Michael J. Lilly Podcast

It’s incredibly common in modern church culture to hear people say that “all sin is the same to God” or “sin is just sin.” It usually comes from the good intention of emphasizing that everyone needs grace. We want to level the playing field to show that nobody is beyond the need for salvation. While the motivation behind the phrase is understandable, the theology behind it is fundamentally flawed.Philosophically, the idea that all sins are equal actually originates not in Scripture but in ancient Stoicism. The Stoics taught a paradox that all moral failures were exactly equal because any failure was simply a departure from perfect reason. To them, missing the mark by an inch was the same as missing it by a mile. But biblical Christianity rejects this flattened view of morality.The reality is, there is in fact a distinction between the status of being a sinner and the degree of the sin committed. An analogy, if you’ll allow:* A single drop of poison makes a glass of water undrinkable. That speaks to its status.* Drinking a single drop of poison doesn’t have the same physical consequence as drinking a whole gallon. That speaks to the degree.While every sin ruptures our relationship with God and makes us guilty in some sense, the Scriptures and the historical practice of Christians over the last 2,000 years consistently demonstrate that sins differ in severity, guilt, and judgment according to intent, knowledge, and the harm they cause.Old Testament WitnessThe Old Testament sacrificial system wasn’t a blind bureaucracy. It was a relational framework that categorized sins by the posture of the human heart. God makes clear distinctions between a genuine mistake and calculated rebellion.We see this in the law regarding unintentional sin: “And if one soul sins unintentionally, he will bring a yearling female goat for a sin offering” (Numbers 15:27). A sin committed out of ignorance still requires atonement because God is holy, but the required sacrifice is less costly. It acknowledges human frailty without destroying the person.On the other hand, willful and defiant rebellion carries a distinctly heavier weight and a fundamentally different consequence. The very next passage outlines this severity: “And the soul, whoever acts with a hand of arrogance, whether he is native-born or a foreigner, this one provokes God; and that soul will be cut off from among his people” (Numbers 15:30). To sin with a “hand of arrogance” is to act with premeditated defiance. For such a rebellion, there is no routine sacrifice offered; only severance from the community. God’s own law proves that the severity of the sin is connected to the sinner’s intent. God’s justice is proportional.New Testament WitnessIf anyone was going to flatten morality into a single standard, we might expect it to be Jesus. Yet, we see the exact opposite in his teaching. He actively calibrates the divine scales to show that certain offenses matter far more than others.Jesus explicitly uses comparative language when discussing the law: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, because you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matthew 23:23). He mocks the religious elite for obsessing over microscopic infractions while ignoring bigger moral failures. To God, neglecting justice and mercy is infinitely heavier on the scales than failing to tithe garden herbs. St. John Chrysostom, preaching on this specific verse, taught that while all sin is an offense against God, the punishment and severity vary wildly. He noted that Christ is showing us how God judges our actions not just by the rule broken, but by the intent and the specific harm caused.Jesus also teaches that a person’s awareness of God’s will directly impacts the severity of their judgment: “And that slave who knew the will of his master and did not prepare or act according to his will, will be beaten with many blows. But the one who did not know, yet did things worthy of blows, will be beaten with few blows” (Luke 12:47-48). Accountability scales with revelation. A person who sins in ignorance will face judgment, but the believer who knows the Master’s will and intentionally disobeys will face a far more severe consequence.Later, during his trial, Jesus clarifies to Pilate that guilt isn’t distributed equally among those involved in his crucifixion. He tells the Roman governor: “Jesus answered him, ‘You would have no authority against me at all, unless it had been given to you from above; because of this, the one handing me over to you has a greater sin’” (John 19:11). Pilate was a cowardly pragmatist sentencing an innocent man to die, which was terribly sinful, while the religious leaders were intentional orchestrators of the execution. Jesus looks at two groups participating in the same event and declares one to have a “greater sin.”The apostles carried this teaching forward, recognizing that certain sins give rise to distinct spiritual realities and require different pastoral responses. The Apostle John explicitly divides sins into two categories regarding their outcome: “If anyone sees his brother sinning a sin not unto death, he will ask, and God will give life to him, to those who are sinning not unto death. There is a sin unto death; I do not say that he should ask concerning that” (1 John 5:16). Different spiritual realities require different approaches.James also warns that those who teach will be judged with greater strictness: “Do not become many teachers, my brothers, knowing that we will receive a greater judgment” (James 3:1). Actions have weighted consequences based on a person’s position and influence. A leader leading people astray carries more weight than someone struggling with a personal sin.Early Church Practice and Ancient CanonsThe historical record shows that Christians have always recognized that not all sins are created equal, a belief deeply embedded in early church practice.At the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD, the bishops explicitly codified degrees of guilt into canon law. In Canon 11, they established distinct canonical penalties for those who denied the faith. They carefully distinguished between those who lapsed under extreme coercion or torture and those who fell away without any compulsion at all, assigning much heavier penances to the willful betrayals. Canon 12, dealing with Christians who returned to the pagan military, the council instructed bishops to adjust the length of penance based on the person’s inward intent, fear, and sorrow. St. Basil’s canonical letters clearly demonstrate the same framework. He prescribed vastly different periods of repentance and exclusion from the Eucharist based on the severity of the sin. For example, he made strict, measured distinctions between intentional murder and involuntary manslaughter.The Council of Constantinople in 381 AD demonstrates that the early church even saw degrees of severity in false teaching. Canon 7 outlined that certain heretics needed to be rebaptized to re-enter the church, while others, whose errors were deemed less severe, only required chrismation. Canon 102 of the Quinisext Council in 692 AD explicitly instructs bishops to weigh the “quality of the sin” and the sinner’s disposition. The canon states that not all spiritual illnesses are the same, and they require different degrees of spiritual medicine. Measuring the weight of a sin wasn’t just a theological theory for the early church; it was standard pastoral practice.The Justice and Mercy of True ProportionalityFrom the logic of natural law to the explicit teachings of Jesus, the Apostles, and the historic Church Fathers, the verdict is consistent: All sin separates us from God, but not all sin is created equal.If we teach that all sin is the exact same, we inadvertently make God out to be an unjust judge who lacks the nuance to distinguish between a momentary lapse in judgment and premeditated evil. It also breeds pastoral disaster, as flattening sin leads tender consciences to despair over minor flaws while allowing hardened sinners to justify grave wickedness under the excuse that “nobody is perfect.”We must rely completely on Christ’s grace for our salvation. But we must also pursue wisdom in how we live, knowing that our specific choices, our intent, and our influence carry real significance in the eyes of a perfectly just God. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Have you ever noticed how similar Matthew, Mark, and Luke are? They share a tremendous amount of material, often word-for-word. Scholars call this the “Synoptic Problem,” and they have debated for centuries about how to explain this close literary relationship.If you take a New Testament seminary class, chances are you will probably be introduced to the standard academic answer: a hypothetical document called “Q” (from the German word Quelle, meaning “source”). Scholars use Q to explain the material shared by Matthew and Luke that is not found in Mark. While Q is incredibly popular in academic circles, the more historically and biblically sound explanation is that the Gospel authors relied on widely circulated oral traditions that the early churches simply knew. We actually don’t need a lost written document to explain the shared material in the Synoptic Gospels.The Roots of Q: The Reformation and German Higher CriticismTo understand the origins of the Q theory, it helps to trace its roots to the theological shifts of the sixteenth century. The Q hypothesis is fundamentally a product of German textual criticism. This movement is intrinsically tied to Martin Luther and the early Reformers.When the Reformers broke from the historic church, they didn’t just challenge papal authority; they exhibited a startling arrogance in trying to redefine the biblical canon that had been received and universally accepted by the Christian faithful for centuries. Luther famously questioned the apostolic authority of books like James, Hebrews, Jude, and Revelation, while simultaneously moving the Deuterocanonical books into a separate “Apocryphal” index (which is also a complete misnomer that we’re still unfortunately dealing with today).Luther’s arrogance effectively stripped away the validity of historical Christian witnesses. By deciding that the received biblical canon of the early church was subject to the private scrutiny of individual scholars, the Reformers inadvertently laid the groundwork for the modern critical era. They established a precedent that the traditional understanding of the Bible could, and should, be dismantled.Fast forward to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and this spirit of independent academic skepticism blossomed fully into German “Higher Criticism.” Scholars operating in this environment no longer viewed the Gospels through the reverent lens of early church witnesses. Instead, they treated the texts as mere literary puzzles to be dissected. It was in this cold, hyper-analytical climate that German philosopher and theologian Christian Hermann Weisse formally proposed the Two-Source Hypothesis in 1838, arguing that Matthew and Luke relied on Mark and a second, now-lost document, later dubbed Q. To put it plainly: Q is not a historical discovery. It was born out of a critical tradition that had long since abandoned the authority of the church’s living memory.The Flaws and Biases of the Q HypothesisThe biggest problem with the Q hypothesis is the complete lack of physical evidence. Again, simply put, Q is entirely hypothetical. We haven’t found a single manuscript, fragment, or historical reference to it anywhere in early church history. Q is primarily a formulation created by academics who view history through a strict literary lens and frankly don’t believe oral tradition is a valid or reliable method of historical preservation.The Q theory rests on a major assumption we could call the “written requirement fallacy.” It assumes that for Matthew and Luke to share exact sayings of Jesus, they had to be copying from a written text. This completely ignores the robust nature of memory in ancient cultures. As the classical scholar Milman Parry demonstrated in his groundbreaking studies of Homeric poetry, ancient societies routinely transmitted vast, complex narratives with incredible accuracy, without relying on written texts. Simply put, if humans don’t need perfectly preserved written texts to accurately pass on large, complex traditions, why would we assume God requires one to preserve His truth?The Validity and Biblical Precedent of Oral TraditionWe have to remember that the church preceded the written text. Before the New Testament was codified in writing, the church operated primarily through the spoken word. As historian Jaroslav Pelikan points out, the oral Gospel existed as the authoritative norm long before the written Gospels were ever produced. The early Christian community didn’t desperately need a hypothetical written Q source because the living, spoken traditions of Jesus were already their primary, guiding authority.Unlike the skepticism of modern academics, the Bible explicitly affirms the transmission of oral traditions. We see this clearly in Paul’s letters.“So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught, whether by our spoken word or by our letter” (2 Thessalonians 2:15).The apostles placed the spoken word on the exact same authoritative level as their written letters. The early churches trusted what they heard from the apostolic witnesses.Of course, recognizing the power of oral tradition in the first century doesn’t diminish the vital role of Scripture today. In fact, we have a massive advantage now. We aren’t left guessing what the apostles taught through centuries of unwritten transmission. God purposefully guided the early church to crystallize that living, apostolic faith into the written text of the New Testament. The written Word doesn’t replace the original oral tradition; it permanently captures and preserves it. Having the Bible today gives us the incredible blessing of an objective, unchanging anchor that protects us from doctrinal drift while connecting us directly to the authentic faith of the early church.The point is that when the Gospel authors set out to write their accounts, they didn’t rely on a hidden Q document for the teachings of Jesus. Instead, they simply drew upon the rich, living oral traditions circulating at the time. As Danish scholar N. F. S. Grundtvig correctly identified, the early church was animated by the “Living Word,” which was the active, spoken confession of faith within the community. The Gospel teachings reflect the very words of Jesus that everyone in these early congregations already knew, recited, and lived by daily.However, this transmission process wasn’t merely the rote memorization of dry facts. As Pelikan observed in his earlier work, true tradition is the “living faith of the dead,” whereas traditionalism is the “dead faith of the living.” The early church wasn’t engaging in lifeless traditionalism. They passed down the teachings of Jesus dynamically as vital, life-giving truth, ensuring a highly accurate yet living preservation of the gospel.All this to say, we don’t need a hypothetical, unproven, undiscovered document to solve the Synoptic Problem. By rejecting the skeptical assumptions of modern textual criticism and embracing the reliable, biblically affirmed practice of oral tradition, we arrive at a much more natural explanation for how God inspired the Gospel authors to compose their accounts. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

In modern academia, especially at the pop-level or lower tiers of textual scholarship, there is a pervasive tendency to treat textual criticism as a purely empirical science. Scholars often attempt to isolate the “original text” by treating manuscripts as detached, clinical data points, much like a forensic scientist analyzing DNA. They approach the textual tradition looking for a mathematical reconstruction, believing that if they can just strip away the “corruptions,” they will find the pristine original.However, this approach is built upon what we might call the “Continuous Text Fallacy.” There is an underlying assumption in much of this scholarship that the biblical canon must fit perfectly into a nice, clean, uninterrupted, continuous text. They approach the New Testament with a modern, print-culture bias, expecting a static reference book. When these scholars find fluidity, modularity, or “floating” texts in the manuscript tradition, they immediately label them a corruption, an error, or a problem to be solved.But the historic church never demanded such rigidity. For early Christians, the text was a living, spoken reality. They were perfectly comfortable with liturgical selections and a text that breathed with the worship calendar. Manuscripts weren’t produced in a vacuum for private, silent study; they were produced by and for the church, primarily for public reading in the liturgy. The Apostle Paul himself commanded this practice, writing to Timothy: “Until I arrive, give your attention to the public reading, to exhortation, and to teaching” (1 Timothy 4:13).The New Testament canon and its textual variations can’t be understood purely through mechanical textual reconstruction. The canon isn’t a scientific discovery. Rather, it’s the inherited tradition of what the historical church formally received and actively read in its liturgical life. Tradition isn’t just a lens for viewing the canon; it’s the very foundation of it.Artifacts of WorshipTo understand the canon, we have to look at the physical evidence of the manuscripts themselves. A massive portion of our surviving Greek New Testament evidence consists of lectionaries. Rather than being continuous narratives, these texts are ordered by the church calendar’s reading cycle. There are over 2,400 surviving Greek lectionary manuscripts, proving that the primary way early Christians encountered the text was through curated, liturgical worship.Even when we look at manuscripts that aren’t lectionaries, meaning the continuous-text manuscripts, they’re heavily marked for church use. Scribes and lectors added incipits (starting words to adapt a reading for the middle of a service) and telos marks (indicating exactly where a reading ends). They often included synaxaria and menologia, which are essentially index guides telling the reader which passage to read on which day of the year.The physical evidence proves the text was living and active in worship. The “textual tradition” is virtually synonymous with the “liturgical tradition.” Early Christian literature was primarily intended for public, liturgical reading, and this public reading practically drove the physical formatting of the manuscripts. Variations in the text often reflect the living, breathing, worshiping reality of the early church. It’s impossible to understate the impact that lectionaries had on the transmission of the text across the board. Without these lectionary manuscripts, our knowledge of the New Testament text would be significantly poorer today. Ultimately, God used the historical, worshiping church to preserve His word through the rhythmic life of the church.“Floating Texts” and Liturgical AdaptationThere isn’t a better example of how pop-level academia misunderstands the tradition than the Pericope Adulterae: the story of the woman caught in adultery (John 7:53-8:11). Textual critics frequently highlight this as the ultimate example of a “floating text,” a problem piece of scripture that refuses to stay put. In various manuscripts, it’s found after John 7:52, after John 21:25, and even after Luke 21:38.I experienced this exact academic mindset firsthand during a seminary class on the Gospel of John. We were discussing this very passage, and a classmate bluntly suggested that we should simply remove the Pericope Adulterae, along with any other debated texts, from our Bibles altogether. When I pushed back against a sterile, mathematical approach to the canon, arguing instead for the text's historical reception and traditional use, my professor immediately came to that student’s defense. He actively tried to shut me down, insisting that rigid textual certainty must trump the church’s traditional reception.This interaction perfectly encapsulates how modern, detached scholarship views the text. They see the Pericope Adulterae merely as a “corruption” failing to fit a clean, continuous text. But we have to view it through the lens of liturgy. In the Greek church’s lectionary cycle, the Gospel of John was read continuously from Easter to Pentecost. The story of the adulteress, ending with Jesus’s declaration of mercy: “Neither do I pass judgment on you. Go your way, and from now on, sin no more” (John 8:11), interrupted the specific theological flow of the Pentecost readings. Therefore, it was sometimes skipped in the primary cycle and reserved for specific feast days honoring penitents or saints, like St. Pelagia.Its relocation in some manuscripts, like Family 13, where it’s placed after Luke 21:38, isn’t a random scribal error either. It fits perfectly into the Holy Week narrative and Lukan lectionary readings, dealing precisely with Jesus teaching in the temple and enduring controversies with the Pharisees.The text “floated” because the church was finding the most appropriate liturgical home for a tradition it thoroughly received and believed. Scribes were adapting the manuscript to fit the worship calendar rather than forcing it into a rigid, continuous mold. Lectionary reading cycles heavily influenced the transmission and placement of this text. The pericope's reception history and its mobility indicate it was a deeply ingrained tradition rather than a later interpolation.Canonicity = Liturgical ReceptionWhen we look back at the early church, the word “canon” (a standard or rule) regarding scripture practically boiled down to one question: What is authorized to be read aloud in the public assembly? Early canonical lists don’t speak of “inspired versus uninspired” in a vacuum. They speak in terms of church usage. For example, the Muratorian Fragment (late 2nd century) rejects certain books specifically by saying they “cannot be read publicly in the Church.” Later, the Council of Laodicea (c. 363 AD) explicitly decreed that only canonical books should be read in the church assembly.Pointing to councils like Laodicea isn’t about claiming the canon list had to be dogmatically declared from the top down. Rather, it simply demonstrates how the early church thought about what it meant to be “canon,” which was inherently tied to liturgical reception. This contrasts with the rigid criteria scholars try to retroactively apply today, which often don’t work and end up being highly subjective.To divorce textual scholarship from church tradition is an anachronism. We only know what the New Testament is because we know what the historic church prayed and read. The canon isn’t a table of contents imposed from outside; it’s the crystallized liturgical practice of the ancient church. “Traditional use” and “catholicity” (universal acceptance in church worship) were the true driving forces behind canonization. The Bible is a product of the historic church’s tradition and simply can’t be separated from it.The Living Text of the ChurchPop-level academia’s attempt to blindly piece together the canon through mechanical textual criticism ignores the very mechanism that preserved the text: the church’s worship. They demand a rigid, continuous text that the ancient church never required and, quite frankly, wouldn’t have understood.Manuscript variations, like the floating Pericope Adulterae, aren’t just “errors” to be scrubbed away by cold science. They’re the fingerprints of the church using, reading, and preserving the text in its liturgical life. Ultimately, the text we have is the text that was received. Without the continuous stream of church tradition and liturgical practice, the concept of a “canon” ceases to exist entirely. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

If you’ve spent any significant time in the pews of a traditional Church of Christ (COC), you know the rhythm of the calendar. Every December and every April, like clockwork, a familiar and predictable cadence echoes from the pulpit. It’s the season of the “anti-holiday” sermon.These sermons are built upon a specific, rigid interpretive framework historically championed by the COC: CENI (Command, Example, Necessary Inference) and a strict view of the Regulative Principle of Worship. The overarching motto of this hermeneutic is famous: “Speak where the Bible speaks, be silent where the Bible is silent.” In theory, this sounds like a noble pursuit of biblical purity. However, a glaring problem emerges when we see how this standard is applied in practice. This strict framework is aggressively applied to condemn the celebration of Easter and Christmas. Yet it’s completely abandoned when it comes to actual, explicit biblical commands that are culturally inconvenient for the modern church.While many COC preachers vehemently condemn the religious observance of Christmas and Easter based on the “silence” of scripture, their simultaneous dismissal of explicit commands (such as women’s headcoverings) alongside their ignorance of historical context exposes a deep hermeneutical hypocrisy and an inconsistent application of their own rules.The “Unspeakable” HolidaysThe traditional arguments against Christmas and Easter are well-worn. Preachers will argue that no specific day is authorized in scripture for celebrating Christ’s birth. They’ll insist that the Lord’s Supper, observed every Sunday, is the only authorized memorial of His death and resurrection. Therefore, observing a yearly religious holiday like Easter or Christmas is deemed a “sin,” a “tradition of men,” or “adding to the scripture.”This argument rests entirely on a demand for proof. “Give me book, chapter, and verse,” the preacher challenges. The logic dictates that if there’s no explicit command authorizing a practice, the practice is inherently forbidden by God’s silence.Yet, in their zeal to police the calendar, these same preachers routinely shirk the plain reading of the Apostle Paul’s instructions on Christian liberty regarding days. In Romans 14:5, Paul writes: “One person esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike. Let each be fully convinced in his own mind.”There’s a staggering irony here. COC preachers will frequently (and often quite harshly) accuse other denominations of “ignoring the plain reading of the text” regarding topics like baptism or instrumental music. Yet, when faced with the plain, literal reading of Romans 14, which explicitly grants individual believers the liberty to observe special days to the Lord, they suddenly find ways to creatively explain it away or ignore it entirely.The Irony of IgnoranceCompounding this scriptural blind spot is a frequent, glaring lack of historical education. Condemning these holidays often reveals just how uninformed many of these preachers are regarding the actual history of the Christian calendar.Instead of engaging with legitimate church history, pulpits are often used to attack straw men, repeating debunked internet myths about the pagan origins of these days, such as falsely linking Easter to the goddess Ishtar or Christmas to Nimrod.The core issue isn’t simply that they misjudge modern believers’ “intent” in celebrating. The issue is a fundamental lack of understanding of the historical reasons for the dates of these holidays and the actual reasons they’re celebrated. Many are entirely unaware of complex ancient historical realities, such as the early church’s nuanced methods for calculating the date of Pascha (Easter) alongside the Jewish Passover, or the early theological and historical reasoning early Christians utilized to date the incarnation and birth of Christ. Because they don’t know the actual historical facts behind the calendar, they substitute real church history with empty rhetoric and uncharitable assumptions.It’s perfectly acceptable for a preacher not to know everything about historical theology, the ancient Christian calendar, or Byzantine dating calculations. However, as the old adage goes: “It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.” If one is factually uninformed about the actual origins and historical reasoning behind these holidays, they should refrain from commenting on them from the pulpit rather than aggressively condemning what they don’t understand.1 Corinthians 11 and HeadcoveringsThe hypocrisy of the anti-holiday sermon comes into sharpest relief when contrasted with the deafening silence regarding explicit commands that the modern church simply ignores.Consider the Apostle Paul’s instructions regarding women’s headcoverings. Contrary to what some would have you believe, this isn’t some obscure reference to a strange cultural practice; it’s a sustained argument spanning multiple verses. Paul writes:“But every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, for that is one and the same as if her head were shaved. For if a woman is not covered, let her also be shorn. But if it is shameful for a woman to be shorn or shaved, let her be covered” (1 Corinthians 11:5-6).Notice how Paul justifies this command. He doesn’t root it in 1st-century Corinthian culture. Instead, he roots it in the created order of Adam and Eve (v. 8-9), the presence of the angels (v. 10), and the universal practice of the churches of God (v. 16).Despite this being a direct, multi-verse command backed by profound theological justification, the vast majority of COC preachers don’t bind it upon their congregations today. The reality in the pews is a sea of uncovered heads—and a pulpit that’s perfectly fine with it.Selective ContextualizationThis reveals a staggering double standard in how the Bible is read and applied.When dealing with holidays, preachers utilize a rigid, literalistic, “silence means forbidden” approach. Cultural context is entirely irrelevant; only the exact, literal text and the lack of a direct command matter.But when it comes to headcoverings, these same preachers suddenly become cultural scholars. They argue that the command was “just for that time,” that it was “based on local customs regarding temple prostitutes,” or that the veil merely “represented submission in that specific era,” and therefore, we don’t need to do it today.We must ask the core question: Why is the hermeneutic of cultural contextualization allowed to completely neutralize a direct, explicit command, but forbidden when considering the early church’s silence on annual festivals?And headcoverings are merely the tip of the iceberg. The exact same cultural dismissiveness is routinely applied to other explicit New Testament commands, such as greeting one another with a “holy kiss” (Romans 16:16) or men lifting “holy hands” in prayer (1 Timothy 2:8). We see this same avoidance regarding the commands for the laying on of hands—whether for the anointing of the sick with oil (James 5:14) or the formal ordination of the eldership (1 Timothy 4:14). Despite clear textual mandates, these practices are frequently explained away or quietly shelved.Why does this selective contextualization exist? It’s difficult to avoid the conclusion that sectarian tradition has been elevated over truth. The anti-holiday stance serves a specific purpose: it maintains the COC’s distinct sectarian identity, separating them from the broader evangelical, Christian world. Conversely, enforcing headcoverings, holy kisses, or ceremonial anointing would make them look “weird” to modern society. The hermeneutic bends to serve the tradition and remain “palatable” to culture rather than accomplishing the stated goal of “doing Bible things in Bible ways.”Re-evaluating the FrameworkThis inconsistent policing of the text perfectly mirrors the paradigm Jesus warned against when He rebuked the religious leaders of His day: “Blind guides, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!” (Matthew 23:24).Intellectual and spiritual honesty requires consistency. If a preacher insists on strict, literal adherence without cultural nuance, demanding “book, chapter, and verse” for everything, then he must ban Easter and command the women in his congregation to wear veils, while ensuring the men lift their hands in prayer, greet each other with holy kisses, and actively practice the laying on of hands.However, if a preacher acknowledges that cultural context matters, allowing women to uncover their heads because cultural expressions of modesty and submission have changed, then he must also allow for the Christian freedom to celebrate Christ’s incarnation and resurrection in culturally meaningful ways today.We must return to the true nature of Christian liberty as outlined by the Apostle Paul: “So let no one judge you in food or in drink, or regarding a festival or a new moon or sabbaths” (Colossians 2:16). Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

In the countryside of Borgloon, Belgium sits an architectural piece of art commonly known as the “Invisible Church.” Made entirely out of stacked steel plates, the structure creates an optical illusion: stand in one spot, and it looks like a traditional chapel; shift your perspective slightly, and the steel seems to vanish as the building dissolves into the surrounding landscape.It’s an interesting piece of art that serves as a fitting (and accidental) metaphor for a trendy modern theological sentiment: “I love Jesus, but I can’t stand the church.” Many Christians are trying to pull off the same kind of optical illusion with the actual Bride of Christ.It’s a sentiment you’ve probably heard, or perhaps even felt yourself. In our modern, hyper-individualized culture, there’s a popular notion that you can be a fully devoted Christian entirely on your own. Maybe you feel closer to God on a quiet hike in the woods than in a pew on Sunday morning.To justify this separation from the physical gathering of believers, many appeal to the concept of the “invisible church.” It’s the idea that the true church is merely a spiritual, unseen network of all sincere believers known only to God. Under this framework, the physical, institutional church is secondary, optional, or even an obstacle to true faith.While it is absolutely true that God alone knows the hearts of men, reducing the Bride of Christ to a purely “invisible” concept is a historical novelty. Worse, it’s a theologically shallow retreat from the messy-yet-glorious reality of the visible body of Christ.A DiagnosisSo, where did this idea come from? The heavy emphasis we see in modern Christendom on the “invisible church” is largely a reactionary concept. What follows here is admittedly a massive oversimplification, given the nature of creating content on the internet.Before the 16th century, the Church was almost universally understood as a visible, historical, and physical institution. During the Reformation, as the Western church fractured into competing factions, Protestant theologians faced a massive structural problem. They were forced to answer a potent critique from their opponents: “If the visible institution is corrupt and you are separating from it, where was your true Church for the last thousand years?”In an attempt to explain away the shattering of visible unity, the “invisible church” became a convenient band-aid. It gained traction as Reformers began arguing that the true church wasn’t necessarily the visible, historic institution but rather a hidden, spiritual body of the elect known only to God.While originally intended to validate the Reformer’s standing despite a lack of institutional continuity, this idea eventually mutated and continues to evolve even today into something the Reformers would scoff at. What started as an ecclesiastical defense mechanism has, over the centuries, turned into the common mindset of the hyper-individualist evangelical world. It’s a pervasive belief that the visible church is optional, and that a believer’s primary identity lies in a private, unmediated, “invisible” relationship with God.The Ahistorical Nature of the Invisible ChurchIf you were to step into a time machine and pitch the concept of an “invisible church” to the earliest Christians, you’d likely be met with blank stares. The early church had no category for a spiritual church that existed completely separate from the visible, physical gathering.Early Church Fathers were actually quite clear on this. Ignatius of Antioch consistently emphasized that Christian unity is found in visibly gathering around the bishop and partaking of the same physical Eucharist. Cyprian of Carthage famously declared, “He can no longer have God for his Father, who has not the Church for his mother.”In fact, one of the primary apologetic tools Justin Martyr used in the pagan world was the visible love and unity of Christians. In his First Apology, he pointed Roman skeptics directly to practical charities, shared meals, and the unified life of the Christian assembly. Justin used the concrete, physical, gathered community as the living proof of the Gospel, showing that the Truth truly transformed lives.To the earliest Christians, the Church was a tangible, identifiable entity, not just some ethereal concept detached from reality.The Scriptural RealityWhat essentially happens in the modern “invisible church” paradigm is that the “spiritual/invisible” gets separated from the “physical/tangible.” This points to an even greater problematic dichotomy between the “spiritual” (seen as good and pure) and the “physical” (seen as corrupt and institutional). This mindset flirts heavily with (and, in many cases, is outright) Gnosticism. This ancient heresy claimed that the material world is inherently evil. The only problem is, biblical Christianity is a radically, stubbornly physical religion, and the Scriptures paint a picture of a visible, tangible, localized, and physically geographical Church.Let’s start with one of the central claims of the Christian faith: the Incarnation.“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14, NKJV)The invisible God took on visible and tangible flesh. Would it not simply follow that His continuing presence on earth—the Church, which Scripture explicitly calls His body—must also be visible and tangible? Jesus Himself even used highly visible metaphors when describing His followers, like being the light of the world or a city set on a hill (Matt 5:14). An invisible church, by definition, is a hidden city. To retreat into invisibility is to contradict Christ’s design for His people to be a beacon to the nations.Now, while God’s people are consistently called out from the world, the very Greek word used to describe the church (ἐκκλησία, ekklesia) literally means “public assembly” or “gathering”. Some will contend that it simply means “the called-out ones,” using this definition to argue for a purely spiritual, nominal “body” of believers who never actually meet. Yet, Scripture itself betrays this re-definition of the word. For example, Acts 19 uses this word to describe an angry mob in Ephesus. So no, it doesn’t just mean a disconnected group of people who share a common calling; it means an actual, physical assembly. You cannot have an ἐκκλησία that does not assemble. If you do not assemble, you are not part of the ἐκκλησία.When reading the epistles, we should also remind ourselves that these letters are not addressed to us as individuals. They were written to specific, messy, geographically located congregations (the church at Corinth, the church in Ephesus), complete with elders, deacons, and plenty of problems that come from being human. These are not just ethereal concepts receiving these letters; these are real people gathered together in the name of the Lord in real places.We see this corporate reality deeply rooted in the Old Testament as well. When the Greek translators of the ancient Hebrew Old Testament (i.e., not the Masoretic text) needed a word for the congregation of Israel, they frequently chose ἐκκλησία, and that’s not just a coincidence. Israel was never just a spiritualized group of disconnected individuals who shared the same private belief but chose to “do it their own way.” They were a literal, physical nation on the earth that lived, traveled, and gathered together at a physical tabernacle (and later, Temple) to worship.“Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise in the assembly of his holy ones.” (Psalm 149:1, LES 2nd Ed.)Consider Christ’s own instructions regarding church discipline:“And if he refuses to hear them, tell it to the church. But if he refuses even to hear the church, let him be to you like a heathen and a tax collector.” (Matthew 18:17, NKJV)You cannot physically “tell” an invisible concept about a sin issue. The command itself requires recognizable leadership, a defined membership, and the authority to bind and loose. Likewise, Paul instructs Timothy on “how you ought to conduct yourself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15, NKJV). “Conduct in the house of God” requires a physical space and a shared, communal life.Perhaps the most tragic consequence of the “invisible church” myth is how it divorces believers from the physical means of grace. Acts like baptism and communion are not mere mental exercises or private spiritual feelings; they require physical elements (water, bread, wine) and a physical, gathered community. Paul emphasizes this physical unity in the Eucharist in particular: “For we, though many, are one bread and one body; for we all partake of that one bread” (1 Corinthians 10:17, NKJV).Think of faith like a seed. When someone comes to Christ, a seed of faith is planted in their heart. But an isolated seed cannot grow in a vacuum. To truly flourish, it requires dynamic interaction with God’s uncreated energies.Acts like partaking in the physical Eucharist function as the necessary sunlight and water, allowing the believer to interact directly with God’s energies to nourish that seed of faith. Disconnecting from the physical presence of the Eucharist by retreating to an “invisible church” is like placing a dome over that seed. That dome actively blocks out the life-giving sunlight and water of God’s grace, stifling the seed and making true spiritual growth impossible.Growth is meant to be shared. By being visibly connected to the physical Church, you don’t just grow alone; you experience God’s energies working synergistically through the other “seeds”—your fellow believers—growing in the soil right alongside you. An invisible church leaves your seed isolated from this vital, corporate ecosystem.Embrace the Messy RealityTo be fair, we also have to acknowledge the pain that drives people into the “invisible church” theory. Church hurt is a real thing. Institutional corruption, hypocrisy, and spiritual abuse are grievous wounds. It’s understandable, in a sense, why someone would want to retreat to the safety of their own idealized, flawless, invisible communion of saints.But God’s design is to sanctify us through the friction of the visible church. Loving an idealized invisible church is easy; it requires nothing of you. Loving the actual, flawed, annoying, sinful, visible people sitting in the pew next to you? That requires the (literal) grace of God.Abandon the “invisible church.” Take off the dome. Commit deeply to a local, visible, tangible body of believers. Step into the messy-yet-glorious reality of the household of God. 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Picture the early church. If you have spent any time in modern evangelical circles, the image that likely comes to mind is romantic, intimate, and decidedly “organic.” We imagine a small group of believers gathered in a cozy living room, sitting in a circle. Someone strums a lyre (or a guitar), prayers are spontaneous, and everyone shares equally as the Spirit leads. There are no clergy, no liturgy, and certainly no “religious” structure.According to some, this was the “pure” church of the Apostles: simple and relational, before it was corrupted by institutionalism, hierarchy, and the eventual rise of Constantinian Christianity.This narrative has fueled the “Restorationist” and “Simple Church” movements for decades. It suggests that if we want to be truly biblical, we must strip away the “pagan” traditions of buildings and liturgies and get back to the living room.The only problem with this picture is that it’s a historical myth.While early Christians eventually met in homes due to intense persecution, the theological concept of the “House Church” as an unstructured, non-hierarchical, spontaneous gathering is a modern invention projected backward onto history. The reality is that early Christianity was liturgical, structured, and born out of the Synagogue, not some guy’s living room.The Anatomy of the MythThe modern house church movement relies heavily on the idea that the “institutional church” is a corruption. Proponents like Frank Viola and George Barna, in their influential book Pagan Christianity and Viola’s later work Insurgence, argue that practices such as church buildings, sermons, and professional clergy are unbiblical accretions that stifle the “organic” life of the body. Robert Banks, in Paul’s Idea of Community, similarly argues for a purely relational ecclesiology.The scriptural defense for this view often rests on selective citations. We read in Acts 2:46 that believers were “breaking bread in their homes.” We see references to “the church in the house of Nympha” (Colossians 4:15) or Philemon.The logic follows that if the Apostles met in homes, the home must be the ideal spiritual environment. Therefore, the move to dedicated buildings and ordered worship was a spiritual decline and a slide into “religion” rather than “relationship.”Phase 1: The Temple and the Synagogue (AD 30 – AD 70)However, to claim the early church rejected structure is to ignore the first forty years of Christian history. Christianity did not begin as a rejection of Jewish structure; it began as its fulfillment.In his book The Religion of the Apostles, Fr. Stephen De Young notes that the Apostles did not view themselves as founding a new religion. They were faithful Jews who believed the Messiah had come. Consequently, they continued to worship the God of Israel in the manner He had prescribed: through the liturgical life of Israel.When modern readers cite Acts 2:46 to support house churches, they often miss the first half of the verse: “Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts.”The earliest Christians maintained a dual life. They attended the Synagogue for the reading of Scripture (the Liturgy of the Word) and the Temple for the daily hours of prayer. In fact, Acts 3:1 explicitly shows Peter and John going up to the Temple “at the time of prayer.” They weren’t abandoning the institution; they were inhabiting it as its true heirs.Paul’s missionary strategy confirms this. In Acts 13, 14, and 17, we see that upon entering a new city, Paul did not immediately rent someone’s living room and invite people over for dinner and a Bible study; he went straight to the Synagogue. The structure of the Synagogue with its readings, presidents, and prayers was the cradle of the Christian faith.The Turning PointIf the Apostles were so committed to the Synagogue and Temple, why did they end up in homes? It wasn’t a theological preference for “cozy” gatherings. It was a matter of survival.Two major events forced the church out of the public square:* The Jewish Revolt and the Destruction of the Second Temple (AD 70): The physical center of Jewish worship was obliterated by Rome.* The Birkat haMinim: In the late first century, a “blessing” (actually a curse) was added to the synagogue liturgy, targeting “heretics” (specifically, Nazarenes). This effectively excommunicated Christians from Jewish life.Simultaneously, Christianity was declared religio illicita (an illegal religion) by the Roman Empire. Meeting in public meant risking death. The move to private homes was a defensive necessity driven by persecution, not an ecclesiological ideal driven by a desire for intimacy.Phase 2: The Domus Ecclesiae (Not Your Living Room)Even when forced into homes, the early Christians did not adopt the “organic” style of worship often promoted today. They did not sit in circles sharing feelings; they renovated their homes to mimic synagogues, and looked very much like churches today.We have archaeological proof of this in the Dura-Europos church (c. AD 233) in Syria, the oldest identified Christian house church.It was located in a private residence, yes. But it wasn’t a living room. The believers had knocked down walls to create a large, rectangular assembly hall (a nave). On the eastern wall, they built a raised platform for the leader (the Bishop) to stand and preside, creating a clear separation between clergy and laity. In a separate room, they installed a full baptistery framed by columns and featuring images of the Good Shepherd.Inscriptions found in early prayer halls, such as the Megiddo church (c. AD 230), include dedications like that of a woman named Akeptous, who “offered the table to God Jesus Christ as a memorial.” They had altars (”holy tables”), not just dining tables.Liturgical scholars have pointed out that the term “House Church” is misleading to modern ears. A better analogy might be the modern “Storefront Church.” A storefront church isn’t a UPS Store that turns into a church on Sunday. It is a space leased and renovated exclusively for worship. They were permanent renovations, making the space “sacred” (set apart), torpedoing the idea that early worship was merely a casual meeting of friends around a dinner table.The Structure of WorshipPerhaps the deepest part of the myth is the idea of “egalitarian” worship, which supposes that in the early church, everyone shared, and there were no leaders. The historical record flatly contradicts this.Clement of Rome, writing around AD 96 (while the Apostle John was likely still alive), wrote explicitly about order in the church. He used Old Testament Levitical analogies to describe Christian worship leaders, emphasizing that worship must be done “at the appointed times and hours” and by the appointed ministers.Ignatius of Antioch (c. AD 107), a disciple of the Apostles, was even more blunt: “Let no one do anything properly belonging to the Church without the bishop.” For Ignatius, the validity of the Eucharist depended on the presence of the Bishop or his appointee.So then, what did this worship actually look like? Well, it wasn’t free-form jazz or impromptu slam poetry sessions. It was a fusion of the two Jewish pillars the Apostles had grown up with:* The Liturgy of the Word (from the Synagogue): The reading of the Law and Prophets, chanting of Psalms, and a sermon or homily.* The Liturgy of the Faithful (from the Temple): The Eucharist, which the early church viewed as the new sacrificial offering prophesied in Malachi 1:11.Even the Apostle Paul alludes to this structured tradition. In 1 Corinthians 11:23, when Paul says, “For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you,” he’s reminding them of a liturgical formula. The words he uses (“took bread,” “gave thanks,” “broke it”) match the Eucharistic prayers (anaphora) used in the early church. Paul “received” this tradition not just from a vision, but from the liturgical assembly of the Apostles he joined.Justin Martyr (c. AD 150) gives us a detailed outline of Sunday worship that mirrors the structure of historic Christian liturgy used today:* Readings from the Apostles and Prophets (Synagogue)* Sermon/Homily by the President (Bishop/Priest)* Intercessory Prayers* The Kiss of Peace* Presentation of Bread and Wine* The Eucharistic Prayer (The Great Amen)* CommunionThis isn’t some free-flowing “kumbaya” session. It is a structured, hierarchical, liturgical service that has remained virtually unchanged for 2,000 years.ConclusionThe “Organic House Church” narrative is compelling because it appeals to our modern democratic sensibilities. We like the idea of a faith that is purely relational, flat in structure, and spontaneous in expression.But we must not confuse our modern preferences with the realities of ancient history. The early church moved from the Temple to the Synagogue to the Home by necessity, but they carried the reverence, structure, and order of the Temple and Synagogues with them into those homes.To dismantle the “institutional church” in the name of returning to the “early church” is to destroy the very vessel that the early Christians built to preserve the faith. Historically, the church has always been characterized by ordained leadership, dedicated sacred space (wherever possible), and the ordered worship of God. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

