Holy Bible: I would imagine that most of us have a Bible nearby, preferably close at hand. As I glance over at mine, resting at the end of a small coffee table, I can make out the familiar words stamped on its spine: HOLY BIBLE. The phrase has become so ordinary to us that its significance is easily overlooked. The word “holy” is not decorative; it is declarative. It means that this Book is set apart, distinct in its origin, its authority, and its purpose. The Scriptures are holy because the God who speaks in them is holy. Leviticus 11:44. When we speak of the Bible as holy, we are confessing something about how it must be approached. Holy things are not handled casually; they demand reverence. Leviticus 10:3. The Scriptures are holy because God has sanctified them as the means by which He speaks, reveals Himself, and makes His ways known. Psalm 19:7-9.

What are our thoughts as we reach for that book each day? What do we assume we are holding when we open it? For many of us, the motion of opening the Bible has become second nature. We turn its pages almost by instinct, seldom pausing to consider the wonder of what we are holding. Hebrews 2:1. The Bible is so accessible, so present, that we can forget how astonishing it is that God has spoken at all, much less that He has preserved His words and placed them into our hands. Psalm 119:89.

Our treatment of Scripture reveals far more about us than our profession ever could. In principle, where God is truly feared, His speech is never treated as common. In practice, even where God is truly feared, believers frequently handle His Word with familiarity rather than reverence. To tremble at the Word is to believe that the living God stands behind every word He has spoken, though no visible sign compels us to think so. Such fear is not natural to us; it is the fear of faith, faith acknowledging an unseen reality and resting upon the conviction that God is truly present and speaking, even when nothing outward confirms it to the senses. To fear the Lord at His Word, then, is to approach Scripture with holy seriousness, with reverence, care, and an awareness that we are not dealing with mere ink and paper, but standing before God Himself in the act of reading. Habakkuk 2:20.

When the fear of the Lord has faded, the Word of God loses its gravity. The Scriptures are handled loosely, quoted selectively, and sometimes spoken of in ways that betray a lack of reverence. What once commanded silence now invites commentary. This loss of weight is seldom deliberate; it is the subtle fruit of unguarded familiarity. Perhaps those who stand most frequently before the Word are in danger of forgetting that they stand beneath it. The problem is not a lack of knowledge, but a dangerous comfort with sacred things. Isaiah 48:1.

The holiness of God’s name and the holiness of His Word cannot be separated. In Scripture, a man’s name represents his character, authority, and revealed identity, and this is supremely true of God, who has chosen to make His name known through His Word. Because God has bound His self-revelation to His Word, our posture toward Scripture is never neutral. God’s Word is not detached information about Him, but the appointed means by which He makes Himself known, so that our response to Scripture is, in truth, our response to God. I Thessalonians 2:13.

The unity of God’s name and God’s Word finds its fullest expression in the Person of Christ. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1. The Word is not merely something God speaks; it is the ONE whom God has sent. “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.” John 1:14. Christ does not simply convey divine truth; He is the living self-disclosure of God. In Christ, the Word is no longer only written or spoken but embodied. Revelation 19:13. This same truth is echoed in our Lord’s prayer in John 17, where “name” and “word” are again inseparably joined. “I have manifested thy name unto the men which thou gavest me,” John 17:6, and again, “I have given unto them the words which thou gavest me.” John 17:8. Christ reveals the Father’s name precisely by delivering the Father’s Word. To hallow God’s name and to tremble at His Word is, in the end, to bow before the Son in whom both are perfectly revealed. Hebrews 12:1-2. MPJ

Fasting: “Moreover when ye fast, be not, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance, for they disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.” Matthew 6:16. These words of Christ are often read in a way that safely confines them to another people and another time. Most commonly, they are handed over to the Jews, and to the Pharisees in particular, as though the danger our Lord exposes belonged uniquely to a bygone religious class. At other times, the passage is spiritualized in a vague and generalized way, reduced to a warning against outward show while still treating fasting as a legitimate expression of self-denial or discipline, provided it is performed with careful discretion.

In his comments on this passage, John Gill treats fasting as an outward religious act, historically practiced, morally neutral, and spiritually dangerous when treated as righteousness. The address is primarily to Pharisaical religion, but by extension to any who fast for recognition or reward. Gill is warning the church against religion performed for visibility and reward. In Gill’s theology, fasting is an external religious act, and therefore always dangerous when confused with inward godliness. This is all very good.

