Jacob’s Ladder, Not Rome’s Bridge: Why We Need Jesus, Not a Pontiff

In the ancient world, religion was often a mediated experience. From towering ziggurats in Mesopotamia to elaborate priesthoods in Rome, human beings have long tried to build structures and systems to “reach the gods.” These ziggurats – tiered temples like the biblical Tower of Babel – were seen as bridges between heaven and earth, symbolic attempts to connect the human and the divine. This instinct – to construct a bridge between humanity and deity – lies at the heart of titles like Pontifex Maximus (Latin for “greatest bridge builder”) and Vicar of Christ (meaning “one who stands in the place of Christ”). These titles suggest that a human leader can serve as the critical link between God and mankind.

But Scripture offers a very different story. In Genesis 28, a man named Jacob – flawed, fearful, and on the run – laid his head on a stone and dreamed a dream that shattered the world’s religious paradigms. He saw a ladder from earth to heaven, not built by human hands, not guarded by priests, and not owned by any institution. This ladder was established by God Himself, with angels ascending and descending, and the Lord standing above it (Genesis 28:12).

When Jacob awoke, he was stunned by the nearness of God in that lonely place: “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it” (Genesis 28:16, ESV). Jacob’s ladder was not just comfort for a runaway; it was a prophetic revelation of how God would reach humanity – by His own initiative, not through a man-made bridge.

The Vision of Jacob: A Ladder, Not a Priest

Jacob’s dream is foundational for understanding how heaven touches earth. In the dream, “behold, there was a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven! And behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it!” (Genesis 28:12, ESV). Crucially, Jacob did nothing to build this ladder. It was not constructed with bricks or human effort. It simply appeared, reaching heaven by God’s grace. The ladder was God’s message: I come down to you; you do not climb up to Me.

This vision turns ancient religion upside-down. In Jacob’s culture (and many others), priests and kings claimed to mediate between God and men – they were the “bridge-builders.” Yet Jacob’s ladder needed no human support. No priest stood at the bottom holding it up; no emperor was required to connect its rungs. God Himself established it and sustained it.

Throughout Scripture, God consistently shows that He provides the way to access Him. The story of the Tower of Babel, for example, mocks humanity’s attempt to build a tower to heaven. Jacob’s ladder, by contrast, is God’s gracious provision to a man who wasn’t even looking for it. Jacob was fleeing for his life, yet God met him in the wilderness with a direct connection to heaven. This teaches us that true access to God is initiated by God and not controlled by human institutions or titles.

Centuries after Jacob’s vision at Bethel, Jesus of Nazareth made a claim so profound that it echoed across redemptive history. Speaking to Nathanael in John 1:51, He said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” With these words, Jesus unmistakably identifies Himself as the very ladder Jacob saw in his dream. He presents Himself as the divine connection; the bridge; between heaven and earth. The angels who once ascended and descended upon Jacob’s ladder now do so upon the Son of Man. In other words, Jesus is the access point by which God comes down to us, and by which we are raised to Him.

This is not mere metaphor or poetic imagery. Jesus fulfills the image of Jacob’s ladder in concrete, incarnational ways. In the Incarnation, He “came down from heaven” (John 6:38) to take on human flesh. As God descending into our world, He stood, not above a dreamlike ladder, but in our very midst; Emmanuel, “God with us” (Matthew 1:23). He became the intersection of divinity and humanity, not by human construction, but by divine initiative.

Through His crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus removed the ultimate barrier; our sin. When He died, the veil in the temple was torn from top to bottom, not by human hands, but by God’s own act (Matthew 27:51). That curtain, which once separated humanity from the Holy of Holies, was torn apart at the moment He declared, “It is finished” (John 19:30). In that act, access to the Father was permanently opened—not through ritual, not through priesthood, and not through pontiffs, but through the once-for-all sacrifice of the Son.

And when Jesus rose and ascended into heaven (Acts 1:9), He did not abandon us. Like the ladder that reaches from earth to heaven, Christ rose into glory yet left us not as orphans. He sent the Holy Spirit to dwell within His people, ensuring that the connection between heaven and earth remains living and active. In this way, the ladder is not just a symbol; it is a living reality.

