicitly says that’s why he came?” Pens hovered over notebooks as we flipped through red-letter editions. The silence stretched longer than anyone expected.
This wasn’t some obscure doctrinal point – it was the foundation stone of evangelical Christianity. If Jesus truly considered his death the primary purpose of his incarnation, wouldn’t that declaration appear in at least one of the four Gospels? Wouldn’t the disciples have recorded him saying, “Listen carefully, I’ve come specifically to be crucified for humanity’s sins”?
The red letters tell a more complex story. In Luke 4, Jesus opens the scroll to Isaiah and announces his mission: bringing good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, recovery of sight. In Mark 10, he describes coming “not to be served, but to serve.” John’s Gospel records him saying “I came that they may have life.” These declarations share space with passion predictions, yet none reduce his entire purpose to a single sacrificial act.
This discovery didn’t dismantle my faith, but it did rearrange the furniture. What if we’ve elevated one aspect of Christ’s work (however vital) while neglecting others he actually emphasized? When the early church preached in Acts, they focused overwhelmingly on resurrection rather than atonement. Paul’s letters, written later, develop the sacrificial metaphors more fully.
There’s an important distinction between what Jesus accomplished through his death and what he stated as his conscious mission. The cross wasn’t an afterthought, but neither was it the sole item on his agenda. Like sunlight through a prism, his purpose refracts into multiple colors – liberation, healing, reconciliation, kingdom-building – that we flatten when we insist on a single hue.
Perhaps this explains why so many feel their faith has been reduced to a transaction. If salvation becomes solely about sin management, we risk missing the abundant life Jesus promised. The red letters invite us into something wilder – a revolution of love that begins now, not just an insurance policy for later.
The Ubiquity of Atonement Theology
Growing up in an evangelical household, I could recite the phrase before I fully understood its weight: “Jesus came to die for our sins.” It hung in the air during Sunday sermons, woven into children’s Bible stories, printed on pastel-colored memory verse cards. By the time I was twelve, this statement felt less like a theological proposition and more like a mathematical axiom – something so fundamentally true it required no proof.
Recent surveys suggest approximately 90% of evangelical Protestants can instantly complete that sentence when given the opening words “Jesus came to…” The response has become reflexive, a doctrinal knee-jerk reaction ingrained through repetition. In many churches, it functions as the master key that supposedly unlocks all of Scripture, the lens through which every biblical narrative gets filtered.
Consider the bestselling Christian book The Cross-Centered Life by C.J. Mahaney, where the author states plainly: “The central message of the Bible isn’t the teachings of Jesus – it’s the death of Jesus.” This perspective dominates evangelical publishing, from seminary textbooks to Sunday school curricula. The popular Jesus Storybook Bible for children frames even the Old Testament stories as “whispering the name of Jesus” and pointing toward his sacrificial death.
What fascinates me isn’t the prevalence of this belief, but the near-universal assumption that Jesus himself clearly taught it. In small group discussions, I’ve watched Bible study leaders ask “Why did Jesus come to earth?” only to receive blank stares when following up with “Can anyone quote where Jesus actually says that exact phrase?” We’ve conflated what the church teaches about Jesus with what Jesus taught about himself.
The discrepancy becomes sharper when examining how this doctrine gets transmitted. During a recent visit to a megachurch’s high school ministry, I observed a youth pastor illustrate the concept using a courtroom analogy: “God’s the judge, we’re the criminals, and Jesus is the one who steps in to take our death sentence.” The teenagers nodded along, though the metaphor borrows more from medieval penal theory than the Gospels. Later, when I asked if they could recall where Jesus used such legal imagery, the most biblically literate student hesitantly offered “maybe Romans?” – correctly identifying Paul’s epistles rather than Christ’s words.
This pattern extends beyond Protestant circles. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that Jesus’ death “is the unique and definitive sacrifice” that accomplishes salvation, while Eastern Orthodox traditions emphasize Christ’s victory over death through the resurrection. Across denominations, variations of atonement theology form the backbone of liturgical confessions and communion liturgies. What remains remarkably consistent is the rarity with which these formulations get anchored to explicit statements from Jesus in the Gospels.
Perhaps most telling is the language we use during evangelistic appeals. Campus ministry trainings teach students to ask strangers: “If you died tonight, do you know where you’d spend eternity?” – a question that presupposes salvation depends entirely on one’s stance toward Jesus’ death. The famous “Romans Road” evangelism method strings together Pauline verses about sin and redemption, while the “Four Spiritual Laws” tract begins by declaring God’s love before immediately pivoting to humanity’s sinfulness requiring Christ’s sacrificial death. These approaches aren’t necessarily wrong, but they demonstrate how thoroughly atonement theology has become equated with the gospel itself.