Likewise, Robert Hawker approaches these words of Christ from the same ground, yet presses the matter further inward. Where Gill exposes fasting as an outward religious act easily corrupted by pride and reward-seeking, Hawker is chiefly concerned with what fasting reveals about the heart’s reluctance to rest wholly in Christ. In short, Hawker understands a true fast as something entirely internal and Christ-directed and thus warns against Christians importing law-religion into gospel ground. The “secret” is not the closet as a better stage, but the heart emptied of confidence in anything but Christ. All helpful and clarifying considerations.

Another thought naturally arises, and I can’t quite resist it, namely that, judging from the surviving portraits of both Gill and Hawker, neither man appears to have suffered much from excessive fasting. Whatever their views on the subject, they were clearly not malnourished saints. If they fasted at all, one suspects it was not very often, or else over-compensated on other days. Let’s bring this a bit closer to home. Who here has fasted in the last year? Go ahead, hands up, and feel free to explain how it went. Crickets. Apparently fasting has fallen on hard times, which is ironic, considering how little hardship most of us actually endure. I doubt any of us are wasting away. On the contrary, we are comfortably padded, amply supplied, and thoroughly attached to the necessities and luxuries of present life.

If we turn from the commentators to church history, the subject appears in another form. During the puritan period, particularly in the Cromwellian era, fasting was often formally appointed by churches and even by the state. Beginning in the early 1640s, Parliament proclaimed regular national fast days, commonly called “Days of Public Humiliation” or “Solemn Fasts,” which were observed publicly through closed shops and mandatory church attendance. Under Cromwell these practices continued, at times alternating with days of thanksgiving, and became woven into the moral and religious life of the nation. Well-known puritan figures such as John Owen, Thomas Goodwin, Jeremiah Burroughs, Thomas Manton, and Richard Baxter participated in and preached on these occasions, generally viewing fasting as a means of humbling the flesh and aiding prayer, while still acknowledging the danger of outward form overtaking inward exercise.

And yet, when read alongside our Lord’s own words on fasting, these appointed fasts raise an unavoidable question, not so much about motive, but about manner. Christ’s instruction on fasting does not merely warn against hypocrisy of heart, but against making fasting a visible, scheduled, and publicly recognized exercise. As Christ describes it, fasting is not something planned in advance or observed as a public appointment. It belongs to the secret dealings between the soul and God, arising from immediate need rather than future planning. When fasting is fixed upon a calendar it moves from inward response to outward form. Isaiah 1:13-14. Whatever the difference in intention, the resemblance in practice is difficult to ignore. None of this is meant to forbid fasting, nor to judge the exercises of another man’s conscience. What must be resisted is turning it into a rule, a measure of spirituality, or a duty imposed where Christ has left liberty.

Whatever one concludes about the fasting practices of earlier generations, it is hard not to notice how thoroughly the subject has been sidelined in our own. It is therefore not at all surprising how quickly “fasting” is passed over in much of what is called preaching today, and when it is addressed at all, it is most often spiritualized into a broad principle of self-denial. Fasting is reduced to the idea of giving something up, restraining some appetite, or denying some aspect of the flesh. In doing so, the focus subtly shifts from Christ Himself to the believer’s ability to restrain the flesh, manage appetites, or demonstrate seriousness. What is lost in this shift is precisely what both Gill and Hawker warn against, the ease with which religious acts, even well-intentioned ones, can subtly replace resting in Christ with a confidence rooted in self.

At this point, the question is no longer whether fasting has been misunderstood, but why our Lord speaks of it so differently than we do. When Christ is asked about fasting, He does not respond by prescribing its frequency or promoting its usefulness. Instead, He answers by locating fasting entirely in relation to Himself. “Can the children of the bridechamber mourn, as long as the bridegroom is with them?” Matthew 9:15. By this single question, Christ reframes the matter entirely, turning it from religious activity to relationship. As long as the Bridegroom is with them, fasting, identified here with mourning, is out of place. Psalm 16:11.