A few months ago, I was asked as part of a group to study the topic of marriage, divorce, and remarriage, especially as it concerns the debate mentioned in the essay here. The original form of this essay was a much longer work (30-some-odd pages) defending a much different position. At a certain point, I had to stop and ask myself, “Why am I trying to jump through so many hoops to defend this position?”Ultimately, through much more prayer and study, I began to see the original position as untenable and un-Christ-like.This is a heavily revised version with a much different focus, parsed down for readability and directness. I was asked by a few people to share my thoughts and make them public.Few moral and pastoral questions have proven as enduringly complex, or as deeply divisive, as marriage, divorce, and remarriage. In the landscape of modern Christian ethics, there is a tension that exists between two fundamental biblical imperatives: the prophetic demand for moral purity and the pastoral mandate to shepherd broken souls toward salvation. This intersection is perhaps most strongly felt in the issue of the “alien sinner”—an individual outside the covenant of Christ—who seeks baptism while living in a marriage contracted after an unscriptural divorce.Does the Gospel demand the dissolution of this family unit as a condition of repentance and salvation, or does it offer a mechanism for such a relationship to be redeemed? Is the “adulterous” nature of the union an ontological shackle that persists through the waters of baptism, or is it a moral debt that is paid and transformed by the stewardship of grace?To answer, one must navigate the tension between akribeia (exactness) and oikonomia (economy)—principles that have defined Christian jurisprudence for two millennia.A definitive modern expression of this controversy occurred in January 2003, during the Satterfield–Evans Debate on Marriage, Divorce, and Remarriage held in Marietta, Georgia. The debate featured Phillip Satterfield, representing the “Strict” or “Dissolution” view, and Dr. Jack Evans Sr., a towering figure in the African American Churches of Christ, representing the “Pastoral” or “Redemptive” view.The debate centered on a specific doctrinal proposition, affirmed by Evans and denied by Satterfield:“The Holy Bible teaches that an alien sinner in an adulterous marriage may repent of sins, including adultery, be baptized for the forgiveness of sins, including adultery, without dissolving his or her last marriage contracted before baptism, and be saved eternally.”Satterfield’s argument was rooted in a strict reading of the “creation ordinance” and the present-tense grammar of Matthew 19:9. He argued that if a relationship is defined as “adultery” by Jesus, it remains adultery until it ceases. Baptism, in this view, forgives the guilt of past acts but does not legitimize an ongoing state of sin. To remain in the marriage is to remain in the sin. Therefore, repentance requires the cessation of the sexual relationship, effectively mandating a second divorce or celibacy within the home.Evans, however, argued from the standpoint of the “alien sinner’s” status. He contended that the “old man” of sin is crucified in baptism (Romans 6:6). If the convert is truly a “new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17), then the pre-baptismal liabilities, including the irregularity of their marriage covenants, are washed away. For Evans, demanding the breakup of a family was not “repentance” but a new tragedy that violated the spirit of the Gospel. While he did not use the term “Economy” (oikonomia), his argument served as a plea for the church’s authority to declare a sinner “clean” based on Christ’s blood, prioritizing the salvation of the person over the strict enforcement of the marital statute.This debate functions as a theological fulcrum for the Churches of Christ and the broader Restoration Movement. Historically, this movement has sought to “speak where the Bible speaks and be silent where the Bible is silent.” However, the text of Scripture is often silent on the specific procedural remedy for an unscripturally remarried convert.Strict interpretative models like those of Gordon Wenhamand Thomas Schreiner emphasize the permanence of the creation ordinance, arguing that an “adulterous” union is an ongoing state of sin that baptism cannot erase without cessation. This view fears that allowing the marriage to continue turns grace into a license for immorality (Jude 4). They argue that just as a polygamist must put away his extra wives, the adulterously remarried must put away their current spouse.Conversely, pastoral models like those of Rubel Shelly and John Meyendorff argue that the Cross redeems states of being and that the church is entrusted with the “stewardship” (economy) of grace to manage these complexities. They fear that the strict view turns the Gospel into a system of law more rigid than the Mosaic code, effectively barring the “sick” (Mark 2:17) from the Physician unless they first heal themselves by destroying their families.This article employs a six-part integrative hermeneutical framework to construct a comprehensive analysis of the issue.The study begins by establishing the foundational theological tension that frames the entire debate: the relationship between the “Prophetic Standard” of marriage as a creation ordinance and the “Pastoral Application” of the church as the steward of grace. This initial section explores the ontology of marriage and examines the definition of repentance, setting the groundwork for the specific biblical arguments that follow.Following this theological grounding, the paper proceeds to a grammatical-historical examination of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 19:1–12. This exegetical analysis focuses on the context of the first-century Hillel-Shammai debate to clarify the intent behind Jesus’ prohibition of divorce. Special attention is given to the semantic range of porneia and the theological implications of the “eunuchs for the Kingdom” saying, arguing that these texts function less as legal statutes and more as a counter-narrative to Pharisaic legalism.The analysis then shifts to the apostolic application of these ideals in 1 Corinthians 7. By analyzing Paul’s instructions to a complex Gentile community, specifically the “Pauline Privilege” and the command to “remain” in one’s calling, this section argues that Paul provides the essential template for economy. It demonstrates how the apostle applies the absolute ideal of Jesus to the messy realities of Corinthian life without compromising the Gospel’s transformative power.To broaden the perspective beyond purely textual analysis, the study also incorporates a historical-theological framework. This section contrasts the akribeia (strictness) characteristic of the early Latin canons (exemplified by Tertullian and the Council of Elvira) with the developing theology of oikonomia (economy) in the Byzantine East, particularly in the canons of St. Basil. This historical survey provides a crucial precedent for the thesis that the church has long recognized a distinction between the ideal of marriage and the pastoral management of human brokenness.Moving to the specific context of the Restoration Movement, the essay examines the doctrine of Congregational Autonomy. By empowering local elders to make binding judgments on “matters of opinion” regarding the reception of converts, autonomy allows for the exercise of pastoral discretion in cases where a universal strict rule might obscure the mercy of Christ.Finally, the study synthesizes these exegetical, historical, and ecclesiological threads to articulate a theology of “Redemptive Economy.” This conclusion argues that the locus of authority for determining the status of a convert’s marriage rests within church leadership, distinct from the individual conscience, ultimately affirming the redemptive capacity of the Gospel to sanctify broken structures.Ultimately, this paper argues that while Scripture establishes the permanence of marriage as the divine ideal (akribeia), the biblical and historical principle of oikonomia (economy), manifested in the functional discretion of church leadership and the Church of Christ congregational autonomy model, empowers elders to prioritize the salvation of the sinner over the strict dissolution of irregular unions. Therefore, a person in a complex marriage may be baptized and remain in that union, a reality validated by the grace of God administered through the church’s stewardship rather than by the marriage’s original lawfulness. Consequently, the statement that “an alien sinner in an adulterous marriage may repent, be baptized, remain in that marriage, and be saved eternally” is affirmed as a valid exercise of this pastoral authority.Part I: The Creation Ideal and the Stewardship of GraceTo navigate the controversy of baptism and irregular marriages, one must define the theological points that create the tension: the absolute standard of God’s law regarding creation (akribeia) and the delegated authority of the church to administer God’s grace (oikonomia). These are not merely historical or philosophical concepts; both are deeply rooted in the biblical text.Akribeia: The Immutability of the LawThe principle of akribeia (strictness, exactness) finds its biblical foundation in the unchanging nature of God’s character and His law. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus declares the endurance of the law in absolute terms: “For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished” (Matt 5:18). This reflects the warning of Deuteronomy 4:2, “You shall not add to the word that I command you, nor take from it,” a warning echoed in the final verses of Revelation (22:18–19).In the context of marriage, akribeia is grounded in the creation narrative of Genesis 2:24. When Jesus cites this text in Matthew 19 (”from the beginning it was not so”), He is establishing the creation ordinance as an immutable standard that supersedes Mosaic concessions. R. T. France notes that Jesus appeals to the “divine purpose” of creation, which operates independently of human legislative loopholes.For the strict interpreter, adhering to this “creation ordinance” is an act of akribeia; a refusal to compromise the “jot and tittle” of what God established, regardless of the social cost. The marriage bond is viewed as an ontological reality created by God, a reality susceptible to violation by human sin yet resistant to dissolution.Oikonomia: The Stewardship of the House of GodConversely, the principle of oikonomia is rooted in New Testament stewardship theology. The term oikonomia (from oikos, “house,” and nomos, “law” or “management”) appears frequently in the New Testament to describe the administration of God’s household (Luke 16:2–4; 1 Cor 9:17; Eph 1:10, 3:2; Col 1:25).The biblical basis for ecclesial economy rests on the designation of church leaders as stewards. In 1 Corinthians 4:1, Paul identifies the apostles as “stewards (oikonomous) of the mysteries of God.” Similarly, Titus 1:7 calls the overseer (elder) “God’s steward,” and 1 Peter 4:10 calls all believers “good stewards of God’s varied grace.” Far from a rigid automaton, the ancient steward functioned as a manager entrusted with discretionary power to make decisions for the welfare of the household (Luke 12:42).This stewardship is juridically expressed in the power of the keys entrusted to the church: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matt 16:19; 18:18). This authority to “bind” (forbid) and “loose” (permit) implies a delegated capacity to interpret the application of the law for the salvation of the person.As John Erickson explains, oikonomia is the “discretionary power” of the steward to suspend the strict letter of the law (akribeia) when its rigid application would defeat the law’s ultimate purpose: the salvation of souls. Thus, rather than rejecting Scripture, the “Economy” view constitutes an exercise of the authority Jesus explicitly delegated to His church to manage the complexities of a fallen world.Metanoia: The Nature of RepentanceThe synthesis of these views undoubtedly impacts the definition of repentance. The Greek term metanoia signifies a “change of mind” that results in a change of life; a refrain many in the Restorationist tradition are familiar with. In the “Strict” view (akribeia), repentance is defined primarily by restitution and cessation. Just as a thief must return stolen goods and stop stealing (Eph 4:28), the adulterer must cease the act of adultery. If the marriage is an act of adultery, it must cease.However, the “Pastoral” view (oikonomia) argues for a broader, eschatological definition of repentance. ChoongJae Lee argues that in Matthew’s Gospel, repentance is a “decisive turning of the whole person from sin to righteousness” that marks the entrance into the Kingdom. It is a shift in allegiance from the “domain of darkness” to the “Kingdom of the Son” (Col 1:13). In this view, repentance regarding an irregular marriage involves acknowledging the sin of the past divorce, confessing the brokenness, and dedicating the current household to the Lord. It focuses on future fidelity rather than retroactive destruction.Part II: Exegesis of Matthew 19:1-12To understand Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 19, we must situate it within the bitter intra-Jewish debate of the first century. The Pharisees approach Jesus with a “test” (v. 3): “Is it lawful to divorce one’s wife for any cause?” This phrase (kata pasan aitian) was the legal catchphrase of the School of Hillel. This liberal rabbinic school allowed divorce for trivial reasons, such as burning a meal or finding a more attractive woman. Opposing them was the School of Shammai, which restricted divorce to cases of “indecency” (sexual immorality).Jesus refuses to step into their trap. Instead of choosing a side in the debate over Deuteronomy 24, He leaps over Moses entirely and lands in Genesis 2. “Have you not read...” (v. 4). By appealing to creation, Jesus establishes the prophetic ideal: God designed marriage to be permanent. The “Strict” view stops here, arguing that Jesus established a new, harder law. However, Jesus is actually rejecting the premise that divorce is a right to be exercised, reframing it as a tragedy that violates God’s design.The exegetical crux is verse 9: “Whoever divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality (porneia), and marries another commits adultery (moichatai).”First, the term porneia must be properly defined. Some interpreters argue this refers only to pre-marital unchastity or incest. However, the consensus of scholarship (Carson, France, Keener) is that porneia is a broad term covering all illicit sexual activity, including adultery. This creates a legitimate ground for divorce, shattering the notion that the marriage bond is metaphysically unbreakable. If it can be broken by sin, it is not an absolute ontological entity.Second, the verb moichatai appears in the present indicative tense. Satterfield argued this means “keeps on committing adultery.” However, linguistic scholars note that the present tense often denotes a “gnomic” or timeless truth (”he is an adulterer”) rather than a continuous action in every moment. The label diagnoses the moral quality of remarriage against the creation ideal; it does not necessarily prescribe the relationship’s ongoing status. Either way, proponents of the “Strict” view often stop here.The most critical verse for the “Economy” thesis is often overlooked: verse 11. After the disciples complain that the standard is too high (“it is better not to marry”), Jesus replies: “Not everyone can receive this saying, but only those to whom it is given.” Strict interpreters apply this to the “saying” about celibacy (v. 12). However, the antecedent is the disciples’ reaction to the strictness of marriage. Jesus is acknowledging a profound reality: the “Kingdom Ideal” is a heavy burden that “not everyone can receive.” This admission creates the theological space for economy. It implies that the church will contain people who fall short of the ideal. The “eunuchs for the Kingdom” represent the radical few who can live the ideal perfectly (or who sacrifice marriage entirely), but the implication is that for the rest, grace must abound.Part III: Exegesis of 1 Corinthians 7If Matthew 19 is the “Ideal,” 1 Corinthians 7 is the “Real.” Writing to a church filled with former pagans, sexually confused converts, and mixed marriages, Paul provides the apostolic template for managing imperfection.Paul explicitly distinguishes his authority from the Lord’s: “I say, not the Lord” (v. 12). This is the biblical foundation for ecclesial authority. Paul, as a steward of the mysteries, is authorized to adjudicate a case Jesus never addressed: a believer married to an unbeliever. If the unbeliever departs, Paul rules: “The brother or sister is not enslaved (ou dedoulōtai) in such cases. God has called you to peace” (v. 15).The phrase “not enslaved” utilizes strong covenantal language, implying the bond is dissolved. The believer is free. The rationale provided, “called to peace,” is the core logic of economy. The strict application of the marriage bond is subservient to the believer’s “peace.” If the marriage becomes a source of war that threatens salvation, the bond yields. This establishes a precedent that legal bonds are made for man, not man for legal bonds.Strict interpreters argue that an irregular marriage is “filthy” or “profane.” Yet Paul argues that even a marriage to a pagan, which was spiritually irregular, is “sanctified” (hēgiastai) by the believing spouse. The presence of the Holy Spirit in the convert is more powerful than the irregularity of the union. If the Spirit can sanctify a marriage to a pagan, can He not sanctify a marriage between two penitent believers, even if their history is scarred by divorce? While it does not retroactively validate the divorce, the “sanctification” of the marriage prospectively claims the family for Christ.The capstone of Paul’s argument is the “Rule of Peace” in verse 20: “Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called.” Strict interpreters (Schreiner) limit this to “social stations” (slave/free, circumcised/uncircumcised). They argue “sin” (adultery) is not a “calling.” But the Pastoral view (Shelly, Evans) argues that for a new convert, their marriage is their social station. It is the context in which the Gospel found them. To demand that a convert “undo” their marriage is akin to demanding a Gentile “undo” their uncircumcision (or a Jew undo his circumcision) to be pleasing to God. Paul’s Gospel is one of transformation in place. The “old man” died in baptism; the “new man” serves God in the situation in which he is. The command to “remain” serves as a protective fence against the chaos of legalistic disruption.Part IV: Historical-Theological FrameworkTo validate the “Economy” thesis, we must show it constitutes a historic practice of the church rather than a modern invention.The earliest post-apostolic witnesses often aligned with a strict “prophetic” reading of Jesus’ words. The Shepherd of Hermas (c. 150 CE) asserts that if a man divorces his wife and marries another, “he likewise committeth adultery.” Hermas allows for separation but demands celibacy. This rigorism was codified by the Latin Fathers (Tertullian, Cyprian) and solidified by the Council of Elvira (c. 305 CE), which barred remarried women from communion until death. Augustine (c. 400 CE) provided the metaphysical glue for this view, arguing that the sacramentum of marriage is indelible. This Augustinian “indissolubility” became the standard for the Western Church and heavily influenced the “Strict” view held by many today.However, the Christian East took a different path. St. Basil the Great (c. 375 CE), in his Canonical Epistles, reflects the tension. In Canon 4, he calls remarriage “adultery.” But in Canon 48 and others, he prescribes penance rather than dissolution. He excludes the remarried from communion for a period (often 7 years), after which they are restored in their marriage. This is oikonomia. The church recognized that the second marriage was a deviation from the ideal, but it was a tolerated reality to prevent the greater evil of fornication or despair.The Byzantine church reasoned that while the law condemns the act, the Steward has the authority to heal the sinner. This historical fact destroys the Satterfield argument that “the church has always taught dissolution.” On the contrary, the church in the East has practiced economy for the past 2,000 years.Part V: Ecclesiological FrameworkHow does this ancient theology apply to the Churches of Christ, which reject Bishops and Synods? It applies through the doctrine of congregational autonomy, which functions as the structural guarantee of pastoral economy.In COC ecclesiology, the local congregation is fully autonomous, answering to no “Brotherhood” headquarters or synod. This ecclesiological structure means the local eldership possesses the final, non-appealable authority to interpret and apply Scripture for their flock. They are the “Stewards” of that local house (Titus 1:7).This stewardship implies a heavy responsibility to make binding judgments in areas where the application of Scripture is complex or where biblical imperatives seem to conflict, such as the command against adultery versus the command to preserve the family and show mercy. Elders are charged with “watching for souls” (Heb 13:17), a duty that requires weighing the “letter” of the law against the “spirit” of the Gospel in the lives of individual converts.To navigate the tension between unity and diversity, Restorationist theologians like J.D. Thomas developed the hermeneutic distinction between “Matters of Faith” and “Matters of Opinion.” “Matters of Faith” are understood as the explicit, undeniable commands of God (e.g., “Baptism is for the remission of sins”). These are non-negotiable and bind the conscience of every believer. “Matters of Opinion,” however, involve the methods, judgments, or inferences required to apply those commands to specific situations.In the context of the MDR debate, strict interpreters argue that the dissolution of an irregular marriage is a “Matter of Faith.” However, pastoral theologians argue that determining the validity of a pre-baptismal covenant and the specific requirements of repentance for a new convert involves sanctified judgment, placing it in the realm of “Opinion.” When elders decide to baptize a “complex” couple and accept them into fellowship, they are ruling that the application of Matthew 19 to this specific case is a matter of judgment. They are effectively saying, “We, the stewards, judge that mercy is the path here.” This theological category allows for “sanctified disagreement,” permitting a congregation to exercise economy without being accused of abandoning the faith.Congregational autonomy acts as the functional equivalent of oikonomia because it allows for localized flexibility. If the whole denomination were required to reach a consensus, the “Strict” view would inevitably dominate. But because each eldership decides for its own flock, it allows pockets of “Economy” to exist where grace is extended to complex cases. This structure preserves the “Strict” ideal in theory (as many congregations will hold to it) while allowing the “Pastoral” reality in practice (as other congregations will exercise mercy).This diversity is not a sign of chaos, but of the heavy responsibility of local stewardship. It affirms that the final earthly court of appeal for the sinner resides with the living, breathing leadership of the local church rather than a distant synod or an abstract book of law.Ultimately, elders exercising this authority rely on a “redemptive theology” of baptism. As Rubel Shelly argues, the Cross is powerful enough to redeem entire states of being beyond isolated acts. When elders accept a remarried couple, they are making a theological judgment: that the “old man” who contracted the unlawful union has died in the waters of baptism, and the “new man” is resurrected into a life where that union is now dedicated to God. This “case-by-case” adjudication is the Restorationist version of the Byzantine solution; a pastoral decision to extend fellowship for the sake of salvation, trusting that the blood of Christ covers the structural sins of the past.Part VI: Theological SynthesisThe convergence of ancient Byzantine theology and modern Restorationist ecclesiology points toward a unified, cohesive position on the problem of baptism and the adulterous union. By moving beyond the binary of “Truth vs. Error” and embracing the tension between “Prophetic Ideal” and “Pastoral Stewardship,” we can construct a theology of Redemptive Economy. This synthesis rests on three pillars: the distinction between validity and reality, the ecclesial locus of authority, and the redemptive scope of baptism.The Distinction Between Validity and RealityA central failure of the “Strict” view is the collapse of the distinction between sacramental validity and pastoral reality. Strict interpretation holds that if a marriage is not “valid” according to the ideal of Genesis 2 (because a previous spouse is alive), it is ontologically “void” and therefore non-existent in the eyes of God. Consequently, the only remedy is to align physical reality with ontological reality by dissolving the union.The “Economic” view introduces a necessary nuance. It admits: “This marriage is not the ideal of Genesis 2. It is scarred. It is penitential. But it is a pastoral reality that now houses the Holy Spirit.” The church validates the people while stopping short of validating the sin. By acknowledging the brokenness of the past without demanding that the penitent inflict a new brokenness on their present family, the church prioritizes the reality of the Spirit’s work over the validity of legal paperwork. This mirrors John Meyendorff’s observation that the church does not have the power to validate the sin of divorce, but it does have the power to recognize the existence of the new family unit and to dispense grace within it.The Efficacy of Baptismal RegenerationThe debate ultimately reveals one’s view of baptism. Is it a legal transaction or a cosmic death? Satterfield’s view implies a minimalist pneumatology: baptism washes away the guilt of past acts (adultery), but it lacks the power to transform the nature of present relationships. It views the marriage bond as a static, legal shackle that the Holy Spirit cannot touch, effectively arguing that the “old man’s” debts survive the water.A theology of Redemptive Economy argues for a maximalist view of baptismal regeneration. If we believe Romans 6 (that we die with Christ), then the legal entanglements of the dead man cannot bind the living. The “alien sinner” argument relies on the conviction that the Spirit is powerful enough to re-consecrate a “profane” house. As Rubel Shelly contends, if baptism is a true death and resurrection, then the “new man” rises with a new identity. While the social facts of the marriage remain, its theological significance is transfigured. The Lord now claims the union that was once a testament to rebellion as a context for discipleship.The Authority of the KeysFinally, we must recover a high view of church authority. The Bible is the Constitution, but the Elders are the Supreme Court. The text does not interpret itself. God gave the “Keys of the Kingdom” to the church to bind and loose (Matt 16:19). When elders loose a sinner from the requirement of divorce, it is “loosed in heaven” (Matt 18:18). Such an act does not usurp God so much as it exercises the stewardship He commanded.The “Strict” view essentially posits that the law acts autonomously: if the text says “adultery,” the result must be “divorce,” regardless of the human cost. The “Economic” view posits that Christ delegated the interpretation of the law to the living church. This shifts the spiritual risk from the individual convert to the leaders who “watch for their souls.” The validity of the couple’s salvation rests not on their perfect forensic adherence to the marriage code, but on their obedience to the Gospel and their submission to the church’s oversight.Stewardship over StatuteThe controversy surrounding baptism and the adulterous union transcends the subject of marriage to become a debate about the nature of the Gospel itself. Does the Good News of Jesus Christ establish a new legal code more rigid than the Law of Moses, or does it inaugurate a Kingdom where grace has the final word over human failure?Exegetically, we have seen that while Jesus establishes the absolute permanency of marriage in Matthew 19 as the Kingdom ideal (akribeia), He simultaneously creates space for human weakness, a space occupied by the church’s authority to bind and loose. Paul expands this space in 1 Corinthians 7, prioritizing the “peace” of the believer and the stability of the convert’s calling over the rigid enforcement of marital bonds. The apostolic instruction to “remain” where one is called provides the biblical blueprint for sanctifying imperfect social structures.Historically, the church has always wrestled with this tension. While the Latin West ossified around a metaphysical rigorism that demanded dissolution, the Byzantine East preserved the apostolic practice of oikonomia. By recognizing second marriages as penitential yet valid realities, the Eastern tradition affirms that the church has the authority to heal the sinner without overturning the law. This historical precedent validates the pastoral instincts of those in the Restoration Movement who seek to extend fellowship to the broken.Ecclesiologically, the doctrine of congregational autonomy provides the structural vessel for this grace. By empowering local elders to function as stewards, the church ensures that the law is applied with the specific, nuanced wisdom required for each unique human story. The distinction between “Matters of Faith” (the command against adultery) and “Matters of Opinion” (the remedy for the convert) protects the conscience of the church while opening the door of salvation to the “alien sinner.”Therefore, the doctrinal proposition that “an alien sinner in an adulterous marriage may repent, be baptized, and remain in that marriage” is affirmed. It is affirmed, validity resting on the Steward’s authority to pay the debt rather than on a voiding of the creation ordinance. The church, acting in the name of Christ, declares that the new creation has begun. In that new creation, the waters of baptism are not a shallow stream that merely rinses the surface of the past, but a mighty flood that drowns the “old man” completely. To demand the dissolution of a family is to suggest that the legal entanglements of the old life are stronger than the resurrection power of the new. To accept the family is to declare that where sin abounded, grace abounded all the more. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

In one of my courses this semester, the first assignment was to read and respond to two articles by Alexander Campbell, one of the pioneers of the Restoration Movement. The first is his “Rules of Interpretation,” chapter 33 of the larger work “Christianity Restored” (1835). The second is an article titled “Bible Reading” from the Millennial Harbinger (1839), which was Campbell’s “magazine” promoting Restorationism in America.I thought it might be interesting to share my take on some of Campbell’s work.In the landscape of nineteenth-century American religion, and more specifically the American Restoration Movement, few men made a greater lasting impact as that of Alexander Campbell. Campbell sought to unify the fractured witness of the church by recovering the “ancient order of things” during a time of great religious fervor and disunion. His project was fundamentally hermeneutical: if Christians could only agree on how to read the Bible, they would inevitably agree on what it said. Two of his key texts, an excerpt from Christianity Restored on “Rules of Interpretation” and an article entitled “Bible Reading” from the Millennial Harbinger, outline a method that is at once rigorously scientific and deeply pious.However, the tension between these two poles, the critical intellect and the humble heart, remains a central challenge in his work. While Alexander Campbell is correct in identifying humility as the necessary condition for spiritual sight, echoing the historic Christian affirmation that character shapes understanding, his reliance on a strictly “scientific” hermeneutic risks isolating the Bible from the community of faith. By rejecting “inherited” wisdom in favor of extreme individual investigation, Campbell may inadvertently reduce the living Word of God to a mere intellectual puzzle.The Science of ScriptureCampbell’s approach operates on a radical leveling of the biblical text. In his “Rules of Interpretation,” he asserts that the Bible is to be interpreted by the same philological principles that govern the interpretation of any other book. This “Rule 3,” which requires applying the same dictionaries and grammatical standards in dealing with Scripture as with any other book, forms the very foundation for his rationalistic structure.[1] For Campbell, the Bible is a communicative act from God to man, clothed in human language, and therefore accessible to human reason.To navigate this text, Campbell prescribes a set of historical checks. The interpreter must act as a historian, rigorously identifying the author, the date, the place, and the occasion of writing. More importantly, one must discern the “dispensation” under which a passage falls. Campbell insists that before one can have confidence in any interpretation, one must decide whether the passage belongs to the Jewish or Christian economy.[2] This dispensational framework becomes a hermeneutical filter that demands that the reader ask not only “What does God say?” but “To whom is He speaking?” This method effectively clears away the confusion of applying Levitical laws to Christians, ensuring that commands given to a Patriarch or a Jew are not mistakenly applied to a believer in the Christian age.[3]However, Campbell is not a mere rationalist. In Christianity Restored, he introduces a concept that seemingly transcends his scientific rules: the “understanding distance.” Just as the eye must be at the proper distance to read a page, the soul must be at the proper moral distance to hear God. This distance is defined by the “circle of humility.”[4] He argues that while philology can make a man a critic, only humility can make him a Christian. Similarly, in his article “Bible Reading,” he contrasts “sectarian” or “polemic” reading with true “devotional reading.” He argues that the mere memorization of doctrine is insufficient; rather, the believer must engage in the “constant attrition” of the text upon the moral nature. For Campbell, the goal is not merely to learn the doctrine of the Bible, but to “catch the spirit” of its holy authors through constant companionship.[5]The Necessity of HumilityThere is much in Campbell’s project that merits deep appreciation, particularly for those weary of the subjective drifts in modern spirituality. His insistence on the “understanding distance” (Rule 7) is a profound theological insight. By arguing that “God resisteth the proud, but he giveth grace to the humble,” Campbell aligns himself with a deep current of classical Christian spirituality that has always maintained that theology is not a spectator sport. The mind is not a neutral processor of data; it is affected by the state of the heart. If the eye is not “single,” meaning the moral intent is not purified of pride and ambition, the intellect will inevitably distort the text it seeks to master. In an era when the Bible can serve as little more than a sourcebook for proof-texts and a playground for academic novelty, Campbell’s admonition that we must “sit with Mary at the Master’s feet” is a necessary corrective.[6]Furthermore, Campbell’s insight into the “living” nature of the text in Bible Reading offers a robust counterbalance to his drier scientific rules. He astutely observes that, unlike other authors who are dead, the Author of the Bible is “forever present.” This transforms the act of reading from a historical investigation into a “sacred dialogue” where the reader listens to God.[7] This relational approach prevents the faith from becoming a system of abstract logic. By insisting that we cannot simply memorize a synopsis of doctrine but must let the text “wear” upon our souls to assimilate the Spirit of God,[8] Campbell points toward a sacramental understanding of Scripture that resonates with the deepest traditions of the church.The Risk of IsolationHowever, in his zeal to clear away the debris of human tradition, Campbell introduces a solitude that is foreign to the historic Christian experience. A significant area of disagreement lies in his stark rejection of “inherited orthodoxy.” In Bible Reading, he compares receiving doctrine from one’s parents to receiving a financial inheritance that ruins the character of the heir.[9] He insists that every man must “dig in the mines of faith and knowledge for his own fortune.”[10] While this sentiment appeals to the democratic spirit, it creates a dangerous theological individualism.If every believer must reconstruct the Christian faith from scratch, bypassing the “wills of their ancestors,” we are left with a fragmented Christianity where every man is his own Pope. This “digging for oneself” ignores the reality that the Bible is the book of the church, preserved, canonized, and handed down by the very community Campbell treats with suspicion. By viewing the accumulated wisdom of the past merely as a burden of “earth-born pre-eminence,”[11] Campbell cuts the modern reader off from the “cloud of witnesses” who have wrestled with these same texts for centuries.Scripture itself often challenges this radical autonomy. When the Ethiopian eunuch was reading the prophet Isaiah, Philip asked him, “Do you understand what you are reading?” The eunuch replied, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” (Acts 8:31). This narrative suggests that interpretation is not at all a solitary struggle with a dictionary but an endeavour carried out in community under the wisdom of our predecessors. Furthermore, the chaotic period of the Judges is characterized by the refrain, “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25). Campbell’s rejection of “inherited” authority risks inviting a similar hermeneutical anarchy, where every reader becomes the ultimate arbiter of truth. As 2 Peter 1:20 reminds us, “no prophecy of Scripture is of any private interpretation.” While the immediate context concerns the origin of prophecy, the principle that a text not born of human will cannot be mastered by the isolated, private intellect still applies.This corporate nature of truth is perhaps best expressed in 1 Timothy 3:15, where Paul identifies the “household of God” not as a collection of radically self-determining readers, but as “the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth.” The Gospel is not hanging on by the thread of the intellect of the solitary individual but is structurally upheld by the community of faith. Furthermore, Paul explicitly commands Timothy to entrust the things he heard “among many witnesses” to “faithful men who will be able to teach others also” (2 Timothy 2:2). This apostolic model of transmission relies on a chain of faithful witnesses rather than independent reinvention.Finally, Campbell’s emphasis on the “testimony” and “facts” of Scripture, while rational, can lead to a dry intellectualism, the very thing he sought to avoid with his “understanding distance.” If the Bible is reduced to a constitution of “precepts, promises, and exhortations,”[12] we miss the reality that it is also a vehicle of mystery. While distinguishing dispensations might offer some clarity, the practice can dissect the Scriptures so cleanly that the organic unity of God’s work is lost. The Old Testament is not merely a “precedent economy” to be superseded; it is the deep soil in which the roots of the Christian faith are inextricably tangled.[13]ConclusionUltimately, Alexander Campbell’s work is both a vital instruction and a cautionary tale for the student of Scripture. His insistence on philological precision and historical context provides a necessary safeguard against subjectivity, ensuring that faith remains grounded in God’s objective testimony. Likewise, his emphasis on humility as the key virtue required for interpretation grounds theology in the moral character of the disciple. However, the path of the lonely investigator seeking truth apart from the maps inherited by previous generations introduces the danger of idiosyncrasy. While we must personally appropriate the truth of the Gospel, we cannot paradoxically detach the Scriptures from the church that birthed them. A holistic approach requires that we unite Campbell’s scientific rigor and devotional intensity with a renewed appreciation for the communal consensus of the faithful.[1] Alexander Campbell, Christianity Restored (Bethany: M’Vay and Ewing, 1835), 97.[2] Ibid., 95.[3] Ibid., 97.[4] Ibid., 98.[5] Alexander Campbell, “Bible Reading,” Millennial Harbinger 10 (1839): 36.[6] Campbell, Christianity Restored, 99.[7] Campbell, “Bible Reading,” 38.[8] Ibid., 36.[9] Ibid.[10] Ibid., 37.[11] Campbell, Christianity Restored, 98.[12] Ibid., 97.[13] Ibid., 98. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For many modern Christians, a footnote in their Bible that says “Some manuscripts read...” is just a scholarly curiosity. There is a widespread assumption that the Hebrew text used as the basis for our Old Testament translations today—the Masoretic Text—is the “original,” and that all ancient translations, such as the Greek Septuagint (LXX), are merely secondary interpretations.However, for the first four hundred years of Church history, this assumption was reversed. The Greek Old Testament was the Bible of the Apostles, the Church Fathers, and the rapidly expanding Gentile mission.The debate over which version holds primacy is not just academic dusty-corner work; it involves crucial messianic prophecies and the very structure of salvation history. This post explores why the Septuagint historically carries more authority for Christians than the Masoretic Text (MT), and how history has vindicated the Bible of the early Church.The Bible of the ApostlesThe strongest argument for the Christian authority of the Septuagint is simple: it is the Bible that the New Testament authors used.The writers of the New Testament quoted the Old Testament approximately 300 times. Scholars estimate that in roughly 75–80% of these instances, they quote the Greek Septuagint, even where it diverges significantly from the later Masoretic Hebrew text.If we believe the New Testament is inspired Scripture, the text it relies upon to make its theological arguments carries an inherent divine endorsement. The book of Hebrews, for example, builds entire theological arguments on readings found only in the Septuagint. To reject the authority of the LXX is, in many places, to undermine the foundation of New Testament teaching.A Tale of Two Texts: Development and TimelineTo understand the conflict, we must understand the timeline. The two texts are separated by over a thousand years of development.1. The Septuagint (LXX): The Older WitnessThe Septuagint was not created all at once. The process began in Alexandria, Egypt, around 250 BC. According to tradition, commissioned by King Ptolemy II, Jewish scholars translated the Torah (the first five books) into Greek to serve the vast, Greek-speaking Jewish diaspora who could no longer read Hebrew. Over the next century, the Prophets and the Writings were added.Crucially, the Alexandrian canon was broader than the one later adopted in Palestine, including books Christians know as the “Deuterocanon” or Apocrypha (such as Wisdom of Solomon, Maccabees, and Tobit). These books were read as Scripture by Hellenistic Jews and subsequently adopted by the early Christians.2. The Masoretic Text (MT): The Medieval StandardThe Hebrew text used in most modern Bibles was standardized by the Masoretes—Jewish scribe-scholars in Tiberias and Babylon—between the 7th and 10th centuries AD.While the Masoretes were incredibly meticulous copiers, the textual tradition they solidified had already undergone significant streamlining in the 2nd century AD, following the destruction of the Jewish Temple. During this period, Rabbinic Judaism reorganized itself, moving away from the textual plurality of the Second Temple period toward a single, standardized Hebrew text that reflected their evolving theological needs in an era of conflict with rising Christianity.The “Re-Hebraizing” of the Text and Messianic ProphecyFor centuries, the prevailing view was that whenever the Greek LXX differed from the Hebrew MT, the Greek must be a “loose translation” or an error.That view collapsed in the mid-20th century with the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls (DSS) at Qumran. These ancient Hebrew manuscripts, dating back to 200 BC, predate the Masoretic Text by a millennium.To the shock of many scholars, the Dead Sea Scrolls frequently agreed with the Septuagint against the Masoretic Text. This proved that the Septuagint translators were not “loose”; they were often faithfully translating a much older Hebrew parent text (Vorlage) that the later Masoretic tradition rejected.This leads to a sensitive but unavoidable historical reality: the standardization of the Hebrew text in the post-Christian era involved “polemical editing.” As the synagogue and the church parted ways, Jewish scribes naturally favored textual variants that blunted Christian apologetics and aligned with Talmudic theology.The Church Father Justin Martyr, writing in the 2nd Century, explicitly accused Jewish scribes of removing passages from the Scriptures to hide their Messianic application. While modern scholars might not call it a conspiracy, they acknowledge that theological choices were made in preserving one Hebrew textual tradition over others.The Smoking Guns: Three Key ExamplesThe differences between the texts are not merely minor grammatical variations. They affect vital messianic prophecies.1. The Crucifixion: “Pierced” vs. “Lion” (Psalm 22:16)This is the most famous dispute. The Psalm describes a suffering figure surrounded by enemies.* The Septuagint (Christian reading): “They pierced my hands and feet.” This was viewed by the early Church as a prophecy of the crucifixion.* The Masoretic Text (Jewish reading): “Like a lion my hands and feet.” This Hebrew reading (ka’ari) is grammatically broken—it lacks a verb—and obscures the imagery of crucifixion.The evidence for the Septuagint here is so overwhelming that almost all modern English translations (ESV, NIV, NASB, CSB)—even those that generally prioritize the Masoretic Text—abandon the Hebrew MT in this verse. They default to the “pierced” reading, implicitly acknowledging that the Masoretic Text is corrupted at this point.For centuries, this was a stalemate. Then, archaeologists found the Nahal Hever Psalms scroll near the Dead Sea. This 1st-century Hebrew fragment contains the word ka’aru (”they pierced/dug”), vindicating the Septuagint reading as the ancient original.2. The Divinity of Messiah (Deuteronomy 32:43)In Hebrews 1:6, the New Testament author seeks to prove that Jesus is superior to angels, quoting God saying, “Let all God’s angels worship him.”You will not find this verse in the standard Masoretic Hebrew text; it is completely missing. It exists, however, in the Septuagint. The Masoretic tradition likely excised the line because the command for divine beings to worship a Messianic figure sounded dangerously close to the Christian claim of Jesus’ divinity, or perhaps polytheistic to strict monotheists. Once again, a Dead Sea Scroll fragment (4QDeut) contains the phrase, supporting the longer reading used by the New Testament.3. The Timeline of Creation (Genesis 5 & 11)The primeval genealogies differ radically. The Masoretic timeline places creation roughly around 4000 BC. The Septuagint provides much longer life spans for the patriarchs before they have children, pushing the timeline back to roughly 5500 BC.Why the difference? In the first century AD, there was a widespread Jewish and early Christian expectation that the Messiah would arrive in the middle of the “sixth millennium” after creation (around the year 5500) to usher in a seventh millennium of Sabbath rest. Jesus arrived exactly on time according to the Septuagint chronology.By shortening the timeline by 1,500 years, the later Rabbinic Hebrew text effectively “disqualified” Jesus as the Messiah by arguing the world was too young for the Messianic age to have yet arrived.The Threefold Witness: LXX, Dead Sea Scrolls, and the VulgateThe credibility of the Masoretic Text is further eroded when we look at the “threefold cord” of ancient witnesses that stand against it.It is not just the Greek Septuagint that differs from the Masoretic Text; the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Latin Vulgate also differ.When St. Jerome translated the Vulgate in the late 4th Century, he bypassed the Greek and went directly to the Hebrew manuscripts available in his day. While Jerome is famous for championing the “Hebrew Verity,” his Latin translation frequently aligns with the Septuagint and the Dead Sea Scrolls against the later Masoretic Text.For example, in the crucial Psalm 22:16 passage, Jerome translated the Hebrew as foderunt (”they dug/pierced”), not “lion.” This proves that the Hebrew texts available to scholars in the 4th Century—texts far older than the Masoretic manuscripts we have today—still contained the Messianic readings.When the Dead Sea Scrolls (200 BC), the Septuagint (250 BC), and Jerome’s Hebrew sources (400 AD) all agree against the Masoretic Text (900 AD), a clear picture emerges. The Masoretic Text represents a specific, narrowed, and later tradition—one that appears to have been “cherry-picked” and altered to fit the theological constraints of post-Temple, anti-Christian Judaism. The Christian Old Testament, preserved in the Septuagint, represents the older, wider, and more authoritative form of the Word of God.Conclusion: Why This Matters for Every ChristianThis is not merely a debate for academics in ivory towers; it is a vital issue for every Christian who opens a Bible.We live in an age that idolizes “the original languages,” often assuming that because a text is in Hebrew, it must be the purest source. But we must remember that texts are not neutral; they are shepherded by communities. By defaulting to the Masoretic Text, modern Protestant Bibles have unwittingly accepted a version of the Old Testament that was curated by a community explicitly rejecting the deity of Christ.If we blindly accept the footnotes that say “The Hebrew reads...” without understanding which Hebrew and from when, we risk adopting a sanitized Scripture that obscures the very Messiah we worship.Christians are called to be vigilant, not just in their behavior, but in their sources of truth. We cannot afford to be passive recipients of “scholarly consensus” when that consensus relies on a text stripped of its most potent witnesses to the Incarnation. To embrace the Septuagint is not to reject the Hebrew heritage; it is to reclaim the Bible of the Apostles—the Bible that fully prepares the way for the Lord. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For too long, the modern Christian experience in the public square has felt like a perpetual cross-examination. We are constantly put on the witness stand, forced to answer for the Crusades, explain the problem of evil, or defend the historical reliability of the Gospels.We have become experts at the “back foot”—always reacting, always explaining, always defending.While giving a defense is a biblical mandate, it is only half of the equation. In our effort to be “winsome,” we have largely abandoned a crucial tool in the Christian arsenal: Polemics. It is time to understand the difference between defending the truth and exposing error, and why we need to start doing both.Apologetics vs. Polemics: Knowing the DifferenceTo understand where we have gone wrong, we must define our terms. While they are often used interchangeably, Apologetics and Polemics are two distinct mindsets1. Apologetics (The Shield)The word comes from the Greek apologia, meaning “a formal defense,” often used in a legal context. The scriptural mandate is found in 1 Peter 3:15:“But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.”Apologetics is the shield. It is rational, protective, and explanatory. It answers the skeptic’s questions and removes intellectual barriers to faith. It is defensive by nature.2. Polemics (The Sword)The word comes from the Greek polemos, meaning “war.” If apologetics is defending the castle, polemics is storming the stronghold. It is the active dismantling of false teachings and cultural idols. The scriptural mandate here is found in 2 Corinthians 10:5:“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”Polemics is the sword. It does not just defend the truth; it exposes the incoherence, historical fallacies, and moral failures of opposing worldviews.The Problem with the “Back Foot”The modern church excels at the shield but has largely dropped the sword.Groups like Islam, Mormonism (LDS), and Jehovah’s Witnesses—along with modern atheists—have developed aggressive strategies to keep Christians on the defensive. They cherry-pick Bible verses, question the Trinity, or mock the Resurrection.In response, we scramble to write books and record podcasts defending our position. We have allowed the enemies of the Gospel to frame the debate. We let them ask all the questions while we provide all the answers.We must remember that for over 2,000 years, Christianity has been the anvil that has worn out many hammers. From the early Gnostics and ancient heretics to the “New Atheists” of the 21st century, the Gospel has withstood the most intense scrutiny history has to offer. It has stood strong because it is true.Turning the TablesHere is the uncomfortable reality we must face: We have been far too easy on false ideologies.We treat opposing worldviews with a level of deference they do not extend to us. We hesitate to critique the Quran, the Book of Mormon, or the Watchtower Society because we fear being labeled “intolerant.” Meanwhile, these groups actively undermine the deity of Christ and the sufficiency of His work.If we put these false ideologies under the same level of scrutiny that Christianity endures daily, they would falter immediately.* Islam: Claims to correct the Bible, yet its textual history and the life of its founder crumble under the historical method used to test the Gospels.* Mormonism: Asks us to trust Joseph Smith, yet the archaeological and historical record offers zero support for his claims of ancient civilizations in the Americas.* Jehovah’s Witnesses: Claim to be the sole channel of God’s truth, yet their history is littered with failed prophecies and constantly changing doctrines.The Path ForwardIt is not unloving to expose error; it is the most loving thing we can do. If a bridge is out, you don’t gently whisper to the driver; you wave your arms and warn them of the danger.It is time to stop apologizing for our faith and start scrutinizing the alternatives. We must move from the back foot to the front foot. We must be willing to ask the hard questions of those who attack the Cross.In the coming weeks, I will be releasing a series of posts specifically designed to turn the scrutiny onto these competing worldviews. We will look at the clear, undeniable issues within the ideologies that seek to displace Christ.The shield is up. Now, it’s time to pick up the sword. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For years, the government’s Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, better known as SNAP, helped feed millions of struggling Americans. Its loss is more than an economic or political problem; it’s a spiritual one.The simple truth is that the Church once cared for the poor, the hungry, the widowed, and the sick. That was our calling from the beginning. But over time, we handed those ministries over to the government. Now that the government is failing, the Church is not ready to fill the void that we willingly created.The Biblical MandateFrom the earliest days of Scripture, God’s people were called to care for those in need. The Law of Moses made provisions for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner living among Israel. Jesus reaffirmed and deepened that calling.In Matthew 25, He identifies Himself with the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the sick, and the imprisoned:“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home… I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:35, 40 NLT)The book of Acts paints a vivid picture of what this looked like in practice.“All the believers met together in one place and shared everything they had. They sold their property and possessions and shared the money with those in need.” (Acts 2:44–45 NLT)When complaints arose that some widows were being neglected in the daily food distribution, the apostles appointed deacons to ensure that every person was cared for (Acts 6:1–6). Caring for the poor was not optional. It was central to the Church’s identity.James calls this the very definition of authentic faith:“Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress.” (James 1:27 NLT)From Jerusalem to Antioch to Rome, early Christians were known for radical generosity. They adopted abandoned infants, cared for the sick during plagues, and shared food with pagan neighbors. The Church didn’t wait for the government to get its act together; it acted out of conviction that every person bears the image of God.The Cost of AbdicationSo what happened? How did a Church known for its compassion become one that depends on the state to feed the hungry?In the early centuries, the Church was the welfare system of the ancient world. Bishops and deacons managed funds and distributed bread, clothing, and shelter to the needy. During the Middle Ages, monasteries and parishes fed the poor, treated the sick, and educated children. Charity was personal, local, and rooted in faith.But as society changed, so did the Church. In post-Reformation Europe, social care became increasingly handled by the state. The Industrial Revolution and the growth of urban poverty prompted governments to establish laws and relief programs for the poor. Churches, fragmented by denominational divisions and theological disputes, gradually allowed civil authorities to take over what had once been their mission.By the twentieth century, especially in America, Christian responsibility had been outsourced to government agencies. Welfare programs replaced local charity. Hospitals and orphanages founded by Christians became secular institutions. Many churches, relieved to focus on worship services and internal programs, quietly accepted this shift.The result was that Caesar became the new provider, and the Church became a spectator.When the Church handed off its calling, something deeper was lost than just charity work. We lost credibility. The early Church gained moral authority because it embodied Christ’s compassion. Pagan emperors complained that Christians cared for everyone—including non-Christians—better than Rome did. That hasn’t been the case for a very long time.Compassion became impersonal. SNAP benefits and welfare checks can provide food, but they cannot offer community, dignity, or hope. The state can distribute bread, but it cannot sit with the lonely, pray with the suffering, or love the forgotten.Many churches have simply become too comfortable. Budgets ballooned for buildings, programs, and technology, while benevolence funds shrank. We preach about being the hands and feet of Jesus, yet too often our hands are stuffed in our own pockets and our feet stay planted underneath the pews.Now that government systems are strained, we find ourselves spiritually unprepared. Can our congregations step up and ensure that every family among us is fed? Can we care for our neighbors, whether Christian or non-Christian, in the same way the early Church once did?The honest answer for most is no.When the State Fails, the Church Must RiseThe failure of government welfare is not an invitation to complain about politics. Caring for the poor is not a liberal or conservative issue. It’s a Christian issue. The Lord did not say, “I was hungry, and the government fed me.” He said, “You fed me.”This is a call for the Church to repent and recover her mission. If we depend on government systems to do what Christ commanded us to do, we should not be surprised when both compassion and faith grow cold. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

