One Way. One Name. One Empty Tomb.

For over a decade, we’ve asked thousands across our city a question that cuts to the core of human self-perception: “If you stood before God after death and He asked, ‘Why should I let you into My Heaven?’, what would you say?” The most frequent reply—“I’ve been a good person”—reflects a deeply held belief in moral sufficiency.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, “good” means “to be desired or approved of,” yet when pressed, many acknowledge they don’t truly deserve Heaven. They often add, however, that they don’t feel or think they’re so morally or ethically corrupt as to warrant eternal punishment. This response reveals a universal tension: the instinct to seek approval while grappling with the weight of imperfection.

When a well-off man, desperate for spiritual assurance, ran to Jesus and addressed Him as “Good Teacher"¹, Christ’s response was startling: “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone.”. This exchange challenges the modern assumption that moral virtue can be measured on a human scale.

Jesus—the figure who healed the sick, uplifted the marginalized, and embodied selfless love—did not deflect praise out of humility but redefined the very nature of “goodness.” His words dismantle the notion that ethical behavior, however admirable, equates to divine perfection. If the One who personified love and justice refused to claim inherent goodness, what does this reveal about our own standards?

Jesus’ statement exposes a chasm between human and divine goodness: the former is relative, temporal, and stained by imperfection, while the latter is absolute, eternal, and unattainable by human effort. This confrontation forces a choice: either we cling to the fragile illusion of our own moral sufficiency, or we recognize the radical call to seek a righteousness that transcends human achievement—a righteousness rooted not in our deeds but in surrender to the only One who truly satisfies the definition of “good.”

The encounter between Jesus and that rich man crystallizes the futility of human² moral effort when measured against God’s holiness. The man, confident in his adherence to the commandments, asks what “good thing” he must perform to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds not by affirming his moral résumé but by exposing its inadequacy: “Keep the commandments if you want to enter life,” then sharpens the blade, demanding the surrender of wealth and self-reliance.

When the man walks away, Jesus declares, “It will be very hard for rich people to enter the Kingdom of heaven,” not as a condemnation of wealth itself but as a metaphor for the impossibility of salvation through human virtue. The disciples’ stunned question—“Who, then, can be saved?”—receives an answer that dismantles all self-assurance: “This is impossible for human beings, but for God everything is possible.”

Here, Jesus confronts the illusion that moral sufficiency can be engineered through rules, rituals, or self-discipline. Even the most disciplined adherent to ethical codes—like that man, who claims to have kept the commandments—fails to grasp that God’s standard is not comparative righteousness but absolute perfection.

This aligns with Jesus’ earlier declaration “that you will be able to enter the Kingdom of heaven only if you are more faithful than the teachers of the Law and the Pharisees in doing what God requires.”³. The Pharisees were the pinnacle of human moral achievement—fastidious in law-keeping, tithing, and ceremonial purity—yet Jesus dismisses their righteousness as woefully insufficient. Why? Because God’s holiness is not a higher rung on the ladder of human morality but an entirely different dimension of existence.

The Law’s demands are not merely external (do not murder, do not commit adultery) but internal (do not hate, do not lust), revealing that even our thoughts and desires are tainted by rebellion⁴. Every attempt to “be good” becomes a mirror exposing our corruption: we cannot even love our enemies, let alone achieve the selfless, radical generosity Jesus demands.

The tension reaches its breaking point when we recognize that God’s justice requires perfection⁵—a standard no human can meet. Our moral efforts, however praiseworthy by earthly standards, are “filthy rags"⁶ before His purity. This is the crisis Jesus amplifies: to cling to the myth of self-righteousness is to reject reality itself.

The only rational response is to abandon all claims of moral adequacy and cry out for a righteousness not our own—one that cannot be earned, legislated, or self-generated, but must be received as a gift from the One who alone defines “good.”

The climax of Jesus’ teachings leaves no room for ambiguity: human righteousness, however strenuous, cannot bridge the chasm between our sinfulness and God’s holiness. This reality is crystallized in His words during the Last Supper: “this is my blood, which seals God's covenant, my blood poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”⁷. Here, Jesus explicitly declares that access to God’s presence—and the forgiveness required to enter it—depends not on human effort but on His sacrificial death.

Earlier, He had warned, “if you do not eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you will not have life in yourselves.”⁸—a statement so scandalous that many disciples abandoned Him⁹. Yet Jesus refused to soften it. Why? Because He alone is “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”¹⁰—the perfect substitute required to satisfy divine justice.

The cross was not a tragic accident but the fulfillment of God’s plan. Jesus’ cry from the cross—“My God, my God, why did you abandon me?”¹¹—reveals the horror of bearing the weight of humanity’s sin, a punishment we deserve but He endured. This is the heart of the gospel: “Christ was without sin, but for our sake God made him share our sin in order that in union with him we might share the righteousness of God.”¹². Our moral inadequacy is not a hurdle to overcome through self-improvement but a death sentence requiring a Substitute.

Jesus’ resurrection three days later vindicates His claim: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die;”¹³. There is no other name, no other sacrifice, no other righteousness that can grant access to Heaven—only the blood of the One who alone defined “good,” who alone conquered death, and who alone offers eternal life to those who abandon self-righteousness and surrender to Him.

The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the definitive, historical event that seals the truth of His claims and dismantles every competing worldview. Unlike the founders of other religions—Buddha, Muhammad, or Confucius—whose tombs remain occupied, Jesus’ tomb is empty. The Gospels record that after His crucifixion, Roman guards sealed the tomb¹⁴, yet three days later, it was found open, His body gone, and angels declared, “He is not here; he has been raised”¹⁵.

Over the next 40 days, He appeared to more than 500 witnesses¹⁶, including skeptics like Thomas¹⁷ and enemies like Paul¹⁸, transforming them into unshakable proclaimers of His resurrection—even unto death. This is not myth or metaphor; it is history’s most radical claim, corroborated by the sudden, explosive growth of the early Church in Jerusalem, where Jesus’ resurrection could have been disproven by producing His corpse.

The resurrection validates every prior assertion of Jesus’ divinity and authority. When He declared, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die”¹⁹, He staked His identity on the power to conquer death—a power no human or religious leader has ever wielded. His resurrection proves He is not merely a moral teacher but the incarnate God who fulfilled the Law’s demands²⁰, bore sin’s penalty²¹, and rose to justify all who trust in Him²².

It also exposes the futility of human moral striving: if salvation could be earned through good deeds, Jesus’ death and resurrection would be unnecessary²³. Instead, the empty tomb proclaims that only His sacrifice suffices. Every religion or philosophy that rejects the resurrection—whether denying His death (Islam), redefining His divinity (Jehovah’s Witnesses), or prioritizing human works (secularism)—collapses under the weight of this fact: their leaders are dead, but our Savior lives.

The resurrection is the ultimate apologetic, the cosmic seal on Jesus’ words: “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one goes to the Father except by me.”²⁴. To reject this is to cling to spiritual delusion; to embrace it is to find life.