Fasting, as Christ defines it, is not a religious act to be initiated, but a response that arises when the Bridegroom is taken away and consolation is withdrawn. John 16:20. This places fasting outside religious manufacture and within the realm of communion. Where Christ is enjoyed, joy is full; where that enjoyment is interrupted, sorrow will arise. Christ addresses this very reality not by calling His people to manufacture sorrow, but by directing them to the true source of joy. I John 1:3-4. My aim in writing these thoughts has not been to revive fasting, discourage it, or regulate it, but simply to consider the subject in the light of Christ’s own words, and to leave it there. “These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” John 15:11. MPJ

Dying Grace: “And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in paradise.” Luke 23:43. The thief on the cross had nothing to offer, no works to present, no time to reform, no reputation to defend. His life was a public failure, his death a sentence well deserved. And yet, in the final moments of his life, Christ spoke words that forever define the nature of divine grace: “Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.”

This is precisely where the offense of the cross arises. For while most are willing to confess that salvation is “by grace,” few are content to let the cross strip them of every distinction. We instinctively seek some distinction, some feature that sets us apart. But the cross levels every claim and leaves us standing on the same ground. “For there is no difference, for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.” Romans 3:22-24.

This is where we may want to ask ourselves, on what footing do we expect to stand before God? Most would never say it outright, but many assume their case will be heard on better terms than a condemned criminal gasping for breath beside a crucified Christ. Scripture, however, places the thief on the cross before us not as a one-time exception granted under unusual circumstances, but as a clear revelation of the character of God, revealing what kind of grace He gives, and to whom.

Nothing in the narrative suggests that his case required special handling, nor that the mercy shown unto him was a deviation from the rule. On the contrary, his salvation exposes the rule itself. Here, at the point of absolute moral and religious bankruptcy, grace is seen in its purest form, unconditioned, unbargained, and resting entirely in the word of Christ.

It is easy, even natural, to imagine that we will stand before God on terms slightly more respectable than the thief on the cross. And yet, the gospel dismantles that assumption. Any hope of salvation that rises above the footing on which the dying thief stood is already a denial of grace; for if a man imagines that he will stand before God on more respectable terms then he is not seeking salvation by grace at all, but by a different god altogether. Such a god would have to admire what men admire, reward what men call virtue, and reserve mercy only for those who appear worthy of it. Let that sink in for a moment! If salvation required anything at our hands, any condition to fulfill or step to ascend, he stood utterly without hope. Yet it was precisely there, at the bottom, with nothing left, that Christ met him with mercy. Any attempt to soften this truth, to suggest that the thief possessed some hidden virtue or preparatory condition, is simply an effort to rescue human pride. In the thief, we are given not a puzzle to solve, but a revelation to believe. Romans 3:27. MPJ.

Christ the Treasure: “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field.” Matthew 13:44. Our Lord describes the “kingdom of heaven” as a treasure hidden in a field, discovered not by effort but by revelation, and received not through negotiation but with joy. The man does not labor to improve the treasure, nor does he barter for its worth; he simply recognizes what has been found. Everything that follows, selling all, purchasing the field, relinquishing former claims, flows from the surpassing value of the treasure itself. So it is with Christ. When He is revealed as the life and righteousness of His people, and as their true inheritance, the hold of lesser treasures quietly dissolves. Philippians 3:7-8. The soul is not forced to relinquish them; it does so willingly, even gladly, having discovered something of infinitely greater worth. Matthew 6:21.

Whether the treasure in the parable is understood as Christ Himself, or as the kingdom whose riches are found in Him, the point remains the same, the kingdom’s surpassing worth cannot be separated from Christ. Even if the treasure is not intended as a direct allegory of Christ as a figure in the story, the parable cannot be rightly read in a way that excludes Him as the substance of what is treasured. “In whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” Colossians 2:3.

Just now when reflecting on Christ as this treasure, I couldn’t help but remember a gospel message I heard years ago on this particular passage. In his introduction, the brother said that we were going on a “treasure hunt.” It was such a simple and fitting way to put it, and it stayed with me. Even now, whenever I come across that verse, it’s hard not to think of those words, because Christ is not merely a treasure, but the treasure, the one pearl of great price. As a small side note, I heard that message nearly twenty years ago, and that same brother is still preaching the same gospel today. That, in itself, is a sweet reminder of the Lord’s faithfulness in keeping His people, both him and us, in Christ for so many years. I Thessalonians 5:24.