If the Book of Revelation feels confusing, one reason might be because it assumes you already know the rest of the Bible.John's vision is not an isolated prophecy dropped into the New Testament without context. It is the culmination of a story that spreads throughout the rest of Scripture. In fact, Revelation contains more allusions to the Old Testament than any other New Testament book, over 500 by some counts. And yet, it never quotes the Old Testament directly. Instead, it weaves Scripture into its very fabric, using the imagery, themes, and language of the Hebrew Bible to show how the same God who spoke through the prophets is still speaking through the Lamb.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.This matters more than most people realize. Too often, Revelation gets ripped away from its biblical foundation and twisted to interpret contemporary headlines. But John isn't looking forward to helicopters or microchips. He's looking backward to Moses, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel and applying their message to his present reality under the Roman Empire. He's showing how God's patterns of judgment, deliverance, and covenant continue to play out in the lives of the churches he writes to.To understand Revelation, you don't need a newspaper. You need a Bible.John as a Scholar and Theologian of the Old TestamentJohn isn't just a prophet caught up in spiritual visions; he's a careful and deliberate theologian. Every line of Revelation shows that he knows the Old Testament not only as Scripture but as a lens for understanding God's present work through Jesus. He doesn't simply reference the Old Testament; he lives and breathes it. His visions are saturated with structured, purposeful allusions to the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings.When John describes the exalted Christ in Revelation 1, he doesn't come up with a new descriptive language. The "one like a Son of Man" (Rev 1:13) is drawn from Daniel 7. The sword from His mouth echoes Isaiah 49. The blazing eyes and shining face mirror those of Daniel in Daniel 10 and of Moses in Exodus 34.Like an artist building a mosaic, John pieces together a vision of Jesus and God's kingdom from the whole of Israel's Scriptures. Revelation is a tapestry of biblical theology. Nearly every image, judgment, song, and promise in the book has roots in the Old Testament. But John doesn't just string together verses; he filters them through the reality of the Lamb who was slain.Michael Gorman puts it well: John doesn't quote the Old Testament. He thinks in its language. His imagination is formed by the Exodus, the exile, the temple, the Psalms, and the prophetic books. And that biblical imagination is what shapes the world he sees behind the veil.John doesn't treat the Old Testament as a background or footnote. He treats it as the essential source for understanding who God is, what God has done, and where history is going. He shows how the God of Abraham, Moses, David, and Isaiah is the same God enthroned in Revelation 4–5, calling His people to worship, endurance, and victory in Christ.So, if we want to read Revelation well, we need to understand the Bible like John did.Major Old Testament Themes and Echoes in RevelationThe deeper we go into Revelation, the more we see that John isn't just pointing back to scattered texts. He's drawing from the entire narrative arc of the Old Testament, especially its major themes of liberation, judgment, worship, and renewal.Let's look at a few of the most prominent echoes:Exodus and the PlaguesRevelation's judgments—especially the trumpets (Rev 8–9) and bowls (Rev 16)—echo the ten plagues of Egypt in Exodus 7–12. Water turns to blood, darkness falls, locusts swarm, and hailstones fall from the sky. But the message is not simply that God will judge the wicked; it's that God will once again liberate His people from oppression and bring them through the wilderness into a better kingdom.Like in Exodus, God's message hardens the hearts of His enemies. Like in Exodus, the judgment of God is both terrifying and redemptive. Like in Exodus, worship is the goal. The Exodus was not just a rescue; it was a call to worship the true God, and Revelation follows a similar trajectory.Sinai, Theophany, and CovenantThroughout Revelation, we encounter thunder, lightning, smoke, and trumpet blasts, signs that immediately echo Mount Sinai (Exod 19–20). When the heavenly temple is opened in Revelation 11:19, we see the ark of the covenant, another unmistakable link to Israel's wilderness worship and God's covenant presence.This isn't accidental. Revelation presents God not as a distant, unapproachable dictator but as a covenant-keeping God who invites the world into His heavenly sanctuary.Exile, Babylon, and the Fall of EmpiresBabylon is one of the most imposing figures in Revelation (Rev 17–18). John pulls directly from Isaiah 13–14, Jeremiah 50–51, and Ezekiel 26–28 to describe her downfall. But Babylon is more than a city; it's a pattern. It represents any human power that exalts itself against God, oppresses the faithful, and thrives on idolatry, luxury, and violence.Just like the prophets, John proclaims Babylon's fall as certain. The echoes of exile remind us that God's people may be scattered, suffering, or surrounded by corrupt power, but Babylon doesn't win. God always brings down the proud.Temple, Priesthood, and WorshipFrom the opening vision of Jesus among the lampstands (Rev 1) to the incense rising before the throne (Rev 5, 8) to the great multitude worshiping (Rev 7), Revelation is steeped in temple imagery. The Church is portrayed as a kingdom of priests (Rev 1:6; 5:10), echoing the words of Exodus 19:6. The prayers of the saints are likened to an offering of incense. The altar is the place of both sacrifice and intercession.Revelation doesn't just use temple symbols; it is structured like a temple liturgy, moving from outer courts to inner sanctuaries, culminating in the vision of God and the Lamb on the throne.The Son of Man and the BeastsThe imagery of Revelation 13—beasts rising from sea and land, speaking blasphemy, making war on the saints—comes straight out of Daniel 7 and 8 and Job 40 and 41. The beasts represent false kingdoms and religions. They're brutal, deceptive, and short-lived. They are contrasted with "one like a Son of Man" (Rev 1:13; 14:14), who is exalted, radiant, and victorious.Daniel and Job's visions are not just background noise; they serve as a prophetic lens for understanding the powers that rise and fall in Revelation.Creation and New CreationRevelation ends with a return to Eden. The tree of life (Rev 22:2), the river flowing from the throne (22:1), and the removal of the curse (22:3) all echo the account of the Fall in Genesis 1–3. A redeemed world, where heaven and earth are no longer separated, and God dwells with His people.Echoes of Isaiah 65–66 and Ezekiel 40–48 are strong here with their promises of a new heaven, a renewed temple, and a restored people. Revelation fulfills what the prophets saw from a distance.These are only a few examples, but the pattern is clear: Revelation tells the same story the Bible has always told. It's not a new vision; it's just the final chapter in an ancient book.Don't Neglect the Old TestamentOne of the biggest reasons people struggle with Revelation is because they've ignored the first 75% of their Bibles.For many modern Christians, the Old Testament feels foreign, distant, complex, or even irrelevant. But John didn't see it that way. In fact, he didn't just believe the Old Testament was useful; he believed it was essential. The images, patterns, and promises of Genesis through Malachi were the lens through which John saw the Lamb, the Church, and the end of the age. He didn't need to invent new symbols or speculate about the future. He simply picked up what God had already revealed and showed how it all pointed to Jesus.Revelation doesn't make sense without the Old Testament. When we read Revelation without the Old Testament, we'll fill in the gaps with headlines, hearsay, and Hollywood. But if we read it the way John did by being steeped in Scripture, we'll see a unified story and not a scattered puzzle. We'll stop chasing predictions and start understanding promises.Beale, G. K. "The Use of the Old Testament in Revelation." In Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, edited by G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson, 1081–1161. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Revelation is often treated like a coded message about the end of the world. But the more closely we read it, the more we realize that it's not just about future events; it's about unseen realities happening right now.John isn't just giving us a glimpse of what's to come. He's pulling back the curtain to show what has always been true: that behind the politics, persecution, and powers of this world is a greater spiritual conflict: a cosmic war between the Lamb and the dragon, between the kingdom of God and the forces of evil.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.This kind of worldview may seem foreign to modern readers, but the early Church was deeply saturated with this perspective, and the supernatural realm is deeply embedded in the biblical narrative. From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture describes not just a God who reigns in heaven but a divine realm filled with spiritual beings—some loyal, others hostile—who interact with the human world in significant ways.Dr. Michael Heiser referred to this as the Divine Council worldview. This framework helps us make sense of the supernatural backdrop behind Scripture's most difficult passages. Heiser's work doesn't invent a new system. It recovers an old one that the biblical authors already assumed and is the culmination of decades of scholarly work. While Heiser gathered and popularized the data, he wasn't the first to recognize it.Once we understand this worldview, the Book of Revelation comes into sharper focus. Revelation doesn't invent new ideas about spiritual warfare, rebellion, or angelic powers. It reveals what's already been unfolding since the beginning. And if we don't learn to see what John saw, we'll misread the book entirely.To understand Revelation, we need to recover the unseen realm.The Divine Council in the Biblical StoryModern Christians have inherited a flattened view of the spiritual world: one where God is in heaven, angels occasionally appear to deliver messages, and Satan lurks in the background as a vague embodiment of evil. But that's not the worldview of the Bible.The Scriptures present a much more populated and structured supernatural realm, one that includes a divine council; a heavenly assembly of spiritual beings who serve, represent, and at times rebel against the Most High God.In Psalm 82, God takes His place "in the divine council" and passes judgment "among the gods" (elohim), condemning their corruption and announcing their coming fall (Ps 82:1, 6–7). In Deuteronomy 32:8–9, we're told that when God divided the nations at Babel, He assigned them "according to the number of the sons of God," but Yahweh kept Israel for Himself. This depicts a world governed by lesser spiritual beings, some of whom became corrupt. In Job 1–2, we see "the sons of God" presenting themselves before Yahweh, a formal setting where heavenly matters are deliberated even as the Accuser (Satan) moves among them. In Daniel 10, we get a glimpse of cosmic conflict where angelic "princes" contend over the fate of nations, reinforcing the idea that earthly events are shaped by unseen spiritual forces.Heiser argued that these passages and others describe a real, structured divine realm. Not a mythological metaphor but a supernatural bureaucracy with loyal and rebellious beings interacting with human history. These spiritual powers are what Paul refers to as the "principalities and powers" (Eph 6:12). In Revelation, they take center stage, and much of John's vision assumes you already know this.Revelation's Supernatural LandscapeIf the Divine Council is the theological foundation, Revelation is the architectural blueprint. Nearly every scene in the book takes place in or around the unseen realm.The throne room in Revelation 4–5 is the clearest example. John is taken "in the Spirit" and sees a throne in heaven surrounded by twenty-four elders, four living creatures, lightning, fire, and the seven spirits of God. It's a heavenly court scene, echoing the divine councils of Isaiah 6 and Ezekiel 1. Here, the Lamb is revealed not only as the slain Savior but as the one worthy to open the scroll and execute God's plan for the world. This entire sequence presumes a structured supernatural reality complete with worship, authority, deliberation, and decree.The seven spirits of God (Rev 1:4; 4:5) represent the fullness of the Spirit but also align with the seven archangels in Second Temple literature. The twenty-four elders symbolize the totality of God's priestly and prophetic representatives—twelve tribes + twelve apostles—now enthroned alongside God. The beast from the sea (Rev 13) and the dragon (Rev 12) are not simply metaphors for human empires; they are spiritual powers animating and corrupting human systems in the pattern of Daniel and Job's visions. The stars often refer to angelic beings (Rev 1:20; 9:1), consistent with their use in Isaiah 14 and Daniel 8. The abyss, sea, and mountains aren't just physical features; they are loaded with theological meaning tied to ancient concepts of chaos, disorder, and divine presence.Margaret Barker and G.K. Beale both emphasize that John's imagery cannot be flattened into purely historical or earthly categories. The scenes he describes are rooted in cosmic geography, a symbolic worldview in which heaven and earth are deeply intertwined and where unseen beings participate in real events.To read Revelation faithfully, we must recover the Bible's supernatural landscape.The War in Heaven and the Fall of the WatchersOne of the most dramatic scenes in Revelation is found in chapter 12, where war breaks out in heaven. Michael and his angels fight against the dragon and his angels. The dragon, identified as "that ancient serpent" and "the one called the devil and Satan", is defeated and thrown down to earth (Rev 12:7–9).The scene is deeply rooted in biblical theology, particularly in a tradition that dates back to Genesis 3, Genesis 6, and Daniel 10, where spiritual beings rebelled against God and influenced the world in destructive ways, battling behind the scenes of earthly empires.Heiser ties this directly to the Watcher tradition, the idea that certain sons of God (bene Elohim) rebelled by leaving their proper domain and corrupting humanity. This is most clearly seen in Genesis 6:1–4 and further developed in the Book of 1 Enoch. This Second Temple Jewish text heavily shaped the apocalyptic imagination of John's audience. Once again, Revelation doesn't introduce anything new. John didn't invent the concept of cosmic rebellion; he built on it.In Revelation 12, that rebellion is cast in military terms. A war in heaven breaks out, and Satan is cast down. But he's not powerless; he's enraged, active, and determined to deceive the nations. Heiser argues that this war in heaven is part of what Jesus came to reverse. The mission of the Messiah isn't just to forgive sin but to undo the influence of the Watchers, reclaim the nations, restore divine order, and ultimately crush the chaos they unleashed.The imagery of the dragon being cast down after Christ's exaltation mirrors the judgment of the Watchers in 1 Enoch. It's apocalyptic shorthand for a cosmic victory already won but not yet complete. This explains why Revelation is so urgent. The dragon's been defeated in heaven, but now the battlefield is earth.Unseen but Not UnrealIf Revelation feels strange, it's because we've forgotten the world it assumes. Post-Enlightenment Christianity has lost much of the supernatural sensitivity that God's people felt for thousands of years. John wasn't imagining a new reality. He was unveiling the one that's always been there: the spiritual realm that shapes earthly events, the cosmic conflict behind human history, and the deeper war that every Christian is caught up in.The modern Church often either flattens the supernatural or obsesses over it. Revelation does neither. It shows us a world alive with angels and thrones, dragons and beasts, worship and warfare, and it invites us to see ourselves within that story. The battle still rages, and the Church still stands between heaven and earth, called to faithfulness in the middle of it all.Understanding Revelation means recovering the unseen realm. The real danger isn't that we'll see too much; it's that we'll miss what's been there all along.Citations:Barker, Margaret. The Revelation of Jesus Christ. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000.Beale, G. K. The Book of Revelation: A Commentary on the Greek Text. New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2013.Gorman, Michael J. Reading Revelation Responsibly: Uncivil Worship and Witness—Following the Lamb into the New Creation. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2011.Heiser, Michael S. Reversing Hermon: Enoch, the Watchers and the Forgotten Mission of Jesus Christ. Crane, MO: Defender Publishing, 2017.———. The Unseen Realm: Recovering the Supernatural Worldview of the Bible. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2015. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Mysterious symbols, strange creatures, and terrifying judgments make Revelation seem like a code that needs to be cracked. And for decades—maybe centuries—Christians have tried to do just that. Charts, timelines, conspiracy theories, and end-times calculators have all been used in the name of "figuring it out."But what if that's not what Revelation is for?What if we've been reading it with the wrong lens, asking the wrong questions, and using the wrong decoder? What if the key to understanding Revelation isn't hidden in the news headlines or some modern political theory but in Scripture itself and the historical and literary world of the first-century Church?Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Revelation Was Clear to Its First ReadersOne of the most important principles of biblical interpretation is this: the Bible was written for us, but not to us. That's especially true with Revelation.John didn't write this vision as an abstract spiritual message to be decoded by future generations. He wrote to seven churches in Asia Minor, which were living under the shadow of the Roman Empire. They were struggling with persecution, tempted by compromise, and uncertain about how to remain faithful. John knew them. He addressed them by name. And he expected them to understand what he wrote.That alone should shape how we read this book. Too often, we come to Revelation asking the wrong kinds of questions—questions like:* What current event does this symbol represent?* Which nation is this prophecy about?* When will these things happen in our time?But those are not the questions the original audience would have asked. But we often misread Revelation (and most of Scripture, actually) because we bring our own expectations and baggage to the text. This is where the difference between exegesis and eisegesis becomes critical:* Exegesis means drawing meaning out of the text. It asks, "What did this mean to the original audience? What does the text say, in its context?"* Eisegesis means reading our own ideas into the text. It asks, "What does this mean to me?"—but not in a good way. It skips past the original meaning and imposes our own assumptions.* And then there's narcigesis—a popular but dangerous trend that makes every passage about the reader. It turns Revelation into a book about our fears, our nation, and our political enemies. Instead of asking what it says about Christ and the Church, we make it about us.But the truth is that Revelation made perfect sense to the people John wrote it to. That doesn't mean it's simple; it's a rich, layered, symbolic letter. But it means we're not meant to decode it like a secret message containing the signs that 21st-century Christians should look for to expect the Second Coming. We're meant to enter the world of the text: to understand the symbols, the Old Testament allusions, the Roman imperial context, and the call to endurance that anchored those first believers.If we don't start there, we won't end up anywhere helpful. The right question isn't, "What does this beast symbolize in 2025?" but, "What did John's readers understand the beast to be and how does that help us remain faithful today?"There's Nothing New in RevelationOne of the most overlooked truths about Revelation is that there is really nothing mysterious about the message. There's nothing in this book that hasn't already been taught elsewhere in Scripture. Instead, Revelation pulls back the curtain on what has always been true and paints it in bold, symbolic, and apocalyptic colors.Every major theme in Revelation has deep roots in the rest of the Bible:* God judges evil with justice and mercy (Genesis to the Prophets)* God calls His people to faithfulness in the face of persecution (Daniel, Acts, the Epistles)* Jesus reigns as the slain-yet-victorious Lamb (the Gospels and Hebrews)* New creation follows judgment, not destruction (Isaiah 65–66, Romans 8, 2 Peter 3)This is especially important to remember because some people treat Revelation as if it has its own separate system of theology based more on speculation than on Scripture.But Revelation is not a theological outlier. It's the climax of the biblical story. The more familiar we are with the rest of Scripture, the less confused we'll be. Revelation doesn't break new ground; it unveils the ground we've already been walking on all along.It's Not ChronologicalOne of the biggest mistakes readers make with Revelation is trying to read it as a timeline—chapter by chapter, event by event—as if it were predicting a strict, step-by-step sequence of future events. But Revelation isn't laid out like a linear narrative. It's cyclical. It shows us the same spiritual truths from different angles—through visions that overlap, echo, and intensify as the book unfolds.This approach is called recapitulation, and it's not just a scholarly theory—it's the way apocalyptic literature works. Revelation is filled with repeating patterns:* Judgments come in sets of seven: seals, trumpets, and bowls.* Each cycle ends in some form of cosmic upheaval or final judgment.* The vision resets and zooms in from a different perspective.Trying to line these up as a single timeline leads to confusion and contradiction. For example:* Does the world end three times?* Are there three separate judgments of the earth?* Is Satan bound once, twice, or not at all?But if we read the visions as parallel cycles retelling the same story of conflict, judgment, and victory from different angles, it all begins to make sense. If we approach Revelation as a strict timeline, we'll get frustrated and lost. But if we recognize its structure as layered, symbolic, and thematic, we'll be equipped to understand the message that's been there all along: stay faithful because the Lamb wins.Numbers Have MeaningOne of the clearest signals that Revelation is symbolic is its use of numbers. And here's the key point up front: No number in Revelation is meant to be taken literally. Not a single one of them.The biblical world didn't use numbers the way we do. In Scripture, numbers often carry spiritual, covenantal, or symbolic weight. Revelation leans heavily on that tradition, drawing primarily from the Old Testament, where numbers were used to express divine completeness, imperfection, or covenant identity.Here are some of the most important examples:* 7 – Symbolizes completeness, fullness, or perfection. Think of the seven days of creation or the seven spirits of God. In Revelation, there are seven churches, seven seals, seven trumpets, and seven bowls, each representing a complete, divinely ordered reality.* 6 – The number that falls short of 7. It represents human incompleteness, imperfection, and rebellion. That's why the number of the Beast is 666, a grotesque intensification of failure. It's not a barcode, microchip, or vaccine. It's a warning about what happens when humanity tries to be God and falls painfully short.* 12 – The number of God's people: 12 tribes, 12 apostles, 24 elders (12 + 12), and the 144,000—which is 12 × 12 × 1,000. It's a symbolic picture of the complete people of God, sealed and secure.* 1,000 – Used to express vastness or completeness. "A day is like a thousand years" isn't meant to mark a calendar—it's meant to show scale. When Revelation talks about a "thousand years," it's not about duration. It's about divine authority and the fullness of time.* 3½ years / 42 months / 1,260 days – All the same length of time, and all rooted in Daniel's prophecy, symbolizing a limited time of tribulation and persecution.If you try to take these numbers literally, you'll almost always end up in the weeds. But when you read them symbolically, as the first readers did, they unlock deep theological meaning:* God's purposes are complete.* Human kingdoms are flawed and doomed.* God's people are known, sealed, and protected.* Tribulation is real but temporary.Understanding this will keep us from speculation and help us listen for what Revelation is really saying: trust the God who numbers His people; He knows what He's doing.Symbols Must Be Read in ContextRevelation is filled with powerful and sometimes strange imagery: beasts, scrolls, lampstands, dragons, and a slain Lamb who reigns from a throne. The mistake many modern readers make is trying to interpret these symbols using contemporary categories, turning beasts into politicians, marks into microchips, and plagues into pandemics. But the original audience didn't think in those terms. They were steeped in the imagery of Daniel, Ezekiel, Zechariah, and the Psalms. John didn't create a new symbolic universe; he re-applied existing biblical language to their present moment through the lens of Jesus Christ.The right question, then, is not "What could this mean today?" but "Where have we seen this before in Scripture?" When we let the Bible interpret itself, the images in Revelation begin to speak with clarity. The Lamb echoes the Passover sacrifice and Isaiah's suffering servant. The sea beast draws on the ancient motif of the chaos monster from Job. The lampstands represent God's people, just as they did in Zechariah. Symbols in Revelation are consistent, theological, and deeply rooted in the story of God's covenant with His people.If we want to understand Revelation's message, we must be willing to do the work of tracing these symbols back to their source. When we read them in context, the book becomes less confusing.A Better Way to Read Revelation (and the Bible)Revelation doesn't require a secret code or a prophetic algorithm. It requires patience, humility, and a willingness to read it the way John intended it to be read; through the lens of Scripture, with an awareness of history, and with the heart of a disciple.It's not a puzzle; it's a portrait. A vision of what it means to remain loyal to Jesus in a world full of counterfeit thrones, seductive powers, and constant pressure to compromise.The first-century Christians didn't lock themselves in a room looking for Pepe Silvia. They needed encouragement to hold fast, clarity to see through deception, and hope that their suffering wasn't in vain. That's exactly what John's letter gave them, and that's exactly what it still offers today.When we stop trying to make it about us—our nation, our timeline, our fears—and start letting the text speak for itself in its own context, something beautiful happens. The strange becomes meaningful, and the terrifying becomes hopeful.A better decoder isn't a new tool or theory. It's a posture of humility: the willingness to listen well, study intensely, and follow faithfully. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For many Christians, Revelation is the last book of the Bible for a reason. It's the book we avoid, the one we skip over in our reading plans, the one we associate with wild-eyed prophecy preachers and apocalyptic fiction. Dragons, beasts, and cryptic signs; Revelation has developed a reputation for confusion and controversy.But what if we've been reading it wrong?Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.What if Revelation was never meant to scare us, confuse us, or be hijacked for end-times charts and geopolitical theories? What if this strange and beautiful book was actually meant to strengthen the Church in every generation and in all places?Revelation isn't a riddle to solve; it's a vision to live by. It wasn't written to satisfy curiosity about the future but to cultivate faithfulness in the present. It was given to the Church—not scholars, not prophecy YouTubers—ordinary believers facing pressure, persecution, and the temptation to compromise. That means it's not just relevant; it's essential.Revelation has been misused for centuries. It's been twisted into prediction charts, weaponized for fear tactics, and treated like a theological playground for speculation. But none of that comes from the text itself. It comes from the decoder ring mentality we bring to it.Instead of asking what John meant to his original readers, many jump straight to asking what the beast symbolizes today, when the next judgment will fall, or how current political events fit into some hidden timeline. That approach guarantees we'll miss the point.Revelation is about allegiance, not analysis. It shows us who Jesus is, what He's doing right now, and what it means to follow Him faithfully in a world that is pulling our attention in a hundred other directions.What Revelation Actually IsFirst and foremost, Revelation is a letter (Rev 1:4). And a letter has no value if the people who receive it cannot understand it.It was written to real churches in Asia Minor, and these churches were dealing with very real pressures: cultural compromise, persecution, poverty, and complacency. These weren't generic spiritual messages. They were direct and contextual. And because human nature and spiritual battles haven't changed, these messages still speak today. Not because it was written to us but because it is written for us.Revelation is also a prophecy, not just in the sense of foretelling the future but in the biblical sense of forth-telling: delivering God's word to His people in the present. Prophecy is meant to call the Church to action. That's why Revelation pronounces a blessing on the one "who reads aloud the words of this prophecy" and on those "who hear and obey it" (Rev 1:3).Revelation is also an apocalypse, but that doesn't mean it's a roadmap to the end times. The word apocalypse (Greek apokalypsis) simply means unveiling. Revelation is God pulling back the curtain to show us what's really going on. Behind the persecution, the politics, and the pressures of this world is a cosmic battle between the Lamb and the dragon. Revelation helps us see clearly so that we can stand faithfully.Why We Need Revelation TodayRevelation wasn't written solely to satisfy first-century curiosity or to help 21st-century believers speculate about global politics. It was written to strengthen the Church then and now.Revelation asks one of the most important questions in Scripture: Who will you worship? The book constantly contrasts the Lamb and the Beast, true worship and false worship, the New Jerusalem and Babylon. It reveals that neutrality is a myth. Every word and decision serves one of two masters. Every person is aligned with one kingdom or another.The letters to the seven churches show how easily faith can erode. Some churches had lost their love. Others had grown lukewarm. Some tolerated false teaching. Revelation reveals the dangers of aligning with the world's systems. It calls us to examine ourselves with urgency and repent where we've grown comfortable.To Christians suffering under the weight of empire—whether ancient Rome or any modern equivalent—Revelation says: You are not forgotten. You are not alone. And evil will not win. The early Christians faced persecution not just because they believed in Jesus but because they refused to worship Caesar. Revelation calls us to that same courage. It tells the truth about suffering and shows that faithful endurance is the key to overcoming.Revelation still matters because its message hasn't changed. This book is not a code to crack; it's a call to courage. And the question it asks in every chapter is the one we must answer in every generation:Will we remain loyal to the Lamb? Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

I’M PRESERVING THIS ORIGINAL POST, BUT MY RANKINGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED: I originally planned to do a whole series of posts reviewing different Bible translations one by one. As I started down that path, I realized that it would be a lot more fun (and more helpful) to just put them all in one place and rank them.That's what this post is about. It's a tier list of popular English Bible translations based on my experience reading, studying, and teaching from them over the years. I've read the entire New Testament in all of these, and in most cases, large portions of the Old Testament too. I've spent significant amounts of time with these translations, taught from them, tested them in real-life church and study settings, and spent years researching translation philosophy as a Bible teacher and student.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.That said, this will be a combination of theological observation, practical usability, and personal preference. If your favorite translation ends up in a lower tier than you'd like, that doesn't mean it's bad. At the end of the day, the best Bible translation is the one you'll actually read. If a particular version helps you draw near to God, understand His Word, and grow in Christ, that matters far more than what any random internet guy's tier list says.This is one person's take; hopefully informed, occasionally opinionated, and always aiming to help others think more clearly about the Bibles we use.All that being said, here’s my list:Honorable MentionsThese are translations I haven't read enough of to review fairly, but they've caught my attention either for their methodology or growing popularity. I'll be keeping an eye on these, and I may review them in the future as I engage with them more deeply.Berean Standard Bible (BSB)A layered translation project from the Berean Bible team, offering multiple levels of engagement (Interlinear, Literal, Study, and Standard). The Standard edition aims for smooth readability while retaining underlying accuracy. Early impressions are positive, especially the transparency across layers, but I haven't yet read enough to offer a confident review.Majority Standard Bible (MSB)A newer translation effort that builds on the Byzantine Majority Text. I'm intrigued by its approach, particularly for those who value the Majority Text without going full Textus Receptus. Still in its early development, but it's worth watching.S-TierNRSV – New Revised Standard VersionThe NRSV is, in my view, one of the most balanced and trustworthy English Bible translations available. It was released in 1989 as a revision of the Revised Standard Version (RSV), and it benefited from an ecumenical team of scholars across Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, and Jewish traditions. The translation reflects decades of serious work in textual criticism, manuscript discovery (including the Dead Sea Scrolls), and updated scholarship.I consider the NRSV my personal favorite for both study and teaching. What I appreciate most is its combination of academic precision and transparency. Its use of formal equivalence preserves much of the original sentence structure and literary tone while still incorporating subtle dynamic elements where needed for clarity. Its commitment to gender-neutral language, translating terms like adelphoi as "brothers and sisters" when the context calls for it, is not a concession to modern trends but a reflection of what the biblical authors meant to communicate.The NRSV also excels in its use of footnotes and textual variants. Readers are frequently given insight into alternative manuscript readings and translation possibilities, which encourages honest engagement with the biblical text rather than blind trust in a single rendering.That said, the NRSV isn't perfect. It can be stiff and overly formal in places, especially in the epistles where sentence structure becomes dense. It has also not gained widespread adoption in church settings, so it may feel unfamiliar in preaching or teaching contexts. It's also not particularly accessible to those new to Bible reading or who prefer a more devotional tone.Still, among all the English translations I've used, the NRSV stands out as the most consistent and dependable for serious biblical study. Its scholarly integrity and theological restraint make it a valuable resource for anyone seeking to delve beyond surface-level interpretation.All that being said, I’ve moved to the next translation on the list for teaching and preaching after getting feedback from church members that the language of the NRSV is a little to elevated for the average person and hard to follow at times.NLT – New Living TranslationThe New Living Translation (NLT) was first released in 1996 as a complete overhaul of The Living Bible. While The Living Bible was a paraphrase, the NLT was built from the ground up as a true translation, drawing on the original Hebrew and Greek texts and the work of over 90 evangelical scholars. The result is a Bible designed for clarity, emotional connection, and readability; goals it achieves remarkably well.This is my personal favorite for both personal reading and preaching. The NLT excels at making the biblical story accessible without dumbing it down. It's incredibly smooth to read, emotionally resonant, and very effective in both narrative and theological passages. When read aloud, especially in public or congregational settings, it conveys a natural and powerful message. For devotional use, it's one of the most engaging translations available.Of course, its strength is also its limitation. The NLT employs a functional translation philosophy, meaning that the literary nuance of a passage may sometimes be sacrificed for readability. These decisions are not doctrinally problematic, but they can smooth over textual ambiguity that would be preserved in a more formal translation. For that reason, I wouldn't recommend using the NLT for detailed study or serious word-level exegesis on its own.That said, it's an honest translation. The NLT doesn't pretend to be something it's not. While some critics have accused it of inserting theological assumptions, the translation remains remarkably neutral in tone, mainly due to the ecumenical composition of its translation committee. It knows what it's trying to do and it does it well. For anyone seeking a Bible that resonates emotionally, reads smoothly, and conveys Scripture clearly, the NLT is an excellent choice. Just pair it with a more formal version when digging into complex or controversial texts. CSB – Christian Standard BibleThe Christian Standard Bible (CSB) was released in 2017 as a revision of the Holman Christian Standard Bible (HCSB). Its goal is to strike a careful balance between formal equivalence and functional equivalence, a philosophy it refers to as "optimal equivalence." The translation committee comprised a diverse group of evangelical scholars, resulting in a Bible that aims to be both faithful to the original text and readable in modern English.What I like about the CSB is how well it succeeds at this balancing act. It's remarkably clear and readable, especially in narrative and epistolary sections, without giving up accuracy. It doesn't feel overly formal or artificially modern. Its sentence structure flows well, and yet it often adheres closely enough to Greek and Hebrew that serious readers can still rely on it for teaching and exegetical work. It's a strong candidate for both preaching and personal reading and is my most recommended translation in general.It's not perfect, of course. There are times when it smooths over awkward or ambiguous Greek constructions that deserve to remain complex. And while the translation is very readable, it doesn't quite carry the literary weight or cadence of something like the NRSV or even the ESV.Still, these are relatively small concerns in the big picture. The CSB stands out as one of the most balanced and accessible modern English Bibles available today. It rarely feels clunky, never feels doctrinally aggressive, and is committed to both precision and clarity. It has been well received in a wide variety of church settings and has avoided many of the controversies that plague other translations. I highly recommend it for those seeking a reliable, all-purpose Bible that reads well without compromising substance.A-TierNRSVue – New Revised Standard Version Updated EditionThe NRSVue was released in 2021 as a long-anticipated update to the 1989 NRSV. Produced under the direction of the National Council of Churches, the NRSVue reflects three decades of advances in textual criticism, manuscript discoveries, and modern scholarship. While it retains the core structure and integrity of the original NRSV, it introduces thousands of minor updates in wording, grammar, and translation clarity.What I like about the NRSVue is that it stays true to everything the NRSV got right: it's transparent, formal, and committed to accuracy. The updates are modest but meaningful. In many places, the NRSVue improves readability without sacrificing its scholarly tone. Certain awkward or obscure phrasings from the 1989 edition have been clarified, and idioms are rendered more naturally. Footnotes have also been updated to reflect current manuscript evidence and alternative readings, helping readers understand where interpretive decisions are being made.The translation's treatment of gendered language has also been refined. It continues the NRSV's approach of translating gender inclusively where the original text warrants it but with slightly more precision and care. Contrary to what some critics claim, the NRSVue does not alter male-specific references to God, nor does it "erase" the meaning of Scripture. The language updates are responsible, restrained, and grounded in sound linguistic reasoning.One controversy worth noting is the translation of 1 Corinthians 6:9, where arsenokoitai is rendered as "men who engage in illicit sex." This has drawn criticism from those who claim it's a softening of Paul's condemnation of homosexuality. In reality, this rendering is more theologically neutral and better reflects the complexity of the Greek. It avoids importing modern categories into the text while still clearly referring to sexual behavior outside the bounds of biblical marriage. Any responsible exegete will still reach the same moral conclusions. The translation enables the interpretation to emerge from the text itself rather than from preconceived notions rooted in the modern English language.What I don't like is that, despite the improvements, the NRSVue hasn't gained widespread adoption. Many institutions and publishers continue to use the 1989 edition, and awareness of the update is still relatively low. And while some clunky phrases have been smoothed out, it still retains the formal density that can make the NRSV a slower read. It won't win over casual readers or gain traction in evangelical churches.Still, as an update, the NRSVue is faithful, responsible, and theologically sound. If you already use the NRSV, there's no reason not to adopt the updated edition. And if you've never considered the NRSV family before, the NRSVue might be a good place to start. The NRSV will not be published ever again after June 2025, so the NRSVue will be the only option moving forward regardless.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.LSB – Legacy Standard BibleThe Legacy Standard Bible (LSB) was released in 2021 as a revision of the NASB 1995, developed under the leadership of John MacArthur's Grace Community Church and The Master's Seminary. Building on the NASB's reputation for literalness, the LSB takes that commitment even further, aiming for maximum precision and consistency in word-for-word translation. One of its most distinctive features is its decision to restore the divine name "Yahweh" in the Old Testament rather than using the traditional "LORD." This move alone adds theological depth and clarity to many passages, reflecting a deliberate effort to bring the reader closer to the original Hebrew text.There's a lot to appreciate in the LSB if your priority is technical accuracy and consistency. It's ideal for word studies, particularly for those doing original language work or serious exposition. It retains many of the strengths of the NASB 1995 while refining and tightening the language even further. For those in Reformed or conservative theological circles, it offers a translation that aligns well with doctrinal convictions and rigorous study.However, the LSB's strength is also its greatest limitation. It is very wooden in places. The English often sacrifices natural readability in favor of exactness, which makes it challenging for public reading or devotional use. This isn't a translation you hand to someone new to the Bible as it reads more like a reference tool than a living text. Additionally, while the translation itself is technically solid, it's closely tied to MacArthur's theological world, which includes strong complementarian and cessationist leanings. It feels built for a niche audience rather than the broader church.The LSB is also clearly associated with a specific theological camp. While it doesn't overtly inject doctrine into the translation, the slant is noticeable in how it's framed, promoted, and received. It's impossible to separate the translation entirely from the doctrinal positions of those who produced it. That doesn't make it unusable, but it does mean it should be approached with awareness.For readers within that tradition, the LSB may be exactly what they're looking for. For others, it's a valuable reference Bible, but not one I'd recommend as a primary translation for preaching or teaching in most contexts.B-TierNIV – New International VersionThe New International Version (NIV) is one of the most widely read and commercially successful English Bible translations in the world. First released in 1978 and revised in 1984 and again in 2011, it was produced by a large international team of evangelical scholars. The translation was designed to be clear, accessible, and readable for a general audience, serving as a kind of middle ground between more literal and more dynamic translations.There are things to appreciate about the NIV. It reads smoothly and clearly, making it particularly suitable for public reading and casual study. It's widely available in countless formats and study editions, making it extremely convenient and accessible. For many evangelicals, especially those who came to faith in the 1980s and 90s, the NIV has become a familiar and trusted companion. Its tone is natural and modern, and it does a decent job of conveying the overall meaning in both narrative and epistolary sections.That said, the NIV often feels awkward in its attempt to split the difference between formal and functional translation philosophies. It lands in a middle zone that frequently comes across as bland or imprecise. It attempts to be readable and faithful at the same time, but other translations, such as the CSB and the NLT, achieve what the NIV sets out to do but do it better. The CSB achieves a clearer balance between readability and accuracy, while the NLT has a more consistent editorial voice and greater polish in expression. In comparison, the NIV often feels like a compromise that just isn't very satisfying.The NIV has not been without controversy. The 2011 revision adopted more gender-neutral language, which drew criticism from some conservative groups. Ironically, others have critiqued it for still being too complementarian in tone, showing that the translation sits awkwardly in the middle of a cultural and theological divide. On top of that, the NIV has been the subject of countless online memes claiming it "removes verses," though these complaints usually reflect ignorance of textual criticism rather than any actual problem with the translation.Overall, the NIV is not a bad translation. It's simply one that no longer stands out. If you're already deeply attached to it, there's no need to abandon it. However, if you're choosing a translation for the first time, consider alternatives like the CSB or NLT, which achieve similar goals with greater consistency and clarity.NKJV - New King James VersionThe New King James Version (NKJV) was released in 1982 with the goal of updating the archaic language of the original King James Version while retaining its structure, cadence, and textual base. It was produced by Thomas Nelson Publishers and remains committed to the Textus Receptus (the same manuscript tradition behind the KJV), which sets it apart from nearly all other modern translations that rely on the broader critical text tradition.There's something admirable about what the NKJV tries to do. It preserves the literary beauty and rhythm of the KJV while using modern vocabulary and spelling. It's significantly more readable than the original KJV and remains popular among those who appreciate the KJV tradition but want a version that doesn't require a dictionary to understand. The NKJV is still used in many conservative church settings and is often regarded as a respectful alternative to the older version, particularly for public reading and liturgical purposes.However, there are some limitations. By adhering to the Textus Receptus, the NKJV continues to reflect a limited manuscript base, thereby bypassing the advances in textual criticism of the last few hundred years. This means that in some places, it preserves readings that most scholars agree were later additions or alterations. While the translation itself is generally clear and well-executed, its reliance on outdated textual foundations can be a concern for serious study.In addition, the NKJV sometimes feels caught in two worlds: too modern for those committed to the traditional KJV, yet too old-fashioned in tone and textual base for those who want the most accurate and up-to-date scholarship. It doesn't quite stand out in any one category. If you're committed to the King James tradition but want something more accessible, the NKJV is a decent choice. However, for those seeking the optimal balance of accuracy, clarity, and readability, better options are available.NASB - New American Standard BibleThe New American Standard Bible (NASB) has long been known as one of the most literal and precise English translations available. First released in 1971 as a revision of the 1901 American Standard Version (ASV), it aimed to be as close to the original Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts as possible while still using contemporary English. The 1977 and 1995 editions gained popularity among scholars and Bible students for their word-for-word accuracy, and the 2020 revision attempted to smooth out some of the stiffness for readability while maintaining the original philosophy.The NASB excels in contexts where technical clarity and faithfulness to the original languages are the primary concerns. It's excellent for deep study, teaching Greek or Hebrew students, and doing serious exegesis. The 1995 edition, in particular, earned a loyal following for its balance of literalness and usability and is still widely cited in academic writing, seminaries, and study materials. It also provides helpful footnotes, often flagging alternate readings or literal renderings where the main text smooths things out.That said, the NASB has its drawbacks. While it's one of the best study tools available, it has never been great for public reading or casual use. Its rigid sentence structure and occasionally awkward English can make it feel clunky, especially in poetic or narrative passages. The 2020 revision attempted to address this by introducing more gender-neutral language and simplifying certain constructions. Yet many felt that it had softened the NASB's identity too much, leading to some pushback from long-time users.Overall, I appreciate the NASB, especially the 1995 edition, for its clarity and transparency. It's a fantastic study Bible, but not one I'd use for preaching or general reading. If your goal is to get as close as possible to the original wording, this is a solid choice. However, for most people, a more balanced translation, such as the CSB or NRSV, may be a better all-purpose tool.C-TierESV – English Standard VersionThe English Standard Version (ESV) was released in 2001 as a conservative evangelical revision of the Revised Standard Version (RSV). Developed by a team of largely Reformed scholars, the ESV was intended to preserve the literary cadence of the KJV-RSV tradition while affirming traditional theological commitments. It quickly became the preferred Bible in many evangelical circles, primarily due to support from ministries such as Crossway, Desiring God, and The Gospel Coalition.There's no denying the strengths of the ESV. It's a polished and readable translation that sounds natural in public reading and preaching. It retains the literary tone of the RSV and KJV, which gives it a sense of formality and tradition that many readers appreciate. For those in conservative churches, the ESV provides a sense of familiarity and consistency, and it performs reliably in straightforward narrative and doctrinal passages.However, despite its strengths, the ESV also has significant issues, especially in how it handles theologically sensitive texts. It consistently tilts toward complementarian and Reformed interpretations, even when the original text allows for more nuance. Passages like Genesis 3:16, 1 Timothy 2:12, and Romans 16:7 are all rendered in ways that reflect a particular theological agenda. And while I personally hold complementarian views, I'm not a fan of bias in my Bible translations. I'd rather wrestle with the text than have it pre-interpreted for me.The ESV also avoids gender-neutral language even when the Greek clearly refers to mixed audiences. For example, translating adelphoi as "brothers" rather than "brothers and sisters" ignores common-sense context in favor of preserving a specific traditional tone. That may appeal to some, but it ultimately obscures the meaning for modern readers. And while the ESV is often marketed as "essentially literal" and theologically neutral, the reality is that it's not neutral; it's carefully framed through a conservative lens.One of the more controversial moments in the ESV's history occurred in 2016, when Crossway announced that the ESV would become a "permanent text," effectively freezing it in its current form. This move was widely criticized and eventually reversed. A new revision is being released this year (2025), which reverts some of those changes, such as the problematic rendering of Genesis 3:16, aligning it more closely with other major translations.The ESV remains popular, and I understand why. It's clean, formal, and doctrinally reassuring to many. But as a translation, it's not transparent about interpretive choices, and it too often flattens ambiguity to protect a specific theological framework. I respect its influence, but I don't recommend it for study or teaching where interpretive honesty and openness are essential.RSV – Revised Standard VersionThe Revised Standard Version (RSV) was released in 1952 as a modern update to the 1901 American Standard Version (ASV). Its goal was to retain the formal structure and dignity of traditional English Bible translations while making the language more accessible to mid-20th-century readers. In many ways, it served as a transitional bridge between the literary tradition of the King James Version (KJV) and the emerging wave of modern scholarship. It eventually became the parent text for two very different translations: the NRSV and the ESV.There's a lot to appreciate in the RSV historically. It preserves the cadence and elegance of older translations but avoids the heavily archaic English that characterizes the King James. For those who want a Bible that still sounds formal but is easier to understand, the RSV offers a middle path. It's still usable today in liturgical or traditional church settings, particularly where continuity with older English phrasing is valued.That said, the RSV feels dated by today's standards, both linguistically and textually. It lacks the benefit of more recent manuscript discoveries. It doesn't reflect the advances in textual criticism that later translations, such as the NRSV and CSB, incorporate. While its structure was stable enough to serve as the foundation for newer translations, it's clear that the RSV itself has been surpassed. Both the NRSV and the ESV improved upon it, though in very different ways.It's also worth noting that the RSV was quite controversial when it was first released. Many conservatives objected to perceived theological liberalism, particularly in Isaiah 7:14, where almah was translated as "young woman" rather than "virgin." This choice reflected sound Hebrew scholarship, but it was interpreted by some as a denial of the virgin birth. Ironically, decades later, the RSV would become the foundation for the very conservative ESV, showing just how solid and adaptable its core structure really was.Ultimately, the RSV is more of a historical milestone than a practical choice today. It paved the way for better translations, and it still holds value for comparison and tradition, but it's unlikely to be anyone's first choice for serious study or modern teaching.KJV – King James VersionThe King James Version (KJV) was commissioned by King James I of England and completed in 1611. It was based primarily on the Textus Receptus (which is a text-base from a handful of late medieval Greek manuscripts) and became the dominant English Bible for centuries. The KJV has had an unmatched influence on English-speaking Christianity and culture. Its literary cadence and poetic rhythm have shaped English hymnody, theology, and even the development of the English language itself.There's no denying the KJV's historical and literary significance. It stands as a monumental achievement, with deeply memorable phrasing and a majestic tone that still resonates in many traditional contexts. For those who grew up with it, the KJV remains beloved and familiar, and its role in preserving and disseminating Scripture throughout the English-speaking world cannot be overstated.That said, I have to acknowledge a strong personal bias against the KJV; though of course I believe it's well-founded. I grew up using the KJV in the Mormon church. As I began to understand the true gospel and mature in my faith, I found myself increasingly disenchanted with its archaic and often confusing language. Words like "suffer the little children" or "quit you like men" no longer carry the meaning they did in 1611, which makes the KJV a serious barrier to understanding for modern readers.Beyond the language, the KJV is based on outdated manuscript evidence. It was completed more than 400 years ago, long before the discovery of thousands of older and more reliable manuscripts, including the Dead Sea Scrolls. Modern translations benefit from far more textual data and a much deeper understanding of the biblical languages and context.Perhaps most concerning is the way the KJV is weaponized in certain theological circles, particularly within the KJV-only movement. This group promotes the KJV as the only trustworthy English Bible, often accompanied by divisive and anti-scholarly rhetoric. Such a stance is historically and textually indefensible, and it causes unnecessary division in the body of Christ.To be clear, the KJV deserves deep respect for its legacy, and there's no harm in appreciating it as a work of literature or in recognizing its place in the history of the church. But it should not be treated as the standard of accuracy today. There are better tools available for serious study, preaching, and discipleship in a modern context.Read The BibleIt’s easy to get caught up in debates over which Bible translation is “best,” but those conversations only matter if they help us actually engage with Scripture. At the end of the day, the goal is to know God, grow in faith, and live out His Word. Some translations are better suited for certain tasks than others, and it’s wise to choose carefully and even consult multiple versions during study. But don’t let the search for the “perfect” translation keep you from actually reading your Bible.Whatever version you use, read it often and know it well. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Bible translation discussions can stir up surprising levels of passion, and not always in healthy ways. For many Christians, the choice of Bible translation is a deeply personal one. For others, it becomes a hill to die on. And unfortunately, those hills are often built on shallow ground.What I’d like to do is review and offer an analysis of several major English translations I’ve personally used (which is quite a bit, actually). I’ll explain the translation philosophy behind each version, offer an honest assessment of its strengths and weaknesses, and provide a personal recommendation based on biblical accuracy, readability, and theological clarity.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.However, before delving into the individual translations, we must address some of the confusion and, frankly, the damage that has been caused by the translation debate itself.The Danger of “-Onlyism”Let’s start with the obvious arguments: those that make objective statements like “This is the only valid translation.” Most commonly, it ends up being KJV-onlyism. Extreme KJV-onlyism isn’t just unhelpful, it’s dangerous. At its core, it elevates one 17th-century English translation above the original languages. Many in that camp claim the KJV is “perfect” while ignoring its limited manuscript base and the fact that its language is now so archaic that it often confuses modern readers.Ironically, many who adhere to KJV-onlyism also tend to distrust biblical scholarship, textual criticism, or even the original Hebrew and Greek texts. That’s ironic because the KJV was the product of serious scholarship in its own time. If anything, modern translators have access to far more manuscripts and far better tools than the KJV translators ever dreamed of.KJV-onlyism is the most prevalent and outspoken of the “onlyists,” but certain translations also have cult-like followings, such as the ESV.Heretical “Translations”Some versions that claim to be Bible translations are, in reality, theological distortions. The clearest example is the New World Translation, produced by the Jehovah’s Witnesses. It deliberately alters foundational doctrines, most infamously changing John 1:1 to say “the Word was a god” instead of “the Word was God.” That’s not just misleading; it’s an intentional corruption of the original text to support false teaching.Another clear example is the Passion Translation. Its creator, Brian Simmons, claimed that Jesus personally appeared to him and commissioned him to create a new translation of Scripture. That alone should raise red flags. He lacks any credible training in biblical languages, and his so-called “translation” frequently invents phrases and inserts theological concepts that have no basis in the Greek or Hebrew. It’s not just a loose rendering; it’s a reimagining of Scripture built on personal revelation and charismatic ideology. It should be completely rejected as a legitimate Bible.I have read both of these translations, just as I have the others I will be covering, and I recommend that most people steer clear.ParaphrasesThe most well-known paraphrase is probably The Message. But to be clear, The Message is not a heretical translation like the Passion. It’s not even a translation; it’s a paraphrase.Eugene Peterson was a pastoral writer who wanted to help readers engage with the tone and emotional impact of Scripture. He never claimed The Message was a substitute for serious Bible study. In fact, he encouraged readers to use it alongside a more accurate translation.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.When used devotionally, The Message can be a helpful resource. But when it becomes someone’s primary Bible, or when preachers use it to teach doctrine, it becomes problematic. It takes considerable liberties with the text for the sake of style and accessibility. Not to mention, it’s a bit “cringe” most of the way through and sounds like a “Hello, fellow kids” meme.That doesn’t make it dangerous, but it does mean it should be used with care and never treated as authoritative in the same way as a true translation.The Real Problem: Loud Voices, Shallow UnderstandingThe biggest problem in Bible translation debates often isn’t bad translations. It’s unqualified voices speaking loudly and confidently about things they haven’t studied.You’ve probably seen it online: someone shares a viral post warning that the NIV “removed verses” or that gender-neutral language is a slippery slope into heresy. These are typical arguments that people parrot, having likely never studied translation theory. They don’t know how textual criticism works. They couldn’t tell you the difference between formal equivalence and dynamic equivalence. But their meme got thousands of shares, and now someone’s questioning their beloved Bible for no real reason.In many cases, this connects back to the KJV-only conversation. People often compare modern translations to the King James Version and use it as a benchmark for accuracy. To be blunt, that’s just silly and ignorant. Faithfulness to the original text should be judged by comparing translations to the Greek and Hebrew manuscripts, not to a 17th-century English rendering of them. When people treat the KJV as the gold standard, it reveals a shallow understanding of how translation and biblical scholarship actually work.It’s also common to see people confuse translation philosophy with theological compromise. They assume that if a Bible uses more inclusive or neutral language or highlights or omits a verse that the KJV includes, it must be unfaithful or liberal. However, most modern translations are created by diverse committees of scholars from multiple Christian traditions, and these translations utilize older sets of manuscripts than those available during the development of the KJV. They’re not trying to deceive anyone. They’re trying to render the biblical text clearly, faithfully, and responsibly.The GoalI won’t promote a single “correct” Bible translation. I’m not here to crown one version as the best for everyone. Instead, I want to:* Explain the differences between major translation philosophies* Highlight the strengths and weaknesses of each version* Offer practical advice for choosing the right Bible for study, teaching, or reading* Push back against the shallow tribalism and misinformation that cloud this topicLet me be clear about my own qualifications. I’m not a professional translator or a biblical language professor. I don’t claim to be an expert in the academic sense.However, I have read the entire New Testament in every translation I’ll be reviewing, and in most cases, large portions of the Old Testament as well. I’m not the type of person to write or talk about something that I’ve not thought about and studied extensively like some people.I’ve spent years now as both a teacher and student of the Bible, and I’ve done serious study in areas like textual criticism, translation methodology, and biblical interpretation. This series comes from that place of lived experience, thoughtful study, and a commitment to biblical clarity.We don’t need more tribalism in the church. We don’t need more people parroting things that they don’t understand. We need more wisdom, humility, and discernment. My hope is that this series can help provide that.As a final note, here are the translations we will cover throughout the series:* New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)* New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition (NRSVue)* English Standard Version (ESV)* Revised Standard Version (RSV)* King James Version (KJV)* New King James Version (NKJV)* New American Standard Bible (NASB)* Legacy Standard Bible (LSB)* New Living Translation (NLT)* New International Version (NIV)* Christian Standard Bible (CSB)Thanks for reading Test Everything! This post is public so feel free to share it.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

