It Ends Where It Began: The Bible’s Final Act

Have you ever opened the Bible and thought, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this”? You read a few chapters and quickly feel lost—names you don’t recognize, ancient stories that seem disconnected, and a deep sense that maybe this just wasn’t written for people like you. If that’s how you’ve felt, I want to say this clearly: you’re not alone. In fact, that’s a lot more normal than anyone in a church pew has ever been willing to admit out loud.

What I’ve learned over the years—both personally and in decades of pastoral ministry—is that one of the biggest reasons we get confused by the Bible is that we’re never given the story behind the stories. We’re handed verses. Or maybe themes. Or rules. But no one ever really stops to show us how it all fits together. No one gives us the forest before we’re told to identify all the trees.

So that’s what I’m trying to do here: give you the forest.

I’ve found it helpful to look at the Bible as a three-act story, like a great play or film—something with an intentional arc. There’s a setup. There’s a long, drawn-out conflict. And then there’s a resolution that somehow brings everything full circle. The goal of this framework isn’t to oversimplify the Bible, but to help us locate ourselves within it. To recognize the themes that are playing out and the part we’re being invited into.

That’s the framework I’ve been exploring: the Bible as a three-act narrative.

Act One is the setup—who we are, what we’re made for, and what God is doing in the world.

Act Two is the conflict—our failure to live as we were intended, and the long struggle of humanity to figure it out.

Act Three is the resolution—the part of the story where everything broken begins to get mended.

Act One is the setup: it’s the story of how things were always meant to be. We see God creating humanity to bear his image—to reflect his character and creativity into the world. There’s purpose, relationship, identity, calling. But then something fractures. The image breaks. And everything after that moment becomes a long struggle to recover what was lost.

Act Two is that struggle—the conflict. And honestly, it’s where a lot of us give up when reading Scripture. Because it’s messy. It’s full of contradiction, rebellion, failure, and pain. And it can feel like the story’s stuck in a loop: God moves toward people, people mess it up, God forgives, repeat. If you’ve ever wondered why most of the Bible feels like it’s about people who just can’t seem to get it right, it’s because… it is. It’s showing us how deeply embedded that fracture is, and how incapable we are of fixing it on our own. But even in the chaos, God never walks away.

Which brings us to Act Three.

This is the part that pulls everything together. The part that helps you re-read the earlier scenes with clarity. And it begins, not surprisingly, with Jesus. But not just Jesus on a cross. Jesus in a body. Jesus in real relationships. Jesus showing us what it looks like when a human being fully reflects the image of God.

That’s why I call this first scene of Act Three “The Image.” Jesus is the image—perfect and embodied—of what we were always meant to be. He doesn’t just tell us what God is like. He lives it. He walks it out in his interactions with the vulnerable, the outcast, the powerful, and the religious. His life is not just an example to admire. It’s a calling to follow.

And that leads naturally into the next scene, what I call “The Way.” Because once we see what the image looks like, we’re faced with a choice: will we walk in that same way? That’s the story of the early church. A flawed, fragile group of people trying to live out the way of Jesus in real time. They fumble their way through community, generosity, forgiveness, and radical inclusion. They wrestle with culture and power and persecution. But through it all, we catch glimpses—real, tangible glimpses—of what it looks like when humans start acting like image-bearers again.

And finally, we arrive at what I’ve called “The Return.” But this return might not be what you think it is. Because most of us were taught that the end of the Bible is about us leaving this world. Floating away to heaven. Escaping the mess. But that’s not how the Bible ends. It ends with God returning to dwell here. With us. It ends with a renewed creation. A new heaven and a new earth. It ends with the sea—symbol of chaos and disorder—being no more. It ends with tears wiped away, suffering undone, and the presence of God fully with his people.

And that moment, that final scene, isn’t just a happily-ever-after ending tagged onto a long, depressing story. It’s a mirror. A full-circle return to the opening pages. In the beginning, God walked with humans in the garden. At the end, God makes his home with us again. The Bible doesn’t move us away from creation. It moves us back toward it—healed, restored, whole.

Now I want to pause here and say this: I know some of you might feel hesitant about taking the Bible seriously. Maybe because of how it’s been used. Maybe because of what’s been done in Jesus’ name. And I get that. But what I want to invite you into is this: Don’t judge Jesus by the abuse done in his name. Judge him by what he actually says. Watch how he lives. See how he treats people. And then decide if that’s someone worth following.

This three-act framework isn’t meant to be a master key or a theological system. It’s just a lens—one that’s helped me, and I hope helps you, make better sense of the bigger picture. It’s helped me see that the Bible isn’t a book of escape plans or impossible expectations. It’s a story about God’s relentless desire to be with us—and to heal what’s broken.

So if you’ve struggled to engage with the Bible, I get it. But maybe this time, read it with this story in mind. Pay attention to the setup, the tension, the return. Look for the themes. Follow the transitions. And most importantly, notice where you are in it. Because the story isn’t over yet.

God’s story is still good. And there’s still a part for you in it.