Yet when we temporarily set aside these layers of interpretation and tradition, when we mute the centuries of theological development and denominational distinctives to simply listen – what do we hear Jesus saying about why he came? The answer might surprise those of us raised on a steady diet of substitutionary atonement teachings. Not because those teachings are necessarily false, but because they may represent only part of a much richer, more complex picture that emerges when we pay attention to the red letters.
What Did Jesus Actually Say About His Mission?
The red letters in my Bible stared back at me, almost accusatory in their silence. I had always assumed the phrase “Jesus came to die for our sins” was something Christ himself declared repeatedly. But when I actually looked for those exact words in the Gospels—particularly in the red-letter editions where Jesus’ direct speech stands out—I found something unexpected: absence.
In Luke 4:18-19, Jesus reads from Isaiah in the synagogue: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed.” This becomes his inaugural address, his mission statement. Notice what’s present—liberation, healing, good news—and what’s missing: any mention of atonement or substitutionary death.
Then there’s Mark 10:45, often cited as prooftext for substitutionary atonement: “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” But that word “ransom” (lytron in Greek) had rich cultural connotations beyond penal substitution. In first-century contexts, it evoked Jubilee—the cancelling of debts, the freeing of slaves. Jesus seems less focused on transaction than transformation.
John’s Gospel gives us another angle. In John 10:10, Jesus declares: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Again, the emphasis falls on present flourishing rather than future forgiveness. Even the famous John 3:16—”For God so loved the world…”—frames the giving of the Son as an act of love before it’s a mechanism for salvation.
What emerges from these red letters isn’t a singular focus on atonement, but a constellation of purposes: announcing God’s kingdom (Mark 1:15), embodying divine love (John 13:34), confronting oppressive systems (Luke 19:45-46), and yes, eventually surrendering to the cross. But the cross appears as the paradoxical culmination of this broader mission, not its sole objective.
This isn’t to deny the theological significance of Jesus’ death. Paul and other New Testament writers certainly developed rich atonement theologies. But when we listen to Jesus himself, we hear less about paying a debt and more about planting seeds, healing wounds, and throwing open doors. His metaphors for salvation—a banquet, a homecoming, a healed relationship—often feel more relational than juridical.
Perhaps we’ve reduced the symphony of Jesus’ mission to a single note. The red letters invite us to recover the full melody.
The Historical Construction of Atonement Doctrine
There’s an uncomfortable gap between what Jesus said about his mission and what later generations of believers came to emphasize. The transition from Jesus’ own teachings about the kingdom of God to the church’s focus on substitutionary atonement didn’t happen overnight. It emerged through historical processes, theological debates, and the practical needs of growing religious communities.
Paul’s letters mark the first major shift. In Romans 3:25, he describes Christ as a “hilasterion” – a term borrowed from Greek sacrificial language often translated as “propitiation” or “mercy seat.” This metaphor would have resonated with both Jewish audiences familiar with Yom Kippur rituals and Gentile converts accustomed to pagan sacrifice systems. What’s striking is how Paul creatively adapts these cultural concepts to explain Christ’s death, going beyond anything Jesus explicitly claimed about himself.
The development accelerated in the second and third centuries as Christianity spread throughout the Roman Empire. Early church fathers like Irenaeus and Origen wrestled with competing theories – was Christ’s death primarily a ransom paid to Satan? A moral example for believers? A cosmic victory over evil powers? These thinkers worked with the raw materials of gospel accounts and apostolic writings, but their interpretations increasingly framed the crucifixion through philosophical categories foreign to Jesus’ original Aramaic-speaking context.
The Council of Nicaea in 325 CE proved decisive. As Christianity became the Roman Empire’s official religion, the need for standardized doctrine grew urgent. The Nicene Creed’s concise formulation – “for us and for our salvation he came down from heaven” – crystallized centuries of reflection into an authoritative statement. What began as one metaphor among many in early Christian writings had now become orthodoxy.
This historical perspective helps explain why modern Christians instinctively answer “Jesus came to die for our sins” when asked about his mission. The theological development makes sense within its historical context – early believers grappling with the scandal of the cross, seeking to explain how this shameful execution could embody God’s saving power. Yet seeing this development as a historical process rather than a direct quotation from Jesus creates space for richer, more nuanced engagement with Christian tradition.
Perhaps the most helpful insight from studying this history is recognizing that all theology involves interpretation. The early church’s atonement theories represented faithful attempts to make sense of Christ’s significance for their time and culture – just as we must do for ours. The challenge isn’t to discard these traditions but to hold them in creative tension with Jesus’ own words about liberation, healing, and God’s inbreaking kingdom.
