If God wants us to believe in Him, why doesn’t He just reveal Himself already? You’ve probably heard someone ask that. Maybe you’ve asked it yourself. I have.
This question is not new. In fact, Thomas voiced it when he was told Jesus had risen from the dead. “Unless I see in His hands the imprint of the nails,” he said, “and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe” (John 20:25).
Thomas’s demand reflects a common sentiment: If God really exists and really loves us, then why does He seem so hidden?
This objection has become more formal in philosophical circles under the name “the hiddenness argument.” Canadian philosopher J.L. Schellenberg popularized the idea in the 1990s. He claimed that a loving God would never allow sincere seekers, what he called “nonresistant nonbelievers,” to go without sufficient evidence of His existence. Therefore, as the argument goes, the very presence of such nonbelievers is evidence against God’s existence.
But Paul offers a different kind of answer. In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul confronts this problem with a story — God’s story. In Ephesians 1:8b–10, he introduces the concept of God’s “mystery.” God, Paul says, had a plan before time began. It was a plan hidden for a time but now revealed in Christ. What looked like divine silence was actually divine scripting.
How God Makes Tolkien Look Like a Novice
The first chapter of Ephesians is a theological overture to Paul’s letter to Ephesus. After opening with praise to God for every spiritual blessing in Christ, Paul begins unveiling a divine plot line. He writes: “He made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His kind intention which He purposed in Him, with a view to an administration suitable to the fullness of the times — that is, the summing up of all things in Christ, things in the heavens and things on the earth” (Eph. 1:9–10).
A key word in this chapter is the word “mystery.” The word does not refer to something puzzling or unsolvable. Rather, it denotes a divine secret once hidden but now revealed, which is crucial for the apologetic question at hand.
That God has a mystery may initially appear to support the charge of divine hiddenness. Yet Paul’s letter to the Ephesians reveals that the mystery itself is an apologetic for God’s existence. In other words, if there is divine hiddenness, it presupposes the existence of a divine being who is hidden and who, by virtue of His divinity, has the right to govern the timing and manner of His self-revelation according to His own purposes. (After all, you can’t blame a non-existent entity for not existing.)
This is why, in Ephesians 1:10, Paul writes that God’s mystery, purposed in Christ, has “a view to an administration suitable to the fullness of the times.” Other translations render this as “a plan,” and some highlight its scope by describing it as God’s “long-range” plan. The term translated originally referred to the management of a household. Jesus uses the term in Luke 16:1–8 to tell the Parable of the Unrighteous Steward, and, over time, its meaning expanded to encompass the governance of cities, and eventually, of God’s cosmic order.
Therefore, Paul is insisting that God’s “plan” for history is no ad-lib performance. It’s carried out “with all wisdom and insight” (v. 8), implying that the redemption of humanity is a divine design. Long before the world began, God developed a comprehensive story that would culminate in Christ. This is not improvisation; it’s orchestration!
Consider J.R.R. Tolkien, who spent decades crafting the world of Middle-earth. His storytelling wasn’t casual. It was scrupulously intentional. He invented entire languages with their own grammar and syntax. He drew maps by hand, charting mountains, rivers, and roads long before his characters ever journeyed them. He wrote genealogical charts and historical timelines that reached back thousands of fictional years. Every kingdom had a backstory. Every artifact had a lineage. Tolkien built a world with roots deep enough to feel real.
Now imagine a story that required even more foresight. A story not of elves and hobbits but of heaven and earth. One where the Author isn’t speculating about imaginary worlds but authoring the real one. That’s what Paul is describing. The “administration” of history is divine world-building. And its climax and resolution are found in Jesus Christ.
Now, here’s what’s truly astonishing: Modern scholarship in narrative theory has discovered that storytelling, like music or mathematics, operates according to intrinsic principles. There are invisible “rules” that govern compelling stories, and when those rules are violated, the narrative falters. Just as unstructured sound is noise until shaped into music by a conductor, so a story without coherence is confusion. But when those principles are followed, beauty emerges.
I experienced this firsthand in high school symphonic band. Before rehearsal began, each musician would warm up independently with horns blaring, strings tuning, and percussion rattling. It was a cacophony. But then the conductor would step onto the podium, lift his baton, and suddenly, as the band aligned itself under the conductor, noise gave way to music.
Storytelling is not dissimilar. It isn’t a human invention so much as it is a human discovery. Story has deep roots, reaching back to the insights of Aristotle, one of the first thinkers to systematically analyze narrative. But Aristotle didn’t invent story or its elements. He simply recognized what already was. His genius was in observing that stories work because they reflect life’s real tensions and offer satisfying resolutions to mind and soul. He was articulating what was already embedded in creation by a storytelling God (though he didn’t entirely realize this).
