The beings that were not human descended to the earth, they took women, and what was born from those unions was so monstrous that God erased all life from the planet to stop it. This is not Greek mythology; it is not a Sumerian legend; it is not science fiction. It is in your Bible, Genesis chapter 6, and what that chapter hides in just four verses unleashed a theological war that has lasted 2,000 years and that no one has yet won because there is something your Sunday school never told you.
The word the Bible uses for what these beings did to the women does not mean to marry; it does not mean to fall in love. In Hebrew, that word means to take, the same word used when an army conquers a city. And what was born from that taking were the Nephilim, beings that the Bible describes as giant warriors, men of renown, beings so violent, so dominant, so out of the natural order that God looked at the earth, saw that everything was corrupted, and said, “Enough.”
But who were these sons of God? That is the question that has pitted rabbis against rabbis, church fathers against church fathers, and theologians against theologians for 20 centuries. There are three answers, and what I am going to show you today is that when you examine the original Hebrew, one of the three collapses completely, and the other two will leave you with a question that you will not be able to get out of your head for weeks.
But before getting there, you need to see something. You need to see the world in which this occurred, because if you do not understand what was happening on the earth before the flood, none of what follows has the weight it should have. Imagine a world without law, without police, without a central government, without courts, without prisons. Genesis 4 describes it: “Cain killed his brother, and the only thing he received was a mark of protection.” His descendant Lamech killed a man for wounding him and boasted about it before his wives. Violence was not only common; it was a source of pride. The strong took what they wanted; the weak had no recourse. And in the midst of that chaos, says Genesis 6, verse 1, “the men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born to them”—daughters, women in a world where power had no check.
And to understand what comes next, you need to visualize that world, not the pretty world they painted for you in Sunday school with drawings of Noah and smiling animals. The real world, the one that Genesis describes, the earth was filled with violence. That is the word Genesis 6:11 uses in Hebrew, “hamas,” not social protest, but predatory violence, violence of the strong against the weak, violence without consequence. Lamech, a descendant of Cain, killed a young man for hitting him and boasted before his two wives in Genesis 4:23. He did not hide; he did not flee; he strutted, because in that world, violence was the currency of power.
People had lived for so long without visible divine judgment that they assumed judgment would never come. The earth was filled with men who took what they wanted, who built what they wanted, who killed when it suited them, and in the midst of that darkness, humanity multiplied and daughters were born. And then, they came.
The Hebrew text calls them “Bene HaElohim,” sons of God, and this expression is the key that opens or closes the entire mystery because there are exactly five places in the entire Old Testament where this exact phrase appears with this exact construction. Five. Two are in Genesis 6, and the other three are in a book that no one associates with this passage but which changes everything: the book of Job.
Job chapter 1, verse 6: “One day the sons of God (Bene HaElohim) came to present themselves before the Lord, and among them came Satan also.” Visualize that scene. The throne of God, a heavenly audience, beings that present themselves before the Creator of the universe, and among them, like a tolerated intruder, is Satan. Who are these beings? They are not human. No human presents themselves before the throne of God in an audience next to the adversary. They are angels, heavenly beings, members of what scholars call the divine council.
Job chapter 2, verse 1 repeats the exact scene. The Bene Elohim return to present themselves before God, Satan is there among them again. And Job 38, verse 7 is even clearer. God speaks to Job from a whirlwind and asks him: “Where were you when I founded the earth? When all the sons of God rejoiced?” Who rejoiced when God created the world? Not humans; they did not exist yet. The angels rejoiced, the Bene HaElohim, heavenly beings who witnessed the creation and celebrated.
Three out of five appearances, three out of five times the Bible uses this exact expression, it refers without ambiguity to angelic beings. And now comes what changes everything because the other two appearances are Genesis 6:2 and Genesis 6:4. The Bene HaElohim who saw the daughters of men and took them. If the same expression means angels in Job, why would it mean something else in Genesis?
But wait, because what I am going to show you now is something that very few preachers dare to explain, and it is that the primitive Church, the first 300 years of Christianity, had no doubt about what it meant. Go back 2,000 years. You are in Alexandria, Egypt, third century BC. A group of Jewish scholars is translating the Torah from Hebrew to Greek for the first time in history, the most important translation that has ever been made: the Septuagint, 70 sages. And when they get to Genesis 6, when they read “Bene HaElohim,” do you know what some manuscripts write? “Angels of God,” not “Sons of God,” but “Angels of God.” The translators who best knew ancient Hebrew understood that these beings were angels and translated exactly that.
