I came across a post on social media the other day that made me stop scrolling. It said, āThe villain and hero almost always have the same backstory. They were both hurt in some way. The villain says, āThe world hurt me, so Iām going to hurt it back.ā The hero says, āThe world hurt me, and Iām not going to let this happen to anyone else.āā
That struck me. Thereās a lot of truth in it. Then someone in the comments added a nuance: villains are often hurt by those who were supposed to protect them, parents, leaders, even the law. Heroes, on the other hand, are usually hurt by clear enemies: Batman lost his parents to crime, Spider-Man lost his uncle to a criminal he could have stopped. Both are fueled by pain, but villains often wrestle with betrayal while heroes wrestle with loss.
It was a thoughtful point, and I nodded along. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized: both perspectives miss something deeper. Because in the end, whether we see ourselves as heroes or villains, Scripture tells us the same story; we are all villains without Christ.
Pop culture gives us plenty of examples.
Batman channels his grief into fighting crime, refusing to let others suffer the way he did. Spider-Man carries his uncleās words, āWith great power comes great responsibility,ā and chooses to protect. Magneto, scarred by the cruelty of humans, decides the only way forward is vengeance and domination.
Same backstory: pain, loss, injustice. Different responses: one becomes the hero, another the villain. Yet even the so-called heroes often teeter on the edge of bitterness or obsession.
Thatās the thing; pain doesnāt automatically make us noble. It just forces a choice. And if weāre honest, our choices arenāt always heroic.
The Bible gives us a powerful example in Saul of Tarsus.
If youād asked him, he was the hero of his story, defending Godās law, protecting tradition, standing against heresy. In reality, he was the villain, persecuting the very church of Christ. It took a blinding encounter with Jesus on the Damascus road to reveal the truth: his zeal was misplaced, and his so-called righteousness was rebellion.
Romans 3:10ā12 says, āNone is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.ā
Thatās hard to swallow. Because we like to see ourselves as the hero, the one fighting for justice, choosing the higher road, doing the right thing. But apart from Christ, even our best āheroicā moments are tainted with pride, vengeance, or self-interest. Our righteousness is like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).
You donāt have to look at comic books or Bible characters to see this. Think about your own story.
Maybe you were overlooked at work, your effort dismissed while someone else got the credit. The sting of betrayal sets in. You have a choice: undermine the person who wronged you, or choose integrity and keep serving faithfully. One looks like the villainās path, the other the heroās.
But even when we choose the higher road, how often do we do it with resentment simmering beneath the surface? How often do we tell ourselves, āIāll be the bigger person,ā but deep down itās still about proving weāre right? Even our noblest efforts are rarely as pure as we imagine.
And thatās why Christ matters so much. He is the only true Hero.
He was hurt, but He did not retaliate. He was betrayed, but He forgave. He was crucified, but He prayed for His enemies.
Where we lash out, He loved. Where we justify ourselves, He surrendered. Where we failed, He overcame.
The gospel isnāt that weāre basically heroes who just need a little polishing. Itās that weāre villains in desperate need of redemption. And Christ, the Hero who conquered sin and death, stepped into our story to give us a new one.
We all want to see ourselves as the hero. But without Jesus, weāre the villain. Only He rewrites our story.
ā¦just a thought.