As hinted at above, the parable leaves no room for calculation. There are no terms to be met, no scales to be balanced, no future benefits weighed against present cost, only joy in the discovery of surpassing worth. The same pattern appears in the calling of the disciples. “And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all and followed him.” Luke 5:11. No bargaining is recorded, no conditions are proposed, no rewards are negotiated. Christ is revealed, and the response follows. Yet much of our religious thinking introduces precisely what the parable excludes. We begin to speak of salvation as a transaction, of faith as a qualifying act, and of obedience as a measurable contribution. In this way, the treasure is no longer central, and Christ Himself is subtly displaced.

For many, Christ is little more than a bridge to “heaven,” a requirement to be crossed rather than the treasure to be possessed. Heaven, as it is often imagined, becomes a moral merit economy in which faith functions as currency, obedience is tallied for reward, and Christ is no longer received as the inheritance, but reduced to a means of obtaining something beyond Himself. This inversion strikes at the very heart of the gospel. Scripture does not present Christ as the doorway to something better; it presents Him as that which is better. To treat Christ as a means rather than the end is to strip Him of His glory and to misunderstand salvation altogether.

But where Christ is revealed as the treasure, life, righteousness, and inheritance of His people, the heart is reoriented. Desires once scattered among many pursuits are gathered into one, and the soul learns to rest where God has placed its life. To have Christ is to have the riches of the kingdom already, for “he that hath the Son hath life.” I John 5:12. Here the gospel comes to rest, not in what we manage to maintain for Christ, but in what Christ has faithfully secured for us. MPJ.

Trinitarianism: “And if any man think that he knoweth anything, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know.” I Corinthians 8:2. “Thus, he is not a brother in Christ; he is a blasphemer and a cultist!” — “Although MPJ relies heavily on cult-like tactics, logical fallacies, and strawman arguments to challenge the Trinity, the only cure for the heretic MPJ is the true gospel of the Triune God.” — “MPJ loathes the concept of the Trinity so much that he created a straw man to argue against it.” Those lines, taken on their own, fairly capture the spirit of a lengthy article written about me, in which I was charged with denying the Trinity, or at least a particular formulation of it, and on that basis declared outside the faith. I cite it not to answer the accusation itself, but because it illustrates the manner in which the entire case was framed.

The name of the article was, “Abusing ‘Righteousness’ at the Expense of the Trinity: A Reply to Marc Peter Jacobsson, Sovereign Redeemer Books.” It was written roughly two months ago, though I only became aware of it yesterday, and that only because someone felt compelled to direct me to it. In one sense, I wish I had never seen it. I am generally content to walk quietly, to labor in my own corner, and to leave controversy where it lies. And yet, having now seen it, I find myself conflicted. Not because my confidence has been shaken, nor because I feel a need to vindicate myself, but because I cannot help but think of how such words might land on others, particularly on those who are weak, new to the faith, or simply trying to learn Christ without being caught in the crossfire of theological hostilities.

My primary concern has never been for those who feel firmly established in the faith, or for those who are confident in their theological systems and well-versed in doctrinal distinctions. My heart is much more with the weak, the young believer, and the one who is simply trying to look to Christ and rejoice in Him, without yet understanding many of these finer points of doctrine. It is to those that my thoughts continually gravitate, and with them in mind, I can’t help but wonder how such strong warnings, accusations, and condemnations might sound to ears that are not accustomed to sifting theological controversy. Such warnings are not light matters, and they ought to make all of us cautious, myself included.

My wife remarked, when I mentioned these things to her, “why does he even waste his time on you? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?” If these questions touch the heart of the gospel as he understands it, then to ignore them would feel irresponsible. In that sense, I do not doubt his sincerity, nor do I assume his motives are petty or personal. He believes he is contending for Christ, and that is no small thing. Seen from that angle, his words are not born of indifference, but of earnest conviction. I do not doubt that the author loves what he understands to be the truth, nor do I question his zeal for guarding the faith once delivered to the saints. Such concern, when rightly ordered, is commendable. I’m reminded of Calvin's words: “A dog barks when his master is attacked. I would be a coward if I saw that God's truth is attacked and yet would remain silent.” The church has always needed men who take doctrine seriously and are genuinely concerned about error where Christ is at stake.