If this is changing the way you see Genesis, then consider the implications of what comes next because it goes much deeper. The Book of Enoch, written between the third and first centuries BC, was not a marginal text. It was widely read by the Jews of the Second Temple period, and in its chapter 6, it narrates what Genesis 6 summarizes in four verses. Two hundred angels, led by one named Semyaza, descended to Mount Hermon. Do you know what Hermon means in Hebrew? It comes from the root “herem,” dedicated to destruction, consecrated as a curse, the mount of the curse. There, on the summit of that cursed mountain, 200 heavenly beings swore a pact: if anyone backed out, the others would destroy him. And they descended.
Try to imagine that scene, because the Book of Enoch describes it not as something romantic, but as a reverse military operation: beings of light who strip themselves of their heavenly nature, who renounce their position, who materialize bodies that do not belong to them, and descend upon a mountain that to this day you can visit on the border between Syria, Lebanon, and Israel, 2,814 meters high, snow on the summit, and according to tradition, marked forever by what happened there. They did not descend just out of desire; they descended with a program. According to Enoch, Azazel taught humans metallurgy for weapons; others taught astrology, sorcery, cosmetics for seduction. Each transferred knowledge was an act of insurrection against the order that God had established for human development.
And from those unions were born the Nephilim. The word comes from the Hebrew “nafal,” to fall, but not to fall softly, to fall with violence, to break in, to crash against reality. The Nephilim did not arrive in the world as normal babies; they were an anomaly, an aberration. The text calls them “gibborim,” mighty warriors, and “anshe hashem,” men of name, of fame, of renown, but not fame for wisdom or goodness, fame for dominance, for brute force, for conquest.
The Book of Enoch describes what they did when they reached their full size: they consumed everything that humans produced. When the food ran out, they devoured the animals, and when the animals were not enough, they turned against the humans themselves. The text says literally that the earth presented a complaint against the unjust. Creation groaned under the weight of beings that should never have existed, and the violence they generated was so extreme, so irreversible, that God took the most radical decision recorded in the Scriptures before the final judgment.
Genesis 6, verse 3: “My Spirit shall not strive with man forever, because he is indeed flesh; his days shall be 120 years.” Not 120 years of life, but 120 years of deadline, of countdown, of opportunity to repent before the water arrived. An invisible clock started ticking, and no one heard it.
Now, the Book of Enoch is not in your Protestant or Catholic Bible; only the Ethiopian Orthodox Church includes it. But there is something you cannot ignore, and this is absolutely crucial: Jude, the brother of Jesus, quotes directly from the Book of Enoch. Jude, verse 14: “Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied, saying, ‘Behold, the Lord comes with ten thousands of his saints.'” That quote comes from Enoch chapter 1, verse 9. A New Testament writer inspired by the Holy Spirit, citing a text that knew intimately the angelic tradition of Genesis 6.
And Jude does not stop there. In verse 6 of his letter, he says something that should make your skin crawl: “And the angels who did not keep their proper domain, but left their own abode, He has reserved in everlasting chains under darkness for the judgment of the great day.” The Greek word he uses for “abode” is “oiketerion,” a proper dwelling place. These angels left the place that corresponded to them, crossed a dimensional border, and because of that specific crossing, they are chained. They are not active like the demons that operate today. Ephesians 6 says clearly that our struggle is against principalities and powers that are active right now. But these angels of Jude 6? No, these are chained in darkness waiting for judgment because what they did was different; it was worse; it was irreversible.
Peter confirms exactly the same thing. Second Peter 2:4: “For if God did not spare the angels who sinned, but cast them down to hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved for judgment.” And here comes something fascinating: the word Peter uses for “hell” is not Gehenna, the hell of fire that Jesus mentioned; it is not Hades, the general abode of the dead. Peter uses a word that does not appear anywhere else in the entire Bible: “Tartarus,” a term from Greek mythology for the deepest prison of the underworld, deeper than Hades. The apostle Peter needed to go outside the Hebrew theological vocabulary and look for an extreme Greek word to describe where these angels are. And in the following verse, he links directly with Noah, with the flood, with Genesis 6.