You’ve probably heard someone say it before. Maybe you’ve even said it yourself: “I don’t need the Church to follow Jesus.” For many people, it sounds like freedom. It sounds authentic. Why deal with the drama of organized religion when you can just read your Bible, pray, and try to live a good life?Here’s the problem. That kind of Christianity—privatized, disconnected, and self-managed—doesn’t come from Jesus. It comes from modern individualism. It’s a product of the culture we live in, not the gospel we’ve received.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Yes, the Church has made mistakes. Some people have been deeply hurt by religious leaders or betrayed by those who should have shown grace. Some churches feel cold, unhealthy, or shallow. But none of that changes what Scripture teaches.From start to finish, the Bible assumes that to belong to Jesus is to belong to His people. Christianity was never meant to be a solo project.Where Did This Idea Come From?In the last few centuries, Western society has shifted toward a deeply individualistic mindset. The Enlightenment encouraged people to trust their own reason above outside authority. Faith became less about belonging to a community and more about personal opinion. That was only the beginning.In the American context, rugged individualism became a cultural virtue. People were taught to carve out their own path, define their own truth, and take responsibility for their own spiritual journey. Add to that the rise of consumerism and religion began to look less like a covenant and more like customization. If something in a church doesn’t suit your preferences, you can simply leave; or stay home and do it on your own.We now live in an “everything goes” society, where truth is treated as subjective and morality is viewed as personal. In that kind of culture, the Church is often seen as restrictive. Its call to holiness, repentance, obedience, and mutual accountability feels out of step with a world that prefers to be left alone. The demands of authentic Christian discipleship and the natural moral guardrails that come from being part of a church family clash with a mindset that says, “I define my own life, and no one tells me otherwise.”This trend has only accelerated with the rise of “online church.” What began as a helpful tool, especially during times when gathering wasn’t possible, has become, for many, a substitute for real-life fellowship. But watching a livestream isn’t the same thing as participating in the body of Christ. Online church gives the illusion of connection without the reality of commitment. You can watch a sermon, sing along with a song, and log off without ever being known, challenged, or supported. That’s not church; that’s spiritual entertainment.Even the language of faith has shifted. The ancient Church confessed together, “We believe.” Modern Christianity often says, “I believe.” And while personal faith is essential, the Bible never treats belief as an isolated experience. It calls us into something larger than ourselves.This is where the idea of “just me and Jesus” came from. It’s not rooted in Scripture or the early Church. It’s a modern invention built on the values of independence, privacy, and personal autonomy. And while it may sound empowering, it actually cuts us off from the very things we were created for: fellowship, accountability, shared worship, and growth in community.The Dangers of “Just Me and Jesus”At first glance, solo Christianity might seem harmless. It feels simple, flexible, and maybe even more “pure.” But in practice, it leads to serious spiritual problems.Isolation breeds self-deception. Proverbs 18:1 warns that “the one who lives alone is self-indulgent, showing contempt for all sound judgment.” When you’re cut off from other believers, no one challenges your blind spots, no one sharpens your thinking, and no one helps you grow beyond your preferences. Without community, you start shaping Jesus into your own image instead of being shaped into His.Disconnection leads to doctrinal drift. Ephesians 4:14 says that immature believers are “tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine.” The local church, when grounded in Scripture, protects us from error and anchors us in truth. When we remove ourselves from that anchor, we become vulnerable to whatever teachings sound appealing at the moment, regardless of whether they’re biblical.Going it alone leaves the mission incomplete. Jesus didn’t just save people individually; He formed a people for His name. The Church is meant to be His hands and feet in the world: serving, teaching, comforting, evangelizing. If every Christian isolated themselves and tried to “do church at home,” the witness of the gospel would wither. Christianity isn’t meant to be a solo journey. It’s a body, a family, a community on mission together.When someone tries to follow Jesus apart from His Church, they end up cutting themselves off from the very context God designed for spiritual health. What may feel like freedom is actually a slow form of starvation.The Biblical Vision of the ChurchIf you read the New Testament with unbiased eyes, one thing becomes immediately apparent: there’s no such thing as a Christian who isn’t part of a church. The idea of someone being saved but not belonging to the gathered people of God simply isn’t in the text. In fact, Scripture shows the opposite.In Acts 2:41, those who received Peter’s message were baptized, and “that day about three thousand persons were added.” Added to what? Verse 47 tells us: “The Lord added to their number those who were being saved.” In other words, salvation and community are inextricably linked. God doesn’t just forgive sins and walk away; He adopts people into a family and places them into a community.Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 12: “Just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.” He goes on to say that every believer is a part of this body, with gifts and responsibilities that only make sense in relationship to the rest of the body. A Christian who tries to live disconnected from the Church is like a hand trying to survive apart from the arm. It might be technically alive for a moment, but not for long.Ephesians 2:19 says, “You are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.” Families don’t function in isolation. The New Testament doesn’t invite believers to “visit” church like consumers. It calls them to belong; to be rooted, invested, and accountable.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Hebrews 10:24–25 gives this instruction: “Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some.” Even in the first century, some were already trying to live their faith alone. The author of Hebrews calls that a mistake.There are dozens of “one another” commands in the New Testament: love one another, bear with one another, forgive one another, exhort one another. None of these can be obeyed in isolation. Christianity without the Church isn’t just incomplete; it’s disobedient.The Church isn’t optional. It’s central to the Christian life. Every metaphor Scripture gives for God’s people assumes community: body, temple, flock, household. There’s no category for a solo Christian. To follow Jesus is to follow Him with His people.Common Objections and Honest StrugglesIt’s easy to understand why some people pull away from the Church. For many, it’s not about rebellion; it’s about disappointment, disillusionment, or pain. And while none of these justify walking away from the body of Christ, they do deserve to be addressed with honesty and compassion.“The Church hurt me.”This is one of the most common and heartbreaking reasons people leave the Church. Abuse of power, hypocrisy, judgmental attitudes, and broken leadership have driven many away. That grief is real, and it shouldn’t be dismissed. But even when the Church fails, the answer isn’t to abandon it altogether. Jesus never gave up on His people. He calls us to pursue healing, not isolation. Finding a faithful, grace-filled church is hard work, but it’s worth it. You can’t heal from church wounds by avoiding church altogether; you heal by stepping back into a healthy community.“I can worship God anywhere.”That’s true in a sense. You can praise God while hiking a mountain or driving your car. But worship in Scripture isn’t just personal expression; it’s corporate and covenantal. The early Church worshiped together. They shared communion, heard the Word read aloud, sang together, confessed their sins together, and prayed together. Those aren’t things you can fully experience in isolation. Worship is both vertical and horizontal.“The Church is full of hypocrites.”Yes, it is, and we have a seat for one more. Jesus died for every one of us. He said, “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” The Church isn’t a place for people who have it all together. It’s a place for people who know they need grace. If we left every space where flawed people exist, we’d have nowhere left to go, not even our own homes. Don’t let the failures of people cause you to miss the faithfulness of God through His Church.“I feel closer to God on my own.”That might be true for a time. But feelings are not the measure of spiritual health. What often happens in those moments is that you’re not drawing near to the God revealed in Scripture; you’re drawing near to your own idea of God. When no one is there to teach, challenge, or sharpen you, God starts to look a lot like you: same opinions, same priorities, same blind spots. That’s not spiritual intimacy; it’s self-projection.The Beauty and Necessity of the ChurchYou weren’t meant to do this alone. The Christian life was never designed to be an isolated, personal project. From the very beginning, God has been forming a people. He is not just saving individuals; He is building a community. That community is the Church.Yes, the Church can be messy. It’s made up of sinners. But it is also the place where God’s grace becomes visible. It’s where faith gets rooted, where love is tested, where truth is taught, and where hope is practiced. It’s not perfect, but it’s still part of God’s plan.Ephesians 3:10 says that God’s wisdom is made known through the Church. That means the Church is not a spiritual add-on. It’s central to God’s work in the world. When you remove yourself from it, you’re not just avoiding community; you’re stepping away from the very thing God is using to shape His people and carry out His mission.Christianity is not a solo journey. It is a life of shared worship, mutual growth, honest accountability, and loving service. It is walking with others as you follow Christ together. That kind of life cannot be lived in a vacuum. It only happens in local churches, among real people, in real places, through ordinary rhythms of grace.If you have been hurt by the Church, don’t give up. If you’ve drifted into isolation, come back. If you’ve never belonged to a church at all, now is the time to find one. Not just to sit in a pew but to participate: to be known, loved, challenged, and sent.Jesus didn’t die to create a scattered collection of spiritual loners. He died to redeem a people for Himself, and you belong with them.Thanks for reading Test Everything! This post is public so feel free to share it.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

It’s one of the most important questions in Christian theology, and it has inspired centuries of reflection, debate, and worship. Christians throughout history have offered various explanations for how the death of Christ saves us. Some emphasize justice and law, while others focus on love and transformation. Some look at the cosmic battle between good and evil, while others zoom in on the individual human heart.What’s striking is that the New Testament never limits itself to just one way of describing the atonement. Instead, it uses a variety of images—sacrifice, ransom, victory, reconciliation, justification—each revealing something unique about what God has done in Christ.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.This post won’t explore every variation or scholarly detail behind each theory. Instead, I’ll offer a broad overview of the most well-known models that have shaped Christian thought. Think of it as a survey, not a deep dive. The goal is to see how each theory contributes to the bigger picture and why it’s a mistake (I believe) to treat any one model as the whole story.The atonement is far too rich and complex to be reduced to a single formula. Like a diamond, its beauty is revealed as we turn it and let the light hit it from different angles.Christus Victor – The Victory of GodThis is one of the oldest ways Christians understood the cross. In this view, Jesus triumphs over the powers of sin, death, and the devil. The world is held in bondage, and Christ comes to break the chains and set humanity free. The emphasis is on victory, with the resurrection being the decisive blow to the forces of evil.Colossians 2:15 says that God “disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in [Christ].” This verse pictures the cross as a cosmic victory over hostile spiritual powers. Hebrews 2:14–15 explains that through his death, Christ destroyed the one who had the power of death—the devil—and freed those held in lifelong slavery by fear. 1 John 3:8 declares that the Son of God was revealed to destroy the works of the devil, confirming the cross as part of God’s plan to conquer evil. Romans 6:9 affirms that “death no longer has dominion over him,” reinforcing the idea that the resurrection is Christ’s victory over the grave.Christus Victor reminds us that sin is more than personal guilt. It’s a power that enslaves and deforms, and Christ came to break its grip. This view encompasses broader concepts of salvation, including liberation, restoration, and cosmic renewal.Ransom Theory – Freedom at a PriceThe ransom theory also sees humanity as enslaved to sin and death but adds the imagery of a price being paid to secure our freedom. This idea appears in the New Testament, although it’s not always clear to whom the ransom is paid. Some early theologians suggested that Satan was involved, but modern views typically see the payment as satisfying the demands of justice or reflecting the costliness of our redemption.Mark 10:45 says that the Son of Man came “to give his life as a ransom for many,” portraying Jesus’ death as a payment made to secure freedom. 1 Timothy 2:6 calls Christ the one “who gave himself a ransom for all,” reinforcing the idea that salvation came at a cost. Titus 2:14 describes Jesus as the one “who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity,” connecting the idea of ransom to deliverance from sin. Revelation 5:9 celebrates Christ as the Lamb who “by [his] blood ransomed for God saints from every tribe,” emphasizing the global and sacrificial nature of this rescue.This view highlights the cost of our deliverance. Salvation isn’t something that just happens. It required sacrifice, commitment, and a costly act of love. Ransom imagery also connects well with biblical themes of slavery and Exodus, casting Jesus as the new deliverer who leads us out of bondage.Penal Substitution – Bearing Our JudgmentThis model teaches that Jesus took the penalty for our sins, satisfying the demands of God’s justice so we could be forgiven. Rooted in Reformation theology, especially the writings of Calvin and Luther, it frames the cross in legal terms. Jesus stands in our place, bears the punishment we deserve, and allows God to remain just while offering mercy to us.Isaiah 53:5–6 says that the suffering servant was “wounded for our transgressions” and that “the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all,” directly supporting the idea of substitutionary suffering. Romans 3:25–26 presents Jesus as a sacrifice offered to demonstrate God’s righteousness while forgiving sin, which reflects the tension between mercy and justice. 2 Corinthians 5:21 says that God made Christ “to be sin who knew no sin,” so that we might become righteous. This speaks of Christ taking on the consequences of sin in our place. Galatians 3:13 explains that Christ redeemed us by “becoming a curse for us,” identifying with our guilt under the law. 1 Peter 2:24 says that Jesus “bore our sins in his body on the cross,” a clear affirmation of substitution.Penal substitution emphasizes the seriousness of sin and the justice of God. It gives a clear answer to how a holy God can forgive sinners without compromising righteousness. However, when misunderstood, it can create an unhealthy portrayal of divine wrath or imply division within the Trinity. Properly understood, it upholds both God’s justice and His radical grace.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Satisfaction Theory – Restoring Divine HonorAnselm of Canterbury developed this theory in the 11th century. He argued that sin dishonors God and disturbs the moral order. Jesus, as the perfect God-man, offers a gift of obedience and self-sacrifice that restores God’s honor and reconciles humanity. Unlike penal substitution, this view is not about punishment but about restitution and the restoration of dignity.Psalm 51:4 expresses that sin is ultimately an offense against God alone, highlighting the idea of violated honor that must be addressed. John 10:17–18 shows Jesus willingly laying down His life in obedience to the Father, which aligns with Anselm’s view that Christ offers a gift of infinite worth to restore what we cannot. Philippians 2:8–11 presents Christ’s obedient death followed by exaltation, which suggests that God’s honor is vindicated through the humility and glory of the Son.This theory speaks to a world shaped by shame and honor. It portrays the cross as an act of beauty, a willing restoration of what was lost through human rebellion. Even if its cultural context doesn’t fully translate today, its focus on obedience, dignity, and divine initiative remains powerful.Moral Influence – The Power of Love to TransformPeter Abelard introduced this model as a critique of legalistic views of atonement. For him, the cross wasn’t as much about satisfying divine justice as it was about showing the depth of God’s love in a way that would change the human heart. Christ’s death reveals how far God was willing to go to rescue us and how that love awakens our love in return.Romans 5:8 tells us that God proves his love by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. 1 Peter 2:21 says that Christ suffered “leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.”This view speaks to the emotional and relational aspects of the atonement. The cross isn’t just a solution to a problem. It’s the clearest picture of who God is. At its best, this theory encourages transformed hearts and lives. But on its own, it risks reducing the cross to a moral lesson without dealing with sin’s deeper consequences.Governmental Theory – Upholding Moral OrderDeveloped by Hugo Grotius, this theory presents a more public and political perspective on atonement. Christ’s death doesn’t pay a penalty in a strict legal sense, but it does uphold the seriousness of the law. God’s moral governance requires that sin be shown for what it is. The cross becomes a public demonstration that God will not overlook evil yet still allows room for mercy and forgiveness.Romans 3:25–26 states that God put forward Christ to demonstrate His righteousness, showing that forgiveness does not ignore sin but is grounded in justice made visible. Hebrews 10:26–29 warns of judgment for those who reject Christ, affirming that God’s moral law must be respected and that Christ’s sacrifice is a serious public event. Isaiah 42:21 also fits the governmental view’s focus on God upholding His moral law and glorifying His justice, even in showing mercy.This view helps explain how God can remain just while offering forgiveness without relying on a strict model of substitution. It provides a framework for understanding the cross as a moral and communal act, not merely a private transaction. It’s especially useful in contexts where God’s holiness and societal order must be preserved together, offering a vision of grace that doesn’t abandon accountability.Atonement Is Multifaceted, Not MonolithicAs we’ve seen, each of these theories highlights a valid and essential aspect of Christ’s work. Christus Victor reminds us that Jesus came to conquer evil. Ransom imagery reveals the cost of our deliverance. Penal substitution takes seriously the weight of sin and the reality of divine justice. Satisfaction theory speaks to the restoration of divine order. Moral influence highlights the transformative power of love to change hearts. Governmental theory offers a vision of justice and mercy held in public balance.But none of these views, by themselves, is the whole picture. No single theory can answer all of the questions we have about how the cross saves us. That’s why I believe it’s better to look at all of them.* What about guilt? Penal Substitution* What about slavery to sin? Ransom Theory* What about the powers of darkness? Christus Victor* What about God’s justice and holiness? Satisfaction and Governmental Theories* What about transformation and new life? Moral InfluenceThe Bible never gives us a single, systematic explanation of the atonement. Instead, it gives us metaphors, stories, and imagery that draw us back to the temple and into battlefields, courtrooms, and personal examples. The cross is portrayed as a sacrifice, redemption, reconciliation, victory, and love.We need a theology of the cross that is as deep and wide as Scripture itself. When we hold these views together—allowing them to complement rather than compete—we get closer to understanding the beauty and mystery of the atonement.The cross is more than just a theory. It is an event where God’s justice and mercy meet, sin is defeated, love is revealed, and new creation begins. Instead of flattening the atonement into a single angle, let’s see it for what it is: the glorious, many-sided work of God in Christ that saves, heals, transforms, and restores.Thanks for reading Test Everything! This post is public so feel free to share it.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Universalism is the belief that, in the end, all people—regardless of faith, repentance, or allegiance to Christ—will ultimately be saved. It appeals to our emotions; what faithful Christian wouldn’t want everyone to be redeemed?Good theology cannot be built on sentiment alone; it must be built on truth. The truth is that the Bible does not teach universal salvation. In fact, it explicitly warns us of the opposite. From Genesis to Revelation, the message is clear: God’s grace is available to all, but not all will receive it.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Universalism Contradicts the Teachings of JesusIf universalism were true, Jesus would’ve been the first to say so, but that’s not what we find. The Gospels don’t give us a picture of a world where everyone is ultimately saved. They give us warning after warning straight from the mouth of the Savior about judgment, separation, and the real possibility of being lost forever.In Matthew 7:13–14, Jesus says, “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.” This is one of the most explicit statements in Scripture about the outcome of rejecting God’s way. Jesus doesn’t say the road to destruction is allegorical or temporary; He affirms that it’s real, and many walk it.When someone asked Him in Luke 13:23, “Lord, will only a few be saved?” Jesus didn’t respond with a comforting reassurance that everyone would be okay. Instead, He said, “Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able.”But the strongest single verse against the idea of universal salvation is Matthew 25:46, where Jesus describes the final judgment: “And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” The words “eternal punishment” and “eternal life” are grammatically parallel. If the life is eternal, so is the punishment. You can’t make one temporary and leave the other permanent without breaking the sentence. The same Greek word (αἰώνιος, aiōnios) is used for both. If one is endless, so is the other.Indeed, Jesus often spoke of grace, forgiveness, and God’s love for the world, but He never hinted that salvation would be universal. His parables regularly include people being cast out, shut out, or cut off, not because God doesn’t love them but because they chose not to receive what He freely offered.Universalism simply cannot be squared with what Jesus actually said. If we take His words seriously, we have to let Him speak for Himself. And what He says is both sobering and urgent: not everyone will be saved, but anyone can be.Universalism Ignores the Finality of JudgmentOne of the most common claims among modern universalists is that hell is either temporary or symbolic. Some say it’s a metaphor for suffering in this life. Others say it’s a kind of divine rehab where people are purified and eventually restored. But that’s not the picture the New Testament gives us. Scripture consistently portrays judgment as decisive and final.Hebrews 9:27 puts it plainly: “It is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment.” There are no second chances after death. Just death and judgment. Paul reinforces this in 2 Thessalonians 1:8–9, where he says the Lord will return “in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, separated from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might.” Again, we find the word “eternal” (aiōnios). If life with God is everlasting, then so is the judgment described here. The focus is on a permanent and tragic separation from the Lord’s presence.In Revelation 20:15, the scene is just as sobering: “Anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life was thrown into the lake of fire.” There is no suggestion of purification or an escape from the lake of fire. It is the final scene in the drama of judgment, and the image is deliberately intense. These are not empty warnings; they are serious realities spoken by a holy and just God.Some try to soften these passages by appealing to symbolism or reinterpretation, but that approach ultimately empties the warnings of their power. There’s no need to repent, no real danger in rejection, and no meaningful consequence for sin.Universalism Undermines the Gospel’s UrgencyIf everyone is ultimately going to be saved, then the gospel loses its urgency. There’s no real need to preach repentance, no pressing reason to proclaim Christ, and no weight to the call of discipleship. Universalism turns the mission of the church into a formality.Scripture presents the gospel as a matter of life and death, a message that must be heard, believed, and obeyed.Paul didn’t see evangelism as optional. He didn’t think of it as a spiritual encouragement for people who were already headed to heaven. He saw it as a rescue. In Romans 10:14, he asks, “How are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?” If people are going to be saved regardless of what they believe or whether they’ve heard the gospel, this entire line of reasoning collapses.In Acts 17:30–31, Paul preaches to the philosophers in Athens, saying, “While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed.” The gospel isn’t just an invitation to live better, it’s a call to prepare for judgment. If there were no real consequences, this wouldn’t be necessary.Jesus Himself framed the mission this way: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). He didn’t send His followers out with a general message of inclusion; He sent them out with a call to repentance, baptism, and obedience. Mark 16:16 reinforces this: “The one who believes and is baptized will be saved; but the one who does not believe will be condemned.” That’s not a casual statement; it reflects the weight of eternity.Universalism erodes this urgency. It tells us that sin isn’t really a problem, that hell isn’t really a threat, and that people will be just fine even if they reject Christ. The New Testament never presents such a message. The early church risked everything to proclaim the gospel because it was the only path to life itself.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Universalism Contradicts the Free Will of LoveThe whole doctrine of universalism hinges on a contradiction. It claims that God’s love is so powerful and so overwhelming that it will eventually bring every person to salvation whether they choose it or not. But that’s not how love works. Love that overrides a person’s will isn’t love at all. It becomes coercion. The Bible never portrays God as one who forces people into relationship with Him.From beginning to end, Scripture honors human agency. God calls, invites, warns, and pleads, but He doesn’t compel. The offer of salvation is universal, but it still requires a response. In John 3:16–18, we’re told that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” But the very following verses make it clear that some will reject that offer: “Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already.” The deciding factor isn’t God’s love; it’s our response to it.Universalism tends to flatten that dynamic. It assumes that, given enough time, everyone will eventually come around. That’s an assumption that ignores the reality of hardened hearts. The Bible shows that people can resist God persistently and finally. In Romans 1, Paul describes how people who suppress the truth are “given over” to their own desires. He doesn’t say they’ll come back eventually. He says God honors their decision to reject Him.C.S. Lewis captured this idea powerfully when he wrote, “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’” God doesn’t force Himself on anyone. He gives every opportunity, but He will not violate a person’s will to bring about salvation. That would make a mockery of the very freedom that love requires.Early Christians Did Not Teach UniversalismSome defenders of universalism claim that it’s part of the early Christian tradition. They’ll point to figures like Origen or Gregory of Nyssa as evidence that the early church leaned toward the idea that all would eventually be saved. However, this claim overlooks the broader historical context and misrepresents what most early Christians actually believed.Origen indeed speculated about something called apokatastasis—a final restoration of all things, including the salvation of the wicked and even the devil. But Origen’s views on this were never widely accepted. In fact, his teachings on universal salvation were condemned as heretical at the Second Council of Constantinople in 553 AD. Gregory of Nyssa also entertained the possibility of universal reconciliation, but even that’s debated. And crucially, neither of these thinkers speaks for the church as a whole.When we look at the broader stream of early Christian thought, the picture is very different. Tertullian, writing around the early third century, was explicit in his belief in eternal punishment. So was Cyprian, who warned of a final separation from God. Irenaeus, in Against Heresies, described hell as real and everlasting. Augustine, of course, wrote extensively about the eternal fate of the wicked. And these weren’t fringe views; they were the mainstream understanding of the church for centuries.Even earlier than that, the Didache—a church manual from the first or early second century—presents a clear and sober message: there are two ways, the way of life and the way of death, and they lead to very different ends. The idea that all roads eventually converge into salvation would have been foreign to the early church. They saw the Christian life as a call to obedience, vigilance, and perseverance, not something everyone would receive eventually.The notion that universalism was a dominant or accepted view in early Christianity just doesn’t hold up under historical scrutiny. It was a minority opinion at best, and when it did appear, it was often speculative and later rejected by the church. The overwhelming testimony of early Christian writers is that eternal judgment is real, that not all will be saved, and that the gospel must be proclaimed with urgency because the stakes are eternal.The early church didn’t get everything right, but when it came to the nature of salvation and judgment, they were aligned with the plain teaching of Scripture. They preached grace and forgiveness, but they also preached judgment, warning, and the need to respond to Christ. That balance is what universalism loses.Why Universalism Persists TodayDespite the clear teaching of Scripture and the consistent witness of the early church, universalism continues to resurface, and it’s not hard to understand why. The idea that everyone will be saved is comforting. It feels compassionate, hopeful, and emotionally satisfying. But theology can’t be built on feeling; it must be built on truth. And the truth is that universalism survives today not because it’s biblical but because it appeals to certain modern instincts.First, universalism thrives on a sentimental view of God’s love. People often imagine divine love as the absence of judgment. If God is loving, then He can’t possibly send anyone to hell. But that confuses love with permissiveness. Scripture never portrays God’s love as indulgent or passive. It’s a holy love that disciplines, corrects, and warns. In Romans 11:22, Paul says to consider both the kindness and the severity of God. Those two aren’t opposites; they’re part of the same character.Second, universalism reflects a discomfort with the concept of divine justice. In a culture where tolerance is often treated as the highest moral value, the idea of eternal separation feels harsh. It offends modern sensibilities. But justice is not a cultural invention; it’s one of the core attributes of God. The entire biblical narrative is built on the tension between mercy and justice, not the elimination of one in favor of the other. Universalism sidesteps that tension by pretending there’s no judgment to worry about.Third, universalism fits in well in a world where everyone’s view is treated as valid. The idea that all religions eventually lead to the same place or that all people will ultimately be saved sounds inclusive. It’s easier to say, “We’re all on the same journey,” than to confront the claims of Christ. But Jesus didn’t leave that option open. He said, “No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).Ultimately, universalism is a product of its time. It’s what happens when culture shapes theology instead of the other way around. It wants the benefits of Christianity without the demands. It wants grace without repentance, salvation without surrender, and heaven without holiness.The True Hope of the GospelUniversalism offers a kind of hope, but it’s a false one. It tells people they’re safe when they’re not. It quiets the conscience instead of convicting the heart. It removes the urgency of repentance and dilutes the call to discipleship. But the gospel gives us something better. It doesn’t pretend that sin isn’t serious or that judgment isn’t real. It tells the truth and then it offers real hope on the other side of that truth.The good news is not that everyone will be saved in the end no matter what. The good news is that God, in His mercy, has made a way for anyone to be saved through Jesus Christ. Salvation is available to all, but it must be received in faith, obeyed in repentance, and lived out in a relationship with the risen Lord.Titus 2:11–12 says, “The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions, and in the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly.” Grace is not a blanket that covers sin while we continue to live as we please. It’s a transforming power that calls us to a new life. The offer is universal; the transformation is not.Universalism removes the offense of the gospel by eliminating the need for a response. But the cross is only good news if there’s something to be saved from. Christ didn’t die to rescue people from a minor inconvenience. He died to save us from the wrath and eternal punishment that we rightly deserve. That’s what makes the gospel powerful. That’s what makes grace amazing.Thanks for reading Test Everything! This post is public so feel free to share it.Test Everything is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Of all the phrases that emerged from the Reformation, few are as moving or majestic as Soli Deo Gloria—“To God alone be the glory.” Much like Solus Christus, it seems obvious and universal. Who would deny that God deserves all glory? When we examine how churches function, Christians speak, and movements define themselves, the reality becomes more complicated.Soli Deo Gloria is a theological conviction that shapes our understanding of salvation, worship, mission, and even our identity as the people of God. The Reformers recognized that the heart of all theological error was, at its core, the failure to glorify God as God. They believed that whenever grace is attributed to systems, salvation is attributed to works or spiritual authority is given to men, God’s glory is being robbed.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.The question today is simple: Do we truly give God the glory, or do we say the right words while reserving much of the credit for ourselves, our traditions, or our preferences?Origins and Historical ContextSoli Deo Gloria emerged as the Reformers’ theological summation. They saw themselves as servants pointing back to God’s Word to restore the centrality of God’s glory in doctrine and the life of the Church.Calvin, in particular, placed strong emphasis on the glory of God as the beginning and end of all theology. The Westminster Catechism emphasizes that “man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.” Calvin saw every part of salvation as a reflection of God’s sovereign grace. Nothing, in his mind, could be attributed to human merit or ecclesiastical systems.The phrase Soli Deo Gloria was commonly written in the margins of Reformation-era sermons, books, and even musical compositions. Bach and Handel, deeply influenced by the Reformation tradition, famously signed many of their works with the initials S.D.G.At its core, then, Soli Deo Gloria was a rejection of any theological or spiritual framework that allowed room for human boasting. It was the Reformers’ declaration that God alone is worthy of credit, praise, honor, and trust.Biblical PrecedentFrom Genesis to Revelation, the Bible reveals a God who acts for the sake of His own name, who does not share His glory with another, and who calls His people to honor Him above all else.In Isaiah 42:8, God declares with clarity and finality: “I am the Lord, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to idols.” God acts so that His name will be known and revered. He rescues not only to show mercy but to make His power and holiness known among the nations.Paul’s doxology in Romans 11:36 is both profound and concise:“For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.” All things originate in God, all things depend on God, and all things exist to bring God glory. No part of salvation, no aspect of worship, and no accomplishment in ministry can be rightly claimed as our own. God is the source, the sustainer, and the goal.In Revelation 4 and 5, we are given a glimpse into the throne room of God. The living creatures, the elders, and all creation cry out in unified praise: “Worthy is the Lamb who was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” (Revelation 5:12). In heaven, all attention is directed toward the One seated on the throne and the Lamb who was slain.Paul reminds the Corinthian church in 1 Corinthians 10:31:“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God.” Even the ordinary moments of life are meant to reflect the holiness and majesty of God. Glorifying God is not limited to public worship or doctrinal precision. It is the daily posture of a heart that knows everything it has comes from God.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Scripture leaves no room for divided honor. The glory belongs to God alone, and every theological claim and act of worship must begin and end with this conviction.Where Glory Is Shared or Stolen TodayThe glory of God is not just rejected by the likes of atheism or false religion; it is often obscured by those who claim to honor Him. The distortion of Soli Deo Gloria is not always intentional. Sometimes it happens when good things are elevated to ultimate things; when people, programs, or traditions begin to occupy the place that belongs to God alone.While Catholic theology may insist that all glory ultimately flows to God, in practice, it is diluted. The doctrine of the treasury of merit, the invocation of saints, and the Marian titles of “Mediatrix” and “Co-Redemptrix” illustrate how easily reverence for holy figures can blur into devotion that rivals or even supplants devotion to God. Such devotion directly contradicts the New Testament teaching that God alone is to receive all glory and honor.In modern evangelical contexts, the threat is different but just as real. The glory of God is often overshadowed by the personalities of pastors or the emotional appeal of worshiptainment. Large platforms, emotional manipulation, and influential leaders can unintentionally shift the focus from the glory of God to the popularity of people. The danger is not that churches are growing using modern tools; it is when spiritual success is measured by influence rather than faithfulness. God is not glorified when His name is used to build empires for men.Theological precision matters. But when our identity becomes rooted in a system rather than in Christ, we shift from glorifying God to glorifying ourselves. This temptation exists in every tradition—Calvinist, Pentecostal, Restorationist, or otherwise. We begin to take pride not in God’s grace but in our grasp of doctrine, distinctives, or heritage.Even among those who claim to reject sectarianism, a spirit of superiority can creep in. We may boast that “we do things the biblical way,” forgetting that the point of biblical faithfulness is not to elevate ourselves but to magnify the wisdom of God. When our correctness becomes a badge of glory, we have missed the point of grace.What Does It Actually Mean to Glorify God Alone?Soli Deo Gloria is a call to re-center the Church on the One to whom all praise, credit, and authority rightfully belong. It forces us to confront not only what we believe about God but what we value, what we elevate, and what we desire to be known for.To say that all glory belongs to God means more than acknowledging His greatness; it means refusing to attribute ultimate credit, trust, or allegiance to anything or anyone else. Glorifying God alone means making His will, His gospel, and His kingdom the center of our lives and ministries. It means resisting the subtle ways we make ourselves the focus, even when our language sounds spiritual.It means asking hard questions: Are we seeking recognition, or are we pointing people to the Lord? Are our convictions shaped by God’s Word or by tradition and reputation?For those of us from the Restoration Movement, this principle speaks directly to our core identity. Our plea to restore New Testament Christianity is not about proving ourselves right or promoting our distinctives. It is about aligning ourselves with what God has revealed so that His wisdom is honored, not ours. If we are not careful, even a movement built on returning to Scripture can become prideful.God is not honored by empty claims of devotion. He is honored when we submit to His word, proclaim His Son, serve His people, and live in such a way that others see—not us—but Him.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Among the Five Solas of the Reformation, Solus Christus is the most foundational. Without Him, none of the others hold. To proclaim “Christ alone” is a decisive theological claim: that Jesus Christ is the sole mediator between God and humanity, the only source of salvation, and the rightful head of His Church.Yet, this declaration, which seems like such an obvious statement, was one of the Reformers’ most urgent corrections. What was happening in the late medieval Church that made it essential to reaffirm Christ as the center and source of salvation?This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Why Solus ChristusIt may seem strange that the Reformers had to argue for something as basic as “Christ alone.” However, in the late medieval Church’s religious landscape, Christ’s role as the sole mediator between God and humanity had been obscured by centuries of doctrinal and practical developments. While the Church never formally denied Christ’s central place in salvation, its teachings and structures often functionally displaced Him. The result was a deeply confused understanding of how grace was accessed, who could intercede, and what role Christ actually played in the believer’s life.Grace was understood to flow through the Church’s rituals. These sacraments could only be administered by the priesthood, which functioned as an indispensable intermediary between God and the laity. The faithful were taught to depend on the Church’s system of confession, absolution, and participation in the Mass for their spiritual standing. Christ was still present in a sense, but mediated through layers of ecclesiastical authority.Reformers recognized the critical need to return to the biblical proclamation of Christ as the sole mediator and redeemer. They emphasized the once-for-all sufficiency of Christ’s atoning death and rejected the idea that the Mass was a re-presentation of that sacrifice. There arose a strong emphasis on the union between the believer and Christ made possible not by the Church but by grace through faith.William Tyndale, in particular, whose English Bible translation shaped Protestant thought in the English-speaking world, wrote passionately against the priestly system that obscured direct access to Christ. He argued that every believer, through the Scriptures, could know and respond to Christ personally without clerical interference.The Reformers were rightly united in their protest against the notion that grace must come through human channels. They saw clearly that the heart of the gospel was being lost under the weight of ecclesiastical ritual, saintly devotion, and sacramental mediation. Their goal was not to diminish the Church, but to restore its foundation on Christ.As Calvin wrote:“We see that our whole salvation and all its parts are comprehended in Christ. We should therefore take care not to derive the least portion of it from anywhere else.”(Institutes 2.16.19)Christ’s Exclusive Role In ScriptureWhile Solus Christus emerged in response to medieval distortions, its authority does not rest in the Reformers themselves. The doctrine stands strong because it reflects the clear teaching of Scripture. The New Testament presents Christ as the unique and sufficient mediator through whom God’s grace is revealed, received, and completed.Jesus’ words are unmistakable: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” This is not a claim of partial or shared authority; it’s a claim of exclusivity. Jesus does not point the way to God; He is the way. Any system that directs people to another intermediary—whether saint, sacrament, or spiritual leader—undermines the plain reading of this statement. Access to the Father is found in Christ alone.When Peter proclaimed the gospel before the Sanhedrin, he made the apostolic conviction clear: “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). Salvation is not tied to a church, a rite, or a holy person but to the person and name of Jesus Christ. This exclusive claim stands at the heart of the Christian faith, and to dilute it is to depart from the gospel itself.Paul’s hymn to Christ in Colossians 1 is a sweeping declaration of His unique identity and authority: “He is the image of the invisible God… in him all things hold together… he is the head of the body, the church… he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything” (Col 1:15–18). There is no room for divided allegiance here. Christ is not merely part of God’s redemptive plan; He is the fullness of God’s presence and purpose made visible. All things—creation, reconciliation, and the church itself—find their source and goal in Him.Nowhere is the singular sufficiency of Christ more clearly articulated than in the letter to the Hebrews. The writer contrasts the repeated sacrifices of the old covenant priests with the once-for-all offering of Christ: “But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God” (Heb 10:12).This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Jesus’ priesthood is totally unique. He is the High Priest who “holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever” (Heb 7:24). His intercession is perfect and unending, and it’s not through temple rituals but “by the power of an indestructible life” (Heb 7:16). The tabernacle, the sacrifices, and the Levitical priesthood all pointed forward to Christ. Now that He has come, there is no more need for earthly mediation.The biblical witness is consistent: Christ does not share His mediating role; He fulfills it completely. Solus Christus is not a Reformation slogan invented to oppose tradition; rather, it is a theological principle that emphasizes the singular importance of Christ. It is a biblical doctrine that the Reformers intentionally focused on to correct the departure from the teachings of the apostles.Why Solus Christus Still Matters TodayIt would be easy to think that Solus Christus is a historical concern, settled in the 1500s and no longer in need of defense. However, the very issues that necessitated the slogan during the Reformation still persist, though they often disguise themselves in different forms. The temptation to add to Christ, to replace Him with something more manageable, or to redefine Him on our own terms is as strong today as it ever was.Catholicism’s Enduring ProblemThe Catholic Church has not moved away from the theology that prompted the concerns of the Reformers. It still teaches that grace is dispensed through the sacraments and that priests serve as mediators of that grace. Although Christ is acknowledged as the source of salvation, the believer is taught that access to Him depends on ecclesiastical rituals, confession to a priest, and participation in the Eucharist, also known as the Mass.Even more prominently, Marian devotion remains central in Catholic life. The Church teaches that Mary intercedes for the faithful, and in practice, she is often spoken of as a co-redeemer or spiritual mother whose help is necessary to approach Christ. The Word on Fire Institute’s program on Mary recently advertised itself with the slogan: “Why is Mary the fastest way to Jesus?” See for yourself:Such a statement reveals the heart of the problem. Scripture teaches that believers already have direct access to Christ through faith. To insert another figure between the believer and Jesus—even one as honored as Mary—is to deny the very meaning of Solus Christus.Shallow Evangelical TheologyIn many Evangelical churches, Solus Christus is affirmed in theory but denied in practice. Jesus is often presented as the one who saves you but not as the one who shapes your life. His Lordship is sidelined in favor of personal inspiration. The gospel is reduced to a one-time prayer and a minimal confession that carries little weight after conversion.This result is hollow faith where Christ is little more than a means to avoid judgment. He is referenced but not followed. He certainly isn’t obeyed or revered. When faith becomes little more than private affirmation, Christ becomes peripheral. Solus Christus reminds the Church that Jesus is not just our Savior; He is our King, our Judge, our Teacher, and the one to whom we owe everything.Cultural and Progressive ConfusionOutside the Church, Christ is often redefined to fit modern ideals. In progressive theology, Jesus is praised for His compassion, inclusiveness, and resistance to power. Yet His exclusivity, commands, and call to repentance are quietly removed. In secular culture, He is admired as a teacher or pictured as an anarchist but stripped of divinity and any claim to absolute truth.This reimagined Christ may be easier to promote, but it is not the Christ of Scripture. The Jesus of the New Testament is not one voice among many. He is the one “through whom all things were made” (John 1:3) and the only one “by whom we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). To lose this Jesus is to lose the power of the gospel itself.Christ AloneIn a religious culture saturated with substitutes for Christ—whether rituals, personalities, experiences, or false ideologies—the Church must once again be clear about its foundation. We are not saved by systems; we are not transformed by saints or sacraments; we are not brought near to God through clergy or culture. We are saved by the risen Lord, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns and intercedes for His people.The Churches of Christ have long rejected human priesthoods, sacramental hierarchies, and inherited tradition in favor of returning to the simple authority of Christ and His word. Our plea has always been to restore, not to innovate.At the heart of that plea is the conviction that Christ is sufficient. He is the head of the church, the source of grace, the one to whom we answer and in whom we find rest.Solus Christus also gives us a bridge; many of our neighbors in Evangelical, Catholic, and mainline Protestant traditions speak of Christ but define Him differently or even place Him alongside other mediators. Understanding how the Reformers approached this issue equips us to listen more carefully, teach more clearly, and proclaim more faithfully that Christ is not just important; He is everything.Let the Church never forget: we do not point to a system, a tradition, or a movement. We point to Jesus the Christ.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Among all the great themes of the Christian faith, few words are more frequently used than grace. We sing it in our songs, hear it in sermons, and it saturates conversations about salvation. Protestants love to quote Ephesians 2: “We are saved by grace.”The Reformation’s doctrine of Sola Gratia, “grace alone,” was a corrective to centuries of theology that had entangled God’s mercy with human merit. The Reformers insisted that salvation begins and ends with the grace of God, not with the effort of the sinner. Grace is not a reward for righteousness; it’s a gift given freely to the undeserving. Yet, as with the other Solas, the way this idea has been interpreted and applied over time varies greatly.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Some use “grace alone” to suggest that human response is unnecessary or that salvation is unconditional and automatic. Others swing the opposite direction, tethering grace so tightly to religious ritual or institutional authority that it becomes something dispensed by the church rather than freely given by God. Others equate grace with divine leniency, a permission slip to keep sinning while claiming spiritual safety.To truly understand how grace works, we have to ask what kind of gift it is and what God expects us to do with it.Understanding Sola GratiaThe Reformers did not invent the idea of salvation by grace. Scripture clearly teaches that we have been saved by grace, and the early church affirmed that no one is saved apart from God’s mercy. Over the centuries, grace became increasingly intertwined with ritual, merit, and institutional control. By the time of the Reformation, grace was often treated as a currency earned through sacramental obedience or bestowed through the church’s mediation.The groundwork for the later debate was laid by Augustine in the fifth century. In his battles against Pelagianism, Augustine rightly insisted that salvation begins with God and not with human initiative. Pelagius had taught that humans could achieve righteousness without divine help. Augustine countered with the idea that the fallen will must be touched by grace before it can choose rightly. But in his attempt to defend divine sovereignty, Augustine also introduced strong determinist ideas, suggesting that God’s grace is given only to the elect and is ultimately irresistible.These ideas would later be developed more fully by Calvin, but Augustine planted the seeds. For Augustine, grace was not just God’s favor; it was an internal act of transformation given to some but not all. This marked a shift away from the earlier patristic emphasis on cooperation with grace and introduced a strong note of unilateral divine action.By the time of the high Middle Ages, the Catholic Church had formalized a system of grace mediated through the sacraments; baptism, penance, confirmation, the Eucharist, and other rites were seen as means by which God’s grace was infused into the soul. In theory, grace was still unmerited. In practice, however, it became something distributed through the priesthood and sustained by religious duty.The concept of meritum de congruo (merit based on cooperation with grace) and merit of condignity (merit due to the intrinsic value of good works) led many to believe that salvation involved a kind of spiritual accounting. Grace may have come first, but human participation was emphasized so heavily that the gift of grace began to resemble a reward for good behavior.Martin Luther and the early Reformers stood against this system. They read Paul’s letters and saw a radically different picture. They insisted that grace is not something earned or dispensed through the church; it is the free favor of God given to the undeserving. For Luther, Sola Gratia was about liberation. The sinner, helpless under the weight of guilt and the burden of works-based righteousness, is lifted up by God’s kindness alone.John Calvin took this even further, framing grace in terms of God’s sovereign will. Grace is not only unearned; it is irresistible. Those whom God has chosen to save will receive grace and cannot ultimately resist it. This became the foundation of the doctrine of monergism: the belief that God alone acts in salvation and that human beings contribute nothing, not even cooperation or response.The Catholic Church responded to the Reformers at the Council of Trent (1545–1563). Trent affirmed that salvation begins with grace, not works, and denied that humans can earn salvation apart from God’s help. But it also insisted that grace could be increased, preserved, or lost through human action. Faith alone was rejected, and grace was viewed as a power infused through the sacraments, resulting in a lifelong process of justification that depended on one’s cooperation.Both Catholics and Reformers affirmed the necessity of grace. But their definitions differed sharply. The Reformers emphasized the sufficiency of grace, especially in Calvin’s framework of sovereign election and irresistible grace. Catholic doctrine emphasized the mediation and maintenance of grace through sacramental participation and moral effort.What Scripture Says About GraceThe New Testament speaks of grace in rich and varied ways. Far from being a narrow doctrinal term, grace encompasses the full scope of God’s redemptive initiative; His love extended to the undeserving, His power at work in the weak, and His invitation to live as transformed people in covenant with Him. To understand Sola Gratia rightly, we must return to the biblical witness.Paul’s letters are filled with declarations that grace is unearned and unmerited. In Romans 3:24, he writes that believers are “now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.” Ephesians 2:8–9 echoes this: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God—not the result of works, so that no one may boast.”Grace, in its very definition, cannot be earned. It is God’s initiative, not a reward for effort. Titus 3:5–7 reinforces this: “He saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy.” Any system that requires human performance to earn God’s grace fails to reckon with the biblical portrait of a God who rescues sinners while they are still powerless (Romans 5:6).But grace is not merely pardon; it’s power. Paul speaks of grace not just as the cause of salvation but as the energy that sustains and shapes the Christian life. In 1 Corinthians 15:10, he writes, “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them—though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.”Titus 2:11–12 makes it plain: “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions, and in the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly.” Grace does not excuse sin; it empowers Christians to live holy lives.Philippians 2:12–13 holds both truths in tension: “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you.” Grace is God’s active presence, enabling believers to do what they could never do on their own. A theology of grace that lacks transformation is not biblical grace.Some theological systems suggest that grace is irresistible and that those who are chosen by God cannot ultimately reject His call. But Scripture tells us otherwise. In Acts 7:51, Stephen rebukes the religious leaders by saying, “You are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do.” The context is clear: God had offered grace through the prophets and ultimately through Christ, but the elders hardened their hearts.Paul warns in 2 Corinthians 6:1, “As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain.” Grace can be resisted, and it can be received without effect. It can be set aside, as Paul feared for those who returned to the law in Galatians.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.The idea that grace overrides human will may have been meant to defend God’s sovereignty, but it does so at the cost of the relational nature of salvation. God calls, but He does not force or coerce.Grace is universal in its offer. But Jesus Himself taught that not all will enter the kingdom. In Matthew 7:13–14, He describes the narrow gate and the difficult road that leads to life, warning that few find it.This tension—grace freely offered but not universally received—is consistent across the New Testament. God desires all to be saved (1 Timothy 2:4), but not all will respond. The biblical pattern is not one of deterministic grace but of covenantal invitation. God acts first and makes a way, but He calls people to respond in faith, repentance, and obedience.Where Modern Theology Goes WrongThe Reformers rightly emphasized grace as the foundation of salvation. But in the centuries since, many traditions have distorted that message in different ways. Some have emptied grace of its power. Others have turned it into a deterministic force. Still, others have buried it under rituals and hierarchy. These errors continue to shape the way people think about salvation, and all of them must be measured against the standard of Scripture.Evangelicalism and the Problem of Cheap GraceIn many modern Evangelical circles, grace has been reduced to a free pass. The language of “grace alone” is everywhere but often disconnected from the biblical call to holiness, repentance, and faithful obedience. Salvation is presented as a one-time decision—pray a prayer and accept Jesus into your heart and you’re saved for life. Transformation becomes optional, and discipleship becomes secondary.This is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously called cheap grace—grace without the cross, forgiveness without repentance, and salvation without submission. When grace is reduced to leniency, the gospel loses its transformative power.Reformed Theology and Irresistible GraceOn the other side, some Reformed traditions have gone too far in their effort to help God protect His sovereignty. In Calvinist systems, grace is described as irresistible. God unilaterally regenerates the elect, and those He chooses are powerless to stop Him. This doctrine of monergism removes the need for human cooperation altogether.While this view seeks to glorify God’s initiative, it distorts the nature of divine love. Scripture consistently portrays God as inviting, calling, and even grieving when people reject Him (e.g., Luke 13:34, Acts 7:51). Irresistible grace destroys the biblical tension between God’s power and human responsibility, doing so at the cost of human dignity and genuine relationship.Catholic Sacramentalism and the Institutionalization of GraceIn Catholic theology, grace is not denied but is often over-institutionalized. It becomes something infused to adherents through the sacraments, mediated by the Church, and sustained through continual participation in rituals. Grace is present, but it is entangled with ecclesial authority.The danger here is that grace becomes transactional. Instead of trusting in God’s personal and transforming initiative, many are taught to depend on the Church’s system for spiritual maintenance. This can foster a mindset of spiritual insecurity or works-based assurance: Have I confessed enough? Attended Mass enough? Done enough penance?This view of grace misses the simplicity and immediacy of the gospel. In Scripture, grace is not dispensed through a system but extended directly through Christ. It is not maintained by checking religious boxes but by walking faithfully in response to what God has already done. While the sacraments were intended as a means of spiritual nourishment, they were never meant to replace the living relationship between God and His people.Distortions on Every SideIn different ways, each of these traditions misrepresents the concept of grace. Evangelicalism often removes its moral demands. Calvinism removes human response. Catholicism embeds it in a hierarchical system. All of them risk losing sight of what grace really is: God’s loving initiative that invites us into covenant, transforms our lives, and calls us to walk in faithfulness.This is why we must return to the biblical witness, not just to defend grace from legalism but also to defend it from being emptied of its purpose.A Restorationist PerspectiveThe Churches of Christ always held a high view of Scripture and, with that, a strong affirmation that salvation begins with the grace of God. While Restorationist teaching is sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented as legalistic, the core conviction has always been that no one is saved by perfect obedience. We are saved because God, in His mercy, acted first. That truth must remain central in any faithful gospel presentation.The Restoration Movement emerged as a call to return to apostolic Christianity, including the desire to recover the original message of grace. This requires rejecting both the sacramentalism of Catholicism and the confessional systems of denominational Protestantism, which often overshadow the plain teaching of Scripture. Grace is not earned by human effort, nor is it exclusively accessed through priesthood or denominational hierarchy. It is God’s free initiative offered to all who will receive it.That means grace does not eliminate human responsibility. The gospel calls for a response. Peter’s sermon in Acts 2 is a clear example: “What shall we do?” the crowd asks. Peter replies, “Repent and be baptized… for the forgiveness of your sins” (Acts 2:38). That command is not a contradiction of grace; God’s grace is the very thing that makes the invitation to obey the gospel possible.The Spirit of God never forces obedience; He enables it. But it still requires the willing cooperation of the one who hears. As Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 6:1, “Do not receive the grace of God in vain.” That warning makes no sense if grace is irresistible. God does not override the will; He calls people to respond with their own will, and He gives them the grace to do so.The biblical picture is simple yet profound: God initiates through the cross, the conviction of the Holy Spirit, and the truth of His Word. Humanity responds in repentance, through baptism, and by living a life of covenant faithfulness. Grace comes first, but it calls forth a life that reflects the gift received.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

