Two Natures: Yesterday, I received a church bulletin from England, passed along to me by a brother, which included a quotation by Don Fortner on the subject of the believer’s two natures. That brief excerpt stirred thoughts I’ve never fully settled in my own mind. I’ve commented on a few of his thoughts in the past, sometimes critically, largely because his thoughts continue to be scattered abroad through bulletins to this day. To his credit, Don was always deliberate in defining his terms and forthright about his convictions. However one may differ, that kind of clarity reflects an honest concern to speak of Christ without concealment, rather than sheltering behind undefined theology.

Here is the quotation: “Believers are men and women with two distinct, separate, warring natures: the flesh and the spirit. When God saves a sinner he does not renovate, repair, and renew the old nature. He creates a new nature in his elect. Our old, Adamic, fallen, sinful nature is not changed. The flesh is subdued by the spirit; but it will never surrender to the spirit. The spirit wars against the flesh; but it will never conquer or improve the flesh. The flesh is sinful. The flesh is cursed. Thank God, the flesh must die! But it will never be improved. This dual nature of the believer is plainly taught in the Word of God. Carefully study Romans 7, Galatians 5, and I John 3. It is utterly impossible to honestly interpret those portions of Holy Scripture without concluding that both Paul and John teach that there is within every believer, so long as he lives in this world, both an old Adamic nature that can do nothing but sin and a new righteous nature, that which is born of God, that cannot sin, that can only do righteousness. The Holy Spirit's work in sanctification is not the improvement of our old nature, but the maturing of the new, steadily causing the believer to grow in the grace and knowledge of Christ and bring forth fruit unto God. Every believer knows the duality of his nature by painful, bitterly painful experience.” Don Fortner.

At first glance, this distinction carries great experiential weight, for it gives language to the very real struggle every believer knows. It is also the framework most of us have inherited, and I say that without criticism. For that reason, I want to be clear that I am not seeking to correct others, but simply to voice some thoughts I’ve found myself returning to. As I’ve reflected on this explanation, I’ve begun to wonder whether it extends further than Scripture itself intends. Though the Bible certainly speaks of conflict, warfare, and the presence of sin, it does not always do so by describing two separate moral natures residing within the believer. In some passages, the language seems to pull us in a different direction altogether.

Over the years as I’ve continued to think about these things, I’ve found myself wondering whether there may be another way to speak about this struggle, one that avoids describing the believer as inwardly divided, as though made up of two separate selves locked in constant trench warfare. Scripture itself never says that a believer is two beings living in one body. Instead, Paul speaks in the personal language of a single subject: “I” sin, Romans 7:20, “I” delight in the law of God, Romans 7:22, and “I” do what I hate. Romans 7:15. He does not say that one nature sins while another obeys. He says, I do both, and I hate the contradiction. Rather than relocating sin into a separate internal compartment, Paul owns the conflict personally, while refusing to locate righteousness anywhere but in Christ.

When Scripture speaks most broadly about humanity, it does not do so in the language of two natures residing within the same person, but in terms of two men standing over all men: Adam and Christ. Adam is not merely a “nature,” but a representative head, through whom sin, condemnation, and death entered the world. Romans 5:12-19. Christ, likewise, is not a nature we possess, but the last Adam, through whom righteousness, life, and resurrection are given. I Corinthians 15:45. The Bible consistently frames human identity and destiny in these terms: in Adam or in Christ. As Paul writes, “The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is the Lord from heaven.” I Corinthians 15:47. Scripture never says that the believer contains both of these men at once. Rather, it speaks in clear relational terms, we were in Adam, and we are now in Christ. Yet even while our standing has been decisively changed, we still live in mortal bodies that belong to the old order. This distinction is crucial, for it preserves the way Scripture speaks about remaining weakness and conflict without dividing the believer into two competing selves or locating life anywhere other than in Christ Himself.