Flavius Josephus, the Jewish historian of the first century, wrote in his Jewish Antiquities that many angels of God united with women and begat injurious sons. The Dead Sea Scrolls, discovered in 1947 in the caves of Qumran, contain 10 copies of the Book of Giants, 10! A text dedicated entirely to narrating the conception and the actions of the Nephilim as sons of angels and human women. Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, the Book of Jubilees chapter 7, verses 21 through 25. The evidence of the first three centuries is overwhelming. The angelic interpretation was not marginal; it was the consensus.
But then came someone who changed everything. Fifth century, North Africa, a man who perhaps is the most influential theologian in the history of Western Christianity: Augustine of Hippo, a man who before converting lived in debauchery, had a child out of wedlock, experimented with pagan philosophies, and then transformed into the most ferocious defender of Christian orthodoxy. And when Augustine read Genesis 6, he made a decision that changed Western theology forever. He said, “No, the sons of God are not angels; they are pious descendants of Seth, the third son of Adam, and the daughters of men are impious descendants of Cain.” The sin was not supernatural; it was a mixed marriage. The faithful married the unfaithful. The pious line was contaminated. It was a social and spiritual problem, not cosmic.
Why did Augustine take this position so radical? There are theological and personal reasons. Theologically, he was uncomfortable with the idea that angels could have physical bodies and sexual relations. For Augustine, the material world was inferior to the spiritual one. The idea of heavenly beings descending to the carnal seemed to him unworthy of the biblical narrative. His argument: a verse, Matthew 22:30. Jesus says that in the resurrection, men will not marry nor be given in marriage, but will be like the angels of God in heaven. If angels do not marry, Augustine reasoned, then they could not have taken women in Genesis 6.
John Chrysostom supported him, John Calvin also, and for more than 1,000 years, the Sethite interpretation dominated the Western church. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, already in the second century, had come to pronounce a curse against anyone who taught the angelic interpretation—a curse! That tells you how widespread the belief was that he was trying to stop.
But the Sethite interpretation has a problem, and it is a problem that no one can solve. If the sons of God are simply pious men of the line of Seth, why does the text use the expression “Bene HaElohim”? In no other place in the Old Testament are the descendants of Seth called by this construction. Never. The Israelites are called “sons of the Lord” in Deuteronomy 14:1, “banim l’Adonai,” but not “Bene HaElohim.” They are different expressions. And if these are simply marriages between devout people and pagan people, why do they produce Nephilim? Why are giants born? Why are warriors of renown born? A pious man who marries an impious woman produces common children; he does not produce beings that the Bible identifies as the brave men of antiquity, men of renown.
And the argument of Matthew 22 has a flaw that almost no one notices. Jesus did not say that angels cannot marry; He said that in the resurrection, they will be like the angels of God in heaven. In heaven, Jesus describes the normal condition of angels in their heavenly state. An angel in his original position, obeying God in heaven, does not marry. But Genesis 6 does not describe angels in heaven; it describes angels who abandoned their abode, who left their position, who descended. What an angel does in obedience does not limit what an angel can do in rebellion.
And there is something else that weakens the Sethite position. If the sin of Genesis 6 was simply that good men married bad women, why was God’s response so extreme? Mixed marriages between Israelites and idolaters occurred constantly throughout the Old Testament. Samson married a Philistine, Solomon had 700 foreign wives, Ezra 9 and Nehemiah 13 record mass marriages with pagan women, and God’s response was never to destroy the planet; it was discipline, exile, correction. But in Genesis 6, the response is total extinction. Mixed marriages justify the elimination of all terrestrial life? The proportion does not add up unless what occurred in Genesis 6 was qualitatively different—not a greater sin of the same type, but a sin of a completely different type.