If you were to ask the average Protestant to explain how someone is saved, many would instinctively spout the phrase “by faith alone.” Those words echo through centuries of preaching, confessions, and evangelical language. It was, after all, a defining emphasis of the Reformation. In contrast to the elaborate system of penance and merit taught by the medieval church, the Reformers insisted that salvation is not earned or achieved; it is received by faith.In many modern churches, faith is treated as a momentary decision, a whispered prayer, a raised hand, or an inward conviction. Faith is described as the only thing necessary for salvation, yet it is rarely ever defined with clarity.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.What exactly is faith? Is it belief in a set of doctrines? Is it trust in God’s mercy? Is it a disposition of the heart? How should we understand the fact that Scripture itself says we are justified by faith while also saying that we are not justified by faith alone?What kind of faith is the faith that saves?Classical Reformation Idea of Sola FideWhen the Reformers began to speak of justification by faith alone, they did not believe they were inventing a new doctrine; rather, they thought they were recovering what they considered had been obscured by centuries of theological drift. At the center of their teaching was the conviction that no human being could ever earn God’s favor. The problem of sin cannot be solved by increased effort, moral reform, or mere religious practice. The only hope for sinners is to be justified (or declared righteous) based on what Christ has done, not what we do. Faith, then, is the means by which we receive this gift.Martin LutherLuther’s understanding of faith was not merely intellectual agreement. It was deeply personal. He came to see that faith was not about measuring up to God’s demands but about trusting in God’s promise. In his Preface to Romans (1522), he described faith this way:“Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man would stake his life on it a thousand times. This kind of trust in and knowledge of God’s grace makes a person joyful, confident, and happy with regard to God and all creatures.”For Luther, faith was not a passive acceptance of a doctrine. It was a wholehearted reliance on the mercy of God, made known in Christ. This faith produced fruit (joy, confidence, happiness), not as a condition of justification, but as its inevitable result.The Lutheran tradition later codified this understanding in the Augsburg Confession of 1530, which declared:“Men cannot be justified before God by their own strength, merits, or works, but are freely justified for Christ’s sake, through faith when they believe that they are received into favor, and that their sins are forgiven for Christ’s sake, who, by His death, has made satisfaction for our sins. This faith God imputes for righteousness in His sight.”This confession emphasized that faith alone is the instrument by which sinners are reconciled to God. Works are not excluded from the Christian life, but they are excluded from the foundation of justification.John CalvinJohn Calvin further refined the Reformation view by carefully distinguishing the role of faith in justification. He denied that faith had any power in itself to justify. It was not a virtue or a spiritual quality that impressed God; it is the means by which we receive Christ and are united to Him.In Institutes 3.11.7, Calvin writes:“We compare faith to a kind of vessel, because we are incapable of receiving Christ, unless we are emptied and come with open mouth to receive his grace… I say, therefore, that faith, which is only the instrument for receiving justification, is ignorantly confounded with Christ, who is the material cause, as well as the author and minister of this great blessing.”He later adds in 3.11.23:“To declare that we are deemed righteous, solely because the obedience of Christ is imputed to us as if it were our own, is just to place our righteousness in the obedience of Christ.”Calvin’s point is clear. Faith does not justify because of what it is but because of whom it receives. Justification is grounded entirely in the obedience and righteousness of Christ. Faith is the open hand that receives what God freely gives.The Protestant-Catholic Debate Over Faith and WorksOne of the central conflicts of the Reformation was the question of how a person is made right before God. The Reformers maintained that justification is by faith alone, apart from works of any kind. The Catholic Church, in response, affirmed that faith plays a central role in justification but not in isolation from other factors. The resulting disagreement shaped not only theology but the future of Western Christianity.The Catholic Response (Council of Trent)The Council of Trent (1545–1563) was the Catholic Church’s formal response to the Protestant Reformation. In 1547, it issued a decree explicitly rejecting the doctrine of justification by faith alone. According to Trent, justification begins with the grace of God and the initial gift of faith. Faith, however, is not viewed as a passive trust or mere belief. It must be “formed by love” and completed through one’s cooperation with grace, participation in the sacraments, and pursuit of righteousness.If any one saith, that by faith alone the impious is justified; in such wise as to mean, that nothing else is required to co-operate in order to the obtaining the grace of Justification, and that it is not in any way necessary, that he be prepared and disposed by the movement of his own will; let him be anathema. (Session 6, Canon 9)Importantly, Trent also rejected the idea that justification is based solely on works. The Council maintained that human beings cannot earn salvation through good deeds alone, apart from God’s grace. It affirmed that justification originates with God’s initiative, is made possible by Christ’s sacrifice, and is received through faith. Yet, this faith must be active, living, and expressed through love in order to result in final justification....none of those things which precede justification-whether faith or works-merit the grace itself of justification. For, if it be a grace, it is not now by works, otherwise, as the same Apostle says, grace is no more grace. (Session 6, Chapter 8)This teaching reflects a broader framework in which justification is not merely a declaration but a process. The individual is not only declared righteous but made righteous through grace and moral transformation. Faith is necessary, but it is not sufficient on its own.The Reformers’ ClarificationThe Reformers strongly disagreed with the idea that justification depends on the internal righteousness of the believer. For them, the heart of the gospel was the announcement that sinners are declared righteous not because of what they become but because of what Christ already is. Faith alone justifies because it receives the righteousness of Christ as a gift.They acknowledged that true faith will always bear fruit, but they insisted that this fruit plays no role in making a person right in the sight of God. The moment faith receives Christ, the believer stands justified, fully accepted, and clothed in a righteousness that is not their own.To mix obedience into the foundation of justification, even with good intentions, in the eyes of the Reformers, was to shift the focus away from Christ and undermine the believer’s assurance. The Reformers viewed this as more than a subtle error; it was a distortion of the gospel itself.What Does the Bible Say About Faith Alone?While the Reformers believed they were recovering the heart of the gospel, interestingly enough, the phrase “faith alone” appears only once in Scripture—and in that instance, it is explicitly denied. James writes, “You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone” (James 2:24).In fact, Martin Luther once referred to James as an “epistle of straw,” frustrated by what seemed to be a contradiction of Paul’s clear teaching on justification. At the time, he believed James lacked the evangelical clarity of letters like Romans or Galatians. However, Luther’s views evolved, and he eventually came to appreciate James for its ethical depth, even if he continued to express some discomfort with its rhetorical style.The tension between Paul and James is real, but it is not irreconcilable. A careful reading of the New Testament reveals that these two apostles address different issues, and their use of the word “faith” is shaped by distinct concerns. Paul refutes reliance on law and ritual as a means of attaining righteousness. James is correcting a lifeless confession that produces no fruit. When read in context, their messages do not conflict; they clarify one another.Romans and Galatians: Faith Apart from Works of the LawPaul’s argument in Romans and Galatians is clear. He teaches that justification does not come through “works of the law” but through faith in Jesus Christ (Romans 3:28; Galatians 2:16). For Paul, the law functioned as a covenant boundary marker that separated Jews from Gentiles. Circumcision, dietary restrictions, and Sabbath observance were outward signs of covenant membership, and many Jewish Christians believed these remained necessary even after Christ.Paul rejects this and insists that no one is made right with God through adherence to the Mosaic Law. Faith in Christ brings both Jews and Gentiles into the family of God on the same basis: not by ritualistic law-keeping, but by receiving the promise through faith.Paul is not dismissing moral obedience. He is arguing against the idea that external markers or ritual observance establish one’s status before God. The faith that justifies is faith that entrusts itself to Christ, not one that seeks to secure righteousness through performance or ethnic privilege.Ephesians 2: Grace, Faith, and the Purpose of SalvationEphesians 2 is one of the most frequently cited passages in modern Protestant and Evangelical theology. Paul writes:“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8–9)This verse is often quoted as a standalone summary of the gospel. But it is rarely handled with the care it deserves. In countless sermons, tract lines, and systematic theologies, it becomes a theological shield for what amounts to a watered-down, minimalistic view of salvation. The phrase “not the result of works” is held up to oppose not just legalism but any expectation of obedience, transformation, or covenantal faithfulness. As a result, saving faith is reduced to mental agreement or a momentary decision.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.What is more troubling is how often verse 10 is omitted altogether:“For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.”Paul does not contrast grace and works as competing systems. He is describing the proper order of salvation. We are not saved by our works, but we are certainly saved for them. The works themselves are not the ground of our justification, but they are the fruit of our new identity in Christ. God’s grace is not merely pardon; it is re-creation.To isolate Ephesians 2:8–9 from its context is not merely sloppy; it is dishonest. It distorts Paul’s intent and ignores the larger apostolic witness. Scripture is consistent in its teaching that the faith which saves is the faith that obeys. Any appeal to “faith alone” that fails to include this active dimension is not grounded in Scripture but in tradition, and a distorted one at that.James 2: The Faith That Does Not SaveJames addresses a different issue. In his context, the problem is not legalism, but complacency. Some believers claimed to have faith but showed no evidence of transformation. James challenges this empty confession:“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can that faith save you?” (James 2:14)He does not deny that we are justified by faith. He denies that a lifeless faith—faith that neither obeys nor loves—can justify anyone. This is made explicit in verse 19:“You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder.”The kind of belief that demons have is accurate but hollow. It acknowledges the truth without surrendering to it. It knows who God is but does not trust or obey.When James says we are “justified by works and not by faith alone,” he is not replacing faith with works. He defines faith in terms of its active character. Abraham’s faith was not static; it was active, and that’s why it saved him. James does not contradict Paul; he fills out the picture. Justifying faith is never mere belief; it is loyal trust that expresses itself through obedience.Hebrews 11: Faith as Substance and ActionNowhere in Scripture is the nature of faith more fully illustrated than in Hebrews 11. The chapter does not define faith as a moment of mental acceptance or a passive attitude. It presents faith through a series of examples—each one marked by action, risk, obedience, and perseverance. These are not hypothetical believers. They are men and women who trusted God’s promises in such a way that their lives were changed and their choices were redirected.The chapter opens with a statement that is often quoted:“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1, NRSV)The Greek terms here are worth closer attention. The word translated “assurance” is hypostasis, a term that can also mean “substance” or “reality.” It does not refer to an internal feeling but to something substantial; faith is the firm ground upon which hope stands. The second word, translated as “conviction,” is elenchos, which carries the idea of evidence or proof. Faith is not blind; it sees what others overlook. It perceives the unseen because it trusts the One who speaks.The rest of the chapter serves as a commentary on that opening verse. Abel offers a better sacrifice. Noah builds an ark. Abraham leaves his homeland and later even offers his son in sacrifice. Moses refuses the wealth of Egypt and leads his people through the wilderness. Rahab hides the spies. Every example is marked by visible, costly, and enduring obedience. The author does not separate faith from works; they assume that genuine faith expresses itself through action.This is precisely the kind of faith James describes; a faith that works, acts, obeys, and perseveres. Hebrews 11 refutes the notion that faith is passive or that grace nullifies responsibility. The biblical pattern is clear: true faith trusts God enough to do what He says, even when the outcome is uncertain and the cost is great.To speak of “faith alone” without reference to this kind of faith is to speak in abstractions foreign to the biblical text. The faith that saves is not simply internal or intellectual; it is relational, covenantal, and demonstrated in the way one lives.Faith and Belief in the Greek TextMuch of the misunderstanding of “faith alone” in modern Christianity stems from an overly simplistic definition of faith, often influenced by English usage rather than biblical context. To recover a fuller view, it is necessary to examine the Greek words behind our English translations and consider how the New Testament describes the faith that saves.The Greek noun for “faith” is pistis, and the corresponding verb is pisteuō, typically translated as “to believe.” On the surface, the terms seem straightforward. However, when viewed within the broader Greco-Roman and Jewish context—and especially within the context of the New Testament—they carry a deeper and more profound meaning.Pistis does not merely refer to intellectual assent or belief in a set of facts. It includes trust, loyalty, faithfulness, and fidelity. In many first-century contexts, it functioned as a covenantal term, describing the kind of relational commitment that holds strong under pressure. It is the word Paul uses when describing the faith of Abraham. It is the faith that led him to leave his homeland and trust in God’s promise despite not knowing where he was going.Pisteuō, likewise, can refer to believing, trusting, or placing confidence in someone. But the object of the verb often determines its weight. To “believe in Christ” is not simply to acknowledge that He exists or to agree with certain doctrines about Him. It is to entrust one’s life to Him, to submit to His authority, and to enter into a relationship with Him as Lord and Savior. John 3:16 speaks of those who “believe in Him,” but this is not mere mental assent—it is the wholehearted, life-reorienting trust that leads to rebirth and transformation.This distinction is critical when interpreting passages like James 2:19, where James notes that “even the demons believe—and shudder.” The demons pisteuō. They believe that God exists. They know who Jesus is. But their belief lacks pistis. There is no allegiance, no love, no obedience, no surrender. It is belief without trust; recognition without submission. James makes it clear that this kind of belief is useless.The Evangelical Crisis of “Easy Belief”Modern Evangelicalism has, in many ways, failed to grasp this distinction. In efforts to simplify the gospel and encourage decisions, many churches have defined faith as a moment of belief, a mental acceptance of a handful of propositions about Jesus. “Accept Christ into your heart,” “pray this prayer,” “trust Jesus and be saved”—these are the mantras of a culture that equates salvation with response rather than relationship.The result has been the rise of what many have called “easy-believism”—a view in which one can claim salvation while showing little or no evidence of repentance, obedience, or transformation. The moral demands of discipleship are downplayed; baptism is optional, obedience is legalism, and nothing but a simple prayer is necessary to enter the kingdom. Assurance is based on a past decision rather than an ongoing walk of faith.This distortion of faith has led to countless individuals believing they are saved when, in truth, they have never entrusted themselves to Christ in a biblical way. They have believed without faith. The New Testament does not allow this division.What Kind of Faith Saves?The Reformers were right to challenge the system of merit that had come to dominate the medieval church. They were right to insist that salvation is not earned and that justification is a gift of God received through faith. But the phrase “faith alone” has taken on meanings in some circles that neither the Reformers nor the apostles would have recognized. When faith is reduced to belief without obedience, it no longer reflects the witness of Scripture.The New Testament consistently describes faith as a living, responsive, and persevering reality. Hebrews 11 shows us faith that builds, moves and follows. James warns against faith that merely speaks. Paul writes of faith that expresses itself through love and obedience. The apostles do not offer competing definitions but complementary ones. They teach us that the faith that receives the righteousness of Christ is the same faith that walks in His steps.The Restorationist tradition has long called believers to return to the pattern of the early church, including its understanding of salvation. That call includes a rejection of cheap grace and shallow faith. It recognizes the biblical insistence that saving faith is not only trust in God’s promises but a faithful response to God’s call.Many modern Protestants and Evangelicals affirm “faith alone” without realizing that their definition of faith is thinner than what the Reformers defined and, more importantly, than the Bible allows. When we return to Scripture, we can better explain the gospel in its fullness. We are saved by faith, yes. But only the kind of faith that entrusts itself to Christ, dies and rises with Him, and lives in loyal obedience to Him.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Outside of blatantly heretical groups, you could walk into nearly any church today across the denominational spectrum, and they would all affirm the authority of the Bible. Yet it seems believing in the authority of the Bible isn’t always enough. Plenty of debates exist over plenty of topics, such as baptism, church leadership, spiritual gifts, or salvation itself. The question then isn’t whether we accept the Bible but who has the right to interpret it and how that interpretation is guided.Sola Scriptura is one of the most recognizable slogans of the Reformation and the first of the Five Solas. It was a rallying cry against the abuses of church authority in medieval Catholicism. But like many slogans, its meaning has been radicalized and caricatured in equal parts.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.For those in the Restoration Movement, this conversation matters deeply. We have long championed the Bible as the only rule of faith and practice, but we also know that individualism, anti-intellectualism, and isolation from church history can distort that claim.The Classical Reformation DefinitionSola Scriptura was never meant to suggest that Scripture exists in isolation from history, reason, or the Christian community. The Reformers did not believe that tradition was worthless or that the church had no role in interpreting the Bible. They insisted that Scripture alone is the final authority. Every other authority—whether it be a church council, a theological system, or a spiritual leader—must be tested by the Word of God.Martin Luther’s confrontation with the Roman Church centered on this principle. In 1519, at the Leipzig Disputation, Luther denied the infallibility of Church councils and claimed that they had erred in the past. When pressed to recant at the Diet of Worms in 1521, he famously responded:“Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason... I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen.”Luther had no desire to throw out tradition altogether. Throughout his writings, it’s clear that he valued church history; he often quoted church fathers and affirmed the early creeds. But he believed that tradition must be held accountable to Scripture, not placed above it or beside it with equal weight.For Calvin, Scripture’s authority came not from the church’s endorsement but from the Spirit of God bearing witness to its truth. In Institutes of the Christian Religion, he wrote:“The law and the prophets are not given to us to blur our understanding with uncertainty but to guide us aright, and with a sure and steady rule. We must, therefore, not only keep to its teaching but be armed against all deviations.” (Institutes 1.6.3)Human teachers could help explain Scripture but could never bind the conscience. Only God’s Word had that power.The Reformers did not promote nuda Scriptura, the idea that all tradition should be discarded and that Christians should read the Bible in a vacuum. They believed in the value of history, reason, and community. What they rejected was any source of authority that could override the clear teaching of Scripture.In its classical form, Sola Scriptura is not a rejection of tradition. It is a conviction that Scripture stands above all other voices and that every claim—whether doctrinal, ethical, or institutional—must be tested by the revealed Word of God.The Protestant-Catholic DivideWhile the Reformers affirmed the authority of Scripture as supreme, the Catholic Church has historically held a fundamentally different view. The Catholic position is that the Church’s authority consists of three interconnected elements: Scripture, Sacred Tradition, and the Magisterium (the teaching authority of the Church, embodied most visibly in the Pope). Catholics argue that these three form a single, unified source of truth. Scripture is essential, but it cannot be rightly understood apart from tradition and the authoritative interpretation of the Church.In official Catholic teaching, only the Church’s Magisterium has the right to definitively interpret Scripture. This claim is rooted primarily in their interpretation of Matthew 16:18–19, where Jesus tells Peter:“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church... I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven.”Catholics view this passage as establishing Peter as the first pope and granting his successors (the papacy) ongoing authority to define doctrine and interpret Scripture for the entire Church.For the Reformers, the heart of the matter was simple: no church council, bishop, or Pope had the right to override Scripture. They believed the true church was the one that listened to and submitted to the Word of God. The claim that only the papal office could rightly interpret Scripture was rejected as an illegitimate concentration of power and a distortion of Christ’s teaching.Prima Scriptura: A Biblical Alternative?While Sola Scriptura affirms that Scripture alone holds final authority, some Christians—especially in the early church and among modern thinkers outside strict confessional traditions—have proposed a slightly different but related approach known as Prima Scriptura, or “Scripture first.”This view maintains that Scripture is the supreme and primary authority, but it also acknowledges that other sources, such as tradition, reason, and the collective discernment of the Christian community, can help believers rightly interpret and apply God’s Word. These secondary sources are not equal to Scripture and must always be tested against it, but they are not to be completely dismissed.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.It’s important here to distinguish Prima Scriptura from what is often called Solo Scriptura. The difference is more than spelling. While the Reformers promoted Sola Scriptura as Scripture above all other authorities, many modern evangelicals and fundamentalists have shifted toward Solo Scriptura, the idea that the Bible is the only source of truth and that every individual is qualified to interpret it without reference to church history, tradition, or communal insight.Solo Scriptura often results in theological isolation, doctrinal fragmentation, and anti-intellectualism. Everyone effectively becomes their own Pope. On the other hand, Prima Scriptura acknowledges that while Scripture must come first, it should be read within the context of the church, not in individualistic isolation. It values the work of those who have gone before us and labor with us not as binding but as instructive.Restorationists must be cautious not to confuse our rejection of human creeds with a rejection of all historical insight. Prima Scriptura helps us maintain the primacy of Scripture while avoiding the extremes of both magisterial control and individualistic chaos.Who Interprets Scripture?The Catholic Church claims that only the papal office and Magisterium can rightly interpret Scripture. As we saw earlier, this is rooted in a specific interpretation of Peter’s confession in Matthew 16. This led to the dogma of papal infallibility at Vatican I, assuming that the church had always interpreted the passage as the establishment of the papacy.However, historical interpretations reveal something very interesting. According to a letter to Pope Pius IX in 1870, Archbishop Peter Kenrich of St. Louis, Missouri, noted that only 17 of 85 church fathers thought that the rock was Peter. In fact, over half (44) understood Peter’s confession to be the rock. Even within the ranks of the Catholic Church, there was discomfort in the dogmatic declaration of papal infallibility leading up to and even after Vatican I. Yet, because it was dogmatically declared, that has been the official Catholic interpretation ever since, regardless of whether it is the historical interpretation or not.Even more decisively, in Matthew 18:17–20, Jesus uses the same language of “binding and loosing” to describe the authority given to the church as a whole:“If the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector... Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven.”This passage clearly demonstrates that spiritual authority is not vested in a single man or office but is shared by the body of believers who gather in Jesus’ name and seek His will together.In John 16:13, Jesus tells His disciples: “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.”This promise was not made to a pope or a religious institution. It was made to His followers—those who walk with Him in faith. The early church interpreted Scripture together, not through a centralized figure, but through Spirit-led conversation and prayerful discernment. This pattern continues in Acts 15, where the apostles and elders gathered as a body to seek God’s guidance on doctrinal questions.The Spirit did not just inspire the Word; He empowers the people of God to interpret and apply it rightly.Prima Scriptura upholds Scripture as the only infallible authority while recognizing the importance of community, humility, and spiritual guidance in interpretation. It rightly affirms the priesthood of all believers, not as a license for theological anarchy but as a call to shared responsibility under the authority of God’s Word.Prima Scriptura invites us to read the Bible in a way that avoids Rome’s rigid control and modern individualism’s reckless independence.Restorationist ImplicationsThe Restoration Plea has always been simple: return to the Bible and reject man-made creeds, denominational traditions, and ecclesiastical systems that go beyond what is written. In that sense, we share the Reformers’ instincts. We believe the Bible is sufficient, authoritative, and clear and that all people should read it, understand it, and submit to it.But this commitment also brings a challenge. If we’re not careful, we can slide from Sola Scriptura into Solo Scriptura, where each individual becomes the final word on doctrine. When that happens, truth becomes subjective, and the unity Jesus prayed for dissolves into personal opinion.This is where many Evangelicals fall short. You hear about “Bible-based” non-denominational churches all the time from groups that rarely have a clear understanding of what it actually means. A sermon that quotes a few verses or a church that uses Jesus in its branding doesn’t automatically reflect a Scriptural foundation. Too often, “Bible-based” means “Bible-flavored,” and decisions are driven more by pragmatism, personalities, or culture than by submission to the text.The answer isn’t to elevate human tradition. The answer is to read the Bible together, as the body of Christ, with the Spirit as our guide and Scripture as our foundation. The early church did this, and it’s what we’re called to do today.Understanding the distinctions between Sola, Solo, and Prima Scriptura equips us to better teach and evangelize those from other traditions. When someone says, “I believe in the Bible,” we can lovingly ask, “Who gets to interpret it? And how do you know you’re following it faithfully?” These questions shape how we approach different people while discussing truth, unity, and the gospel itself.The Reformers were right to call the church back to Scripture. Their insistence that no pope, council, or tradition could override God’s Word was a bold and necessary stand. But the story does not end there. The question for us today isn’t simply whether we affirm the authority of Scripture but whether we’re willing to read it with humility, guided by the Spirit, and committed to seeking truth together.In the end, while Sola Scriptura is a well-intentioned historical stance, it might be well past time to clarify and begin affirming Prima Scriptura. Regardless of slogans, we must always return to the Word—not as individuals above the church or people enslaved to tradition but as a body of disciples shaped by the Spirit and formed by the voice of God in Scripture.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For many Christians today, the “Five Solas” of the Reformation are treated like sacred slogans, often repeated but rarely examined. For others, they’ve become targets of suspicion or dismissal, as if they were mere relics of a theological battle long past. But before we can critique or defend them, we need to understand what they meant in their original context.That’s the goal of this series: not to tear down but to build a fair and accurate foundation. Before we analyze where each Sola might fall short, we want to begin by presenting each one at its strongest. That means going back to the sources. What did Luther mean by faith alone? What did Calvin mean when he said we are saved by grace alone? Did the Reformers really reject tradition entirely with Scripture alone? And what role did the Church, the sacraments, and obedience play in their thinking?This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.It’s tempting to argue against a caricature or to blindly defend a slogan without knowing its depth. But neither approach honors the truth. These five statements—Sola Scriptura, Sola Fide, Sola Gratia, Solus Christus, and Soli Deo Gloria—did not emerge from thin air. They were forged in the fires of conflict, expressed in the writings and confessions of the Reformers, and refined by centuries of theological reflection with a conviction to understand God’s revelation to man and follow Him fully.In the posts ahead, we’ll examine each of these Solas in depth. We’ll ask where they’re biblical, where they may depend on how we define certain terms, and where they’ve been misunderstood or misapplied. But first, we need to let them speak for themselves. That’s where we begin: not with critique but with clarity.The Origins of the 5 SolasThe Reformers didn’t gather around a table and draft a tidy list of five “Solas” to summarize their theology at some “Council of the Five Solas.” The phrase is a later theological construct coined to capture the central emphases that emerged from the Reformation movement as a whole. The Solas weren’t formalized together in a single document; they developed over time into a framework that helped define what Protestants believed and what they rejected.Each Sola arose as a theological response to a specific tension with Catholic doctrine and practice:* Sola Scriptura resisted the idea that Scripture and Church tradition were equal in authority. It asserted that while traditions and councils may have value, they must always be judged by Scripture, not alongside it.* Sola Fide rejected the system of justification through faith plus merit or sacramental works. It emphasized that faith, rightly understood, is the only means by which one is declared righteous before God.* Sola Gratia countered the notion that human cooperation or merit contributed to salvation. It affirmed that salvation begins and ends with God’s gracious initiative.* Solus Christus denied the necessity of priestly mediation or the invocation of saints. Christ alone is the mediator between God and humanity (1 Timothy 2:5).* Soli Deo Gloria protested against ecclesiastical pride and indulgence-driven religion, returning the spotlight to God’s glory as the ultimate goal of all things.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Historically, these themes emerged over decades, not all at once:* Sola Scriptura took center stage early in Martin Luther’s 1519 Leipzig Disputation and again at the Diet of Worms in 1521, when he famously stood his ground, saying, “My conscience is captive to the Word of God.”* Sola Fide was emphasized in Luther’s commentary and preface to Romans (1522) and enshrined in the Augsburg Confession (1530), the foundational Lutheran statement of faith.* Sola Gratia was given theological depth by Philip Melanchthon in Loci Communes (1521), one of the first systematic Protestant theologies, and reinforced by Calvin in the Institutes of the Christian Religion.* Solus Christus and Soli Deo Gloria were often implicit in early Protestant thought but became more prominent in the Reformed tradition, especially in the Heidelberg Catechism (1563) and later Puritan and Calvinist theology.By the 17th century, Protestant theologians used these phrases as shorthand to defend the heart of the Reformation faith. The five Solas became theological banners because they collectively captured the Reformers’ vision of returning to the authority of Scripture, the sufficiency of Christ, and the saving initiative of God.Why This MattersFor those of us in the Restoration Movement and Churches of Christ, revisiting the five Solas is not just an academic exercise or a historical reflection; it’s an opportunity to sharpen our convictions and engage with the theological assumptions that shape much of the Protestant world today.In many ways, the instinct behind the Solas mirrors our own plea to return to the authority of Scripture, to remove the baggage of human additions, and to exalt Christ as the center of all things. Yet, there are distinct differences between the Reformers’ theology and the faith we see modeled in the New Testament, especially in understanding faith, grace, baptism, authority, and discipleship. Ironically enough, there are also significant differences between the original meaning of the Solas and how they are used by many modern Protestants and Evangelicals today.That’s one of the key reasons this series matters: if we want to teach, engage, and evangelize those from other traditions—especially Protestants who revere the Solas—we need to understand both what the Reformers meant and how their slogans have evolved. A clear grasp of these concepts equips us to speak their language while grounding our convictions in Scripture rather than slogans.Too often, Restorationists either embrace some of the Solas uncritically or reject them entirely without knowing what they originally meant. Both responses can be problematic, but neither approach honors our calling to test everything by the Word of God.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