Closely related to this is how Scripture itself speaks of the “flesh.” In Paul’s usage, the term does not refer to a second nature within the believer, but to mortal life marked by weakness, corruption, and death. “Flesh” names what belongs to the old order, life marked by frailty and decay, not a surviving moral agent that must be endlessly battled or gradually improved. This is why Paul can say without qualification that “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God.” I Corinthians 15:50. The flesh is not reformed, disciplined, or matured into something better; it is put off, put to death, and ultimately abolished. The believer’s hope, therefore, is not the conquest of the flesh by an inner nature, but deliverance from mortality itself through resurrection. Romans 8:23. In this way, Scripture addresses present weakness and conflict while directing the eye forward to their final end, not in the reconciliation of rival claims within us, but in Christ, who swallows up death in life. II Corinthians 5:4.

Romans 7 is often taken to mean that the believer has two natures fighting it out inside. But Paul seems to be talking about something else. He’s describing what happens when the law meets a man still living in a body marked by death. The law exposes sin and shows its power. Sin isn’t another self; it’s what the commandment brings into the open. Paul puts it simply, “when the commandment came, sin revived, and I died.” Romans 7:9. So the question isn’t how to manage two sides of ourselves, but how to be delivered from death itself. And that’s exactly what Paul asks, “who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” So, in my thoughts, Romans 7 is not about two natures at all, but about life under law in the flesh.

It is at this point that certain ways of speaking often enter in, as attempts to make sense of that struggle. Language such as “part of me is sinless, part of me sins” may seem helpful, but it often divides the believer inwardly. Righteousness is assigned to one part, sin to another, as though the self could be neatly partitioned. When framed this way, the language of two natures can begin to resemble a kind of spiritual Jekyll and Hyde, one part righteous and commendable, the other corrupt and blameworthy. That may not be the intention, but it is often the effect. Scripture does not speak this way. Paul does not alternate between identities, excusing failure as the work of one self and claiming obedience for another; he speaks as one man, exposed, conflicted, and in need, and directs the whole man to Christ alone.

Additionally, we are told that “the Holy Spirit’s work in sanctification is not the improvement of our old nature, but the maturing of the new.” While this may sound like a necessary clarification, it nevertheless redirects the believer’s focus inward, toward the development of something within himself. Yet when Paul reaches the height of his struggle in Romans 7, his answer is not found in sanctification mechanics at all. He does not say, “I see now that my new nature must mature,” but rather, “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Likewise, Peter does not exhort believers to cultivate a nature, but to “grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.” II Peter 3:18. What Scripture presents here, whatever term we choose to use to describe it, is not the development of an internal principle, but an increasing orientation of life toward Christ as He is known, trusted, and lived upon. Galatians 2:20.

The way we speak about these things matters. Language shapes where a believer instinctively looks when conflict arises. Words that turn the focus inward, even with good intentions, can teach the heart to look within for help. Scripture directs us elsewhere. Its language draws the eye outward, away from inner mechanisms and toward Christ Himself, where life, righteousness, and hope are found. By speaking this way, Scripture keeps faith simple and keeps the believer resting where God has placed life. “And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son.” I John 5:11.

This is not to suggest that those who hold this view are intentionally seeking righteousness within themselves. Many are deeply concerned to safeguard the sufficiency of Christ. Still, the way these things are spoken of can have unintended effects. When righteousness is associated with an inward “new man,” and sin is attributed to a separate internal principle, the believer may begin, almost unconsciously, to assess spiritual standing by inward measurements. Scripture avoids this entirely. Paul owns his sin personally yet refuses to locate righteousness anywhere but in Christ. In this way, the gospel neither builds the believer up in himself nor pulls him apart inwardly but leaves him resting entirely upon Christ. II Corinthians 5:21.