There is a third interpretation that deserves attention. Some scholars argue that the sons of God were human rulers who proclaimed themselves divine. In the ancient Near East, kings frequently claimed status as sons of the gods. The Targum of Onkelos translates “Bene Elohim” as “sons of the mighty.” The Targum Neofiti says “sons of the judges.” According to this reading, Genesis 6 describes tyrants who used their power to take any woman they desired, choosing among all—absolute power, unlimited harems. It is a sophisticated reading that fits with the escalation of violence from Cain to Lamech, but it has a fatal problem: it cannot explain why Jude and Peter speak of angels chained in Tartarus connected to the days of Noah.
And there is even a fourth reading. Some contemporary scholars, like Mitch Chase, propose that the “Bene HaElohim” are indeed fallen angels, but the Nephilim are not their children. The text says that the Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward. It does not say they were born from those unions; it says they were already there. The Nephilim would be human warriors of great size that existed independently. It is a minority view, but it takes the Hebrew text with absolute literalness.
Four interpretations, 2,000 years of debate, and none solves all the problems at the same time. But there is something they all share, something that gets lost in the theological war about the identity of the “Bene Elohim,” and it is the most important thing of all in the passage: the verb. Look closely: Genesis 6:2, “they took for themselves wives, choosing among all.” The Hebrew word is “laqach,” and “laqach” does not mean to marry; it means to take, to grab, to appropriate by force or authority. It is the same word used when Joshua 7 relates that Achan took from the forbidden spoil of Jericho, when Genesis 14 describes the kings who captured Lot, when an army takes a city. “Laqach” is not courtship; “laqach” is conquest. And then the text adds, “mikol asher bacharu,” from among all that they chose. There was no limit, there was no restriction, there was no mentioned consent. “From among all.” The image is of absolute power exercised without check.
And the contrast with God’s original design is devastating. Genesis 2:24 says that a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife—leave, join, be one. That is love. Genesis 6 says they took from among all they chose. That is domination. The difference between Genesis 2 and Genesis 6 is the difference between giving and confiscation.
And if you are connecting dots that you had never connected before, consider this parallel, because this is what convinced me that Genesis 6 is much deeper than it seems. Genesis 3: Eve saw that the tree was good for food, pleasant to the eyes, and desirable—saw, desired, took. Genesis 6: The sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful—saw, desired, took. The exact same pattern: the eyes see something that does not belong to them, the desire is ignited, the will acts without check, and the consequence is catastrophic.
But there is a terrifying escalation in the first chapters of Genesis that no one should ignore. In Genesis 3, a human takes a forbidden fruit. In Genesis 4, a human takes the life of another human. In Genesis 6, beings that should not mix with humans take human women. Each chapter crosses a deeper boundary—from the fruit, to fratricide, to the crossing of dimensions—and God’s judgment is proportionally greater each time: expulsion from the garden, mark of Cain, universal flood.
And there is another detail that almost no one notices. In Genesis 6:4, the text says, “There were giants on the earth in those days, and also afterward.” And also afterward. The Nephilim did not disappear completely with the flood. Numbers 13:33 confirms it: the Israelite spies entered Canaan and reported, “Also we saw there the giants, the sons of Anak, of the race of the giants; and we were like grasshoppers in our own sight, and so we were in their sight.” Visualize that scene. Twelve men chosen by Moses, the best of each tribe, trained warriors who had survived 40 years in the desert, cross the Jordan, explore the land for 40 days, see vineyards so fertile that they need two men to carry a single cluster of grapes, and then they see the inhabitants, and their courage collapses. Ten of the 12 spies return with a report that paralyzes the whole nation: “The land devours its inhabitants,” they said, “everyone we saw was of great stature; we were like grasshoppers before them, not smaller men—like insects.”
The shadow of Genesis 6 extended over Canaan 15 years after the flood, and this explains something that many readers of the Bible fail to reconcile: why did God order the total destruction of certain peoples in Canaan? Why was the order “herem,” to consecrate to complete destruction? Deuteronomy 2 and 3 mention the Rephaim, the Emites, the Zamzummim, races of giants that occupied the promised land. Og, king of Bashan, was the last of the Rephaim, according to Deuteronomy 3:11. His iron bedstead was nine cubits long and four wide—more than 4 meters long. Goliath of Gath was six cubits and a span, according to 1 Samuel 17:4—almost 3 meters. And 2 Samuel 21:5-22 records that Goliath had four giant relatives who also fell before David’s men. Ishbi-benob, a giant who had six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot—24 fingers in total. The physical anomaly as a sign of something that should not exist.