For many within the Churches of Christ, the “five steps of salvation” are among the first things taught and memorized. Hear. Believe. Repent. Confess. Be baptized. This sequence has been repeated in sermons, printed in tracts, illustrated on charts, and drilled into Bible class curricula for generations. The intent behind it is clear: to help people understand how to respond to the gospel simply and directly.Each of these steps is grounded in Scripture. They reflect real moments of decision and obedience described in the New Testament. The framework has helped explain how people respond to the gospel and enter into a relationship with Christ. It also emphasizes that every individual has a personal responsibility to respond, and that salvation is not automatic or inherited.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.But over time, a helpful teaching tool can become a limiting one. When the five steps are treated as the complete picture of salvation, or as a formula that must be checked off in order, they risk reducing a rich and relational process to a list of commands.The gospel is not a mechanical system. It’s the announcement of what God has done in Christ to reconcile sinners and bring them into covenant with Him. Obedience is essential, but salvation is not a transaction.Today, we’ll explore where the five steps came from, consider the biblical truth they reflect, and how we can gain a more complete picture of salvation as covenantal participation in the life of Christ.Where They Came FromThe “five steps of salvation” are not found in a single passage of Scripture and do not appear in list form anywhere in the Bible. Instead, they developed over time as a way for preachers and teachers to present a clear and structured summary of how individuals respond to the gospel.In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, evangelists and gospel meeting speakers began using simplified outlines to communicate the message of salvation more effectively, particularly in public preaching and printed tracts. As revival culture emphasized decisions and personal response, a desire arose for straightforward, repeatable frameworks that could be taught easily and recalled quickly. Thus, the five-step model was born.This approach attempted to organize scattered teachings of the New Testament into patterns that could be imitated. Rather than relying on theological systems or inherited traditions, the focus was placed on what the apostles preached and how people in Acts responded to the gospel.Each step could be tied to a particular verse or passage. Romans 10:17 supported hearing the Word. John 3:16 and Hebrews 11:6 emphasized belief. Acts 2:38 called for repentance and baptism. Romans 10:9–10 taught confession. These were assembled into a sequence that could be taught from a chart or preached in a single sermon.To be clear, the steps are rooted in Scripture. They were not invented out of thin air. But they were never meant to be a rigid formula. They were a tool—a way to make evangelistic teaching accessible and practical. The danger came later, when this tool began to be treated as a complete definition of salvation, and any alternative explanation was viewed as a compromise or error.The 5 Steps ProperHearing the Word is the starting point. Faith comes by hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ (Romans 10:17). The gospel must be preached and heard before it can be believed. Christianity is not built on emotion or private intuition. It begins with a message.Belief is the natural response to that message. Jesus said that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). Hebrews 11:6 reminds us that without faith it is impossible to please God. Faith is more than intellectual agreement. It’s trust, loyalty, and allegiance to Jesus as Lord.Repentance follows belief. When Peter preached on the day of Pentecost, he called those who were cut to the heart to repent and be baptized (Acts 2:38). Turning to Christ involves turning away from sin. It’s not just feeling bad about past choices; it’s a reorientation of a person’s heart and will in alignment with God’s.Confession is both a personal declaration and a public witness. Romans 10:9–10 teaches that one believes with the heart and confesses with the mouth. Confession, in context, is affirming the lordship of Jesus, often in the face of opposition or persecution. It places a person within the identity of the church and before the watching world.Baptism is the moment of union with Christ. It’s how a person is buried with Him and raised to walk in newness of life (Romans 6:3–4). It’s where sins are washed away (Acts 22:16), where one is clothed with Christ (Galatians 3:27), and where the appeal to God for a clean conscience is made (1 Peter 3:21). Baptism is not an optional symbol. It’s a decisive act of surrender and trust.The strength of the five steps lies in their emphasis on personal responsibility. They reject the idea that salvation is inherited or that religious rituals can substitute for personal faith and obedience. They remind the hearer that the gospel is a call to action.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.These steps also protect the central place of baptism, which is often misunderstood or marginalized in other religious traditions. The Restoration Movement rightly insisted that baptism is not a later act of obedience for the already saved, but the moment of conversion itself.Where the Model Falls ShortWhile the five steps of salvation are rooted in Scripture, the model can fall short when treated as a complete definition of salvation rather than a summary of response. Like any simplified framework, it becomes problematic when it shapes our understanding more than the biblical narrative itself.The five steps are often presented in a fixed order, as if salvation is a series of boxes to check or stairs to climb to achieve salvation. This approach can give the impression that if a person performs each step correctly, they have fulfilled their obligation and now possess salvation in a technical sense. While obedience is essential, Scripture describes salvation not as a transaction, but as an entry into a new relationship with God—a covenant sealed through the death and resurrection of Christ. The danger is reducing that covenant to a series of events rather than understanding it as surrendering one’s whole life to the reign of Jesus.While each step reflects human response, the model often leaves little room for divine initiative. In Scripture, salvation is described as a work of God from beginning to end. It is by grace that we are saved through faith (Ephesians 2:8), through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit (Titus 3:5). The five-step framework rarely highlights the Spirit’s role in transforming the heart, empowering obedience, and sealing the believer for the day of redemption (Ephesians 1:13–14). When the focus is entirely on what the individual does, it risks portraying salvation as something earned rather than received.The model also typically ends with baptism. While some have tried to correct this by adding “living faithfully,” we may be too far gone. Ending at baptism can unintentionally separate the act of conversion from the ongoing life of discipleship. In the New Testament, baptism is not the finish line. It is the beginning of a new life under the lordship of Christ.Jesus did not call people to simply make converts; He called them to make disciples (Matthew 28:19–20). Faithfulness to the gospel requires more than a one-time response. It requires daily spiritual formation through community, teaching, obedience, and the ongoing work of the Spirit.Finally, the five steps are often presented by quoting isolated verses, sometimes from different books and settings, without reference to the covenantal structure or theological development of Scripture. This can lead to a fragmented understanding of salvation. For example, Acts 2:38 is part of Peter’s sermon, fulfilling Joel’s prophecy about the outpouring of the Spirit. Romans 10 emphasizes the righteousness that comes from faith, in contrast to the works of the law of Moses. When these texts are used as ingredients in a formula rather than as parts of a coherent narrative, the message of salvation can be reduced to proof texts instead of proclamation.None of these concerns are arguments against calling people to obedience. The call to repent and be baptized is at the very heart of the gospel invitation. However, we should be cautious about presenting a man-made outline as if it were the totality of God’s plan. The five steps may point in the right direction, but the reality they point to is more profound and more transformative than a simple pattern can capture.Reframing the Call to ObedienceThe five steps of salvation can still serve a useful purpose, especially when introducing someone to the basic pattern of response found throughout the New Testament. But they must be understood as part of something larger. Salvation is not a sequence; it’s a life-altering reality that begins with God’s grace, received in obedient faith, and unfolds in the covenant relationship with Christ.Rather than discarding the five steps, we can reframe them within the story Scripture tells.* Hearing and believing the gospel is not just about acquiring information; it’s about receiving good news that changes everything.* Repentance is not a one-time act of remorse; it’s a reorientation of one’s entire life toward the kingdom of God.* Confession is not a ritual but a public declaration of loyalty to Jesus.* Baptism is not the end of a process; it’s the moment a person is united with Christ, buried and raised with Him, and born again by water and Spirit.In their proper context, the steps become more than a formula. They become markers of entry into a new reality—citizenship in God’s kingdom, participation in Christ’s death and resurrection, and inclusion in the community of the Spirit. They help express our part in the covenant, but they aren’t the whole of it.If we want to teach the plan of salvation faithfully, we must do so as part of the larger call to be disciples. We should connect it to the cross, the resurrection, the work of the Spirit, and the church’s mission. We have to help people see that coming to Christ is not the end of a search but the beginning of a transformed life.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

“Call Bible things by Bible names. Do Bible things in Bible ways.” These phrases have been repeated in Churches of Christ for decades. They often affirm a commitment to biblical language and practice, especially in contrast to denominational traditions or religious innovations. Like many Restoration slogans, they express a deep desire to return to the New Testament pattern and honor Scripture as the final authority in all matters of faith.That desire should be respected. Christians should care about using the Bible’s language and shaping their lives and congregations according to what the apostles taught and practiced. These slogans were never meant to be catchy branding. They were intended to call the church back to simplicity and faithfulness.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Today, we’ll think about the origins of these sayings, why they matter, where they’ve gone off track, and how we can recover a more thoughtful, faithful way of handling the Bible that reflects its authority without flattening its depth.Where They Come FromThe phrases “Call Bible things by Bible names” and “Do Bible things in Bible ways” are not drawn directly from Scripture, but they grew organically from the convictions of the early Restoration Movement. They point to the Restorationists’ desire to imitate the New Testament church’s language and practices.The first phrase—“Call Bible things by Bible names”—can be traced to a recurring theme in Restoration literature: the concern that religious language had drifted far from the language of Scripture. In the Christian Baptist, Alexander Campbell criticized the use of unscriptural titles such as “Reverend” or “Father” for church leaders and argued for calling things what Scripture calls them. He wrote:“Human names, human creeds, and human inventions in religion have been the fruitful sources of division, contention, and schism in the professed body of Christ.”—Alexander Campbell, Christian Baptist, Vol. I, No. 1 (1823)This concern wasn’t simply about semantics. Campbell believed that the language of the Bible carried theological weight. Substituting other terms was unnecessary and could introduce confusion and division. If Scripture refers to the church as the “church of God” or “churches of Christ” (Acts 20:28; Romans 16:16), then those names ought to be sufficient.The second phrase—“Do Bible things in Bible ways”—developed from the Restorationist insistence on pattern theology: the belief that God has revealed a clear and reproducible model for the church in the pages of the New Testament. This conviction shows up consistently in Campbell’s The Christian System (1839), where he defends the necessity of following the apostolic order in matters of worship, church government, and doctrine. While the exact wording of the slogan does not appear in his writings, the concept is everywhere present.Barton W. Stone shared this mindset, emphasizing that any practice not found in Scripture ought to be laid aside in the pursuit of Christian unity. In The Last Will and Testament of the Springfield Presbytery (1804), Stone and others declared:“We will, that this body die, be dissolved, and sink into union with the Body of Christ at large; for there is but one body, and one Spirit… and that the people take the Bible as the only sure guide to heaven.”These slogans were not coined as formal doctrines but emerged over time as shorthand expressions of the Restoration plea. Their goal was to return to a recognizable biblical pattern—calling things what the Bible calls them and doing things in the manner taught or exemplified by Christ and His apostles. In their original context, they were corrective and unifying, intended to strip away centuries of human tradition and restore the clarity of apostolic Christianity.What They Get RightThe leaders of the Restoration Movement were not simply reacting to tradition. They were asking a serious and necessary question: if the Bible is sufficient, why rely on anything else to define who we are or what we do?The call to “call Bible things by Bible names” reflects the belief that biblical language matters. The names used in the New Testament are not accidental. They carry meaning, purpose, and theological clarity. To refer to the church as the “church of Christ” (Romans 16:16), the “church of God” (Acts 20:28; 1 Corinthians 1:2), or “the body of Christ” (Ephesians 1:22–23) is not about choosing a label. It is about affirming who the church belongs to. Likewise, terms such as “elder,” “overseer,” and “deacon” are not the same as titles like “reverend” or “bishop” in many religious traditions today. Using biblical terms helps avoid confusion and keeps the church grounded in the language of the apostles.This concern for language also served a larger purpose. It was a way of resisting the theological clutter that had grown around Christianity over the centuries. By returning to the language of Scripture, the early Restoration leaders believed they were taking a step toward unity. If believers could drop human labels and return to biblical ones, they might begin to overcome the divisions that had fractured the church.The second phrase, “do Bible things in Bible ways,” shows a similar concern for faithfulness, not just in belief but in practice. The early church did more than proclaim the gospel. It gathered in specific ways, celebrated the Eucharist regularly, appointed elders in each congregation, and baptized believers by immersion for the forgiveness of sins. These were not random or culturally optional practices. They were grounded in the teaching and example of the apostles (Acts 2:42; 20:7; 14:23; Ephesians 4:11–13; Titus 1:5).This mindset helped shape the identity of the Churches of Christ in essential ways. Practices like baptism, weekly communion, and elder-led congregations were preserved and taught across generations because of a serious commitment to the New Testament as the church’s model. These patterns are not based on tradition or preference but on a desire to remain faithful to what God has revealed.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.When used in their proper context, these slogans remind us that faithfulness is not just about believing the right things. It is about allowing Scripture to shape the language we use, our worship, and the kind of church we become. The challenge is learning how to hold that instinct with maturity and discernment.What They Get WrongWhile the intentions behind these phrases are good, my fear is that they are used without awareness of how language, culture, and theology actually work. They can unintentionally distort the very faithfulness they were meant to protect.The Bible Was Not Written in EnglishOne of the most basic challenges to the phrase “call Bible things by Bible names” is that the Bible wasn’t written in English; it was written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. Every time we read the Bible in English, we are reading a translation, and all translations involve interpretation. The words we use in English are not identical to the words Paul, Peter, or Moses used. They are approximations chosen by translators to make ancient concepts understandable to modern readers.That doesn’t mean translations are unreliable, but it does mean that insisting on exact “Bible names” in English is misleading. Unless someone is reading the original languages, they already rely on someone else’s interpretation of those names and terms. Even the word “church” is an English rendering of the Greek ekklesia, which simply means “assembly” or “called-out ones.” The word “baptism” is a transliteration, not a translation; it comes straight from the Greek baptizō, which means “immerse.” There are hundreds and hundreds of more examples. These aren’t just technicalities. They show how language shapes what we think the Bible says.No English Translation Is Perfect (Not Even the KJV)Many who emphasize “Bible names” and “Bible ways” often default to the King James Version out of familiarity or tradition. In some cases, this becomes an KJV-only mindset, where the wording of that particular translation is treated as the definitive standard. But the KJV, while historically important, is based on later and less accurate manuscripts. It includes known additions not found in the earliest Greek texts, like the Johannine Comma in 1 John 5:7 or the long ending of Mark, neither of which appear in the most ancient manuscripts.Beyond textual accuracy, the KJV also uses a form of English that no one speaks today. Words like “conversation,” “peculiar,” or “charity” carried different meanings in the 1600s. Relying on an outdated and textually limited translation undermines the very goal of clarity and faithfulness that these slogans (and even the original KJV translators) were meant to promote.Theological Terms Outside the Bible Are Sometimes NecessaryThere is also the question of language that isn’t directly found in the Bible. Some argue that if a word isn’t in Scripture, we shouldn’t use it. But that logic breaks down quickly.Let’s take the word “Trinity” as the first example. It’s not found in the Bible, yet it has been used for centuries to summarize the unified teaching of Scripture about the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Some Christians may prefer to use the word Godhead instead of Trinity, arguing that it is the “biblical” term (as seen, for example, in the King James rendering of passages like Romans 1:20). While they will still affirm the substance of the doctrine of the Trinity and simply prefer a different term, this approach can unintentionally create confusion which is in direct contradiction to the principle itself. Groups like the Latter-day Saints also use the word “Godhead,” but they deny the Trinity and fundamentally reject monotheism altogether (although they will tell you they don’t). They believe the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are three separate gods. So while the terminology may sound familiar, the underlying theology is radically different.A similar point applies to the word “atonement,” which didn’t exist in English until William Tyndale coined it in the 16th century. He created the term to express the idea of reconciliation between God and humanity through the death of Christ. The concept is biblical, even if the vocabulary had to be invented to convey it clearly in English. Yet nobody would ever question the validity of using the word “atonement.”This is why clarity matters more than familiarity. A commitment to biblical truth may require us to use non-biblical words to guard against unbiblical ideas. Refusing to use theological terms like “Trinity” because the word doesn’t appear in Scripture can make it harder to defend the doctrine, especially in a religious culture where heretical groups use biblical vocabulary to mean very different things.The goal is not to invent new doctrines. It’s to faithfully articulate the truth Scripture teaches, even if doing so requires language the apostles didn’t use. Extra-biblical terms are not enemies of biblical fidelity when they help express and protect what Scripture clearly reveals.Pattern Theology Can Go Too FarThe slogan “do Bible things in Bible ways” often functions as a call to imitate the practices of the early church. In some cases, that’s wise. The apostles were guided by the Spirit, and their teaching remains authoritative. However, not everything they did was meant to be repeated by every church and every generation. For example, Acts describes believers sharing all their possessions and casting lots to make decisions. Yet I know very few Christians who share their possessions that way, and have never heard of an eldership casting lots to make decisions. These details are part of the inspired narrative, but they are not patterns the church must replicate.Failing to distinguish between what is descriptive and what is prescriptive creates confusion. It can lead to rigid rules where Scripture offers flexibility and can turn matters of expedience into tests of faithfulness. That’s not restoration—it’s repetition without discernment.Oversimplifying FaithfulnessFinally, these slogans can lead to a surface-level view of what it means to be faithful. If we think we’ve “done it right” simply because we’ve used the right terms or copied the right patterns, we may miss the deeper call of Scripture: to love the Lord with heart, soul, mind, and strength, to love our neighbors as ourselves, and to be transformed into the image of Christ. Obedience is not just about vocabulary or form. It’s about humility, maturity, and submission to the whole counsel of God.These phrases are still useful when they point us back to Scripture with honesty and care. But they lose their power when they are used to shut down discussion, reinforce tradition without reflection, or divide churches over non-essential matters. The goal is not to abandon the slogans but to handle them with more wisdom than we often have.From Slogan to SubstanceThese phrases came from a sincere desire to honor God’s Word. They reminded the church to resist tradition for tradition’s sake, stay rooted in Scripture, and pursue clarity in doctrine and practice.But slogans, by nature, simplify. When simplification replaces discernment, the church begins to lose the very clarity it was trying to protect. The goal of biblical faithfulness has never been about repeating the right phrases or mimicking first-century forms. It has always been about submitting to the authority of Christ through a mature understanding of Scripture, rightly handled and carefully applied.That means we need to keep asking better questions. Instead of simply asking, “Is this the Bible name for it?” we should ask, “Is this how Scripture describes and defines it, and do we understand what that name means in context?” Instead of saying, “This is how they did it, so we must do it the same way,” we should ask, “What did this practice mean for the early church, and how does that meaning carry forward into our setting today?”A faithful church isn’t just one that quotes the Bible to defend what it believes. It’s one that listens carefully to what Scripture actually teaches, studies it within its historical and covenant context, and seeks to live it out in a way that reflects both the letter and the spirit of the gospel.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

“Book, chapter, and verse” has become one of the most familiar phrases in the heritage of the Churches of Christ, even if it’s not unique to us. It represents a commitment to biblical authority, a conviction that doctrine and practice must be grounded in Scripture rather than tradition, emotion, or popular opinion. For generations, this phrase has served as a challenge: show the passage that authorizes what you believe and do.At its best, this instinct reflects the heart of the Restoration Movement, which called believers to return to the text of Scripture rather than trust the traditions of men. It encouraged accountability in teaching and urged Christians to examine what they heard in light of God’s Word.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Yet like many well-intentioned slogans, this one can become distorted in practice. When “book, chapter, and verse” is reduced to proof-texting or used to settle arguments without engaging the larger biblical context, it can limit rather than enrich biblical understanding. When every doctrine is expected to be found in a single verse, the result is often a fragmented reading of Scripture that ignores literary structure, historical setting, and theological development.Today, we will consider where this phrase came from, the theological convictions it was meant to preserve, how it has sometimes been misapplied, and what it means to pursue biblical authority faithfully and theologically maturely.Where It Comes FromThe idea reflects one of the American Restoration Movement’s core commitments: the belief that the Scriptures alone must govern the church’s faith, worship, and organization. It emerged as a practical expression of the movement’s call to reject creeds, councils, and denominational traditions in favor of direct appeal to the Word of God.This approach was shaped by figures like Thomas and Alexander Campbell, who argued that unity among Christians could only be achieved by returning to the Scriptures as the common ground. In his Declaration and Address (1809), Thomas Campbell wrote:“Nothing ought to be received into the faith or worship of the church… for which there cannot be produced a ‘thus saith the Lord.’”That spirit carried over into later Restoration preaching and teaching. “Book, chapter, and verse” became the shorthand way to say: if we cannot find it in the Bible, we should not teach or practice it.What the Slogan Gets RightThe original impulse behind the slogan is commendable. It reflects a deep respect for the authority of Scripture and a conviction that no human voice should outweigh what God has revealed in His Word. This phrase pushes us to read Scripture carefully and apply it faithfully in a religious world where doctrines are often shaped by personal preference or church tradition.At its best, the slogan affirms the sufficiency and clarity of Scripture. Paul tells Timothy that “all Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” (2 Timothy 3:16). The goal is not just knowledge, but to shape the church and guide believers into lives of faithful obedience. That assumes that the Word of God is both accessible and trustworthy for those who are seeking to follow Christ.“Book, chapter, and verse” also encourages doctrinal precision and personal accountability. It reminds teachers not to preach speculation as truth or pass down tradition as if it carried divine authority. It challenges Christians to test what they hear against the text, as the Bereans did when they examined Paul’s preaching “to see whether these things were so” (Acts 17:11). That kind of active, discerning posture is still essential for a healthy church.This idea has also helped cultivate biblical literacy by encouraging generations of Christians to open their Bibles, memorize key passages, and see Scripture as something that belongs in every aspect of life and worship. It helped create clarity and conviction on central doctrines, especially in areas where the wider religious world has often drifted into confusion or compromise.The phrase has kept alive the expectation that the church’s authority is not grounded in tradition, emotion, or experience, but in the written Word of God. The problem isn’t the conviction itself. The problem is how that conviction sometimes gets reduced to a method that misses the deeper purpose of Scripture altogether.Where the Slogan Goes WrongThe desire to base everything on Scripture is right and necessary. But like many good things, the phrase can go sideways when used in ways the original Restoration leaders never intended.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Proof-Texting Replaces Biblical TheologyOne of the most common misuses of this phrase is the tendency to pull verses out of context to prove a point, without considering how that passage fits within the larger flow of Scripture. A verse may say something true, but quoting it doesn’t automatically mean we’ve interpreted it correctly.For example, someone might quote Acts 2:38 to defend baptism (as they should) but ignore how that verse’s covenant promises echo the prophets’ language. Others might insist on a worship practice because of a single New Testament example, without asking how that example fits into the broader biblical theology of worship, the work of the Spirit, or the nature of the new covenant.When “book, chapter, and verse” becomes about finding a citation rather than understanding Scripture as a whole, it encourages a fragmented approach. The Bible is not a string of laws or disconnected rules. It’s a unified story of God’s redeeming work in Christ.Expectations of SimplicityNot every doctrine is found in one neatly packaged verse. Some truths unfold gradually and are held together by a wide range of passages. If we expect every belief to be confirmed by a single proof text, we’re setting ourselves up for frustration, shallowness, and even theological errors.For example, the doctrine of the Trinity isn’t explained in one single verse, nor is the kingdom of God, a full picture of eschatology, or the structure of biblical covenants. These doctrines are not unclear, but they require a deeper engagement with Scripture than a slogan like “just give me the verse” allows for.That doesn’t mean we abandon clarity. It means we grow in our ability to think theologically rather than just looking for quick answers.Legalistic Readings of ScriptureIn some circles, the demand for “book, chapter, and verse” has been tied to a highly rigid, pattern-based approach to Scripture that treats the New Testament like a new law code. This approach tends to flatten out literary differences, treats every passage as if it were a direct command, and builds systems around silence and inference that often go well beyond what the text itself supports.Instead of forming people into thoughtful, Spirit-led disciples who know how to reason from the Scriptures, it can produce an atmosphere of fear and conformity where the goal is to find the right combination of verses rather than to understand God’s will with wisdom and maturity.Rethinking Biblical AuthorityThe solution to the misuses of the phrase isn’t to abandon it but to recover what it was meant to be. If we believe that Scripture is the church’s authority, then we need to handle it with more than precision. We need to handle it with the depth, care, and wisdom that comes from reading the whole counsel of God.Biblical authority involves more than citing a verse. It requires asking whether we’ve understood that verse in its proper contexts: literary, historical, theological, and covenantal. The Bible is not a list of commands and examples to be applied in isolation. It is a unified narrative that centers on God’s redemptive work in Christ. If we treat it like a legal code, we miss its power to transform hearts.This means we must learn to read Scripture canonically, recognizing how the books of the Bible work together to reveal God’s character and plan. It means reading covenantally, understanding how the Old and New Covenants relate to each other and how Christ fulfills them. It means reading as the church, not as isolated individuals looking for ammunition, but as a community seeking to be shaped by the Word.We still need to ask, “Where is that in Scripture?” But we also need to ask better questions alongside it:* What was the author’s purpose in giving this revelation?* How does this passage fit into the larger story of Scripture?* What does this teach us about God, Christ, and who we are called to be?Ultimately, “book, chapter, and verse” should be more than a method of winning theological debates; it should invite all Christians to engage in deeper study and discernment of God’s Word. It should lead us into the richness of Scripture, not just what it says, but what it means, and how it forms us as the people of God.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Few claims capture the confidence of Churches of Christ like the phrase “we are the first-century church.” It’s meant to express a commitment to biblical authority, apostolic teaching, and continuity with the church described in the New Testament. The intent is to reject denominational innovation and restore the simple, Spirit-led community that Christ established through His apostles.This conviction lies at the heart of the American Restoration Movement. The goal was not innovation, but recovering what existed in the New Testament. That original vision was rooted in humility, not arrogance. But over time, the claim of being the “first-century church” has shifted from a goal to a self-description.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.By virtue of our particular practices, we imply that our one group has perfectly restored what every other group has lost. The first-century church is certainly worth learning from, but claiming to be that church may say more about our assumptions and pride than our faithfulness.Today, we’ll examine the origins of this claim, what it affirms when used rightly, how it can drift into error, and how we can reclaim the Restoration vision without overstating our place in it.Where the Saying Comes FromIn his 1809 Declaration and Address, Thomas Campbell insisted, “the Church of Christ upon earth is essentially, intentionally, and constitutionally one.” Alexander Campbell echoed the same vision in his 1839 work The Christian System, writing, “We speak of things as they are written in the book of God, and as they were exhibited in the apostolic church.”This mindset led many within the movement to conclude that if a church aligned itself with the teachings and practices of the New Testament, it was not merely like the first-century church but actually was the first-century church, not by being present in a particular time or culture but in doctrine, identity, and spiritual continuity.That conclusion may sound bold, but it was rooted in sincere confidence in the sufficiency of Scripture and the reproducibility of the gospel. In many respects, this conviction still carries weight. The church of Christ belongs to Christ Himself and transcends time and space.What the Claim Gets RightAt its core, the desire to be the first-century church reflects a profound commitment to biblical authority, apostolic teaching, and continuity with the gospel as it was first preached. This instinct is one of the most admirable features of the Restoration Movement.The New Testament presents a clear and compelling picture of the church as it emerged under the apostles’ leadership and the Holy Spirit’s direction. Acts 2:42 describes the early church as “devoted to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” This was more than a loose spiritual association. It was a distinct, Spirit-formed community bound together by shared doctrine, worship, mission, and lives.To say “we are the first-century church,” when used rightly, is an attempt to express that same commitment:* To teach what the apostles taught.* To worship as they worshiped.* To organize the church as they organized it.* To obey the same gospel that was preached on Pentecost.* To submit to the authority of Christ through the Word, without adding human innovations or traditions.This pursuit is especially important in our current era, as many churches have drifted into entertainment-focused worship models, doctrinal vagueness, or theological pragmatism. Holding up the apostolic church as a model is a necessary corrective in an age that often treats Scripture as optional.Even philosophically, the instinct is sound. The Reformational principle ecclesia semper reformanda est—“the church must always be reformed according to the Word of God”—is consistent with the Restoration plea. As the church, we should always be looking to examine ourselves and be ready to reform as needed to align with the pattern set by the New Testament church.When the slogan “we are the first-century church” expresses a commitment to these values, it can help keep the church grounded in truth, united in mission, and focused on Christ. However, problems arise when the phrase moves from aspiration to assertion, from seeking faithfulness to claiming exclusive ownership of it.Where the Claim Goes WrongWhile the desire to model ourselves after the New Testament church is admirable, the shift from saying “we are striving to be the first-century church” to declaring “we are the first-century church” introduces several problems in our mindset and theology.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Romanticizing the PastTo say “we are the first-century church” can easily imply that we’ve already arrived, that nothing further needs to be examined, corrected, or reformed. This mindset resists reflection, discourages humility, and assumes the task of restoration is complete rather than ongoing. The truth is, no modern church perfectly replicates the first-century church. Cultural, linguistic, and historical differences make that impossible.Ironically, this mindset also heavily romanticizes the first-century church. The kind of finality the claim suggests is entirely foreign to what we know about them. Paul wrote letters to rebuke, correct, and instruct churches wrestling with division, false teaching, moral failure, and cultural confusion.Corinth was deeply fractured and ethically compromised. Galatia was legalistic and teetering on heresy. Ephesus struggled with false teachers. Even Jerusalem struggled with ethnocentric tendencies. The New Testament churches were not perfect models to be copied; they were real congregations with real flaws.When we speak of the early church as if it represents a golden age of doctrinal purity and ideal practice, we romanticize what was actually a fragile but growing community of believers. Their faithfulness was not in their doctrinal perfection but in their dependence on Christ, submission to apostolic authority, and perseverance in the gospel. To imitate the first-century church should be to pursue the same faith and transformation they sought, not an attempt to claim a sense of functional superiority.Description as PrescriptionMuch of what we know about the early church comes from the book of Acts and the epistles. These inspired texts contain both normative teaching and contextual description.For example, Acts records churches meeting in homes, sharing possessions, casting lots, and continuing in temple worship. At the same time, Paul speaks of apostles, prophets, tongues, and miraculous gifts.To assert that we are “the first-century church” can lead to selectively elevating some practices as permanent while dismissing others as cultural or temporary, often based on tradition rather than clear biblical reasoning. Restoration must distinguish between eternal principles and historical expressions. We imitate their faith and doctrine, not necessarily their cultural forms.Encouraging SectarianismThis is perhaps the most serious danger. When the phrase becomes a marker of identity, implying that we are the faithful church and others are not, it promotes the very sectarianism the early Restoration leaders opposed. This thinking subtly but dangerously moves from doctrinal conviction to spiritual exclusiveness. It risks drawing the circle of fellowship so narrowly that even faithful followers of Christ who disagree on secondary matters are viewed with suspicion or outright dismissal.Let me be clear: the gospel must never be compromised. The church’s identity cannot be separated from the apostolic teaching about Christ, the call to repentance and baptism, and the pattern of faith and obedience revealed in Scripture. That is not negotiable.I am not suggesting we should abandon biblical doctrine to embrace ecumenical partnerships with Catholicism, which has corrupted the gospel with tradition, or with much of modern Evangelicalism, which often preaches a shallow, experience-driven, or faith-alone message detached from biblical obedience.The problem is not that we separate from false gospels. The problem is that we often separate from fellow believers who follow Christ faithfully but may differ from us on matters not central to salvation. Churches divide over things that are not the gospel and denounce and disfellowship other congregations over who is invited to speak or having a pot of coffee ready for Bible study (yes, that has happened).If we are truly seeking to be the first-century church, we must reflect the spirit of the apostles who were willing to draw firm lines around the gospel, but who also called the church to be eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:3).Always ReformingIf the goal of the Restoration Movement was to return to the church as Christ established it, then we must remember that restoration is not a static achievement. It’s a posture of continual submission to Christ’s authority and the apostles’ teaching. Saying “we are the first-century church” only has meaning if we are willing to let Scripture reshape us wherever we’ve settled into assumption, tradition, or pride.The claim that we are the first-century church may have begun as a way to express our alignment with the New Testament pattern, but it too easily becomes a way of closing ourselves off from serious reflection. We cannot afford to allow confidence to become complacency.We must hold fast to the gospel of Jesus Christ and teach what the apostles taught. But we must also acknowledge that our understanding, like that of every generation, is partial and needs constant renewal.The first-century church was not perfect, but it was faithful. Not because it had everything figured out, but because it belonged to Christ and was being formed by His Word. Our goal must be not to simply claim that we are the first-century church, but to continue becoming the true church of Christ.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

