Lost in Translation, or Inconvenient Truth

How We Are to Approach the Difficult Concepts in the Judeo-Christian Bible

The Knife and the Altar

Abraham stood over his son with a knife in his hand. Isaac, bound and silent, lay atop the altar. The wood was arranged. The fire was ready. And the command from God was unmistakable: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love…and offer him there as a burnt offering.”

This is not a metaphor. It is not a parable. It is a historical moment in which God asked a man to sacrifice his child. And Abraham, staggeringly, obeyed.

For many modern readers, this story is unbearable. It offends our moral instincts, our parental affections, and our philosophical frameworks. We want to reinterpret it, soften it, explain it away. But it is precisely in this discomfort that the Bible speaks most clearly. The question is not whether we understand it—but whether we will submit to it.

The Problem Beneath the Problem

The Judeo-Christian Bible is not a book of inspirational quotes. It is a divine revelation—written across centuries, in three ancient languages, through prophets, poets, and apostles. And yet, many Christians today read it as if it were a self-help manual, a philosophical treatise, or a cultural artifact. We want the Bible to affirm our values, soothe our anxieties, and reinforce our preferences. But Scripture was never meant to be convenient. It was meant to be true.

The problem is not merely translation—it is transformation. We are not just misreading the Bible; we are resisting it. We are filtering eternal truths through temporal lenses. We are shaping theology to fit our psychology. And in doing so, we lose the very power of the Word that was meant to shape us.

The Weight of Words

The original biblical texts—written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek—contain approximately 443,000 words. By contrast, modern English translations expand significantly: the ESV contains over 757,000 words, and the NASB over 807,000. That’s a 70–80% increase in word count. Why? Because translation is interpretation. Every word choice carries theological weight.

Consider the Hebrew word chesed. It’s often translated as “steadfast love,” but it also means covenant loyalty, mercy, grace, and faithfulness. Or the Greek word logos, rendered “Word” in John 1, yet rich with philosophical and theological meaning—reason, order, divine principle. Even Gehenna, translated “hell,” originally referred to a cursed valley outside Jerusalem—a place of judgment and prophetic warning.

When we read the Bible in English, we are reading a mediated text. That mediation is necessary—but it is not neutral. Every translation decision shapes our understanding of God, salvation, and ourselves.

What the Bible Actually Says

Let us now turn to the truths that are most often lost in translation—or resisted in interpretation. These are not obscure doctrines tucked away in footnotes. They are central themes that confront our assumptions and demand our allegiance.

The Bible speaks unapologetically of divine election. God chooses—not based on merit, effort, or desire, but according to His purpose. “He chose us in him before the foundation of the world,” Paul writes in Ephesians. “So then it does not depend on the person who wants it or the one who runs, but on God who has mercy,” he continues in Romans. And Jesus himself declares, “You did not choose me, but I chose you.”

This doctrine confronts our modern obsession with autonomy. We want to believe we chose God. But Scripture insists: He chose us. Election is not about favoritism—it’s about divine purpose. It is not a rejection of human dignity, but a revelation of divine sovereignty.

And sovereignty is the next truth we must face. God is not a passive observer. He is the sovereign ruler of all creation—governing history, nations, and individual lives. “All things were created through him and for him,” Paul writes to the Colossians. “Our God is in the heavens; He does whatever He pleases,” the psalmist declares. “My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose,” says the Lord through Isaiah.

This is not fatalism—it is providence. God’s sovereignty is not a threat to freedom; it is the foundation of trust. It means that nothing is random, nothing is wasted, and nothing is outside His control.

But sovereignty also means judgment. And here we encounter one of the most difficult doctrines of all: hell. Jesus spoke more about hell than anyone else in Scripture. “These will go away into eternal punishment,” he says in Matthew, “but the righteous into eternal life.” And in Revelation, we read, “If anyone’s name was not found written in the book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire.”

Hell is not a metaphor. It is not a scare tactic. It is a reality. And to deny judgment is to diminish grace. If there is no wrath, there is no need for mercy. If there is no justice, there is no need for a Savior.

The gospel is not merely an invitation—it is a rescue. And that rescue comes at a cost. Christianity is not a path to self-fulfillment—it is a call to self-denial. “Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple,” Jesus says. “If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”

The cross is not a symbol of comfort—it is an instrument of death. To follow Christ is to die to self. It is to crucify the flesh, to renounce autonomy, to submit to a King.

And why must we die to self? Because we are not basically good—we are radically fallen. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” Paul writes. “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick,” says Jeremiah. The Bible’s anthropology is stark. We are not victims—we are rebels. And repentance is not optional—it is essential.

Even the structure of the family and the church is shaped by inconvenient truths. Scripture teaches distinct roles for men and women—rooted not in culture, but in creation. “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord,” Paul writes. “I do not allow a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man,” he tells Timothy. These verses are not popular. But they are inspired. And biblical fidelity requires submission to God’s design.

Suffering, too, is redefined. It is not merely endured—it is divinely purposed. “Count it all joy…when you meet trials,” James exhorts. “We also celebrate in our tribulations,” Paul writes, “knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance.” God does not waste pain. He uses it to refine, shape, and sanctify His people.

And finally, we must face the exclusivity of Christ. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” Jesus says. “No one comes to the Father except through me.” The gate is narrow. The path is hard. And few find it. Pluralism may be popular—but it is not biblical.

Even history itself is governed by God. “It is because of the wickedness of these nations that the Lord is driving them out before you,” Moses tells Israel. “He determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation,” Paul declares in Athens. God is not just sovereign over souls—He is sovereign over empires.

The Knife Revisited

And so we return to Abraham. The knife was raised. The altar was ready. But the angel of the Lord called out: “Do not lay your hand on the boy…” God provided a ram. The sacrifice was made. And Abraham named the place: The Lord Will Provide.

This story is not about cruelty—it is about covenant. It is not about fear—it is about faith. Abraham did not understand the command. But he trusted the Commander.

So must we.

The Bible is not easy. It is not tame. It is not convenient. But it is true. And if we are to live as true Christians—knowing now what the Bible actually says—we must surrender not just our interpretations, but our lives.