The conquest of Canaan was not just a territorial operation; it was the continuation of a war that began in Genesis 6, the systematic elimination of lineages that represented the echo of that original transgression. Joshua 11:21 says that Joshua destroyed the Anakim from Hebron, from Debir, from Anab, and from all the hill country. There was none left in the land of the children of Israel; only in Gaza, Gath, and Ashdod did some remain. And from Gath, centuries later, would come Goliath, the last echo of the Nephilim facing the man after God’s own heart.
Now, let’s return to the original question: why? What motivated these beings, whatever they were, to take human women? The word that Genesis 6:2 uses for “beautiful” is “tobot,” the same root as “tob,” good—the same word that God used when He said that creation was good in Genesis 1. The “Bene HaElohim” saw that the daughters of men were “tob”—good, beautiful, desirable.
And that connects with something disturbing: every ancient civilization has stories of divine beings who father demigods. The Greeks had Hercules, son of Zeus and Alcmene; Perseus, son of Zeus and Danae. The Sumerians had Gilgamesh, two-thirds god and one-third human. The Norse had children of Odin with mortal women. The Egyptians considered their pharaohs direct sons of the gods. Why do civilizations that never knew each other, separated by oceans and millennia, tell the same story? That they descend, women receive them, children are born who are giants and heroes?
The most logical explanation is that they all remember the same event, something that occurred before the nations separated, before Babel. Genesis 6. And each culture distorted the tale in its own way: it turned the transgression into celebration, the abomination into heroism, the judgment into epic tragedy. And this is something that archaeologists of the ancient Near East have documented extensively. The Sumerian tablets of the antediluvian king list describe rulers who reigned for tens of thousands of years and who were half-divine, half-human. The Epic of Gilgamesh, written on clay tablets more than 4,000 years ago and discovered in the ruins of Nineveh in 1853, tells the story of a king who was two-thirds god and one-third man, who sought immortality, and who survived a great flood with divine instructions to build a boat. The similarities with Genesis are not coincidence; they are memory, memory distorted, deformed by millennia of oral transmission and idolatrous corruption, but memory nonetheless. Something happened before the flood that left a mark so deep in human consciousness that no civilization could forget it completely.
But here is the difference that changes everything: while pagan cultures celebrated those unions and worshiped the demigods, the Bible condemns them. To the Greeks, Hercules was a hero; to the Bible, the Nephilim were the reason for the most devastating judgment in history. And that tells you something profound about God: He is not against power—He created the angels with capabilities that defy the imagination. He is not against greatness—He is the author of everything that is majestic in the universe. But He is radically against the powerful abusing the vulnerable, against the boundaries He established being ignored, against beings with authority using it to take what does not belong to them. That is the line that God never allows to be crossed without consequences.
And when you look at the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, that pattern repeats itself again and again. Pharaoh took the people of Israel as slaves; God destroyed him with 10 plagues. Nebuchadnezzar declared himself God and took Jerusalem; God reduced him to eating grass like an animal for 7 years (Daniel 4:33). Herod sat on his throne, accepted the people’s worship as if he were divine, and an angel of the Lord struck him (Acts 12:23). Each time a being with power crosses the limits established by God, judgment comes—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but it comes. And Genesis 6 is the most extreme example, because there it was not a human king who crossed the line; it was beings who knew the throne of God, who had seen His glory, who knew exactly what they were doing, and they did it anyway.
That is the heart of Genesis 6. It does not matter which interpretation you adopt—whether the “Bene HaElohim” were angels, descendants of Seth, or kings who believed they were divine—the pattern is the same: beings in a position of power who see, desire, and take without restriction. And God’s response was absolute.
Only Noah found grace (Genesis 6:8). Why Noah? Verse 9 says it: “Noah was a just man, perfect in his generations.” The Hebrew word for “perfect” is “tamim,” and “tamim” does not mean morally perfect; it means whole, complete, without mixture, without defect. It is the same word used for the animals of the sacrifice that had to be without blemish. Noah was “tamim” in his “toledot,” in his generations, in his genealogical line. In a world where the lines were mixing in ways that should never have occurred, Noah remained whole in his descent.