In the end, this is not a call to replace one system with another, but a recognition of how Scripture keeps Christ at the center of both our language and our hope. The believer’s struggle is real, his weakness undeniable, and his sin not to be excused or disguised. Yet Scripture does not leave him divided, nor does it send him searching within himself for resolution. It directs him, again and again, to Christ, who is his life now, and his deliverance yet to come. There, and only there, the believer finds rest. Colossians 3:4.

Before closing, I want to be clear about my spirit in writing this. I know that some of my closest friends in Christ hold firmly to the view I’ve been examining, and I hold them in sincere affection and respect. The strength of my language reflects my present disposition on these questions, not a claim to having resolved them beyond all doubt. Over the years, I’ve found myself wavering back and forth, and these thoughts simply reflect where I currently stand. No harshness is intended, and no judgment is being passed. My hope has been to think carefully, speak plainly, and ultimately to leave both reader and writer looking to Christ rather than resting in any settled scheme of words. MPJ

Carpenterism: My initial hesitation in posting this publicly, under the title Carpenterism, was the simple fact that most people will likely respond with, What? They won’t know what I’m talking about, and truthfully, neither do I in any complete sense. These are passing reflections, my own observations, offered cautiously and as politely as I know how. I’m writing about an individual who appeared for a season, exercised real influence, and then quietly vanished from view. His name was Marc Carpenter, and his paper, and later website, was called Outside the Camp. Interestingly enough, I just found my old stack of Outside the Camp newsletters, with the first issue dated February 1997.

Thumbing through the stack, I notice many familiar names, including contributions from brethren who remain active to this day. I sometimes find myself wondering what became of him? I believe he is roughly my age. At some point everything simply went quiet, his website faded, and the stream of material came to an end. If I recall correctly, what first brought him broader attention was a featured article in The Trinity Review that challenged the Banner of Truth and what he perceived to be its limp-wristed brand of Calvinism. The force and sharpness of that critique, along with many that followed, were uncommon for the time and served to open the eyes of many who had never been seriously challenged to examine the assumptions shaping Calvinistic thought in that period.

His newsletter, Outside the Camp, captured his developing thoughts as they emerged. Much of what he wrote centered on a truth that lay at the heart of his work and drew many to it. What he consistently asserted was the conviction that the gospel rests on Christ alone: His person and finished work as the sole ground and cause of salvation, without any mixture from man, so that salvation is wholly of the Lord from beginning to end. Yet in practice, this confession was becoming more and more qualified by doctrinal demands placed upon the believer at the moment of conversion, subtly relocating assurance from Christ’s accomplished work to the believer’s level of understanding at a particular point in time. For all of that, there was an unmistakable urgency and sincerity to his work, and for many, it struck a chord.

As time went on, the focus became more defined, and with that came a growing severity. Before long, it seemed there was little room left for disagreement. He stood beneath a protection stronger than any earthly prince ever provided Luther, not the shelter of a magistrate, but the conviction that everything was being done “to the glory of God alone.” It is a position that can feel unassailable, and once embraced, can become a refuge from scrutiny. Isaiah 28:15-17. Those who once appeared as companions in the faith were gradually placed outside the camp, their standing before God measured by increasingly narrow criteria. To that end, a Confession of Faith emerged, carrying the title “The Christian Confession of Faith,” which became the “divine” plummet line by which all truth, and too often all men, were to be evaluated. This confession exalts Christ verbally, yet secures assurance practically by doctrinal self-recognition, effectively locating salvation in the believer’s awareness of having believed correctly rather than in Christ’s finished work itself. It denies conditional salvation in words, yet reintroduces it in practice by grounding assurance in intellectual agreement at conversion rather than in Christ’s completed work. While genuine and weighty truths were certainly being defended, the line separating what was essential to the gospel from what was secondary or derivative gradually became blurred.

