Dying To Know: The Death That Changes Everything

1. The Question We’re All Asking

Everybody’s dying to know something.

What happens when we die?

Why does love hurt so much?

Why is the world so broken—and if God is real, why hasn’t He fixed it?

Even people who don’t think much about faith still feel that gnawing ache: There has to be more than this. We crave meaning, we chase fairness, we want wrongs righted. It starts young. Hand out M&Ms unevenly to a group of children, and the equations start flying: “Hey, that’s not fair!” They haven’t read a law book, but justice is wired into them.

That built-in sense of right and wrong whispers that we were made by Someone just and good. But the whisper turns unsettling when we realize we’ve broken the very law we demand of others.

If God is just, what hope do we have?

That question isn’t new. It has burned in human hearts since Eden, and it is still the question that drives us to the foot of the cross.

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2. The Problem Beneath the Surface

The Bible names the sickness: sin.

It’s not only the bad things we do; it’s the bent inside us that twists even our best motives.

Romans 3:10–12 (ESV) says,

> “None is righteous, no, not one;

no one understands;

no one seeks for God.

All have turned aside; together they have become worthless;

no one does good, not even one.”

That’s not hyperbole; it’s diagnosis. We aren’t slightly misaligned people who need a moral tune-up—we’re separated from the Source of life.

Imagine a deep canyon stretching between humanity and God. On our side: pride, violence, greed, and self-righteousness. On His side: holiness, purity, and perfect love. Every religion, every philosophy, has tried to bridge that gap—some with rituals, some with moral effort, some with denial—but none reach the other side.

Isaiah 6 gives us a glimpse of what holiness looks like. The prophet sees the Lord “high and lifted up,” the train of His robe filling the temple, seraphim crying “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.” (v. 3) The sight undoes Isaiah:

> “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (v. 5)

That’s what happens when holiness meets humanity—self-defense collapses. Isaiah doesn’t compare himself to his neighbors; he compares himself to God, and the result is ruin.

Yet right there, grace enters. A seraph touches his lips with a coal from the altar and says, “Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.” (v. 7)

Holiness and mercy meet on the altar—a foreshadowing of the cross to come.

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3. When Justice Meets Holiness

If God simply ignores sin, He ceases to be just. If He condemns us without mercy, He ceases to be loving. The cross is the collision point where both His justice and His mercy remain intact.

Isaiah 53:4–6 (ESV) paints the scene centuries before Calvary:

> “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.

But He was pierced for our transgressions;

He was crushed for our iniquities;

upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with His wounds we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;

we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”

Every phrase is substitution.

Every wound is vicarious.

God’s justice demanded payment; His love provided it in Himself.

That’s why the story of Jesus is not advice on how to live but news about what’s been done. Christianity is not self-improvement; it’s self-surrender.

At Calvary, justice wasn’t canceled—it was satisfied. Mercy wasn’t imagined—it was purchased.

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4. The Distance We Can’t Cross

Picture humanity standing on the canyon’s edge, measuring how far good deeds might carry us. Some jump farther than others—saints, philanthropists, moralists—but all fall short of the opposite rim. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23 ESV)

That’s the despairing side of the gospel—but despair is not its end. The very God we offended stepped into the canyon Himself.

Philippians 2:6–8 says Jesus, “though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant… and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

He bridged the distance by becoming the bridge.

And there, between earth and heaven, hung the question of eternity: Would justice crush Him—or would love prevail?

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5. The Cross That Bridged It