In Jesus, every human longing for divine connection is fulfilled. He alone bridges the chasm our sin created. There is no need for human-engineered bridge builders, no ecclesiastical hierarchy required to mediate what Christ has already made available. If Jesus is the ladder Jacob saw, then no other institution, office, or title can improve upon or replace that connection. Heaven is open, and the Son of Man stands at the center of it.

The Problem with “Pontifex Maximus” and “Vicar of Christ”

Despite the clear and direct teaching of Scripture that Jesus Christ is the sole mediator between God and man, the Roman Catholic Church continues to bestow upon its pope two titles of immense theological significance: Pontifex Maximus and Vicar of Christ. Understanding the origin and implications of these titles is essential to grasping why they are both unbiblical and ultimately unnecessary.

The first, Pontifex Maximus, comes not from Scripture or apostolic tradition but from the pagan world of ancient Rome. It was originally the title of Rome’s high priest; the supreme religious authority in the pagan system; later assumed by Roman emperors themselves. The Latin term means “greatest bridge-builder,” implying the one who connects the human and divine realms. Emperors such as Tiberius, under whose reign Christ was crucified, bore this title as both political and religious leaders.

Early Christians, however, knew well its pagan origins. In the early third century, the Church Father Tertullian used the term Pontifex Maximus not as a title of honor, but as a biting rebuke. Writing against pope Callixtus I, Tertullian sarcastically dubbed him, “Pontifex Maximus; that is, the bishop of bishops,” accusing him of arrogating to himself powers that belonged to God alone; particularly the power to absolve grave sins. Tertullian’s scorn made it unmistakably clear: the Church had no business adopting the high priestly titles of pagan Rome. Ironically, the first time the title was applied to a bishop of Rome, it was meant not as veneration, but as satire.

But the satire ran deeper than titles. Tertullian’s outrage was theological. In his treatise De Pudicitia (On Modesty), he attacked Callixtus’s decision to pardon post-baptismal sins; specifically adultery and fornication; as a direct contradiction of apostolic precedent and gospel purity. His rhetorical challenge is as sharp as it is revealing:

“Are you superior to the apostle Paul? Are you more excellent than Peter? Is your authority above theirs? If you forgive sins—I do not say such as they did not forgive, but even such as they did not claim to have the right to forgive; who are you to grant pardon to adultery and fornication, sins which even they left to God alone?” (De Pudicitia, ch. 21)

This passage leaves no doubt: Tertullian believed no priest or bishop had the authority to forgive post-baptismal sin. Not even the apostles; those directly commissioned by Christ; claimed such power. For a Roman bishop to do so was, in Tertullian’s eyes, a staggering act of presumption, an elevation of man above the boundaries even the apostles respected.

His sarcasm in the opening lines of De Pudicitia underscores the gravity of what he perceived:

“I now hear that there is even an edict, a peremptory one too. The Pontifex Maximus, that is, the bishop of bishops, issues an edict: ‘I remit the sins of adultery and fornication.’ Unhappy man! Who are you, that you usurp this right?” (De Pudicitia, ch. 1)

Tertullian is not merely opposing laxity; he is defending the holiness of God and the sanctity of the gospel. In his view, for a man to say, “I forgive,” where Christ alone has the right, is not pastoral care; it is spiritual arrogance. His ridicule of the title bishop of bishops is not a critique of leadership but of men who cross the line into claiming divine prerogatives. His words draw a clear line: the forgiveness of sin is Christ’s domain, not the Church’s to administer at will.

This severe caution was not isolated. In the early Church, sins like adultery, murder, and apostasy; often called the “three capital sins”, many believed that their ultimate forgiveness could come only from God at the final judgment. A sinner might seek restoration, but no bishop presumed to stand in God’s place and declare the soul clean. Forgiveness might be hoped for, but it could not be pronounced by a man.

While Irenaeus does not engage in the same polemic style as Tertullian, he too places all cleansing and pardon squarely in the hands of Christ. In Against Heresies (Book V, Chapter 17), he writes of Jesus:

“He came to save all through means of Himself; all, I say, who through Him are born again to God; infants, and children, and boys, and youths, and old men. Therefore He passed through every age, becoming an infant for infants... so that He might be a perfect teacher in all things, perfect not only in the setting forth of truth, but also in cleansing the sins of all.”

Irenaeus makes no mention of priestly absolution or institutional pardon. For him, the cleansing of sin is found in Christ alone. The emphasis is not on hierarchical mediation but on the sufficiency of Jesus to redeem and purify all who come to Him.