It’s a phrase that has been repeated in Churches of Christ for generations, sometimes proudly, sometimes defensively, and often without much contemplation. On the surface, it speaks to one of the defining convictions of the Restoration Movement: that the church should not be divided by man-made labels, creeds, or hierarchies. The goal was to return to the unity of the New Testament church, not to start another religious group.In principle, the statement is true. The Churches of Christ have no denominational headquarters, governing council, or formal creed. Each congregation is autonomous, and the Bible is upheld as the sole authority. These are important distinctions, and they reflect a sincere attempt to avoid the denominationalism that fractured the Christian world for centuries.But this claim deserves a closer look.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.If we claim not to be a denomination while maintaining unspoken doctrinal expectations, exclusionary fellowship lines, and a shared institutional culture, then are we really being honest about what we are?Today, we’ll explore why the statement “We are not a denomination” was meaningful in its original context, how it has sometimes been used to obscure rather than clarify, and what it looks like to uphold the unity of Christ’s church without falling into the very denominationalism we claim to reject.Where the Statement Comes From and What It MeantThe claim finds its roots in the earliest convictions of the American Restoration Movement. Restorationists were not attempting to create a new religious tradition; they were pleading for a return to the undivided church described in the New Testament.In an era of denominational complexity, the Restoration pioneers issued a simple but powerful appeal:“The church of Christ upon earth is essentially, intentionally, and constitutionally one.” — Thomas CampbellThis wasn’t a rejection of doctrine but of sectarian division. They believed denominationalism was contrary to Scripture and Christ’s prayer for unity (John 17:20–23). Their goal was to restore the apostolic church’s faith, worship, and identity, not as a new sect, but as a return to what was always intended: one church, with Christ as its only head and Scripture as its only authority.“We are not a denomination” made sense in this context. It was a refusal to join in with the sectarian divisions of the time. It was a commitment to shed every name but Christ’s, and every rule but His Word.Functional DenominationalismHowever, the movement that began with a unity plea would, over time, develop its own boundaries, expectations, and institutional structures.While the Churches of Christ have long rejected the denominational label, we often operate with many of the same features in practice. No official headquarters or written creed may exist, but a recognizable framework has developed over time. This includes shared institutions, unwritten doctrinal boundaries, and an informal network of influence that shapes which congregations are considered faithful and which are viewed with suspicion.Consider the following:* Many churches rely on the same publications, lectureships, and universities to reinforce teaching and identity.* Doctrinal conformity is often expected on matters that go beyond the essentials of the gospel.* Preachers may find themselves blacklisted or disinvited from events over differing positions on issues that are not matters of salvation.* Language such as “soundness” or “faithful congregations” often functions as code for alignment with a particular interpretive tradition.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.None of this is coordinated through an official governing body, so some insist we are not a denomination. But when patterns of behavior consistently reflect the same kind of boundary-drawing and internal policing that characterize denominational structures, the line between non(or un)-denominational and functionally denominational becomes very thin.The concern is not about shared values or doctrinal consistency—the New Testament church had that. The problem is whether we have been honest about the nature of our structure and culture. If we continue to say, “We are not a denomination,” but function as one in nearly every way, we risk substituting slogans for reality.When we use the phrase today while ignoring how we’ve formed our own distinctive structures, norms, and boundaries, we’re no longer continuing the Restoration plea. We are repurposing it to defend our current identity. That shift is not restoration. It is traditionalism disguised as renewal.Worse still, when we claim not to be a denomination as a way of elevating ourselves above others, we directly contradict the spirit of the very movement we claim to follow. The early Restoration leaders welcomed all who followed Christ in faith and obedience. They did not insist on conformity in all matters of interpretation before extending fellowship.To continue using this phrase without reflection is misleading and historically dishonest. We cannot appeal to the ideals of the past while rejecting the humility, self-awareness, and unity that those ideals demanded.Recovering Unity With HumilityThe call to reject denominationalism was never about claiming moral or doctrinal superiority. It was about calling believers back to the simplicity and unity of the church revealed in Scripture. That vision is worth recovering, but it’s impossible to do by simply repeating slogans or defending inherited structures without serious self-examination.If we are serious about the Restoration plea, we have to move beyond saying “we are not a denomination” and ask whether our patterns reflect the unity of Christ’s body. We must be willing to critique ourselves, not just the traditions of others. We must measure our faithfulness not only by doctrine, but also by humility, love, and our willingness to extend grace to others who seek to follow Christ.We can and should hold fast to biblical convictions. We can and should affirm that the church belongs to Christ and is governed by His Word. But we must also acknowledge that the church is larger than our movement, and that faithfulness to Christ includes recognizing His work beyond the boundaries we may have drawn.Unity is not achieved by minimizing truth, but it’s also not preserved by isolating ourselves. True restoration does not seek to recreate the first-century church in form only. It seeks to recover the spirit of Christ, including His humility, His truth, and His prayer that His people would be one.If we are going to say we are not a denomination, then let us live in a way that reflects that, not just in what we claim to reject but also in how we welcome, teach, and love others.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Few phrases reflect the spirit of the Restoration Movement more than this: “The Bible is our only creed.” Or its close cousin: “No creed but Christ.” These slogans express a deep conviction—that the Word of God, not the words of men, must be the foundation for the church’s doctrine, worship, and identity.It was a bold and necessary protest. In an era when denominations were defined by their confessions, catechisms, and creeds—each claiming to outline “true” Christianity—Restoration leaders called believers to lay down their party flags and return to Scripture itself. They weren’t trying to write a better creed. They were trying to leave creeds behind altogether.And yet, the story is more complicated than it first appears.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Today, we’ll explore the origins and intentions behind Christian creeds, why the Restoration Movement rejected them, and how churches today—including the Churches of Christ—still rely on unwritten creeds more than we might admit. Along the way, we’ll wrestle with an honest question:Is it truly possible to have “no creed but Christ,” or are we simply trading formal documents for informal assumptions?Creeds in ContextLong before printed Bibles sat on every pew—or in every pocket—early Christians relied on something else to help preserve and pass on the faith: creeds.The word creed comes from the Latin credo, meaning “I believe.” These statements were never meant to replace Scripture. Instead, they served as summaries of core apostolic teaching.Creeds were crafted during a time when the New Testament canon had not yet been finalized, most believers couldn’t read or write, and copies of Scripture were rare, expensive to produce, and not widely available. In that world, creeds played a vital role. They were used in baptismal instruction, corporate worship, and guarding orthodoxy against false teaching. The early church needed to make clear, especially to new converts, what it meant to follow Jesus, and what it did not.Consider the Apostles’ Creed, one of the earliest and most widespread:“I believe in God, the Father almighty,creator of heaven and earth.I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,who was conceived by the Holy Spiritand born of the virgin Mary.He suffered under Pontius Pilate,was crucified, died, and was buried;he descended to hell.The third day he rose again from the dead.He ascended to heavenand is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty.From there he will come to judge the living and the dead.I believe in the Holy Spirit,the holy catholic* church,the communion of saints,the forgiveness of sins,the resurrection of the body,and the life everlasting. Amen.*that is, the true Christian church of all times and all places”It’s a straightforward, concise, and memorable statement focused on the essentials of the faith.Later, the Nicene Creed (A.D. 325, expanded in 381) arose to clarify the full divinity of Christ against the rise of Arianism, which denied that Jesus was truly God. In doing so, the creed gave voice to what the church had always believed but had to articulate with greater care.In other words, creeds were originally guardrails, not gatekeepers. They functioned as a means of unity, helping far-flung churches stay centered on the same gospel. In a world where written Scripture was inaccessible to many, they gave the church a shared confession of faith grounded in biblical teaching and shaped by pastoral concern.Where Creeds Went SidewaysAs helpful as creeds were in the early centuries of the church, their function gradually began to shift. What started as summaries of shared belief slowly evolved into tests of institutional loyalty. Over time, creeds moved from being tools of unity to instruments of control and division.Many creeds began to function as authoritative texts in their own right rather than pointing believers back to Scripture’s authority. Councils and church leaders increasingly appealed to the creed, not the canon, to define orthodoxy. The danger was not in clarity but in elevation: creeds, originally subordinate to Scripture, began to compete with it.By the Middle Ages, a person’s standing in the church often depended less on their relationship to Christ and more on their alignment with official dogma. Questioning the language of a creed—even on a minor point—could result in exclusion or condemnation. In some cases, creeds became so complex and philosophically layered that only scholars could understand them, alienating ordinary believers from the very faith they professed.Even well-intentioned creeds, meant to clarify truth, began to be used to enforce conformity on non-essential matters, drawing sharper lines than the New Testament itself. As the church splintered into competing confessional traditions, the creed became a boundary marker, dividing Christians from Christians in ways the apostles never envisioned.Why the Restoration Movement Rejected Formal CreedsThe early leaders of the Restoration Movement were not the first to notice that creeds had drifted from their original purpose, but they may have been the most determined to abandon them entirely.Thomas Campbell, in his 1809 Declaration and Address, famously wrote:“Nothing ought to be received into the faith or worship of the church… for which there cannot be produced a ‘thus saith the Lord.’”This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.This wasn’t a rejection of doctrine. It was a rejection of elevating human formulations of doctrine above the authority of Scripture itself. Thomas, and later his son Alexander and Barton W. Stone, had seen firsthand how creeds divided believers who otherwise shared a common faith. They watched as councils and traditions built walls that excluded sincere Christians over matters not clearly defined in the Bible.In their view, creeds had ceased to serve unity and had begun to enforce sectarianism. The Restoration plea was simple but radical: Let Scripture be the only authoritative standard for faith and practice; let believers be united not by creeds but by Christ; let the church speak only where the Bible speaks and be silent where the Bible is silent.This emphasis on biblical primacy was not about theological minimalism—it was about reclaiming the voice of Scripture over the traditions of men (cf. Mark 7:7–9). The goal was not to create a new movement, but to call all Christians to abandon denominational loyalties and return to the simplicity and unity of the early church.Alexander Campbell put it this way:“The Bible will speak for itself. Let us have no creed but the Bible, and no name but the name Christian.”Restorationist Summaries and TraditionsThe early Restorationists were right to be wary of creeds that had grown into rigid tests of fellowship. However, rejecting formal creeds did not mean abandoning the need for doctrinal clarity, teaching tools, or theological memory.Even within the Churches of Christ—especially in their formative years—certain summaries of belief quickly emerged. These were not written into confessions or adopted by councils, but they were widely recognized, taught, and repeated. Examples include the “plan of salvation”—hear, believe, repent, confess, be baptized. Or the “five acts of worship”—singing, praying, preaching, giving, and the Lord’s Supper.These expressions functioned as informal creeds. They helped pass on core convictions, ensured consistency across congregations, and distinguished the Churches of Christ from other religious groups. In many ways, they were useful, especially in preserving a focus on Scripture and resisting denominational drift.But this points to a larger truth: every faith tradition, even those that reject creeds, still depends on some form of summary teaching. Written or unwritten, traditions always influence how we read and apply Scripture.The real question is not whether we use summaries, but how we use them. Are they tools or tests? Do they serve clarity or demand conformity? Are they held open-handedly, or treated as untouchable fixtures?When used wisely, these tools can aid discipleship and unity. However, when used carelessly, they can become the very thing they were created to avoid: extra-biblical boundaries enforced without biblical warrant.The Reality of Informal Creeds in the Churches of ChristDespite the Restoration Movement’s rejection of formal creeds, the Churches of Christ have never truly operated without doctrinal boundaries. While no central creed is written down and universally adopted, a widely recognized and largely unspoken framework shapes teaching, practice, and fellowship. These are, in effect, informal creeds—statements and patterns so deeply embedded in the culture that to question them is often to risk exclusion.Consider the way certain formulations function:* The “five steps of salvation” are presented not just as a helpful teaching tool, but as the only valid response to the gospel.* The “five acts of worship” are treated as a divinely mandated checklist, even though such a list doesn’t appear in Scripture.* Certain views on church structure, the silence of Scripture, and patterns of theology are often elevated to essential doctrines.And yet, none of these are written in a unified document. There is no formal confession, no catechism, no denominational manual. Still, these expectations are enforced—sometimes harshly—by preaching, tradition, and peer pressure. Congregations that deviate from the norm, even on matters of judgment or expedience, may be viewed with suspicion or branded as “liberal” or “unsound.”Rejecting formal creeds has not always protected the church from creedal behavior. It has simply relocated the boundaries from written documents to cultural norms. Ironically, this can make those boundaries even harder to question, since they carry the weight of tradition without the transparency of written definition.The danger is not that we have expectations, it’s that we treat those expectations as if they are Scripture itself, all while claiming that we have “no creed but the Bible.”A Better Way ForwardThe Restoration Movement was right to resist creeds that sought to bind consciences and divide the body of Christ. The conviction that Scripture alone should govern the faith and practice of the church remains as important today as it was two centuries ago. But to truly honor that vision, we must also confront how we have replaced formal creeds with unspoken, unquestionable patterns of our own.The goal has never been doctrinal minimalism. It’s not about having no beliefs; it’s about refusing to elevate our interpretations, summaries, and traditions to the level of divine authority. Saying ‘no creed but Christ’ only matters if our submission to Christ is real, not just verbal. We must reflect a posture of submission to God’s Word, openness to correction, and a refusal to treat our conclusions as infallible.That requires something rare in modern Christianity: discernment and humility.We need to recover a biblical model in which summaries and teaching tools serve the church without governing it. We must acknowledge the role of tradition and theological memory without allowing them to silence the voice of Scripture. We must also recognize the difference between essential doctrines that define the gospel and personal convictions that require patience, charity, and ongoing study.Most importantly, we must avoid the very mistake our forebears tried to correct: dividing the body of Christ over what the Bible does not demand.Creeds are not inherently dangerous. What’s dangerous is any formal or informal stance that claims more authority than the Word of God, or speaks where Christ has not spoken. If we truly have no creed but Christ, then Christ must remain the center—not only of our confessions, but of our conduct, our unity, and our collective humility before the cross.Let us then hold fast to Scripture, teach with clarity, and live with grace—refusing to trade the authority of Christ for the security of slogans.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. 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“We are Christians only.” This phrase has echoed across pulpits, lectureships, and church bulletins throughout the history of the Churches of Christ. Short, simple, and powerful, it expresses the desire to strip away all human traditions and stand solely on the foundation of Christ. No denominations or man-made labels, just disciples trying to follow Jesus as faithfully as possible.The heart behind the phrase is noble. It reflects the longing for unity in a fractured religious world and a return to the purity of New Testament Christianity. The Restoration Movement was built on that longing—to be Christians only, not members of a sect or a party.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.But as with many well-intentioned slogans, problems arise when the phrase becomes more than an ideal—when it becomes a litmus test, or worse, a boundary marker. What happens when “Christians only” begins to sound like “the only Christians”? What do we do when a plea for unity becomes a banner of exclusivity?Today, we’ll explore where this phrase came from, what it offers at its best, how it can unintentionally distort the unity it seeks, and how we might recover its original spirit without falling into sectarian habits.Where Did It Come From?The phrase is deeply rooted in the early vision of the Restoration Movement, particularly in the writings and preaching of Barton W. Stone and Alexander Campbell. In a time when the religious landscape was divided by denominational labels and creeds, these leaders sought to recover the simplicity and unity of the New Testament church.Their aim was not to start another denomination but to call believers out of sectarian divisions and back to the original identity of Christ’s followers. They believed the name “Christian” was sufficient and divinely appointed—an identity transcending man-made systems. As Acts 11:26 records, “it was in Antioch that the disciples were first called ‘Christians.’”Barton W. Stone’s version of the phrase was especially pointed. He said:“Let us be Christians only, but not the only Christians.”That distinction matters. Stone recognized that while the goal was to shed denominational labels, this should never evolve into the claim that only those who abandon such labels could be accepted by God. The Restoration plea was, at its best, a call for unity through simplicity, not uniformity through exclusivity.This language resonated with many who were weary of ecclesiastical hierarchies, creedal tests of fellowship, and the tribalism of denominational Christianity. It was meant to tear down walls, not build new ones. But over time, as the phrase became institutionalized, its usage and tone began to shift.What It Means at Its BestAt its best, the phrase captures a profound truth: our identity is found not in a human name, tradition, or institution but in Christ alone. It calls the church to root itself in the gospel rather than inherited divisions. This saying offers a vision of unity grounded in shared discipleship in a world often fractured by theological camps and denominational boundaries.Paul rebukes the Corinthian church for dividing themselves by the names of their teachers: “Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 1:13). His point is clear—our loyalty must be to Christ, not to any party or sect.To be “Christians only” is to affirm that the name “Christian” is enough, that the gospel is not owned by any one tradition, and that what unites us is not perfect agreement but shared allegiance to Jesus as Lord.This mindset fosters humility by resisting the temptation to elevate our group, label, or heritage above others. It encourages openness because it acknowledges that there are faithful followers of Christ outside our particular tradition. It promotes simplicity, stripping away the layers of institutional identity to focus on the heart of the Christian faith.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.At its best, this slogan is not a claim to superiority but a confession of dependence. It reminds us that to be a Christian is not to carry a brand but a cross.But as with many noble ideas, the danger is not in what it affirms—but in what it can subtly begin to deny.How It Can Be AbusedWhile “Christians only” began as a call to unity and biblical identity, it can easily drift into something far less generous—and far more sectarian—if not held in humility. Over time, a phrase meant to emphasize shared faith in Christ has, in some contexts, been used to draw hard lines of exclusion and foster a subtle sense of superiority.One of the most common pitfalls is the assumption that the Churches of Christ are not a denomination but simply the church—the church—and that everyone else has somehow compromised. This thinking can turn the phrase “Christians only” into “we are the only Christians,” even if the words are never said aloud. When the identity becomes tribal rather than Christ-centered, the original intent is lost.There’s also the reality that, despite claims to non-denominational status, the Churches of Christ often function like a denomination in practice. We share common institutions, universities, doctrinal expectations, and even unspoken boundaries about who is “in” and who is “out.” The refusal to adopt a denominational label does not automatically free a group from denominational tendencies. In fact, it can make them harder to see.It can sometimes also oversimplify complex theological and historical realities. Faithfulness to Christ is not a matter of slogans—it requires thoughtful engagement with Scripture, tradition, history, and one another. Reducing Christian identity to a single phrase can cause us to ignore the diversity of the early church and the necessary discernment required to live faithfully today.A Better Way ForwardThe plea to be “Christians only” still matters. In an age where denominational loyalty and theological shallowness are as rampant as ever, the vision of returning to Christ’s name and authority alone is beautiful and needed. I believe in that vision—not because it’s convenient, but because it’s biblical. I believe the Restoration Movement had something necessary to say: that we are not called to be Baptists, Methodists, Reformed, or Progressive—we are called to be simply “Christians,” followers and disciples of Jesus.This is why discernment is so crucial. In much modern American Christianity, theological discernment has been replaced with sentimentality, consumerism, or shallow emotionalism. But the answer to that problem is not sectarianism—it’s faithful, Spirit-guided wisdom rooted in the Word of God. The call to be “Christians only” must include the call to discern truth from error, conviction from convenience, and substance from slogans.And yet, it would be arrogant—and dangerously presumptive—for me to claim that only those who attend a Church of Christ service every Sunday are saved. That kind of judgment usurps a right that belongs to God alone. It reduces salvation to tribal belonging and turns the gospel into a boundary rather than a bridge. Jesus is the only Savior. The church is a spiritual living organism that belongs to Him. And He is the one who sees hearts, knows motives, and judges in righteousness.We can (and must) call out false gospels where they exist. We must uphold the fullness of biblical teaching and reject watered-down distortions of grace, faith, baptism, or discipleship. But we must also be honest enough to admit that not all who follow Christ look exactly like us, and not all who use the right words live in the right spirit. Being “Christians only” is not about preserving our particular ecclesial heritage; it’s about reflecting Christ in doctrine, humility, and love.So let the phrase live on not as a boast but as an aspiration. Let it remind us that our identity is not in a label or tradition but in Jesus Christ crucified and risen. And let it drive us to walk with grace, truth, and discernment as we seek to be nothing more—and nothing less—than His.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

If you grew up in the Churches of Christ, you are probably familiar with the sayings the church has passed down through generations. These phrases have shaped our preaching, our theology, and our collective identity. Some have been around for nearly 200 years, while others are more recent innovations. They were meant to clarify, protect, and simplify. But some of them, despite their good intentions, have done more harm than good.I’d like to look at well-known slogans from the Restoration Movement and Church of Christ culture more closely. And no, I’m not here to mock or dismiss them outright. Many were born out of a genuine desire to return to Scripture and restore unity. But slogans can become shields, protecting us from having to wrestle deeply with Scripture or from listening carefully to those who disagree.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.The goal is to examine some of the more popular slogans in light of the Bible. Where do they come from? What truths do they offer? Where do they fall short? And most importantly, how can we follow Christ more faithfully in a complicated world where easy answers often fail?Today, we start with a big one—the phrase that arguably launched the entire movement.“Speak Where the Bible Speaks, Be Silent Where the Bible Is Silent”This phrase is etched into the DNA of the Restoration Movement. You’ve likely heard it quoted from the pulpit, in elders’ meetings, and across dinner tables. It sounds noble, safe, and biblical.In its best form, it’s all of those things. But the longer you sit with it, the more questions emerge:* What does it mean for the Bible to “speak?”* What does it mean for it to be “silent?”* Does silence mean freedom or prohibition?* What happens when faithful Christians disagree about what the Bible says?To understand the power (and the problems) of the phrase, it helps to go back to where it began.OriginsIn 1809, Thomas Campbell penned what would become the Declaration and Address, a foundational document in the American Restoration Movement. Deeply disturbed by the divisiveness of denominational creeds and ecclesiastical authorities, Campbell pleaded for unity based not on tradition but on Scripture.His most famous line was this:“Where the Scriptures speak, we speak; where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.”Campbell wanted believers to stop binding what the Bible didn’t bind and stop dividing over opinions not grounded in God’s Word. In its historical context, this was a radical call to reject sectarianism and elevate the authority of Scripture above party lines.But over time, the phrase took on a new life, and not always for the better.What It Means at Its BestFundamentally, the phrase is a powerful affirmation of biblical authority. It calls us to align our teaching, worship, and church life with what God has revealed in His Word. It cautions us not to elevate human traditions or personal preferences above Scripture.In this sense, it echoes the heart of passages like:* Mark 7:6–9, where Jesus rebukes the Pharisees for “teaching human precepts as doctrines.”* 2 Tim 3:16–17, which declares that Scripture is “useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.”* 1 Cor 4:6, where Paul says, “Do not go beyond what is written.”The Restoration pioneers used this phrase to argue for a return to the simplicity of the New Testament church—no creeds, synods, or denominational hierarchies—just the church as Christ intended it, governed by His Word. It was a rallying cry for unity based not on human agreements but on divine revelation.This principle also served as a guardrail. It kept believers from asserting speculative doctrines as binding truths. It encouraged restraint, calling believers to consider that if the Bible didn’t speak clearly on a topic, we shouldn’t either. In this way, it was intended to foster humility, not control.Used rightly, this motto challenges us to be rooted in the Word over trending religious fads, cautious with speculation yet not dogmatic about opinions, and faithful to what God has revealed while being patient where He has not.But for all its strengths, this phrase has a dark side.How It Can Be AbusedThough the phrase’s original intent was a call to humility and biblical fidelity, its application has often drifted into rigid legalism. When misused, it risks becoming less of a guardrail for unity and more of a gatekeeper for sectarianism.One of the most widespread misapplications is the assumption that silence equals prohibition. In other words, if the New Testament does not explicitly authorize a practice—particularly in matters of worship or church organization—then that practice must be forbidden. This logic has been used to condemn everything from instrumental music to fellowship halls to coffee pots, based not on explicit biblical prohibition but on the absence of specific mention. The result is a restrictive posture that binds consciences where Scripture does not.Ironically, this approach often leads to selective enforcement. Silence is treated as prohibitive in certain areas but not in others. Practices such as multiple cups in communion, physical church buildings, VBS, overhead projectors, or Bible class literature (the list could go on and on) are rarely questioned despite lacking explicit “book, chapter, and verse.” The inconsistency shows us that the principle is not always applied with theological precision but often with traditional bias.The slogan has sometimes devolved into a conversation stopper, discouraging thoughtful engagement with complex or nuanced issues. When someone raises a thoughtful question or brings up a different interpretation, some may refer to this as a way to avoid wrestling with the complexity of Scripture. When used like this, the phrase becomes a substitute for growth and knowledge rather than a guide for it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.When “Speak where the Bible speaks” becomes a tool for control or division rather than a guide to faithfulness, it ceases to serve the unity it was meant to protect. If we’re going to honor this principle, we must use it with humility, wisdom, and consistency—not as a shortcut to avoid difficult conversations but as a compass to keep us grounded in God’s revealed will.Balancing Scripture with Wisdom and Spirit-Led Discernment in CommunityHonoring the authority of Scripture is non-negotiable for any church that seeks to be faithful to Christ. But we must also recognize that Scripture doesn’t address every situation in exhaustive detail. What it offers is something more profound: a story, a covenant, and a call to live in communion with God and one another under the lordship of Jesus.Paul tells Timothy that “all Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” (2 Tim 3:16). It is sufficient to equip us for every good work—but that sufficiency includes the responsibility to apply Scripture with wisdom.The New Testament shows examples of the early church making decisions in situations with no direct command. In Acts 15, when faced with a theological crisis over Gentile inclusion and the Law of Moses, the apostles didn’t simply search for a verse. They prayed, reasoned from Scripture, listened to testimony, and discerned the will of God together—concluding, “it has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us…” (Acts 15:28). It was a process led by a community who submitted themselves to God.Likewise, Paul instructs churches to use judgment and maturity in applying the gospel to real-life issues—whether it’s meat offered to idols (1 Cor 8), worship practices (1 Cor 14), or ethical living in a pagan world (Rom 14). None of these situations had a simple book-chapter-verse answer. They required wisdom guided by love, humility, and a desire to honor Christ.This shows us that silence in Scripture is not always a prohibition. Sometimes, it’s an invitation to seek God together—to pray, study, dialogue, and grow. God has given the church shepherds, teachers, and spiritually gifted people not to replace the Bible but to help the body of Christ grow into maturity (Ephesians 4:11–16). That growth happens through communal discernment.We need to be a people of the Book, yes—but also a people of the Spirit. A people who hold fast to what God has said, while also walking wisely in what He has not directly addressed. That balance is not always easy, but it is essential if we want to follow Christ in both truth and grace.A Better Way ForwardThe principle behind “Speaking where the Bible speaks, and being silent where the Bible is silent” is solid. It reflects a deep desire to honor God by submitting to His Word rather than elevating human tradition. That goal should be preserved. But slogans, no matter how time-honored, must always be tested by the very Scriptures they claim to uphold.The better way forward is not to discard this principle but to redeem its original intent—to let Scripture lead while allowing room for Spirit-guided wisdom, historical awareness, and the relational nature of faith. Instead of treating silence as a prohibition, we should treat silence as a call to careful discernment. Not everything has a proof text, but everything must be weighed in light of Christ and His gospel.We also have to start acknowledging that not all questions are matters of doctrine. Some are matters of wisdom, expedience, and spiritual maturity. When it comes to those things, we must resist the temptation to elevate our preferences to the level of Scripture.Let’s also remember that the Restoration Movement began as a movement for unity. The Restoration plea was not for uniformity in every detail but for unity on the essentials of faith. When we turn the silence of Scripture into a new set of laws based on our own opinions and interpretations, we risk rebuilding the very walls of division the early Restorationists were trying to tear down while simultaneously doing exactly what Jesus condemned the Pharisees for doing.So let us be people who speak boldly and clearly where Scripture speaks. But let us also be people who practice discernment where Scripture is silent, humble where it is complex, and gracious where good-faith Christians may differ.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. 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The Restoration Movement began with a simple but powerful conviction: that the church should return to the teachings and practices of the New Testament, setting aside human creeds and traditions in favor of the Word of God. That vision still matters. It’s why many of us were drawn to the Churches of Christ in the first place. We believe that Scripture is sufficient and that the unity Jesus prayed for can be found when we follow Him without the baggage of denominational systems.But there’s a difference between honoring a biblical pattern and turning particular interpretations into laws. Over time, some in our fellowship have begun to treat the Restoration itself—not the gospel—as the standard of faithfulness. In some cases, the desire to restore has hardened into a kind of gatekeeping: a system of inherited expectations where every question already has an approved answer, and any deviation from traditional interpretations is met with resistance or exclusion.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Jesus warned against this kind of religion. He spoke directly to those who elevated men’s traditions over God’s commands and strained out gnats while swallowing camels. His rebuke wasn’t aimed at those who loved Scripture but at those who used it to control others rather than to form a people shaped by justice, mercy, and faithfulness (Matthew 23:23).This post is not a rejection of the Restoration Movement. It’s a call to reclaim its heart. If we truly want to restore New Testament Christianity, we have to be willing to let the Word of God correct us—not just everyone else. That means being honest about where we’ve elevated tradition, confused uniformity with unity, and made ourselves gatekeepers of the kingdom instead of servants of Christ.How Legalism Creeps InOne of the greatest strengths of the Churches of Christ has been the desire to take Scripture seriously—not just in theory, but in practice. We want to do things God’s way. We believe there’s a pattern revealed in the New Testament for how the church should live, worship, and teach. That instinct is good. But when the pattern becomes a law in itself—or worse, when it becomes a tool to draw rigid boundary lines—what began as faithfulness can quietly shift into legalism.Legalism doesn’t always announce itself. It often shows up in well-meaning efforts to “do church right,” but over time, the emphasis shifts. Obedience is measured not by Christlike character or spiritual fruit but by external conformity. Fellowship becomes limited to those who agree with every point of interpretation. Grace becomes something we talk about cautiously rather than something we rely on fully.This kind of thinking shows up in how congregations treat things like Christmas and Easter. Because these holidays aren’t commanded in the New Testament, some have concluded that even recognizing them—let alone teaching or preaching about the birth or resurrection of Jesus in connection with them—is wrong. But this reaction is based more on a fear of tradition than a careful reading of Scripture. These responses often ignore the actual history of how the early church marked significant events in the life of Christ—something we’ll explore more in a later post.More importantly, they disregard the clear teaching of Romans 14, where Paul tells the church not to pass judgment over matters like the observance of special days:“Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds... Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister?” (Romans 14:5,10)Paul’s point is clear: not every difference is a matter of sin, and not every practice must be identical for believers to walk together in faith. But when legalism takes root, the impulse is to regulate everything—to assume that whatever is not explicitly commanded must be forbidden and that any departure from inherited patterns is evidence of compromise.This is where patterns turn into pharisaism. It becomes more about drawing lines than making disciples. When that happens, the pattern ceases to be a witness to God’s wisdom and becomes a substitute for the gospel itself.If we genuinely want to follow the pattern of the early church, we can’t just imitate its forms. We need to recover its spirit—a spirit of grace and humility willing to teach the truth boldly and be patient with those still growing in their understanding. The danger isn’t in loving the pattern. The danger is forgetting what the pattern was meant to point us to: the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the new creation He came to form in His people.Sectarianism and the “Only Ones Going to Heaven” MentalityIn many circles within the Churches of Christ, there’s an unspoken assumption that we are the only ones who have truly restored the New Testament church. While few may say it outright, the idea that salvation is limited to those who interpret and practice the faith precisely as we do has shaped how many congregations view the rest of the Christian world. The line between biblical conviction and sectarian pride can become dangerously thin.It wasn’t always this way. The early leaders of the Restoration Movement didn’t claim to be starting the “one true church,” nor did they suggest that Christians had vanished from the earth. They believed the gospel was still active wherever people clung to Christ, even if buried beneath tradition. Their call wasn’t to make people part of their movement but to call all believers to unity based on the Word of God alone.But over time, that humility gave way to something more rigid. In some cases, the call for biblical faithfulness has been replaced by a mindset that equates our tradition with the totality of the church. Other Christians are viewed with suspicion. Differences—sometimes over matters Scripture treats with freedom—are treated as gospel issues. Entire fellowships have split over things like Bible class structures, support for children’s homes, or the number of communion cups. What began as a plea for unity has turned into a pattern of division.This is not the vision Paul had in mind when he wrote about the one body of Christ. In Ephesians 4:4–6, he lays out the foundation of true unity:“There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.”This list does not exhaustively address every possible issue, but it points to the essentials: Christ, His gospel, and the new life shared in Him. It calls us to unity in the essentials—not uniformity in every practice. Just before this, Paul calls believers to practice humility, patience, and bearing with one another in love. It is a vision that prioritizes grace without compromising truth.When we confuse uniformity with unity, we stop seeing fellow believers as brothers and sisters in Christ and begin viewing them as threats or competitors. When we define faithfulness by how different we are from “everyone else,” we aren’t holding to Scripture—we’re holding to ourselves.This mindset doesn’t just distort how we view others—it also shapes how others view us. To many outside the Churches of Christ, we appear closed off, prideful, and unwilling to acknowledge the sincere faith of Christians who follow Jesus but differ from us in form or structure. Our insistence on being “the only ones” has often pushed people away—not because of the gospel, but because of our posture. When the message of Christ is overshadowed by the defense of a tradition, we become known not for what we stand for but for what we separate over.Restoration must never become isolation. We must be willing to stand on truth, but we must also remember that the kingdom of God is bigger than any one fellowship. Our plea will only be heard with credibility when spoken in humility.When “Biblical Literacy” Means “My Interpretation Only”The Churches of Christ have long emphasized the importance of knowing the Bible. We’ve championed open Bibles, daily study, and the idea that every Christian should be able to give book, chapter, and verse for what they believe. In many ways, this emphasis on biblical literacy has been one of the movement’s greatest strengths.But that emphasis hasn’t always encouraged deeper understanding in practice. It’s often reinforced narrow conclusions. In many congregations, “studying the Bible for yourself” really means “learning to repeat the approved list of answers.” People are taught how to defend certain conclusions but not how to wrestle honestly with the text. New interpretations, even those grounded in careful exegesis, are met with suspicion. And anyone who begins to ask hard questions or explore a more nuanced reading of a familiar passage may find themselves subtly—or not so subtly—pressured to fall back in line.This isn’t biblical literacy. It’s interpretive control dressed up in biblical language.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.The problem is not a high view of Scripture. It’s the assumption that our traditional conclusions are always correct and should never be revisited. When we elevate inherited interpretations to divine authority, we treat honest questions as threats and serious study as rebellion. We train people to memorize the “right” answers, but we don’t always equip them to engage the Bible deeply, patiently, and faithfully.This creates a culture where Scripture becomes a weapon rather than a witness. Texts are quoted to shut down conversations rather than to open hearts. Sermons stay on safe ground, avoiding the uncomfortable tension that often comes with serious reflection on Scripture’s depth and complexity. Over time, biblical literacy is replaced by doctrinal memorization—and a fear of anything that doesn’t fit what we already think we know.This is not how truth is preserved. It’s how it gets distorted. The church doesn’t need less engagement with the Bible; it needs more. But that engagement must be honest, humble, and open to correction. We must be willing to admit that sometimes our conclusions need refinement—that tradition, even well-meaning tradition, can be mistaken.Now, that being said, I don’t believe in accepting every private interpretation. I’ve spoken on this elsewhere and will continue to say that Scripture must be interpreted in faithful communities. But the keyword there is “faithful.” The point isn’t for everyone to say the exact same thing all the time and just parrot their favorite talking points. It’s about faithfully evaluating what we think we know against the revelation of God’s word.If we truly believe in the sufficiency of Scripture, then we must also believe that it can withstand our questions, shape our assumptions, and even correct our traditions. Otherwise, we’re not submitting to the Bible, we’re asking the Bible to submit to us.A-Historical TheologyAnother weakness that has surfaced in many corners of the Churches of Christ is a near-total disregard for church history. In our desire to return to the New Testament church, we’ve often spoken and acted as if nothing of spiritual value happened between the first century and the early 1800s. While we claim to be rooted in the early church, we have often functionally ignored the voices, struggles, and insights of the generations before us.This is not how the Restoration Movement began. Early leaders like Barton W. Stone and Alexander Campbell read widely from the church fathers. They were students of Christian history and believed that learning from the past could help clarify—not compromise—the gospel. But in many congregations today, there is little to no awareness of what the church has wrestled with across centuries: how doctrines were defended, how heresies were confronted, how the faith was preserved under persecution, and how early Christians understood Scripture before a formal canon.The result is a shallow ecclesiology that assumes the Restoration Movement started from scratch. This approach isolates us, weakens our ability to engage with others, and often leads to unnecessary errors that the broader church has already dealt with and resolved.It also leaves us vulnerable to caricature. Without historical awareness, we’re unequipped to respond meaningfully to claims made by Catholicism, Orthodoxy, or even well-read evangelicals who appeal to early church tradition in defense of their practices. Worse, we risk confusing our own recent interpretations for apostolic doctrine simply because we haven’t taken the time to understand what Christians believed and practiced before us.Engaging with church history doesn’t mean we abandon Scripture. It means we read Scripture with humility—aware that we are not the first to do so. It helps us test whether what we believe is truly rooted in the gospel or simply the byproduct of our particular time, place, and culture.If we truly believe in restoring the faith of the early church, then we should care deeply about how that early church lived, worshiped, and understood the Scriptures. Ignoring church history doesn’t make us more faithful. It makes us more vulnerable to repeating the very mistakes we claim to reject.The Fear of Theological DepthIn many Churches of Christ, there is an unspoken suspicion of theology itself. While we often emphasize “just teaching the Bible,” that usually means staying within a narrow, familiar set of topics and conclusions. Sermons and Bible classes are kept simple and safe. Words like doctrine and theology are treated as overly academic or even dangerous. Those who press deeper into Scripture, explore historical theology, or raise difficult questions may be met with resistance rather than encouragement.This fear has produced a shallow teaching culture that prioritizes basicness over depth, repetition over reflection, and comfort over challenge. It’s easier to preach the same handful of sermons on baptism, instrumental music, and church attendance than to teach through Revelation, wrestle with divine sovereignty, or explore the implications of the resurrection on Christian ethics. Many congregations are unaccustomed to hearing anything they haven’t heard before. When something new is introduced—even if it’s more faithful to the text—it’s often dismissed as liberal, intellectual, or suspiciously “denominational.”This resistance to theological depth has long-term consequences. It leaves Christians unequipped to deal with complex questions about suffering, justice, salvation, or the character of God. It makes it difficult to engage meaningfully with other traditions and produces churches that are wide in activity but shallow in understanding—full of conviction but light on formation.But theology isn’t speculation. It’s simply thinking rightly about God—and everything else in light of Him. The church’s calling is not just to recite Scripture, but to understand it, apply it, and be transformed by it.The New Testament doesn’t call us to avoid theology. It calls us to grow into the fullness of Christ. That’s impossible without deep, Spirit-led reflection on the Word of God. If we are going to be a people of the Book, we need to be willing to press into the hard parts of the Book, not just the comfortable ones. Otherwise, we’re not forming mature disciples. We’re just reinforcing inherited habits.The Way Forward: Faithful, Not FearfulThe Churches of Christ were never meant to become just another denomination with our own traditions to defend. We were founded on a plea: to return to the Word of God, to pursue unity through truth, and to strip away the excesses of human systems that cloud the gospel. That vision is still worth holding on to. But holding on to it requires courage—not to repeat everything we’ve inherited, but to test it all again by Scripture.It is not unfaithful to ask hard questions, disloyal to study church history, or liberal to seek deeper theological understanding. These are acts of reverence—evidence that we take the Word of God seriously enough to let it correct us, even when it challenges long-held assumptions.The way forward is not to abandon our convictions but to recover them at their source. We must call the church not just to pattern but to purpose, not just to correct form but to Christ Himself. Restoration has to be more than nostalgia. It must be a living, ongoing call to reform—to always ask whether what we’re doing truly reflects the Spirit, message, and mission of the church revealed in the New Testament.That means being willing to change when Scripture demands it, refusing to make our tradition untouchable, pursuing unity over uniformity, and holding out the gospel with grace, not suspicion.Jesus did not die to make us guardians of a system. He died to make us His people—formed by His Word, filled with His Spirit and conformed to His image. If we want to restore anything, let it be that.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

