The False Gospel Box

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven.

For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”

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Opening: The Great Pepperoni Panic

Not long ago, the internet nearly melted down over pizza.

Someone posted a photo online claiming that a famous pizza chain had started printing Bible verses under the cheese.

People went wild. Videos popped up on social media. One man lifted his slice and shouted, “Mine says John 3:16 in mozzarella!”

Another posted a blurry picture that looked more like a burn mark than a Beatitude.

Within hours, the rumor spread across the country. “Pizza evangelism!” people said. “Gospel in every box!”

The company finally had to issue a statement:

> “We are proud of our crust, not our calligraphy.”

There were no secret verses—just melted rumor.

That, my friends, is The False Gospel Box.

We live in a world where everything comes labeled “authentic” and “handcrafted,” but when you open it up, what’s inside doesn’t match the label.

And that’s not just true in marketing—it’s true in religion.

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The Messianic Fact Checker

When Jesus stood on the hillside and said, “You have heard that it was said…but I say to you,”

He was fact-checking the religion of His day.

The rabbis had taken God’s pure command—“Love your neighbor”—and paired it with a man-made rumor: “and hate your enemy.”

That second half never came from heaven. It came from human hurt. From tribal loyalty. From spiritual nationalism disguised as holiness.

Religion had done what it often does—it divided people into “us” and “them.”

And once we have a “them,” we always have permission to hate.

So Jesus walked into that echo chamber of tradition and said, “Let’s correct the record.”

He was heaven’s original Fact Checker.

He wasn’t arguing about toppings—He was revealing the real recipe of love.

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Religion: The Great Divider

Religion, left to itself, is the great divider.

It whispers, “You can believe like me and be accepted—or be excluded.”

It teaches us to build fences around our convictions instead of bridges from our hearts.

We bless those who agree with us, and bake the rest in the oven of judgment.

We divide over worship style, over doctrine, over who eats what and when.

We turn grace into a membership plan.

It’s what happened in Jesus’ time, and it still happens in ours.

So imagine Jesus standing among us today saying again:

> “You’ve heard it was said… but I say to you.”

He’s lifting the lid on The False Gospel Box.

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The Haystack Gospel

Now, we Adventists may not fight over pepperoni, but let’s be honest—we have our own food theology.

We take our convictions right into the fellowship hall.

We don’t divide over doctrine—we divide over haystacks.

Some start with the chips, others with the beans.

Some sprinkle the lettuce, others drown it in salsa.

And heaven forbid you mix the mild and the hot together—that’s culinary apostasy right there!

I’ll confess something:

You always put the vege cheese on the beans so it’ll melt.

That’s not a suggestion—that’s sanctification in casserole form!

And if you want to get truly holy, you crown the whole thing with guacamole and stick two tortilla chips in the top—like little tablets of stone.

The Ten Commandments on Mount Guac.

(pause)

Now listen: the problem isn’t the food. It’s the fence.

We start to believe that God only accepts people who build their haystacks like we do.

We turn divine truth into personal preference, and then weaponize it.

That’s what religion does—it makes rules out of recipes.

And Jesus, seeing that same spirit in His generation, said, “Enough. Let’s clear the menu.”

> “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’

But I say to you, Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”

He’s saying, “Stop fussing about the order of ingredients and start sharing the plate.”

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The Chef’s Correction

This is where the Messiah rewrites the recipe.

The crowd expected Him to bless their exclusivity.

Instead, He reveals that the love of heaven is not a condiment—it’s the main course.

“Love your enemies.”

That’s not soft sentiment—it’s defiant goodness.

It’s refusing to let the hatred of others determine the flavor of your soul.

“Pray for those who persecute you.”

That’s not passive surrender—it’s redemptive resistance.

You can’t keep hating someone you truly pray for.

Prayer doesn’t always change the enemy—but it always changes the pray-er.

It moves your heart from courtroom to compassion.

From clenched fists to open hands.