Doctrine and Christ: Looking back across the years, we’ve become increasingly aware of how seldom the gospel finds its way into ordinary conversation. It seems like such a contradiction. Isn’t it the most important thing in our life? Why would we want to conceal our love for Christ? Don’t we want others to know the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord? Why are we so careful and hesitant to name Christ? Are we, in some measure, ashamed of the gospel of Christ, ashamed not with words, but with silence? How can that even be? How can we be ashamed of “Christ, who is our life.” Colossians 3:4.
And yet, speaking here from our own experience, this silence has been common. With acquaintances, extended family, in-laws, and friends met along the way, even people we know well and care for deeply, the subject almost never arises. Christ is not named. His work is not spoken of. Even in settings where a religious framework exists, where Christian language or values are assumed, the gospel itself is conspicuously absent. It may be present as language, but absent as life.
Perhaps the uneasiness does not arise merely from fear of offense, but from something deeper. To speak of Christ plainly is to speak of truth, and truth defines. It draws lines that make things unmistakably clear. It confronts false hopes and exposes lies. And speaking with that level of exactness and plainness can feel costly. It risks misunderstanding. It risks being seen as proud, narrow or extreme. But the gospel has always carried that offense, not because it is harsh, but because it is true. I Corinthians 1:23.
Is it also possible that, among those of us familiar with the language of grace and sovereignty, a quiet hesitancy has crept in, an unwillingness to speak plainly for fear of sounding forced or artificial? And perhaps, as the Lord has been gracious to teach us, we sense that many who identify as believers have little real acquaintance with the gospel itself, and we shrink back from the separation that such plain speaking can bring. Whatever the reason, the outcome is the same, Christ remains undefined, and the truth that bears witness to Him is left unspoken.
That silence doesn’t mean Christ isn’t mentioned. It means that when He is, a certain kind of language tends to dominate. You can hear it in the way salvation is described, or in how the gospel is spoken of in general terms. It is often framed as a personal choice or commitment, commonly told through a testimony, where the focus rests on the individual’s journey rather than on the Christ to whom the story was meant to point. Salvation is described as asking Jesus into one’s heart, committing one’s life to Christ, or having a relationship with God. Yet when asked who Christ is, or what He has actually accomplished, the answers are frequently vague and undefined.
We hear familiar exclamations like, “Christ is risen!” But have we ever stopped long enough to really ask ourselves who is risen? What can we truly say about Him and His work? In the same way, “Jesus died for me” is commonly spoken, yet few can explain what that death achieved, whom it reconciled, or why it is sufficient to give peace with God. We say we believe in the virgin birth, but have we ever stopped to ask why it matters? Why could salvation not come any other way? What does it tell us about Christ, about sin, and about the nature of God’s grace? Others speak warmly of “following Jesus,” but cannot explain where He leads, what He has finished, or upon what ground He saves. The language sounds sincere, even heartfelt, but it lacks substance. Christ is spoken of as a personal companion, a source of inspiration or peace, rather than as the Son of God who accomplished a definite work in history.
This is where the relationship between truth and Christ can no longer be separated: access to God rests entirely in Christ Himself. John 14:6. And because everything turns on that access it becomes essential to know how it is obtained and upon what ground it stands. We are not dealing here with secondary matters or abstract questions, but with the most important question of life itself. Matthew 22:42. Nothing in this life matters more. Who is this One who has the words of eternal life, and what does it mean to truly believe upon Him and confess Him as our only hope? Does His work actually secure acceptance before God, or is there something left for us to do? And ultimately, under the conviction of sin, everything comes down to this: “How can a man be justified with God?” Job 25:4. How can anyone, guilty and with nothing to plead, stand righteous before Him? We should pause and ask whether this question has ever really been ours. If it hasn’t, that is something to think about very carefully.
God has not left this question unanswered. The Christ who saves is not discovered by human insight or the ability to reason things out, nor shaped by imagination, personal experience, or tradition, but revealed and testified of in the Scriptures, and made known to the heart by the Spirit of God. “Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God.” I Corinthians 2:12. And this matters because our standing before God does not rest on sincerity, but on truth. To be unclear about the One upon whom our salvation depends is no small danger. Friends, there are many things we can afford to be ignorant about in this life, but this is not one of them. We do not want to be unclear here. We need to know where our salvation comes from, who it is that saves us, and what our hope truly rests upon. They are matters of life and death.
The day may come when borrowed convictions no longer hold, when inherited language and second-hand traditions begin to fail us. In moments like that, what we have merely received from others is tested, and what we truly know of Christ matters more than anything else. This is no small thing. A Christ we do not truly know cannot answer the weight of sin or give peace before God. When everything else is shaken, only the Christ God has revealed in Scripture remains. And this is why those who have been taught their need of Christ cannot remain satisfied there.
Believers cannot remain content with an undefined Christ because their need for mercy never leaves them. In light of God’s overwhelming absoluteness, His inconceivable love, and the merits of His Son as our sole acceptance before Him, the matter can be stated plainly: God is absolute – therefore access must be perfect. God is love – therefore access is given. Christ is the Door – therefore His merits alone are our acceptance. When Christ becomes our only refuge, vagueness is no longer safe. An undefined Christ cannot bear the weight of a guilty conscience, sustain faith in trial, or give assurance before God. Love itself presses us toward clarity. We want to know whom we trust, whom we love, and upon what ground our standing rests. The more precious Christ becomes, the less content we are with generalities, impressions, or borrowed language. Our hearts instinctively ask, Who is He? What has He done? Where does my life truly stand before God?
This need does not arise from curiosity or a need to be right, but from absolute necessity. Apart from Christ there is only death, and no amount of sincerity, effort, or religious language can make up the difference. Sentiment cannot sustain life, and faith cannot survive on impressions. Life seeks what sustains it, and faith reaches for what is solid. We cannot live without Him, and we cannot live upon a Christ left undefined. As Christ becomes our only refuge, vagueness is no longer harmless; it becomes dangerous. We are compelled to ask not merely that He saves, but how; not merely that He loves, but on what ground; not merely that He gives peace, but why that peace can be trusted. Doctrine gives Christ shape by declaring who He is and what He has done, gathering the testimony God has given and setting Christ before us plainly, so that faith is not left to imagination and hope is not built on assumption.
Christ is known where He has been made known, in the truth of Scripture, where His work is proclaimed, His love revealed, and the grace of God set before us. And having seen something of that grace, how could the heart not desire to know Him more? And without digressing much, let me just say that “going to church,” or whatever we choose to call it, once or three times a week, has little to do with this. How could such a thing satisfy? A vague Christ we do not truly know cannot carry our guilt, heal our wounds, or give peace in troubled times. He cannot give joy where there is sorrow or hope where there is fear. Only the Christ who has been made known can do that.
Believing in Christ is not a vague or mystical exercise detached from truth. He is given to us through His word and known as He is testified in the gospel. It is the appointed means by which Christ is set before the soul in clarity. We do not live by ideas about Christ, but by Christ Himself, and yet it is doctrine that names Him, distinguishes Him, and guards the soul from substitutes that cannot give life. In closing, what Scripture calls “the doctrine of Christ,” II John 1:9, is not a secondary matter or a theological preference, but a vital and fundamental truth, held not merely in the mind, but in the power of the Holy Ghost. It is the God-given witness that sets Christ before us as He truly is, preserving us from imagination and grounding faith in revelation. It guards us from trusting a Christ of our own making and anchors us instead to the Christ who has been revealed, testified of, and made known. “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” John 17:3. MPJ