From his perspective, the opposition he encountered only confirmed that he was suffering for Christ’s sake, and perhaps he was, but one cannot help wondering whether we are all prone to interpret resistance in ways that reinforce our own convictions. His zeal for God’s discriminating grace and his careful attention to doctrinal precision resonated deeply with many, particularly those who had grown uneasy with a “form of godliness,” (otherwise known as Calvinism that,) which, despite containing some truth, functioned increasingly as a system and identity rather than a means of pointing men to Christ Himself. As his ministry developed, and as a few who resonated with it gathered around, the focus increasingly settled on a single point of distinction, which gradually came to define everything else. This narrowing was eventually expressed in a stark and simplified formula, often summarized like this: “Anyone who is an Arminian cannot be saved, and anyone who believes Arminians can be saved, or who believes they themselves were saved in Arminianism, cannot themselves be saved.” Whilst I recognize the desire to safeguard the gospel that animates such a statement, I cannot embrace its conclusion without qualification, knowing how readily the defense of truth turns into an absolute measure by which all men are condemned.

With those thoughts in mind, I have always found it striking, and somewhat ironic, to build an entire theological structure upon that one point. At the time, this perspective was relatively uncommon, which gave it a certain force and novelty. Many were drawn to it, some quite eagerly, and although the original platform eventually fell silent, the way of thinking it promoted did not. I embraced that defining principle myself, and in various forms the same mentality continues to surface in the language and assumptions of a number of people today. After all, it's a somewhat legitimate point of distinction, and let's face it, like most believers, we naturally want to appear as staunch defenders of the “one true gospel.” Yet it is here that a legitimate concern can eclipse what it was meant to protect, shifting the center from the gospel itself to its defense and becoming the measure by which everything else is judged.

It is here that the confession about Christ can begin to eclipse Christ Himself. The language remains orthodox, even precise, but the center of gravity subtly shifts. Assurance no longer rests in Christ’s finished work, but in one’s ability to articulate, defend, and police the correct account of that work. In such a climate, fidelity is measured less by trust in Christ than by agreement with the particular formulations used to defend Him. Christ may still be named, but it is the defense of Christ that determines fellowship, assurance, and belonging. In this way, what was meant as a safeguard becomes a gate, and the gospel, once proclaimed as good news, comes to function as a test.

Returning to that statement, which correctly identifies Arminianism as a false gospel, we are compelled to consider how believers who love Christ are to speak of those who have promoted it, whether in former generations or in our own day. The question is not whether such error must be opposed, but how that opposition is to be carried out faithfully, without compromising the truth of Scripture or assuming authority Scripture has not given us.

When I speak of men such as Wesley, Finney, Moody, or Graham, &c., I do not hesitate to say that the gospel they preached was false, heretical, and dangerous, and therefore opposed to Christ. In that sense, their ministries were antichrist, and to speak otherwise would be to deny the faith. I could never regard such men as Christians, nor speak of them in those terms, because to do so would be to give credibility to a “gospel” I believe Scripture condemns. Galatians 1:8-9. This language does not pronounce final judgment on a person, but refuses Christian recognition where the gospel itself has been set aside, a distinction Scripture consistently maintains. Such men are now in the hands of the Lord, whose justice and mercy are in no need of our assistance. Any posture that requires the condemnation of others to vindicate God’s righteousness misunderstands both judgment and grace, for apart from Christ we all stand condemned alike. Scripture itself leaves no ambiguity on the matter of salvation. “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life, and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.” John 3:36.

The danger lies not in speaking too strongly against error, but in failing to speak rightly about those ensnared by it. Paul spares no language when describing false gospels; he identifies them as perversions of the truth and places them under divine condemnation. “For there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers … whose mouths must be stopped.” Titus 1:10-11. Yet when speaking to those entangled in such error, he often stops short of issuing final verdicts, expressing doubt, grief, and warning rather than presumption. Galatians 4:20. “And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves; if God peradventure will give them repentance to the acknowledging of the truth; and that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will.” II Timothy 2:24-26.