Taken together, the testimonies of Tertullian and Irenaeus expose a sharp contrast between the purity of early Christian doctrine and the gradual institutional claims that emerged later. For the early Church, the forgiveness of sins; was never the domain of men or titles. It was the work of Christ, and Christ alone. No priest. No pontiff. No bishop of bishops.

The moment any man claims the right to do what only God can do; stand as the final judge and remitter of sin; is the moment the Church steps beyond service and into usurpation.

Let the Church return to the words of Scripture: “There is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5).

The second title, Vicar of Christ, derives from the Latin vicarius, meaning “a substitute” or “one who acts in the place of another.” When applied to the pope, it suggests that he functions as Christ’s personal representative on earth, wielding divine authority in His physical absence. Catholic theologians argue that the title implies “supreme and universal primacy, both of honor and of jurisdiction, over the Church of Christ.” In effect, it ascribes to a man the very role and authority that Scripture assigns to Jesus Christ alone as the Head of the Church.

Historically, this title rose to prominence not in the days of Peter and Paul, but in the medieval era, particularly under pope Innocent III in the 13th century. Nowhere in the New Testament do we find a mandate for such an office. No apostle ever referred to himself as “Christ’s substitute.” Even Peter, whom the Catholic Church considers the first pope, identified himself simply as “a fellow elder” (1 Peter 5:1), and exhorted others not to dominate the flock but to serve under the authority of the “Chief Shepherd” ; Jesus Himself (1 Peter 5:4).

So I ask again: how can the Magisterium claim divine inspiration when it teaches what the Holy Spirit never has; and never would?

The Spirit of God declares there is one mediator between God and men; the man Christ Jesus (1 Tim. 2:5). 

Not one plus a representative.

Not Christ and a vicar.

Just Christ.

Nowhere in Scripture does the Holy Spirit mention a human standing in Christ’s place. To claim such is to accuse God of contradiction. But God does not change (Malachi 3:6). The Spirit cannot speak both truth and error.

So what spirit is it that inspires a man to call himself the “Vicar of Christ”? It is not the Holy Spirit. The Spirit glorifies the Son; He never replaces Him.

Did any pope ever hang on a cross; bloody, beaten, and pierced; for the remission of sins? Did any bishop bear the full fury of divine wrath, crowned with thorns and nailed to a tree? Has a single priest ever descended into death and risen again to shatter its power? Absolutely not. No man has done this; no man ever could. Then why would any man dare to stand in Christ’s place?

Jesus is not absent. He is not unfinished. He is not in need of a helper. He is the Lamb of God who once for all bore the sins of the world. He is alive, ascended, and reigning at the right hand of the Father; forever making intercession for His people.

He does not need a vicar, because He never left. “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). To claim otherwise is not just theological error; it is a denial of the gospel and an insult to the sufficiency of the cross.

Indeed, Jesus Himself foretold the coming of a very different kind of representative. In John 14:26, He said, “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things.” And again, in verse 18: “I will not leave you as orphans; I am coming to you.” Through the Holy Spirit, Christ is not merely represented; He is present. The Holy Spirit is the true and only Vicar of Christ, sent by Jesus Himself to indwell, guide, and teach His Church.

To elevate a single bishop to the status of “Vicar of Christ” not only risks bypassing the Holy Spirit’s role but actively undermines it. It is to suggest that the living Christ; who promised to be with His people always (Matthew 28:20); has delegated His spiritual leadership to a human administrator. This is not servant leadership; it is theological usurpation. No mortal, no matter how devout, can bear the weight of standing in the place of the Savior. Christ alone is sufficient.

This truth was not only understood by the apostles and affirmed by Scripture, but also powerfully articulated by the early Church Fathers. Writing in the second century, Irenaeus, in Against Heresies (Book IV, Chapter 20, Section 6), declares:

“For in the same manner also the Lord Himself, being the Word of God, and being of the Father, was invisible, yet was made visible and palpable when the Word was made flesh. In this way also does He reconcile man to God, that by means of the ladder of Jacob, He might ascend into the heavens, and descend to earth, to bring about the salvation of men.”