Today, modern narrative theorists have further refined Aristotle’s insights, distilling the essential components of story into seven universal beats — elements that consistently appear across cultures, myths, and genres. And astonishingly, these same beats echo through the biblical narrative. This isn’t coincidence but divine providence. The structure of the gospel resonates with the structure of story because the gospel is the story.
So, it’s not that Hollywood has something to teach us about God, but that God has something He taught Hollywood.
Now that we have the storytelling background, let’s examine these seven storytelling beats as revelations of God’s grand narrative in Ephesians 1:7–8: “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace, which He lavished on us.”
The Hero — “We”
In every story, there is a central character known as the “hero.” In this story, it’s us. Literarily speaking, heroes are not strong and triumphant. They’re weak. So, we’re like the Luke Skywalkers still stuck on Tatooine, the Bilbo Bagginses afraid to leave home, the Harry Potters still trapped in the cupboard under the stairs. We are frail, fallen, and in need of help.
The Problem — The Need for “Redemption”
The problem in the story is that man needs “redemption.” Redemption assumes that something is lost, enslaved, or broken, and that describes the human condition. Sin, in other words, is the problem that drives the plot. It separates us from God, distorts our identity, and disrupts the world. Paul says we were “dead in our trespasses” (Eph. 2:1). The Fall created a need for reconciliation, a need to be “re-deemed,” bought back and restored.
The Guide — “Him”
In a good story, the guide is the wiser, stronger figure who helps the hero navigate the journey (think Obi-Wan or Gandalf). In God’s story, this is Christ. Paul says the mystery is purposed “in Him” (Eph. 1:9). He is the one who has walked the path ahead of us. Hebrews 4:15 tells us that Jesus was “tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin.”
The Plan — “Through His Blood”
Every redemptive story has a plan, a way for the problem to be solved. Here, it is the cross. Paul says we have “redemption through His blood” (Eph. 1:7). This evokes the Old Testament sacrifices but surpasses them. The blood of Christ is the final, effectual payment. His resurrection proves the plan’s success.
The Call to Action — “Forgiveness of Trespasses”
Forgiveness is offered and the call is to repentance and faith. As 1 John 1:9 says, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive.” The story calls us to respond.
Success (Comedy) — “The Riches of His Grace Lavished on Us”
When the plan is embraced, grace is lavished. God’s generosity is described in overflowing terms. It’s abundant abundance. The outcome of God’s plan is not only reconciliation but adoption, inheritance, and eternal belonging (see Eph. 1:5, 11).
Failure (Tragedy) — Suppressing the Truth
Though Paul doesn’t detail the failure in this passage, it is implicit. Romans 1 fills in the picture: Those who reject the knowledge of God suppress the truth in unrighteousness.
The story doesn’t guarantee every character’s participation. There is still resistance. There is still loss.
You are a Story Steward
So, how does this help us apologetically answer for the hidden God?
It tells us that God has spoken and that His revelation was structured like a story. He revealed the mystery progressively, climactically, and redemptively. His plan was “suitable to the fullness of the times” (Eph. 1:10). That is, God’s revelation came exactly when and how it was supposed to. He knows what He’s doing.
From an apologetic perspective, this means that the presence of mystery isn’t a defect in Christianity so much as it’s a feature. The very notion of a revealed mystery presupposes a God who exists, who speaks, and who governs history with sovereign intentionality.
This is what Paul understood, and this is what he wanted the Ephesian believers to grasp. They lived in a city where Artemis reigned culturally and economically. To follow Christ meant social and financial loss. But Paul reminds them: You are not just “at Ephesus” — you are “in Christ” (Eph. 1:1). Your identity is located in a greater story.
This has weighty implications for how we defend the faith.
Apologetics is not about arguments. It’s about telling God’s story of the good news of Christ. As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 4:1, we are “stewards of the mysteries of God.” That means we have been entrusted with a divine narrative, a revealed mystery that makes sense of the world’s brokenness and points to its redemption.
In a culture shaped by Hollywood, but also as a storytelling people made in God’s image, where we interpret our lives through story arcs and character development, this gives us a compelling framework for witness. We are not selling propositions. We are announcing God’s plot. We are inviting people into a story that began before time and culminates in eternity (Eph. 1:3–6).
So, tell the Story, and tell it well!
Tell them that the mystery was real, yes, but that it’s no longer hidden. It’s been revealed in Christ.
— Jared Wellman (Ph.D., Southern Seminary) is pastor of Tate Springs in Arlington, Texas. Jared and his wife, Amanda, have four children.