If I am honest, what keeps me careful in moments like this is a sober awareness of my own frailty. I do not stand on any imagined ground of infallibility, nor do I presume a clarity that others must share. I have wavered before, and I have misunderstood the Scriptures more than once. There is much I do not see clearly. At times, the thought even crosses my mind, what if they are right in some way? Not in the accusations made, but in seeing something I have missed. I am no theologian. I do not pretend to possess a comprehensive grasp of these matters. There are things others claim to see with clarity that I struggle to see at all, even when I labor to set aside my own assumptions and preconceived notions. It is a mercy to remember that our hope does not rest in our theological clarity, but in the Lord’s kindness to preserve us, even from ourselves, and to keep us from serious error, even when we’re blind to it. Psalms 119:18.

Further, if I am to be consistent with what I believe about God’s sovereignty in salvation, then I must also accept that understanding itself falls under that same sovereignty. II Timothy 2:7. God may have opened my eyes to some things, and He has left me blind to others for reasons known only to Him. I trust that there are brethren who see more clearly where I remain unsure. Revelation is always a gift, never a possession. And if God is to be known, He must make Himself known. Matthew 13:11.

With those opening thoughts, I want to briefly and plainly clarify something, not as a rebuttal, and certainly not as a defense of myself, but for the sake of those who may be confused by the charges that have been made. I know that I am not a denier of the Trinity in the sense in which that charge is commonly understood. I do not deny the Father, the Son, or the Holy Spirit. I do not deny the full and undiminished deity of Christ. I do not deny the Spirit of God, nor do I treat Him as an impersonal force. And I do not deny the testimony of Scripture concerning God’s self-revelation.

At bottom, the difference between myself and this critic is not whether the Father, the Son, and the Spirit are divine. On that point, there is no dispute. I affirm Christ’s full deity without reserve. I affirm the Father, the Son, and the Spirit without hesitation. I affirm the Scriptures without embarrassment or apology. The difference at hand is not whether God is revealed as Father, Son, and Spirit, but in how far we are willing to press certain theological formulations beyond the language and testimony of Scripture itself and then bind consciences to them as tests of spiritual life and death.

Theological systems do not arise out of thin air, nor are they born merely of pride or speculation. They are often formed in earnest attempts to safeguard truth, to answer real errors, and to give structure to the church’s understanding of Scripture. In that sense, they can be genuinely helpful. They provide language, categories, and guardrails that assist teachers and learners alike, especially in times of controversy. But systems, by their very nature, are secondary things. They help us speak about what Scripture teaches, but they are not themselves the measure of faith, nor the ground of our acceptance with God. Trouble arises when what was meant to serve understanding begins to govern conscience, when explanatory frameworks are pressed beyond Scripture’s own testimony and then treated as definitive tests of spiritual life and death.

Scripture invites clear and reverent confession, but it does not urge us beyond what God has revealed. It leaves unexplained things in His hands, where they belong. Deuteronomy 29:29. Its concern is not that we master metaphysical categories, but that we know the living God as He makes Himself known. John 17:3. Biblical confession centers on testimony: God is one; the Father sent the Son; the Word was made flesh; the Spirit gives life; Christ is Lord. Philosophical precision seeks to explain how these truths fit together. These can be helpful, but the danger is when an explanation replaces the confession, so that agreeing with a certain way of describing God is treated as equal to believing in Christ Himself. Scripture calls us to believe the testimony God has given of His Son; it does not require that we resolve every philosophical question that testimony raises.

One additional concern I feel compelled to note is a recurring pattern in how my words have been handled. Portions of my writings are quoted selectively, extracted and then interpreted through “oneness” or “modalist” frameworks that I have never adopted. It’s as though questioning certain doctrinal formulations automatically places me within those camps. It may help to say plainly what I have not said, and what I do not believe. I have never claimed that the Son is the Father, nor that the Spirit is merely a force. I have never taught that Christ is a created being, nor that the Son did not exist prior to the incarnation. Those ideas are rightly rejected because Scripture itself rejects them. What I have questioned is not the scriptural testimony itself, but the necessity of adopting later philosophical descriptions as though they were Scripture’s own speech.