Accordingly, though the judgment attached to a doctrine must be spoken plainly, the eternal state of every individual who promotes or receives it does not belong to us to determine. At the same time, apostolic faithfulness does not hide behind anonymity. Paul named men, II Timothy 4:15, warned the churches plainly, and refused to yield even for an hour. Galatians 2:5. Silence toward influential error is not charity. But neither is condemnation a proof of faithfulness. Scripture teaches us to judge doctrine rigorously, identify its messengers honestly, and leave final judgment where it belongs, with Christ. The reason this balance is so easily lost is that zeal for doctrinal purity can quietly harden into a lust for condemnation, especially when one becomes convinced he is guarding grace. History makes this painfully clear, that the fiercest condemnations often come not from those who deny grace, but from those most persuaded they are protecting it. Saul of Tarsus stands as Scripture’s own testimony to this truth. Acts 26:9-11; Romans 10:2.

That restraint, however, does not soften Scripture’s verdict concerning the ground upon which all men stand before God. This is the plummet line of divine judgment, from which there is no appeal, by which every religion stands exposed: Hinduism, Buddhism, Atheism, and Arminianism are false religions under which men remain condemned, and all who die outside of Christ, whether rejecting Him outright or embracing a false christ, will perish. “I said therefore unto you, that ye shall die in your sins, for if ye believe not that I am he, ye shall die in your sins.” John 8:24.

That verdict, severe as it is, does not stand alone; it rests entirely upon what God has accomplished in Christ. The shedding of Christ’s blood stands as the public vindication of God’s glory in the salvation of sinners. God is glorified in a Spirit-given confession that ascribes salvation wholly to its true source, resting entirely in the cross of Christ. “And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Philippians 2:11. Accordingly, anything that obscures or compromises Christ’s substitutionary death, where sin was fully judged and forever put away, John 1:29; Hebrews 9:26, however refined in “bible” or “gospel” language or sincere its tone, is engaged in a fundamentally evil work. II Corinthians 11:3. Such labor strikes at the very heart of the gospel itself. It must not be shielded by appeals to polite silence or excused by fear of appearing harsh. Tolerance toward men must never become indifference toward Christ. He alone is God’s appointed Savior, and apart from Him the world has no hope at all.

What Scripture does not grant us is authority to move beyond this and to speak with certainty concerning the final outcome of every individual life. We are commanded to judge doctrines, to name false gospels, to refuse fellowship where Christ is denied, and to warn men plainly. “Now I beseech you, brethren, mark them which cause divisions and offences contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned; and avoid them.” Romans 16:17. Final judgment rests with Christ alone, whose justice stands complete apart from our assessments. “There is one lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy, who art thou that judgest another?” James 4:12. Scripture draws a clear distinction between judging persons and defending the gospel. And yet, it also makes plain that the gospel does not depend upon universal doctrinal precision among believers. “Him that is weak in the faith receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations.” Romans 14:1.

The Bible does not teach that every believer possesses full doctrinal clarity, but it does insist that the gospel has a center of gravity. I Corinthians 15:3-4. Scripture itself makes this distinction. Apollos, for example, is described in Acts 18 as a man mighty in the Scriptures who knew only the baptism of John. His understanding was partial, his instruction incomplete, yet he was not condemned. Instead, he was taken aside and taught more fully, because his deficiency did not amount to a denial of Christ. By contrast, Paul’s language in Galatians 1 is uncompromising. He does not excuse good intentions or appeal to sincerity. He pronounces a curse. The contrast here has nothing to do with personality or severity, but with the substance of the error involved. Apollos lacked light; the Galatians were being turned from Christ Himself. One needed further instruction; the other was embracing another gospel. The line, therefore, is not drawn at imperfect knowledge, but at corruption of the gospel’s center, where Christ and His finished work are displaced, the strongest language of Scripture is rightly employed.