Here, Irenaeus affirms what Scripture shows: Christ is the one who ascends and descends. He is the visible, incarnate mediator between God and man, the fulfillment of Jacob’s vision, and the reconciler of heaven and earth. There is no room left for another ladder, another bridge, or another mediator.

In the apostolic mind, and in the Spirit-led Church, there was and remains only one head of the Church; Jesus Christ. To call any man “the bridge-builder” or “Christ’s substitute” is not a gesture of piety, but a denial of Christ’s sufficiency. We do not need a pontiff. We do not need a vicar. We already have a Savior, and He has given us His Spirit.

Grace Cannot Be Managed by an Institution

Another lesson from Jacob’s ladder is this: Jacob did nothing to deserve it. He was not on a pilgrimage or performing a ritual; in fact, Jacob had been deceitful and was fleeing his mess of a life. He had no temple, no priest, and no sacrifice to offer that night. Yet God came to him and spoke promises of blessing (Genesis 28:13–15). This is grace; unearned access to a holy God. Jacob’s ladder illustrates that God’s presence and favor are given, not earned or mediated by human effort.

This strikes at the heart of any religious system that claims exclusive control over dispensing God’s grace. If an institution or priesthood says, “You can only come to God (or receive forgiveness) through us,” it contradicts the nature of the gospel. When Jesus died and that Temple veil tore open, it signified that open access to God was achieved by Christ’s one sacrifice, once for all. No priest or pontiff can add to that or hold the keys to grace. Christ is the way, the truth, and the life, and “no one comes to the Father except through [Him]” (John 14:6).

Throughout history, whenever churches have claimed the role of gatekeeper to heaven – saying effectively “we are the ladder, we manage who gets to climb” – they have obscured the true ladder. The gospel proclamation of the New Testament is that forgiveness and salvation are found in Christ alone, by faith, not by submission to a human high priest. As the Apostle Peter preached, “there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved” except Jesus (Acts 4:12). The name of a pope or a church cannot save. Even baptism, communion, and other ordinances derive their power from Christ’s work, not the authority of the one administering them.

To claim the title “Pontifex Maximus” (supreme bridge-maker) in the post-Calvary era is to deny what Christ cried from the cross: “It is finished” (John 19:30). The bridge is already built. The ladder is already in place. Grace, by definition, cannot be monopolized or controlled by men without ceasing to be grace (Romans 11:6). The Holy Spirit blows where He wills (John 3:8), and He has made every believer a priest before God (1 Peter 2:9, “a royal priesthood”). No Christian needs a pontifex maximus to reach God, because in Christ “we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by His blood” (Hebrews 10:19-22).

The Torn Veil: The End of Human Mediation

When Jesus died, something earth-shaking happened in the Jerusalem temple: “And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51, ESV). This was the heavy veil that for centuries had separated the Holy of Holies – the symbolic dwelling of God’s presence – from the people. Only the High Priest could pass that veil, and only once a year with sacrificial blood. But at Christ’s death, God Himself tore the veil, from top to bottom, signifying that the separation was ended by divine action.

The torn curtain declared in symbol what the New Testament explains in doctrine: Jesus is now our High Priest and our only mediator (see Hebrews 9:6-8, 10:19-22). By His own blood He entered the true Holy of Holies in heaven, and opened a new and living way for us. Therefore, no further human high priest is needed. The entire system of temple priests and sacrifices became obsolete the moment Christ finished His work. In the early Church, there was a plurality of elders and ministers, but never again a high priest except Jesus.

This is why titles implying high-priestly status or singular mediation are foreign to the Gospel. The early Christians understood this. When a dispute arose in the 3rd century about the Bishop of Rome trying to impose his discipline on other churches, St. Cyprian of Carthage gathered a council and pointedly stated: “For neither does any of us set himself up as a bishop of bishops, nor by tyrannical terror does any compel his colleague to obedience; since every bishop...has his own proper right of judgment, and we all await the judgment of our Lord Jesus Christ, who alone has the power of preferring us in the government of His Church, and of judging us in our conduct there.”. In Cyprian’s time (A.D. 257), even bishops resisted any one man calling himself supreme, because they recognized Christ alone as the head and judge of the Church. How much more, then, should we resist calling any man the highest bridge to God or the vicar of Christ!