The real disagreement, then, comes down to this, whether post-biblical metaphysical language, phrases such as “three eternal persons sharing one divine essence,” or carefully articulated distinctions like the Father as unbegotten, the Son as eternally begotten, and the Spirit as eternally proceeding, should be regarded as part of the gospel itself, or whether it represents a theological model developed to safeguard and summarize biblical truth? My contention has never been with the biblical testimony. It has been with the elevation of a particular explanatory framework to the status of gospel boundary. At this point, faith is no longer anchored in Christ as He is revealed in Scripture, but in one’s ability to articulate or affirm a particular theological construct. When those structures are elevated to the level of gospel boundary markers, the focus subtly shifts, from trusting Christ as He is revealed in Scripture, to affirming particular explanatory schemes as measures of spiritual life and death.

The Bible names the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, and bears faithful witness to each. It does not, however, speak in terms of three distinct, co-equal, co-eternal persons subsisting within one divine essence. That language developed later, particularly in the fourth century, as the church faced internal disputes over the person of Christ and the nature of God, (most notably in response to Arianism,) and began to employ philosophical terms drawn from Greek metaphysics to clarify and defend what it believed Scripture taught. If others wish to speak in that kind of protestant or confessional language, they are free to do so. I have no desire to police vocabulary, nor to silence those who find such formulations helpful. But neither do I feel compelled to follow where Scripture itself does not lead, or to labor to disprove systems I do not believe in. No believer, as far as I can see, is bound to accept a particular philosophical vocabulary simply because it became traditional.

And it remains an open and serious question, one that has not been demonstrated from that critique, how salvation itself is made to hinge upon affirming Nicene metaphysics rather than upon believing the testimony God has given of His Son. Scripture places eternal life not in mastering explanatory schemes, but in knowing the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom He has sent. John 17:3. MPJ

Offense of Christ Alone: “The world cannot hate you; but me it hateth, because I testify of it, that the works thereof are evil.” John 7:7. The world has never persecuted a man for speaking against vice. Such denunciations are often welcomed, and even celebrated, so long as they remain safely general and do not disturb the foundations upon which men rest. Luke 6:26. On the contrary, moral outrage is one of its favorite disguises. It allows the world to appear righteous while remaining untouched, to condemn obvious evils while preserving its confidence in itself. But when Christ says that the world hates Him because He testifies that its works are evil, He is speaking of something far deeper than the exposure of public sins. He is exposing not merely what men do, but what they trust in; not merely outward corruption, but inward righteousness. His testimony reaches beyond behavior to the very ground of human acceptance before God, stripping away every refuge of self-approval and leaving no standing except in Himself alone.

Christ bore witness against the world precisely at the point where it felt most secure. He challenged not its vices, but its virtues. He exposed the righteousness men boasted in, the religion they cherished, and the goodness they presumed would commend them to God. In doing so, He stripped away every refuge of self-justification. The Jews understood this clearly. They did not hear Him as a moral reformer, but as a threat to all they called holy and acceptable. John 5:18. And rightly so, for Christ did not come to improve the world’s righteousness, but to condemn it as insufficient, false, and condemned already apart from Him. John 6:29. He does not negotiate with human goodness; He declares it void. In doing so, He becomes an enemy to everything the world admires in itself. Luke 16:15.

How deeply offensive it must have been to those who prized their religion, their lineage, and their obedience, to hear a man they regarded with contempt openly declare that God was pleased with no one but Himself, and that the Father’s delight was singular, settled, and unshared. He asserted, with unwavering certainty, that the Father delighted in no righteousness, no devotion, no virtue under heaven but His own, and that no man could ever find acceptance with God except through Him. John 14:6.

In making Himself the sole object of the Father’s pleasure, He exposed every rival righteousness as false, and in doing so, made Himself unbearable to those who trusted in their own. The Jews recognized the implication immediately. What provoked their fury was not His condemnation of sin in general, but His declaration that apart from Him, even what men called good was evil. If He were right, then all they valued most was exposed as empty. And so, rather than abandon their righteousness, they resolved to destroy Him. John 15:22.

They would have listened eagerly to one who instructed them how to do the works of God, who assigned them a role, offered them some share in the work, and dignified their efforts with divine approval. But they could not endure the announcement that all their sincere thoughts, religious desires, and moral exertions were set aside entirely, of no value in securing acceptance with God. The claim that Jesus had come down from heaven not to assist men in their work, but to accomplish the work of God for them, and to do it alone, was intolerable. The scandal remains unchanged. It is found wherever Christ’s work is confessed as the whole of salvation rather than a means toward it, even in circles renowned for doctrinal precision and religious seriousness. MPJ