It is precisely at this boundary, between judging doctrine and assuming final judgment, that the spirit of this movement most clearly revealed itself. Though many have since attempted to follow in his steps, sharpening distinctions and asserting their own gospel fidelity, none matched MC in dogmatic certainty. Those who attempted to interact with him, particularly if their correspondence carried even a hint of critique, found little room for dialogue. Scripture was brought to bear swiftly and decisively, often in the posture of judgment “before the Lord.” He was adept at wielding the word as a battle axe, capable of cutting down opposition with remarkable force. I Samuel 15:33.

And yet, alongside that narrowing of emphasis, there remained a genuine concern to speak of Christ, II Corinthians 2:15, making the picture more complex than it might first appear. That mixture of earnestness and severity carried its own persuasive force, especially for those already dissatisfied with shallow religion. One cannot help but ask why such severity proves so appealing to some, and to answer that, I need only look back at my own former persuasions along these same lines. At the time, this position felt like faithfulness to Christ. It carried the appearance of seriousness, resolve, and doctrinal precision that others seemed to lack. And who among us does not want to be found faithful to Christ? To stand firm, to draw clear lines, and to be seen as one who will not compromise the truth holds a powerful attraction, especially for those who genuinely love the gospel, and who fear dishonoring Christ more than they fear being misunderstood by men.

This second assertion, (that anyone who believes they themselves were saved in Arminianism cannot themselves be saved,) does more than overstate doctrinal vigilance; it subtly relocates the ground of acceptance. Salvation no longer rests simply and entirely in Christ Himself, but in one’s conscious recognition of having believed the right doctrine at the right time. Assurance is no longer anchored in Christ’s finished work, but in a believer’s retrospective awareness that former error has been correctly identified and rejected. In this way, salvation is pressed into time and made to hinge upon theological realization rather than upon the once-for-all work of the Son of God. Scripture never places life in the moment a believer attains clarity, but in Christ alone, who finished the work before we ever understood it. To bind acceptance or assurance to the precision or timing of one’s understanding is to confuse growth in truth with the ground of salvation, and to substitute doctrinal consciousness for Christ Himself.

Taking all of this into account, I cannot escape the conclusion that the Lord did use him in a distinct way for a time. There were aspects of gospel truth that needed a sharper voice, and he provided it. I really wonder if he’ll ever emerge again. I hope he does, not to reopen former debates, but simply to see how the Lord may have dealt with him over time. As with many I have encountered over the years, I thank the Lord for him, and I can only hope that the Lord, in His mercy, will preserve what was truly good. “Prove all things; hold fast that which is good,” I Thessalonians 5:21, as we learn afresh to rejoice, not in our discernment, but in the grace of Christ that has been shown to us all, if found in Christ. Ephesians 1:6.

In summary, Arminianism, as a theological system, stands opposed to the finished, substitutionary work of Christ and therefore stands opposed to Christ and must be regarded as antichrist in character. Such error must be named plainly, and those who promote it, whether popular evangelists, revivalists, or respected religious leaders, must be identified and warned against, for the issue at stake is not inconsistency but corruption of the gospel itself. Scripture commands us to judge doctrine, to refuse fellowship, and to withhold Christian recognition where Christ is denied; it does not give us authority to declare the final outcome of every individual influenced by false teaching.

Salvation rests wholly and entirely in Christ Himself, not in a believer’s later doctrinal clarity or theological realization, and any position that relocates assurance from His finished work to human awareness subtly displaces the gospel’s center. True faithfulness guards Christ without compromise, contends for the truth without apology, and leaves final judgment where Scripture places it, in the hands of the Son of God, whose work is finished and whose judgment is perfect. Hopefully these thoughts are helpful as we are enabled to look to Christ, not only to contend for the gospel, but to rest in the ONE whom the gospel proclaims. Acts 4:12.