Becoming a Text Detective: Your Guide to Verification
The realization that Jesus might not have explicitly stated his purpose as dying for our sins can feel unsettling at first. I remember that hollow sensation in my stomach when I first noticed the absence of those exact words in the red letters. But here’s the beautiful thing about scripture – it invites investigation, not blind acceptance.
Tools for Direct Access
BlueLetterBible.org has become my go-to resource for this kind of textual detective work. Their red-letter feature allows you to isolate and study only the words spoken by Jesus across all four Gospels. The interface is simple: select ‘Red-Letter Search’ from the study tools menu, choose your preferred translation (I often cross-reference between NIV and ESV), and suddenly you’re face-to-face with Christ’s unmediated voice.
When I ran this search for phrases like “came to die” or “purpose is to atone,” the silence was deafening. Instead, what surfaced were consistent themes about bringing good news to the poor (Luke 4:18), serving rather than being served (Mark 10:45), and abundant life (John 10:10). The discrepancy between these declarations and what I’d been taught became impossible to ignore.
A Three-Step Verification Process
- Isolate the Source: Start by reading just the red letters in one Gospel straight through, preferably in a more literal translation like NASB. Notice what Jesus emphasizes through repetition. In my Matthew read-through, “kingdom of heaven” appeared 32 times in Jesus’ speeches, while any atonement language appeared only in predictive passion statements.
- Contextualize the Text: When you do encounter passages that seem to support substitutionary atonement (like Mark 10:45’s “ransom” language), use BlueLetterBible’s interlinear tool to examine the original Greek. You’ll discover that lytron (ransom) carried rich cultural connotations beyond penal substitution.
- Track the Development: Compare Jesus’ self-descriptions in the Synoptics with how early church leaders like Paul interpreted his death. The shift from Jesus’ “kingdom now” language to later epistles’ “atonement theology” becomes strikingly clear when viewed sequentially.
Discussion Starters for Groups
When gathering with others who are re-examining these questions, I’ve found these prompts generate meaningful dialogue:
- “If we take Jesus at his word in Luke 4, how might our understanding of salvation expand beyond just forgiveness of sins?”
- “Mark 10:45 mentions service as central to Jesus’ mission – what would it look like to make that equally important in our theology?”
- “John’s Gospel emphasizes ‘life’ 36 times in Jesus’ words – how does this abundant life concept complement or challenge traditional atonement views?”
The goal isn’t to dismantle anyone’s faith, but to enrich it by removing layers of interpretation to hear the radical teacher from Nazareth more clearly. My own journey with these texts continues to surprise me – just last month I noticed how often Jesus connects “following me” with active compassion rather than doctrinal assent.
Your investigation might lead you down different paths, and that’s exactly how it should be. The scriptures are deep enough for all of us to dive in and emerge with fresh perspective. What matters isn’t that we all reach identical conclusions, but that we take seriously the call to “search the scriptures” ourselves (John 5:39) – even when it means questioning what we thought we knew for certain.
The Invitation to Explore
This journey began with a simple question—one that unsettled what I thought was bedrock truth. Now it’s your turn. What happens when you set aside Sunday school flannelgraphs and sermon soundbites to listen solely to Jesus’ own words? The red letters might surprise you.
Your Red Letter Challenge
Grab a notebook or open a blank document. Try this:
- Search the ‘I have come’ statements – Most Bible apps let you filter Jesus’ words. Scan for his stated purposes (Hint: Luke 4:18-19 rarely makes evangelical top-ten lists).
- Note the verbs – Does “proclaim freedom” carry the same weight as “die for sins” in your spiritual vocabulary?
- Track the silence – Where do you expect Jesus to mention atonement but find him teaching about mustard seeds instead?
Why This Matters
Some will argue theology isn’t built on red letters alone—that Paul’s epistles or church councils complete the picture. Fair. But when the central figure of Christianity describes his mission differently than his followers later would, shouldn’t that gap intrigue us?
Join the Conversation
Share your findings with #RedLetterChallenge. Not to debunk faith, but to deepen it. You might discover:
- A Jesus more focused on liberation than courtroom substitution
- Church traditions that amplify some themes while muting others
- New ways to reconcile the Christ of history with the Christ of doctrine
The goal isn’t to arm you with gotcha questions, but to rekindle something ancient Christians called sacramental curiosity—the belief that truth withstands scrutiny. After all, if our faith is true, it has nothing to fear from red letters.
So—what did you find in the red?