And this connects with something that very few understand about the flood: it was not just a moral judgment; it was an act of preservation. Think of it this way: if the contamination of human lines continued generation after generation, if the image of God in humanity continued to be distorted by forces that should not mix with it, then the oldest promise of the entire Bible was in danger. Genesis 3:15, God said to the serpent in the garden, “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel.” The Seed of the woman, a specific human line that would produce the Redeemer. That line needed to arrive intact from Adam, through Seth, through Noah, through Abraham, through David, to a young virgin in Nazareth named Mary.
If that chain was broken at any link, if humanity was genetically absorbed by what was occurring in Genesis 6, then God’s plan of salvation for the entire human species would crumble. There would be no Messiah, no redemption, no hope. The flood protected that line. Matthew chapter 1 traces the genealogy of Jesus from Abraham; Luke chapter 3 traces it to Adam, through Noah. Each name on that list is a link that almost broke in Genesis 6. Noah was not just a righteous man who built a boat; he was the involuntary guardian of the messianic line, the man whose genealogical integrity made it possible that 2,000 years later a baby was born in Bethlehem.
When you see it like that, the flood does not look like an act of destruction; it looks like an act of salvation. God destroyed a world to save humanity; He eliminated a generation to preserve all future ones. Because if the human line was completely absorbed by what was occurring, there would be no Bethlehem, no cross, no resurrection. The sons of God took human women, and that act threatened the plan of redemption of all humanity.
But there is something more, and this is perhaps the most disturbing of all that we have seen today. Jesus himself spoke of Genesis 6, not as ancient history, not as a theological curiosity; He spoke of Genesis 6 as prophecy, as a pattern, as a warning for the future. Matthew 24:37-39: “But as the days of Noah were, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be. For as in the days before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered the ark, and did not know until the flood came and took them all away, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be.”
Read that again. Jesus did not say “as in the days of Abraham,” nor “as in the days of Moses.” He said, “as in the days of Noah.” Specifically, deliberately, He chose the most catastrophic period of human history as a model of what is to come. And look at what He highlights: He did not say that the days of Noah were bad because people stole or killed; He did not mention the violence, He did not mention the idolatry. He said they were “eating, drinking, marrying, giving in marriage”—normal activities, daily life, breakfast, the neighbor’s wedding, the family dinner—routine.
That is the most terrifying thing about Genesis 6: it was not that the evil was visible and people ignored it; it was that the evil had been integrated so deeply into the fabric of society that it no longer looked like evil. God’s limits were crossed every day—they were crossed at the table, they were crossed at weddings, they were crossed in transactions—and no one was alarmed, because when everyone does the same thing, the abnormal becomes normal, and what should provoke terror provokes indifference. That is the true horror of Genesis 6: not the giants, not the angels, not the women; the horror is the normalization, an entire world marching toward destruction without understanding it until the water covered everything.
Imagine Noah, a man who for 120 years built an ark in the middle of a civilization that had no reference to what a global flood meant. Genesis 2:5-6 describe that in the early days of creation, God had not yet made it rain on the earth, and a mist rose from the ground to water the surface. Many scholars interpret this as evidence that rain was an unknown phenomenon before the flood. Noah was building a boat for a catastrophe that no one could imagine. His neighbors probably considered him a lunatic; his contemporaries continued with their routine, they ate, drank, married, took women, and the ark grew plank by plank while the 120-year clock kept ticking.
Second Peter 2:5 calls Noah a “preacher of righteousness.” He preached, he warned, no one listened. No one except his family, eight people out of all humanity—eight: Noah, his wife, his three sons, and their wives (Genesis 7:7). Eight people who believed what no one else was willing to believe: that God’s limits are real, that judgment is real, that divine patience has a deadline, and that when that deadline is met, there is no negotiation.
Jesus used the days of Noah as a mirror of the future, not as an abstract metaphor, but as a pattern that repeats. And perhaps that is the most uncomfortable question that this text leaves: if humanity did not recognize what was happening in the days of Noah, if they did not understand until the flood came and took them away, what is it that we are not recognizing now? What limits are being crossed today that our generation has normalized to the point of not even seeing them?
Genesis 6:1-4, four verses, 2,000 years of debate, and a warning that we still have not finished hearing.
