There are verses in scripture that hold the weight of eternity in just a few words. For me, two passages have echoed in my heart with such clarity that they feel like anchors in the storms of life. One is found in the Book of Mormon: “There shall be no other name given nor any other way nor means whereby salvation can come unto the children of men, only in and through the name of Christ, the Lord Omnipotent” (Mosiah 3:17). The other comes from Paul’s letter to the Hebrews: “Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).
Together, these verses tell a story. They remind me that there is only one way to salvation, and that Jesus Christ not only carved that path but also walked it to its very end, enduring every sorrow along the way. He is both the foundation and the fulfillment, the beginning and the end.
History itself whispers this same truth, even when the world does not recognize it. When Constantine stood before the Battle of the Milvian Bridge in A.D. 312, it is said he saw a vision of a cross with the words in hoc signo vinces—“by this sign you shall conquer.” Whether history has embellished that tale or not, what remains is the idea that victory is only found in the sign of Christ. Entire empires have risen and fallen, but that truth has endured: no other name, no other way.
When I think of Mosiah’s words, I hear not just doctrine but urgency. He does not say Christ is one way among many; he declares Him as the only way. In a world where relativism paints every path as equally valid, that bold claim shines like lightning across the dark sky of confusion. It is not arrogance—it is mercy. God did not scatter a thousand keys to heaven; He placed the key in the hands of His Son. And it is through Him, and only through Him, that salvation becomes real.
Hebrews 12:2 deepens this vision. It calls Jesus the author and finisher of our faith. That word “author” stirs me. Authors give life to stories. They take blank pages and fill them with meaning, with characters, with beginnings and endings. My faith was once just a faint outline, a sketch of longing. But Christ has written on those pages, line by line, through trial and mercy, through discipline and deliverance. And He is not just the author—He is the finisher. He will not leave the story incomplete. What He begins, He perfects.
History again speaks to this. When Johann Sebastian Bach composed his sacred works, he would often write at the end of his manuscripts three words: Soli Deo Gloria—“Glory to God alone.” He knew that music, like faith, is incomplete if it ends in self. Christ, the finisher of our faith, takes what is broken, half-done, and human, and completes it in glory. He makes the final note perfect.
I think of the martyrs in early Christianity, ordinary men and women who faced the lions in Rome’s Colosseum. They were mocked, tortured, and yet they sang hymns with their dying breath. Why? Because they looked unto Jesus. Their faith was not sustained by human strength but by the One who had already endured the cross, despised the shame, and sat down at the right hand of God. Their courage was not human—it was divine, authored by Christ Himself.
In my own life, I have learned that when I try to “author” my faith alone, I stumble. My pen runs dry, my sentences falter. I get lost in the chapters of pain, doubt, or distraction. But when I turn back to Christ, He takes the pen from my trembling hands. He reminds me that He already knows the ending, that He has already conquered death and hell, and that my role is not to finish the story alone but to trust Him as its perfecter.
Salvation, then, is not a vague hope—it is a reality centered in the living Christ. Mosiah’s words remind me that I cannot find it in myself, in wealth, in politics, or in any philosophy. No nation, no empire, no ideology has ever saved a soul. The Roman Empire collapsed, the Enlightenment left men hungering for meaning, the modern world drowns in technology yet starves for truth. But Christ remains, the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Hebrews reminds me that faith is not static. It is authored and it is finished. It moves, grows, deepens, and is ultimately completed in Christ. The “joy set before Him” was not abstract—it was us. We were His joy. That is the miracle that humbles me most. He did not endure the cross for some nameless reward but for the love of human souls. For the chance to finish our stories with redemption.
In history, nations have sought glory, leaders have chased power, and men have fought for crowns that crumble to dust. But the greatest crown ever won was a crown of thorns, pressed upon the head of a suffering Savior. That crown reminds me of Mosiah’s words: there is no other way, no other name. It reminds me of Hebrews: He endured for joy—the joy of bringing us home.
As I reflect on these scriptures, I see them not just as ancient texts but as living witnesses. They remind me that salvation is not something we negotiate on our terms. It is a gift, costly and yet freely given, sealed in the blood of Jesus Christ. And they remind me that faith is not my achievement but His authorship. He begins it, He sustains it, and He finishes it.
If I could leave one message to my children, to my community, or even to the world, it would be this: cling to that name. There is no other name under heaven by which we can be saved. And when life feels unfinished, when the chapters seem too painful or the sentences too broken, look unto Jesus. He is the author. He is the finisher. And in Him, every story finds its perfect ending.
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