Bethel: The House of God Is Wherever God Is

After Jacob’s dream, he named that random spot in the wilderness Bethel, meaning “House of God” (Genesis 28:19). Yet notably, Bethel was not a temple or a cathedral. It was not consecrated by any priest. It was simply where God revealed Himself to a person in grace. Jacob even said, “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it” – indicating that God’s presence wasn’t confined to expected religious locations.

This carries a powerful rebuke to the idea that God’s presence or favor is confined to certain physical institutions or transmitted only through an official hierarchy. In the New Covenant, the true “house of God” is the people of God themselves.

“Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” Paul writes. The church is not the bricks and mortar or "the chair of St. Peter"; the Church is the living body of Christ, built of believers with Christ as the cornerstone. Wherever Jesus is present by His Spirit – whether in a cathedral or under a tree – that is Bethel.

No human “pontiff” can claim ownership of God’s presence. Christ promised, “Where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I among them” (Matthew 18:20). The gate of heaven is open wide in Jesus, and any place can become a holy place when the Lord meets His people there. This reality flourished in eras when believers had no sanctioned buildings or when facing persecution – proving that the bridge to heaven does not lie in any one city or office, but in Christ in the midst of His people (cf. Revelation 1:13).

Final Thought: We Don’t Need a Bridge—We Have a Savior

The grand titles “Pontifex Maximus” and “Vicar of Christ” are not just unnecessary; they are theologically dangerous because they diminish the sufficiency of Christ. To call a man the greatest bridge-builder suggests that the bridge Christ provided is somehow lacking. To call someone the vicar of Christ suggests that Jesus is not personally accessible to His people, when in fact He said, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). Such titles, however well-intentioned, end up implying that Christ’s work and presence are incomplete and need augmentation by human authority. History shows that whenever the church has exalted one man in such a way, it has led to abuse or error – precisely because no sinful man can stand in the place of the sinless Savior.

The Gospel tells a different story; a story of a finished work and an ever-living Christ. We have one bridge-builder, one mediator, one High Priest: Jesus Christ. He alone holds “the keys of Death and Hades” (Revelation 1:18). He alone is “the head over all things to the church” (Ephesians 1:22). He alone “always lives to make intercession” for us at the right hand of the Father (Romans 8:34). Christ is enough.

So no, we do not need a new bridge built to heaven; the highway of holiness is already open (Hebrews 10:20). We do not need a pontifex maximus, because our Maximus Pontifex is Jesus; the Great High Priest who passed through the heavens once for all (Hebrews 4:14). And we do not need a so-called vicar of Christ, for we have the Spirit of Christ within us and the unshakable promise that “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). To God alone be the glory. Soli Deo Gloria.

But what about Matthew 16:18? When Jesus said to Peter, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church,” the Roman Catholic Church claims He was establishing Peter as the first pope; the foundation of the Church. Yet the Greek text contains no punctuation, and the meaning must be interpreted in light of the context and the whole of Scripture. Just prior to this statement, Peter had made his great confession: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). That is the rock; not Peter himself, but Peter’s confession of who Christ truly is.

In fact, throughout Scripture, God Himself is repeatedly called “the Rock.” 

“The Rock, His work is perfect, for all His ways are justice” (Deuteronomy 32:4).

“There is no rock like our God” (1 Samuel 2:2). Nowhere is any man; let alone Peter; ever called the foundation of the Church in the same sense. Instead, Paul clearly states: “No one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11).

And even the so-called “keys of the kingdom,” which Christ initially mentions to Peter, are not exclusive. Later, in Matthew 18:18, Jesus extends the same binding and loosing authority to all the apostles: “Truly I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” The authority was shared, not centralized.

Even St. Augustine, one of the most revered theologians in Church history and often quoted by Rome, eventually retracted his earlier belief that Peter was the rock. In his later writings, Augustine wrote:

“I have somewhere said of St. Peter that the Church is built upon him as the rock; but... I now interpret that statement as meaning: the Church is built upon that Rock which Peter confessed.”(Retractationes, Book I, Chapter 21)

In other words, not Peter the man, but Christ the Messiah; the One Peter confessed; is the true foundation of the Church. And that is exactly how Scripture presents Him.

So again, we say: Christ is the Rock. Christ is the Head. Christ is the Mediator. Not Peter. Not a pope. Not a priest. The Church is not built on shifting sand but on the unshakable cornerstone, Jesus Christ (Ephesians 2:20). He alone deserves that place; and He does not share it.