I realize this has been lengthy and, at times, repetitive, as these thoughts were pieced together over time in the way they pressed themselves upon me, and were further shaped by a helpful exchange with a close brother whose insights I did not want to leave out. At this point, I have neither the desire nor the energy to keep rereading it again and again, and I am content to leave it as it stands. My aim has not been to argue or to settle every question, but simply to speak as carefully and honestly as I can. If anything here is true, it is only because it accords with Scripture and points us to Christ. And if anything is mistaken, I trust the Lord to correct it. May He grant us humility to be taught, and grace to rest not in our clarity, but in His finished work. MPJ

Postscript: In light of some troubling things which I have since learned, I feel the need to clarify what I meant when I said that I thank the Lord for him. I do not mean that I approved of his spirit, his severity, or the real harm that came through his teaching. Nor do I believe that error or pride are ever excused because God is sovereign. Rather, I mean this in a qualified sense, that the Lord, who works all things according to the counsel of His own will, is able to use even painful and troubling encounters as instruments of correction and discernment, without excusing what was wrong. I trust that in his infinite wisdom, He was pleased to use what was flawed and misguided as a means of instruction. Through it, as with all things the Lord appoints and governs in our lives, I was taught caution, discernment, and perhaps most of all, my own continual need for mercy. In that sense, I thank the Lord, not for what was wrong in itself, but for His overruling grace, which alone is able to bring good even out of what was genuinely harmful. “Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee, the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.” Psalm 76:10.

PostScript #2. Thank you, my friend. I appreciate that deeply. I wrote it very aware of my own tendencies in these things, and I’m thankful if the Lord uses it as a reminder to us all. That “Carpenter” point of contrast, drawing hard lines between Arminians, the saved, and the unsaved, has been, in my own experience, among the most difficult matters a believer is ever called to navigate. It presses us to hold fast to Christ and His gospel, without losing sight of our own frailty and limited understanding. Where faithfulness to Christ ends and where patience and sympathy should remain is not always easy to see. Especially when we remember that apart from mercy we are left with nothing, and that any light we possess is borrowed light, without which we would still be in darkness. I don’t trust my lines to be straight, and I’m sure there is much amiss in what I believe to be true. I’m thankful the Lord is patient with us, and that He teaches His people, often in ways we least expect.

PostScript #3. His so-called ministry was one of the most evolving I’ve ever come across, which in my thoughts brings to mind Paul’s words, “not a novice, lest being lifted up with pride he fall into the condemnation of the devil.” I Timothy 3:6. When someone becomes convinced very quickly, and stands mostly alone in that conviction, it rarely yields the kind of wisdom that comes with patience. “He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding, but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly.” Proverbs 14:29. And when a man begins to think that almost no one else truly sees the truth, the ground becomes especially unstable. In that light, his story seems less mysterious than instructive, serving as a reminder of how easily doctrinal precision can become distorted.

PostScript #4. I’m never too busy, brother, you are always welcome to ask me anything. I’ve had a number of additional thoughts since then, though I wouldn’t say they’ve brought everything into sharp focus. This is one of those areas with a lot of gray, and that’s what makes drawing clean lines so difficult without either dulling the truth or overstepping it. You said, “Arminianism is a false gospel and I don’t believe anyone who doesn’t believe and rest in the accomplished death and imputed righteousness of Christ doesn’t believe the Truth of the Gospel. I don’t call them lost. I will just say that we don’t agree on what the Gospel is and we don’t believe the same Gospel,” and to me that’s a very important distinction that often gets overlooked. It keeps clear the difference between judging the message and pronouncing the final state of the person. Saying we do not believe the same gospel is a serious and necessary judgment, it names the issue plainly and doesn’t soften the error. But stopping short of declaring someone finally lost recognizes that salvation rests in Christ Himself, not in our ability to trace another person’s understanding or spiritual history. Along with you, I’m convinced of this, Arminianism is not the gospel and treating it as though it were does real harm. At the same time, I’ve learned to be careful about turning that clarity into a final judgment on another person. Scripture is firm about the message, but careful about speaking beyond it.

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