One of the most common critiques of the Restoration Movement is that it’s an attempt to recreate a romanticized version of the early church—an effort to reconstruct a world that no longer exists. Detractors often accuse Churches of Christ of chasing an idealized past, as if we’re trying to relive the first century through sheer force of will. But this criticism misunderstands both our history and our goal.Restoration, at its core, is a call to return to the revealed foundation of the faith—the apostolic teaching preserved in the New Testament. The desire is not to be primitive for novelty’s sake but to be faithful to the original pattern laid down by Christ. In a religious landscape dominated by tradition on one side and theological amnesia on the other, the Churches of Christ offer another way: a path shaped not by councils, creeds, or cultural trends but by the inspired Scriptures that still guide the people of God today.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.What Restoration Actually MeansThe Restoration Movement didn’t begin as a campaign to recreate the first-century world. It started as a call to return to the faith once for all delivered to the saints. Leaders like Thomas and Alexander Campbell and Barton W. Stone weren’t trying to form a new denomination or develop a distinct brand. They wanted to peel back centuries of human tradition and return to the clear, powerful simplicity of the New Testament church.Thomas Campbell’s famous plea, “Where the Scriptures speak, we speak; where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent,” reflected a deep commitment to the authority of God’s Word. Their goal wasn’t innovation but restoration—not to invent something new but to recover what had been there from the beginning. Alexander Campbell wrote, “The Bible alone must always decide every question that can come before us in the great business of building up the church.” That conviction of Christ as head and Scripture as the standard remains the foundation of true Restoration today.And yet, the spirit of the movement was never sectarian. One of the earliest and most important phrases from these leaders still captures the heart of the plea: “We are Christians only, but not the only Christians.” The goal was unity, not uniformity; fellowship built around truth, not tradition. Restoration has always been about finding unity by returning to Christ and His Word, not by building barriers but by tearing them down when they’re not grounded in Scripture.What the Restoration Doesn’t MeanIt’s important to briefly frame the goal of the Restoration Movement because one of the most common critiques against the Churches of Christ is that we’re trying to recreate the early church without understanding what it was. The accusation is that we’ve built an entire movement on a naïve or incomplete picture, ignoring centuries of theology, archaeology, and patristic insight in favor of a modern invention based on selective proof texts.However, this critique misunderstands the actual aim of restoration. The goal was never to recreate first-century culture. It was to recover apostolic teaching—what Christ handed to the apostles and what the apostles handed to the church. Restoration is not about pretending we live in the ancient world. It’s about measuring every doctrine, tradition, and practice against the revealed Word of God, which remains authoritative in every generation.Yes, early Christians lived in a specific time and place. Their cultural expressions were shaped by their world. But what made them the church was not their sandals or house churches; it was their submission to the gospel, their devotion to the apostles’ teaching, and their unity through the Spirit. That’s what we seek to imitate.We’re not trying to recreate an ancient era. We’re trying to follow an eternal gospel.What Makes the Churches of Christ Different?In a religious landscape shaped by oppressive traditions on one side and theological ambiguity on the other, the Churches of Christ stand out as a movement striving to be biblical in a way that is often countercultural in the modern landscape of Christianity.At the heart of our distinctiveness is the conviction that the church should remain what it was initially—nothing more, nothing less.We believe the New Testament provides a sufficient and authoritative guide for the faith, worship, doctrine, and structure of the church. The Bible is trustworthy in every generation and fully capable of equipping the church for faithfulness today.Where many Christian traditions build their theology on creeds, catechisms, or magisterial pronouncements, we insist that the Bible is enough. This is not just another slogan; it’s the governing principle of our doctrine and practice.We don’t subscribe to human-made confessions of faith, not because all creeds are evil but because they tend to fossilize fallible interpretations into immovable doctrine. Even the best creeds must be judged by Scripture. We aim to speak only where the Bible speaks and remain silent where it is silent.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.We also believe in unity that goes deeper than surface-level peacekeeping. Jesus prayed that His followers would be one (John 17:20–23), and Paul pleaded for the church to be “perfectly united in mind and thought” (1 Cor 1:10). Unity is not a sentimental ideal; it’s the result of shared submission to the will of Christ.While much of modern Christianity has traded theological conviction for a lowest-common-denominator kind of unity, the Churches of Christ teach that real unity is only possible when it’s grounded in the truth of God’s Word. This means unity in baptism, worship, leadership, and moral teaching, not just in general agreement about Jesus.In a world where church traditions often evolve for convenience or preference, we believe that God has already spoken clearly about how His people are to worship, live, and organize themselves as a community of faith. The practices are rooted in the teachings of Christ and carried out under the direction of the Holy Spirit.That’s why we strive to restore what we see in Scripture, including:* Baptism by immersion for the forgiveness of sins (Acts 2:38; Rom 6:3–5): Not a symbol or secondary ritual, but the God-ordained moment where faith and obedience meet God’s saving work. We practice baptism as the consistent apostolic practice taught in every corner of the New Testament.* The weekly observance of the Lord’s Supper (Acts 20:7; 1 Cor 11:23–26): The Eucharist is not a quarterly ritual or optional ceremony. It is the covenant meal of the church, where we proclaim the death of Christ and participate in His body and blood. A weekly observance reflects the rhythm of grace and remembrance that the early church lived by.* Congregational autonomy and shepherding by elders (Acts 14:23; 1 Pet 5:1–3; Titus 1:5): Rather than a bureaucratic hierarchy or external authority, the New Testament reveals a pattern of locally governed churches led by qualified elders. These men protect the flock, teach sound doctrine, and model godly lives. Each congregation answers directly to Christ, not a central organization.To restore these things is not to say, “We’ve gotten it perfectly right every time,” but to say, “We trust that God’s Word is sufficient—and we want to be formed by it.” These practices are focused on faithful adherence to what God has revealed, rooted in the belief that Christ, as Head of the church, has already shown us how to be His people.Finally, we dare not separate grace from discipleship. While salvation is a gift, it is a gift that transforms. We hold that faith must be active, obedience is not optional, and doctrine matters. As Paul says in Galatians 5:6, what counts is “faith working through love.” This sets us apart in a religious climate where obedience is often dismissed as legalism. For us, it’s the natural result of trusting Jesus as both Savior and Lord.Why the Identity of the Church Still MattersIn an age where denominational lines are blurring and theological convictions are often softened for cultural relevance or institutional unity, it’s tempting to downplay the church’s distinctiveness. However, the church’s identity still matters, not as a matter of pride or exclusivity, but because it’s rooted in what Christ established and the apostles taught.The Churches of Christ offer a rare and necessary voice in today’s religious landscape:* A rejection of creedal authority in favor of Scripture as the sole foundation (2 Tim 3:16–17)* A call to unity grounded in shared doctrine, not just sentiment or denominational structure (Eph 4:1–6)* A refusal to let sacraments, hierarchy, or tradition govern the church above the Word of God* A conviction that obedience matters—not as legalism, but as the expression of genuine, faithful trust (Gal 5:6)The Restoration plea reminds us that the church’s identity must reflect the gospel. If we lose the structure Christ and the apostles gave us, we risk replacing His voice with our own. The result is not unity—it’s confusion.Restoration isn’t about superiority. It’s about submission. It’s about rejecting both the arrogance of man-made systems and the apathy of modern compromise. It’s about believing that the church Christ built still matters and that His Word still has the power to shape it.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Few practices are as central to the Christian faith as the Eucharist. Yet, almost every tradition interprets it differently.In some traditions, it’s been layered with rituals and philosophical explanations so elaborate that the simplicity and power of the moment seem lost. In others, it’s been reduced to a casual afterthought, treated simply as a sentimental reminder rather than a sacred participation in the body and blood of Christ.But when we turn to Scripture, we find that the Eucharist is more than a mindless ritual or an empty symbolic gesture. It’s a command from Christ Himself, a proclamation of His death, and a shared communion with the risen Lord.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Today, many Christians have inherited assumptions about the Eucharist without asking whether they reflect the Scriptures or the faith and practice of the earliest believers. Even within the Churches of Christ, while the practice of weekly observance remains strong, the theological understanding sometimes leans too far toward a purely symbolic view that risks flattening the deeper reality Scripture describes.(If you’re looking for the first hints of my critiques for the Churches of Christ, this post is for you).Today, we’ll explore what the Bible teaches about the Eucharist, how the earliest Christians understood it, when different interpretations arose, and why reverence without ritualism is the path the church must recover. The table was never meant to be a dead tradition—it was meant to be a living proclamation of the gospel.What is the “Eucharist”?The word Eucharist might sound unfamiliar or even uncomfortable to some modern Christians, especially those from Evangelical or Protestant, or even Restoration backgrounds. For many, the term feels “too Catholic,” associated with elaborate rituals or theological debates that seem far removed from the simplicity of the New Testament. Yet the word itself is deeply biblical, historical, and fitting for the church’s sacred meal.Eucharist comes from the Greek word eucharistia (εὐχαριστία), which simply means “thanksgiving.” It is directly tied to how the New Testament describes the institution of the meal:* Luke 22:19 — “And he took bread, and when he had given thanks (eucharistēsas), he broke it and gave it to them...”* 1 Corinthians 11:24 — “And when he had given thanks (eucharistēsas), he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you.’”The earliest Christians adopted this term naturally. When they spoke of gathering for the breaking of bread, they spoke of the Eucharist—the thanksgiving offered to God for Christ’s sacrifice and the grace poured out through His body and blood.Documents like the Didache (c. A.D. 70–120) and Justin Martyr’s First Apology (c. A.D. 155) use “Eucharist” freely and unapologetically to describe the church’s weekly observance. For them, it wasn’t a technical or sectarian term. It was simply the most natural way to speak about the meal: a moment of deep gratitude for salvation, real participation in Christ, and communal proclamation of the gospel.Choosing to call the sacred meal the Eucharist is not an attempt to sound more traditional, Catholic, or academic. It is an effort to recover biblical language and align ourselves with the faith and practice of the earliest believers. After all, that is the stated goal of the Restoration Movement.By using the word Eucharist:* We remember that this meal is about thanksgiving—not mechanical ritualism or casual sentimentality.* We emphasize the gravity and grace of what is happening at the table.* We reconnect with apostolic and early church language—long before theological distortions later complicated the practice.Other biblical terms, such as “the Lord’s Supper” (1 Corinthians 11:20) and “breaking of bread” (Acts 2:42), rightly emphasize different aspects of the same meal. But the term Eucharist captures the heart of the act—the church’s gathered thanksgiving for the crucified and risen Christ—and is part of the church’s original vocabulary.(It also is more recognizable to other Christian groups, so I will use it exclusively throughout this post.)The Eucharist in ScriptureThe foundation for the Eucharist is not church tradition, later theological debate, or even early Christian writings. It’s the teaching of Christ Himself and the consistent practice of His apostles. In Scripture, the Eucharist isn’t presented as an optional ritual or a cultural custom but as a commanded, central act of corporate Christian worship designed to continually proclaim the message of the gospel.All four New Testament accounts of the institution of the Eucharist highlight its intentionality and covenantal nature.While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.Mark 14:22–24Matthew 26:26–28 and Luke 22:14–20 offer parallel accounts, emphasizing the same basic elements: taking, blessing (giving thanks), breaking, sharing, and commanding remembrance.Paul also explicitly says that what he delivered to the Corinthian church was “from the Lord”; not an apostolic invention, but a direct command from Christ:“Do this in remembrance of me... For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”1 Corinthians 11:23–26The language is active and ongoing: “do this” and “proclaim” suggest a continual practice embedded in the life of the church.The first Christians took Jesus’ command seriously and structured their worship around it. In Acts 2, “breaking of bread” stands alongside teaching, fellowship, and prayer as a central act of the Christian assembly. They didn’t meet and happen to share the bread afterward; they met to break bread.The Eucharist has been central to Christian identity and worship from the beginning. It wasn’t something the church did once a month, quarter, or year. It wasn’t a second-class citizen to the sermon. It was the gathered church proclaiming Christ’s death, receiving His life, and anticipating His return.Scripture doesn’t treat the Eucharist as a casual afterthought. It’s a living testimony to the gospel, a thankful offering, and a spiritual communion with Christ.How the Earliest Christians Understood the EucharistThe generation immediately following the apostles carried forward the teaching and practice of the Eucharist with remarkable clarity and consistency. They didn’t treat it as a casual memorial or a mere symbol—they understood it as a profound act of communion with Christ, rooted in thanksgiving, reverence, and real spiritual participation. Their writings and practices show that from the very beginning, the church believed something far deeper was happening in the Eucharist.The Eucharist at the Center of WorshipOne of the clearest windows into early Christian worship is Justin Martyr’s First Apology (c. A.D. 155). Writing to explain Christian practices to a Roman audience, Justin describes the order of the weekly assembly.“On the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place... Then the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits. When the reader has finished, the presider (or bishop) verbally instructs and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray... When the prayers are ended, we exchange the kiss of peace. Then bread and a cup of wine mixed with water are brought to the presider (or bishop). He takes them and offers praise and glory to the Father of the universe... and after finishing the prayers and thanksgivings, the whole congregation assents, saying ‘Amen.’ Then those whom we call deacons give to each one present to partake of the bread and wine mixed with water over which the thanksgiving was pronounced, and they carry away a portion to those who are absent.”(First Apology, chapters 65–67)Several important points stand out:* The centrality of the Eucharist in the Sunday gathering. It occupies its own place at the end of the gathering, the last impression left on those in attendance.* The offering of thanksgiving and the strong description to emphasize its importance.* The distribution by deacons to both those present and those absent shows how important this was for the early Christians.* The sense of communal participation—the Eucharist was not a private act but the action of the whole gathered body.Accusations of CannibalismEarly Christians described the Eucharist using powerful bodily language: eating Christ’s flesh and drinking His blood (as Jesus Himself commanded in John 6:53–56). Unsurprisingly, this language led to gross misunderstandings among outsiders.Roman critics accused Christians of practicing cannibalism—a charge that not only slandered believers but also fueled violent persecutions. Octavius is a 2nd–3rd century apologetic dialogue written by Minucius Felix, presenting a fictional debate between a pagan named Caecilius and a Christian named Octavius that addresses common Roman accusations against Christians.Caecilius accuses:“What monstrous banquets your Christians have… a man covered with meal… is slain by young pupils; and this they greedily lick up with thirsty jaws.” (Octavius 9)Octavius replies by strongly refuting the rumor:“Do you think that we secretly suffer such things to be done, which we do not even permit to be done or spoken openly? …It is a bad thing to speak falsely of good men, but it is worse to hate them without reason.”(Octavius 31)Through this dialogue, Minucius Felix shows that Christians were wrongly maligned and presents them as a moral, virtuous people misunderstood by the Roman world.Yet despite the risk, Christians did not abandon their Eucharistic language. They knew what they meant. They weren’t literally eating human flesh; they were truly participating (koinōnia) in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection through the bread and the cup.In First Apology, Justin Martyr also clarifies that the bread and cup are not considered ordinary food and drink. They are received with the understanding that they are connected to the body and blood of Christ. He defends the practice by saying:“They say that we eat men... but we do not receive these things as common bread and common drink. But... the food which has been made into the Eucharist... is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.”(First Apology, ch. 66–67)The accusation of cannibalism ironically highlights just how seriously early Christians took the reality of the Eucharist. They didn’t soften their language to avoid controversy. They clung to the truth that the Eucharist was more than a memorial—it was spiritual participation in Christ’s sacrifice.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Eucharistic InterpretationsAs Christianity expanded across the centuries, the question of what exactly happens during the Eucharist became a major point of theological debate. The earliest Christians spoke openly and seriously about participating in the body and blood of Christ, but without the rigid philosophical explanations that later generations developed. Over time, attempts to explain the mystery of the Eucharist produced competing views.Transubstantiation: The Scholastic ExplanationBy the High Middle Ages, attempts to define the nature of Christ’s presence became more philosophically sophisticated, culminating in the doctrine of Transubstantiation. Officially affirmed at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 A.D. and later codified by Thomas Aquinas, this view taught that:* At the moment of consecration, the substance of the bread and wine is changed into the substance of Christ’s body and blood.* The accidents (the outward appearances) of bread and wine remain, but their true essence is entirely transformed.This explanation relies heavily on Aristotelian categories of “substance” and “accidents,” reflecting the scholastic philosophical methods of the time. Transubstantiation was an attempt to protect the deep reality of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist, but in doing so, it moved beyond the language of Scripture and early Christian practice.While well-intentioned, the doctrine of Transubstantiation imposed a metaphysical framework onto the Eucharist that Scripture does not demand. It turned a sacred mystery into a philosophical mechanism, something the early church carefully avoided.Real Presence: The Historic View of the Early ChurchThe earliest Christian writings reflect a belief that Christ is truly and spiritually present in the Eucharist. This understanding is rooted in passages like 1 Corinthians 10:16–17, where Paul writes:“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing (koinōnia) in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing (koinōnia) in the body of Christ?”Paul’s language of koinōnia (fellowship, participation, communion) suggests something far deeper than mental remembrance is occurring. The Eucharist is a real spiritual event—a moment where the believer, by faith, is nourished by Christ Himself.Later, in the early medieval period, Martin Luther upheld a version of this view called Consubstantiation. Luther rejected the Catholic doctrine that the bread and wine ceased to be bread and wine. Still, he insisted that Christ’s body and blood were truly “in, with, and under” the elements. The bread and wine remained physically what they were, but the believer truly received Christ through them.Other early theologians, such as Irenaeus and Cyprian, spoke in similar terms. They affirm that the Eucharist involved real participation in Christ without resorting to overly technical explanations about how that participation occurred. The mystery was accepted with reverence rather than dissected by philosophy.Pure Symbolism: The Radical DepartureIn the 16th century, during the Reformation, Ulrich Zwingli (not this guy again) proposed an entirely different understanding of the Eucharist. In Zwingli’s view:* The Eucharist is purely a memorial.* The bread and wine represent Christ’s body and blood but contain no real presence.* The act is a symbolic reminder of Christ’s sacrifice and a public testimony of faith.Zwingli’s approach stood in stark contrast to the prevailing beliefs of both Catholicism and the other Reformers like Luther and Calvin. Luther, in particular, fiercely opposed Zwingli’s view, insisting that Scripture clearly taught real participation, not mere remembrance.Despite Zwingli’s minority position at the time, his views gradually gained influence, especially among later Protestant groups, particularly in America. Today, many Evangelical churches have unknowingly inherited Zwinglian symbolism, treating the Eucharist as a simple ceremony without any real participation in Christ.(Similarly, Zwingli’s minority-turned-popular view also destroyed the modern view of baptism)Historical theology aside, even Scripture clearly teaches that the Eucharist involves far more than symbolic recollection. Paul warns that partaking unworthily brings guilt concerning the body and blood of the Lord, something that makes little sense if the Eucharist is only a memorial.Which View is Most Biblical?When we weigh these competing interpretations of the Eucharist, the question is not simply which view is most familiar or historically popular. The only question that matters is which view is most faithful to the Scriptures and to the deposit of faith entrusted to the apostles.The New Testament consistently presents the Eucharist as a profound, spiritual reality, not a mere symbol. It suggests a real, spiritual communion between the believer and Christ during the Eucharist. Paul does not speak of the bread and cup merely representing Christ’s sacrifice or serving as intellectual reminders. He describes an active, living participation in Christ’s body and blood through faith.Paul also warns that whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup “in an unworthy manner” will be “answerable for the body and blood of the Lord,” and that some have even fallen ill or died because they failed to discern the body properly. Such severe consequences would make little sense if the act were only symbolic. The gravity of the warnings only makes sense if something real happens when believers partake.At the same time, the New Testament does not require the heavy philosophical interpretations that would later emerge in doctrines like Transubstantiation. Jesus speaks plainly at the institution of the Supper, saying, “This is my body... this is my blood,” but He does so without offering philosophical definitions. The apostles present the Eucharist as a mystery to be embraced through faith and thanksgiving, not dissected through Aristotelian metaphysics. There is no hint that the bread and wine cease to be bread and wine, nor is there any necessity to believe in a change of substance beyond recognition.The Bible also leaves no room for Zwingli’s purely symbolic reduction. Christ’s presence is more than a memory. His presence is real, though not physical or mechanical. It is a spiritual presence mediated through the act of faithful communion. In the Eucharist, believers truly participate in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, nourished spiritually by His grace.Therefore, the most biblical view is one that affirms:* A genuine spiritual participation in Christ through faith at the Eucharist.* A profound thanksgiving for His once-for-all sacrifice.* A communion that unites believers both with Christ and with one another.It neither over-explains the mystery through human philosophy nor reduces it to a hollow memorial stripped of any spiritual power. It simply accepts the Eucharist as Christ gave it—an act of thanksgiving, communion, proclamation, and hope rooted in His living presence among His people.How the Churches of Christ FitThe Restoration Movement sought to return to the simplicity and purity of New Testament Christianity. In doing so, they reclaimed many important biblical practices that had been obscured or distorted over time, including the proper observance of the Eucharist. In many ways, the Churches of Christ align more closely with the early church’s practice than most modern Protestant traditions. Yet, in some respects, especially regarding theology, there is still room for greater faithfulness and depth.One of the great strengths of the Churches of Christ is their commitment to the weekly observance of the Eucharist. Following the pattern seen in Acts, where the early Christians gathered on the first day of the week to break bread, Churches of Christ have consistently treated the Eucharist not as an occasional ceremony but as a central part of every Sunday assembly. In an age when many churches have relegated the Eucharist to an afterthought, this consistent weekly observance is a profound witness to the New Testament pattern.Likewise, the simplicity of the practice—using unleavened bread and the fruit of the vine without elaborate ritual and ceremony—echoes the early Christian emphasis on thanksgiving and proclamation rather than spectacle. The focus remains on Christ’s sacrifice, His victory over death, and the unity of believers. In terms of outward form, the Churches of Christ have preserved a faithfulness that few others can claim.However, there are also areas where the theology of the Eucharist within the Churches of Christ often falls short of the biblical fullness. In many congregations, the teaching about the Eucharist leans heavily toward pure symbolism, influenced by broader American Protestantism. While the act itself is faithfully performed, the depth of meaning is often underemphasized or overlooked entirely.This is not necessarily a formal doctrinal error but a theological gap. Many within the Churches of Christ rightly reject Transubstantiation, but in doing so, they sometimes unintentionally adopt a view closer to Zwingli’s radical symbolism than to the apostolic teaching. The Eucharist can be treated as a solemn but ultimately empty remembrance rather than the profound, grace-filled communion described by Paul.Recovering a fuller understanding of the Eucharist would not require abandoning the Restoration commitment to simplicity and Scripture. On the contrary, it would mean deepening it—returning even more closely to the biblical vision of a meal that proclaims Christ’s death, nourishes the believer’s faith, and binds the body of Christ together in hope and thanksgiving.The Churches of Christ are uniquely positioned in this. They already possess the biblical form. They already gather faithfully around the table each week. What remains is to enrich that practice with the biblical and apostolic understanding that the Eucharist is not just a memorial but a living participation in the grace of the risen Christ.ConclusionThe Eucharist demands more from us than familiarity or routine. It calls us to approach in faith, to remember with reverence, and to partake with grateful hearts that know the cost of redemption. It is not a ceremony to complete or an empty sign to observe. It is the church’s living act of communion with Christ—a participation in His body and blood, a proclamation of His death, and a pledge of hope for His return.If we truly believe Christ meets us at the Eucharist, we cannot afford to come carelessly. If we truly believe that in this meal, we share in His sacrifice and victory, our hearts must be engaged, our minds humbled, and our spirits filled with thanksgiving.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

Baptism might be among the most misunderstood teachings that divide the Christian world today. In many modern churches, baptism has been reduced to a symbolic ritual—something optional that has little to nothing to do with salvation itself.In Scripture, baptism is never treated as a casual ceremony or a public expression of a private decision. It’s consistently tied to faith, repentance, forgiveness of sins, new birth, and union with Christ Himself. Baptism isn’t just an act of obedience—it’s the moment when a believer steps into the story of the gospel, clothed in Christ, raised to walk in newness of life.The early Christians understood this. From the pages of the New Testament through the first few centuries of the church, baptism was seen as central to the life of a disciple, not an optional act you could choose to do later if you felt like it. The meaning and mode were also always consistent. It was always connected to conscious faith and repentance. It was for the remission of sins, not a mere symbol of a decision already made. It was immersion, not sprinkling or pouring.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Over time, however, things began to change. As theological concerns evolved—particularly surrounding the doctrine of original sin—so did the practice of baptism. Infant baptism slowly emerged as a widespread practice, shifting baptism away from a personal response of faith to a ritual performed on behalf of another. By the time of the Protestant Reformation, the meaning of baptism had already been profoundly altered.And yet even the Reformers—Luther, Calvin, and others—maintained a far higher view of baptism than most Evangelical Protestants today. Somewhere between the reaction against Catholic sacramentalism and the rise of “easy-believism” in modern Evangelicalism, baptism was pushed to the margins of Christian thought and practice.Today, we’ll explore what the Bible teaches about baptism, what the earliest Christians believed and practiced, how and why baptism changed over time, and why the Churches of Christ continue to uphold a view of baptism that aligns far more closely with both Scripture and the earliest testimony of the church than most traditions today.Baptism in the New TestamentIf we want to understand baptism correctly, we have to start with the New Testament itself—not later traditions, modern assumptions, or personal feelings. Scripture not only describes baptism’s meaning but also shows us its mode. We find a picture far more consistent and profound than many Christians today realize.Mode: ImmersionThe word translated “baptize” in our English Bibles comes from the Greek word baptizō (βαπτίζω), which means “to immerse, to dip, to submerge.” It does not mean to sprinkle or to pour. In fact, Greek had different words for sprinkling (rhantizō) or pouring (cheō), but the New Testament writers consistently used baptizō when speaking of baptism.The biblical witness unanimously confirms this:* When Jesus was baptized, He “came up out of the water” (Mark 1:10).* When Philip baptized the Ethiopian eunuch, “they both went down into the water” and “came up out of the water” (Acts 8:36–39).* Paul describes baptism as a burial with Christ in death (Rom 6:3–4; Col 2:12)—an image that only makes sense if the person is completely immersed and then raised up, just as Christ was buried and raised.The consistent New Testament witness points to immersion as the apostolic practice. Baptism pictures death, burial, and resurrection. It’s a complete and total submission to the will of God, allowing Him to cleanse us from sin. Anything less than immersion obscures that powerful gospel image.Meaning: Faith, Forgiveness, New LifeJust as the mode of baptism is clear, so is its meaning. Throughout the New Testament, baptism is directly connected to the critical moments of a believer’s transformation:* Faith and repentance precede baptism (Acts 2:38; Acts 8:12–13).* Baptism is for the forgiveness of sins (Acts 2:38; Acts 22:16).* Baptism is the moment of being born of water and Spirit (John 3:5).* Baptism unites the believer with Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection (Romans 6:3–5).* Baptism clothes the believer with Christ and marks their entrance into the people of God (Galatians 3:26–27).Baptism is not a meritorious work that earns salvation. It is a faith response—when a repentant believer, trusting in God’s grace, obeys Christ’s command and receives what God has promised.The New Testament never portrays baptism as a minor or optional religious ceremony that can come after salvation. It is the point of transition where the believer leaves the old life behind and steps fully into the grace of Christ. Baptism is deeply tied to salvation, not separate from it, and every biblical example reinforces that pattern.The question, then, is not whether baptism is essential—that much should be undeniable, given the biblical witness. It’s whether we have remained faithful to what baptism truly is: a death, a rebirth, and a covenant pledge made not by works but by trusting obedience to the God who saves.The Rise of Infant BaptismFor the first generations of Christianity, baptism was intimately tied to personal faith, repentance, and conscious discipleship. It was never treated as a casual tradition or an automatic ritual. Baptism was the response of a heart that believed in Christ, turned from sin, and surrendered fully to Jesus’s Lordship.The earliest sources outside the New Testament confirm this. One of the earliest Christian documents outside the New Testament, the Didache (late 1st to early 2nd century), gives clear instructions on baptism. It says:“After you have reviewed all these things, baptize in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, in running water... before the baptism, let the one baptizing and the one being baptized fast, as well as any others who are able.” (Didache 7)Notice the assumptions:* The candidate is taught.* The candidate is consciously involved, participating in fasting and preparation.* Baptism is a response of informed faith.Similarly, Tertullian (c. A.D. 200), a North African Christian writer, explicitly argued against the growing practice of baptizing infants. In his treatise On Baptism, he writes:“Let them come while they are growing up; let them learn, while they are learning; let them become Christians when they know Christ.” (On Baptism, ch. 18)Tertullian warns that baptism should not be rushed, especially for children, because faith and repentance must precede it. His concern was not theological hair-splitting—it was a desire to protect the integrity of baptism as a response of conscious faith.At this stage of Christian history, the dominant understanding was clear: baptism was for believers capable of making a personal, informed commitment to Christ.By the early third century, however, subtle shifts began. Origen (c. A.D. 185–254) is one of the first known figures to explicitly defend infant baptism. He justified the practice by appealing to a developing doctrine: the idea that even infants bore the guilt of Adam’s original sin and needed immediate cleansing. He wrote:“Infants are baptized for the remission of sins. Of what sins? Or when have they sinned? … The stain of original sin is removed by the sacrament of baptism.” (Homilies on Leviticus)This thinking was further entrenched by Augustine (c. A.D. 354–430), who vigorously defended infant baptism as necessary for salvation. Augustine taught that all humanity inherits not just a fallen nature but Adam’s guilt and that even newborns need to be baptized to be delivered from eternal condemnation.Under Augustine’s influence, infant baptism shifted from an occasional practice to a theological necessity. Baptism was no longer primarily about personal faith and repentance—it was now a sacramental mechanism for removing inherited guilt, applied before a person could even choose to believe.When we examine Scripture, the Didache, Tertullian, and the earliest practices of the church, it’s clear: baptism followed faith, not the other way around. The movement toward infant baptism was not the natural outgrowth of apostolic teaching—it was a theological evolution driven by concerns about the nature of sin, guilt, and salvation that developed centuries after Christ and His apostles. While well-intentioned, the rise of infant baptism moved the church away from the biblical model. This shift fundamentally changed the theology of baptism from what we find in the New Testament and earliest Christian writings. What had been a faith response became a preventative ritual meant to save the soul from original condemnation rather than to mark the beginning of conscious discipleship.Baptism Through the Middle Ages and the ReformationAs Christianity became institutionalized in the centuries following the apostolic era, the practice and theology of baptism changed dramatically. While Scripture presents baptism as a faith-driven response to the gospel, over time, baptism was increasingly reinterpreted as a sacramental mechanism—a rite performed primarily to address inherited guilt rather than a personal decision to follow Christ.Medieval DevelopmentsDuring the Middle Ages, baptism shifted from an obedient, faith-centered act to a sacrament mainly administered to infants. This change was driven primarily by the growing influence of Augustinian theology, which taught that all humans inherit not just a sinful nature but also Adam’s personal guilt.As a result:* Baptism was seen as the necessary cure for original sin.* Infants were baptized as soon as possible after birth, often within days, to ensure salvation in case of early death.* The infant’s faith wasn’t necessary; instead, the faith of the church or the parents was used in its place.* Baptism became a ritual obligation—an ecclesiastical act that automatically removed sin, regardless of the baptized individual’s conscious faith.By this point, baptism was no longer understood primarily as the believer’s personal entrance into Christ by faith. It was now an institutional safeguard designed to place individuals into the visible church and, more importantly, to secure eternal salvation in the event of death.This sacramental view fundamentally changed the nature of baptism. Rather than focusing on the individual’s repentance and trust in Christ, baptism became a mechanism of ecclesial control and a marker of belonging to Christendom as a whole.The Protestant ReformationWhen the Protestant Reformation erupted in the 16th century, Reformers like Martin Luther and John Calvin challenged many errors of the medieval church—especially the idea that salvation was earned by works or purchased through indulgences. Yet, interestingly, they did not abandon infant baptism. Instead, they reinterpreted it.Martin Luther maintained that baptism was a means of grace. He rejected the idea that baptism was a human work; instead, he insisted that it was a divine promise attached to water, through which God saved. Luther wrote:“To put it most simply, the power, effect, benefit, fruit, and purpose of baptism is to save.” (Large Catechism, Baptism)Luther did not consider the infant’s lack of conscious faith a problem because he believed God could create faith even in the infant through baptism.John Calvin retained infant baptism but framed it differently, tying it to covenant theology. Just as infants were circumcised under the Old Covenant, Calvin reasoned, infants should be baptized as part of the New Covenant community. However, Calvin still stressed that baptism pointed to faith—and that baptism, apart from later personal faith, was incomplete.Thus, the Reformers upheld a high view of baptism. They continued to see it as a necessary part of the Christian life, deeply connected to salvation—not merely a symbol or public demonstration. Ironically, Reformers like Luther and Calvin rejected the medieval abuses of baptism; they still affirmed that baptism was essential in a way that would shock many modern Evangelicals today, who have essentially detached baptism from any saving significance at all.Zwingli’s Long ShadowWhile Martin Luther and John Calvin maintained a strong connection between baptism and salvation, Ulrich Zwingli—a lesser-known but highly influential Swiss Reformer—planted the seeds of a radically different view that has quietly shaped much of modern Evangelical thought.Unlike Luther and Calvin, who saw baptism as a means through which God grants grace, Zwingli taught that baptism was purely symbolic. In his 1525 treatise Of Baptism, Rebaptism, and Infant Baptism, Zwingli declared:“Baptism cannot contribute in any way to the washing away of sins.”(Zwingli, Of Baptism, 1525)He went even further, admitting that he was breaking from the consensus of earlier Christian tradition and even saying that everyone who came before him had it wrong and that he had just figured it out:“In this matter of baptism — if I may be pardoned for saying it — I can only conclude that all the doctors have been in error from the time of the apostles.”(Zwingli, Of Baptism, 1525)Rather than seeing baptism as the biblical moment of forgiveness and new birth (Acts 2:38; Romans 6:3–5), Zwingli redefined it as merely an outward sign of inward faith—a symbolic gesture, no more spiritually significant than a handshake or a ceremony.Modern scholarship confirms how significant this break was:* Everett Ferguson notes that Zwingli “broke decisively with earlier Christian tradition,” rejecting the belief that baptism was tied to the forgiveness of sins (Baptism in the Early Church, p. 857).* Alister McGrath emphasizes that Zwingli’s symbolic theology marked a “major departure” from both Scripture and historic Christian consensus (Reformation Thought, p. 221).* Philip Schaff records that Zwingli stood almost alone among the early Reformers in so radically minimizing baptism’s meaning (History of the Christian Church, Vol. 8, p. 87).While Zwingli’s contemporaries like Luther and Calvin rejected this view, his influence grew over time—particularly in American Evangelicalism, where a symbolic-only understanding of baptism became standard.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Modern Evangelical De-emphasisToday, many Evangelicals unknowingly inherit Zwingli’s innovation, treating baptism as a “nice outward symbol” but stripping it of any real theological connection to salvation, forgiveness, or union with Christ. Yet this view has far more in common with Zwingli’s 16th-century breakaway theology than with the apostles’ teaching or the early church.By the 19th and 20th centuries, baptism was no longer seen as a defining moment of faith and salvation but as an optional ceremony—something good to do but in no way essential. This shift wasn’t towards something more biblical; it was driven largely by cultural sentiment.The Rise of Easy-BelievismThe roots of this shift trace back to the revivalism of the 18th and 19th centuries, particularly figures like Charles Finney and the broader Second Great Awakening. Revival preachers, in an effort to produce quick conversions, began emphasizing emotional decisions rather than deliberate, obedient faith.Salvation was increasingly reduced to “praying the sinner’s prayer,” “asking Jesus into your heart as your personal savior,” and responding to altar calls at tent revivals.Baptism was no longer the moment one entered Christ—it was simply a public act after a private decision. The deep connection between faith, repentance, and baptism in the New Testament was lost entirely. This shift opened the door to easy-believism—the notion that salvation doesn’t require any significant level of understanding, no covenantal commitment, and certainly no obedient response beyond a few words spoken in a moment of emotion.One common and shallow objection to baptism’s importance that arose in this environment is the argument about the thief on the cross. People claim, “The thief wasn’t baptized, so baptism must not matter!” But this objection really only serves to portray how deeply rooted the issue of biblical illiteracy is in modern American Christianity.Jesus, while on earth as the incarnate Word of God, had the authority to directly forgive sins (Mark 2:10). Christian baptism—baptism into Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection (Rom 6:3–5)—was only instituted after the resurrection, under the Great Commission (Matt 28:18–20). The thief on the cross lived under the Old Covenant, not the New Covenant, inaugurated by Christ’s death and resurrection. To use the thief as an argument against Christian baptism is to misunderstand the entire framework of biblical covenants and redemptive history.This argument exemplifies how far many modern Christians in America have drifted from a biblically informed understanding of salvation. Instead of seriously examining what Scripture teaches, people cling to feel-good slogans and emotional appeals. In the world of easy-believism, baptism became an optional extra—nice if you want it, but certainly not something to tie too closely to salvation.Anti-Catholic SentimentAnother major reason for the Evangelical de-emphasis of baptism was deep anti-Catholic sentiment, especially in the post-Reformation and post-Enlightenment periods.Many Protestants reacted strongly against perceived abuses of Catholic theology—particularly the medieval system of indulgences, sacramental rituals, and the corruption of the Roman hierarchy—and developed an instinctive suspicion toward anything that sounded sacramental. Because of its central place in Catholic practice, baptism became one of the casualties of this reaction.Instead of carefully re-examining baptism through the lens of Scripture, many Protestant groups simply threw out sacramental language altogether, assuming that anything that wasn’t purely internal, emotional, or mental must necessarily be “works-based salvation.”In this environment, baptism was increasingly viewed not as a gift of grace or an act of obedient faith but as a “work” of human effort. Salvation became framed almost entirely as mental assent—believing in Jesus internally—with any outward response (like baptism) treated as an unnecessary or even dangerous addition.Ironically, even Catholics themselves, when properly understood, do not teach that salvation is earned by human works alone. The official Catholic position (especially after the Council of Trent and reaffirmed at Vatican II) is that salvation is by grace alone, through faith working in love—not by mere human effort divorced from divine grace. In Catholic theology, baptism is seen as the ordinary means by which grace is initially applied—not a meritorious act that earns salvation.Nevertheless, many Evangelicals have created a strawman version of Catholic teaching, caricaturing it as though Catholics believe they can earn heaven through their own goodness or rituals. In reality, both historic Catholicism and historic Protestantism agreed that salvation is fundamentally a work of God’s grace—even though they disagreed sharply about how that grace is applied and how human cooperation relates to it.By misunderstanding Catholic theology and reacting against it emotionally rather than biblically, many Protestants ended up rejecting baptism’s biblical role simply because it sounded “too Catholic.” The tragedy is that in doing so, they often discarded clear New Testament teaching (Acts 2:38; 1 Peter 3:21; Rom 6:3–5) in favor of a culturally shaped theology more concerned with being non-Catholic than being truly biblical.Suspicion of sacraments, which has been fueled more by polemics than Scripture, has left the majority of Evangelical American Christianity untethered from the apostolic faith—and with it, they lost the biblical understanding of baptism as the moment of obedient, saving faith.A Return to Biblical BaptismIn a religious world where baptism has either been elevated into a sacramental ritual detached from personal faith or minimized into a symbolic afterthought, the Restoration Movement sought to cut through the confusion. The goal was simple but radical: Return to the New Testament itself. Let the apostles, not later councils or modern trends, define baptism’s meaning, purpose, and practice.The Churches of Christ are one of the few modern Christian traditions that consistently uphold the biblical understanding of baptism—as a faith response tied directly to salvation, not as a work of human merit or as a mere symbol.Baptism by ImmersionFaithful to both the Greek meaning of baptizō (“to immerse”) and the consistent examples of the New Testament, the Churches of Christ have retained immersion as the only valid mode of baptism:* Jesus came “up out of the water” (Mark 1:10).* Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch “went down into the water” (Acts 8:38).* Paul describes baptism as being buried with Christ and raised to walk in new life (Romans 6:3–5)—a powerful image that immersion alone captures.Sprinkling or pouring, while practiced later in church history, doesn’t match the language or the symbolism of baptism presented by Christ and His apostles.Baptism Following Faith and RepentanceIn every biblical example, baptism follows a personal, conscious decision to believe in Christ and turn from sin:* “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven.” (Acts 2:38)* “They believed Philip as he preached the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, and they were baptized.” (Acts 8:12)Baptism is not administered to infants who are unaware or incapable of belief. It is the faithful response of a heart that has been cut to the core by the gospel (Acts 2:37).Baptism for the Forgiveness of Sins and New LifeThe Churches of Christ affirm what Scripture plainly teaches:* Baptism is for the forgiveness of sins (Acts 2:38; Acts 22:16).* Baptism is when one is born of water and Spirit (John 3:5).* Baptism is when a believer puts on Christ (Galatians 3:27).* Baptism is when one is buried with Christ and raised with Him through faith (Romans 6:3–5; Colossians 2:12).Baptism is not an empty ritual or a public celebration of salvation already accomplished. It is the biblical point of transition—where faith meets grace, repentance is sealed, sins are washed away, and new life begins.Baptism as a Faith-Response, Not a Meritorious WorkCritics often accuse those who teach baptism’s importance of promoting “works-based salvation.” But Scripture teaches that baptism is not a work of man—it is the working of God (Colossians 2:12):* In baptism, believers do not earn forgiveness; they submit to God’s promises.* Baptism is an act of faithful obedience, not of personal merit.The Churches of Christ emphasize that salvation is entirely by God’s grace. Baptism is where that grace is received by faith—not a work done to earn it.Consistency with the New Testament and Early ChurchWhen we look back through Scripture and early Christian writings like the Didache, Tertullian, and even much of the early patristic witness, we see a view of baptism that matches what the Churches of Christ continue to teach:* Baptism as immersion.* Baptism tied to personal faith.* Baptism as necessary for forgiveness and union with Christ.Rather than inventing something new or reacting to other traditions, the Churches of Christ simply seek to restore the original teaching and practice—the call to be born again through water and Spirit, in full submission to the gospel.ConclusionBaptism is not a human invention. It wasn’t created by church councils, theologians, or revival preachers. It was commanded by Christ Himself, practiced by His apostles, and faithfully embraced by the early church as the moment when faith meets grace, the old life dies, and the new life begins.The New Testament never treats baptism as optional, symbolic-only, or disconnected from salvation. It ties baptism directly to repentance, forgiveness, rebirth, and union with Christ. The earliest Christians understood this and practiced it—consistently, faithfully, and urgently.Over the centuries, theology and tradition obscured the original clarity of baptism. Infant baptism arose out of fear and doctrinal development, not apostolic command. Revivalism and anti-Catholic sentiment in later centuries reacted so strongly against perceived errors that they abandoned biblical teaching in the process. Today, many sincere believers are unaware of how far modern views of baptism have drifted from Scripture and the practice of the early church.The Restoration plea—the heartbeat of the Churches of Christ—is simple: Go back to the Scriptures, to the apostles, to the original faith, once for all delivered to the saints (Jude 1:3).Baptism is not about getting wet. It’s about dying to sin and being raised with Christ by faith. It’s about trusting the Word of God enough to obey it.Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe

It’s no secret that the religious landscape in the West—especially in the United States—is shifting. Young Christians are leaving Evangelical churches in large numbers, and many of them aren’t becoming atheists or agnostics. Instead, they’re moving backward, so to speak—turning toward ancient traditions like Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. They’re not just searching for a new worship style or a change of pace; they’re seeking depth, stability, and rootedness.They’re asking questions that many modern churches aren’t prepared to answer: Where did this come from? Why do we do it this way? What did the earliest Christians actually believe?A 2019 study from Lifeway Research found that 66% of young adults who regularly attended Protestant services in high school stopped attending church for at least a year between the ages of 18 and 22. Many cited feeling disconnected, disillusioned, or disappointed by what they saw as shallow or performative church experiences. Similarly, research from Barna Group has shown that young Christians often leave because they feel the church is overprotective, out of touch, or hostile to honest questions. Meanwhile, other studies report that Gen Z churchgoers in the UK now identify as Catholic more than twice as often as Anglican. In the U.S., young people are increasingly drawn to more orthodox, liturgical expressions of faith. These trends suggest that the hunger isn’t for less Christianity but a deeper, more historical one.But this raises an important question: is “older” always better? Just because a tradition is ancient doesn’t necessarily mean it’s biblical. And just because a church looks modern doesn’t automatically mean it lacks depth. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation sits a group of Christians that often gets overlooked—the Churches of Christ. We don’t often get included in debates between the ancient and the contemporary, the liturgical and the casual. But maybe we should. The goal of the Churches of Christ has never been to be old or new but simply faithful—to return to the church as it was in the beginning.This series will explore why the Churches of Christ may be uniquely positioned to offer what many believers are looking for: a biblically grounded, historically informed, and spiritually vibrant expression of Christian faith. We’ll compare and contrast the doctrines we practice with those of Evangelical, Catholic, and Orthodox traditions—not to criticize, but to clarify. And we’ll also look inward, asking where our traditions may have drifted from the biblical pattern we claim to uphold. Because if we truly want to restore the church of the New Testament, we must constantly measure ourselves not by history or popularity but by the Word of God.Why the Search for Ancient Faith?As young people leave Evangelical churches, many aren’t abandoning faith altogether—they’re seeking something more grounded. The rise of ancient church traditions like Catholicism and Orthodoxy among younger generations isn’t just about aesthetics or architecture. It’s about a craving for depth, history, and spiritual stability in a world—and a church culture—that often feels shallow and fractured.One major factor is the reaction against performance-driven worship. In many evangelical settings, Sunday services resemble concerts, motivational self-help events, or TED talks more than sacred assemblies. Lights, fog machines, and sermon series branded like TED Talks have left some wondering where the awe and reverence went. These trends may draw crowds, but they don’t always form disciples. As a result, many are turning to liturgical traditions, drawn by practices that feel ancient, intentional, and unchanging.Another major reason is the desire for rootedness. In a culture obsessed with innovation and novelty, ancient churches offer something profoundly countercultural—stability. Catholicism and Orthodoxy carry centuries (even millennia) of theology, ritual, and identity. That sense of permanence can feel like a spiritual anchor for young adults who’ve grown up in rapidly shifting social landscapes. A 2023 report in The Times (UK) found that among Gen Z churchgoers, Catholics outnumber Anglicans more than 2 to 1—a dramatic shift that reflects this yearning for something old and enduring. Similarly, America Magazine noted that in the U.S., many young Catholics are increasingly drawn toward traditional liturgy, monastic rhythms, and high-church theology.And then there’s the matter of doctrinal confusion. Evangelicalism today lacks any real theological center. Walk into ten different churches, and you may hear ten different answers on core issues like salvation, baptism, and the Holy Spirit. This can be disorienting for believers seeking clarity. In contrast, ancient churches present a unified structure of teaching supported by historical creeds and magisterial authority. Even if one doesn’t fully agree with their conclusions, the consistency alone is compelling to those who’ve grown weary of doctrinal chaos.But while the hunger for ancient Christianity is understandable—even commendable—we must still ask: Are these traditions biblical? Does their historical rootedness mean they’ve remained faithful to the Word of God? Or have centuries of theological development added layers of tradition that obscure the simplicity of the gospel?The Dilemma: History vs. ScriptureThe growing fascination with ancient Christianity presents a legitimate question: Does historicity automatically make something true? For many, the assumption is that historical continuity equals doctrinal authenticity. If a church can trace its lineage back to the third or fourth century—or even earlier—it must be the true expression of Christianity, right?But this line of thinking misses something critical: history is not the same as authority. Age alone does not guarantee faithfulness. Even in the New Testament, the early church faced corruption, heresy, and error within a single generation. Paul warned of wolves coming in among the flock (Acts 20:29), false apostles (2 Corinthians 11:13), and entire churches drifting from the gospel (Galatians 1:6–9). In other words, error doesn’t take centuries to develop—it can arise quickly, and it did.This is why Scripture must be the ultimate standard, not just antiquity. Traditions—even ancient ones—must be tested against the Word of God. The creeds of Nicaea and Chalcedon, for example, were developed to combat heresies like Arianism and Nestorianism. They helped define essential Christian doctrine in an era when most believers didn’t have access to the Bible. For that, they deserve our respect. But even the most well-intentioned creed is still a man-made document. It may summarize biblical truths, but it is not the Bible. As helpful as these early statements were, their authority is only valid insofar as they align with the Word of God.This is where the Churches of Christ take a unique stand. We don’t reject history; we honor and revere those who came before to deliver the faith for us today. However, we also don’t build doctrine based on historical continuity alone. We look to Scripture alone as the foundation for faith and practice. That’s not anti-intellectual or anti-historical—it’s a recognition that only God’s Word is inspired, and God’s Word alone defines what the church is called to be. While creeds can guide and clarify, they should never displace the role of Scripture in shaping the church’s identity and teaching.Of course, there’s an important caveat here. Ideally, every believer would be able to read, understand, and apply the Bible for themselves. We want to raise up biblically literate disciples who can “test all things; hold fast to what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:21). But we also have to be honest—that’s not always the reality. Not every Christian has the same level of education, background, or theological maturity. That’s why interpretation must happen in community. The early church studied the apostles’ teaching together, broke bread together, and corrected error together. Left alone, even well-meaning individuals can fall into error. But when we submit to Scripture as a body, we guard against false teaching and cultivate a more faithful witness.So yes, the appeal of ancient faith is real—and, in many ways, understandable. But the most authentic ancient faith isn’t found in incense, iconography, clerical garb, or church dogmas. It’s found in the living, enduring Word of God. And our call is to return—not just to what’s old—but to what’s true.The Churches of Christ: A Forgotten Middle WayThe Churches of Christ often go unnoticed as the divide between modern Evangelicalism and ancient church traditions grows more pronounced. We’re not flashy enough to fit the mega-church mold, nor formal or liturgical enough to be classified alongside Catholicism or Orthodoxy. Yet perhaps that’s precisely why our story matters—because we don’t fall neatly into either category. We offer something different: a return to simple, biblical Christianity rooted not in innovation or tradition but in restoration.Before we move forward, it’s important to clarify where the Churches of Christ actually come from. We trace our roots to the Restoration Movement of the early 19th century—a time when many believers were growing disillusioned with denominationalism, creeds, and church structures that seemed far removed from the New Testament. Leaders like Alexander Campbell and Barton W. Stone didn’t claim to start a new religion, receive divine visions, or launch a prophetic movement. And most crucially, they did not claim that true Christianity had vanished from the earth. They firmly rejected the idea of a total apostasy. Instead, they believed that sincere followers of Christ had always existed, even if scattered and obscured by centuries of human tradition. Their goal wasn’t to create a new religion but to restore the simple practices and teachings of Christianity as revealed in Scripture.Unfortunately, because this movement emerged in the same era as Joseph Smith’s founding of Mormonism and other fringe sects, it’s sometimes been lumped in with heretical or cult-like groups. But that comparison is historically and theologically inaccurate. Joseph Smith claimed new scripture and priesthood authority and declared that all other churches had become corrupt. The Restoration Movement, by contrast, made no such claims. Its leaders believed that no new revelation was needed—just a return to the revelation God had already given. There is a world of difference between restoring what Christ and the apostles established and inventing an entirely new religion.The Churches of Christ embody a simple, Scripture-driven plea: to be Christians only, following Jesus without denominational labels, hierarchical clergy, or man-made creeds. This wasn’t about rejecting history for the sake of novelty or clinging to tradition for tradition’s sake. It was—and still is—about submitting to the authority of Scripture alone, trusting that God’s Word is sufficient to guide the faith, worship, and structure of the church.Our practices reflect that conviction. We gather each Lord’s Day to break bread in remembrance of Christ, sing together without instruments as the early church did, and entrust the care of each congregation to a plurality of elders rather than a single cleric or bishop. These choices aren’t rooted in nostalgia or stubborn tradition but in our desire to follow the New Testament pattern as closely as possible.This isn’t to suggest we’ve always gotten everything right. We’ll address some of our own shortcomings later in this series, including ways we’ve sometimes turned helpful patterns into rigid rules. However, the foundational idea remains unmoving: unity is possible when Christians return to Scripture as their only rule of faith and practice.Why This Series?In a time when many believers are disillusioned with modern church structures and increasingly drawn to ancient traditions, we believe the Churches of Christ have something uniquely valuable to offer—but often go unheard or misunderstood. While Evangelical churches are frequently seen as theologically unstable and increasingly indistinct from pop culture, ancient churches like Catholicism and Orthodoxy appear stable but are weighed down by layers of tradition, institutional hierarchy, and doctrines that have developed far beyond what Scripture intended. Between these extremes, the Churches of Christ quietly present a third option that seeks to be neither modern nor traditional but simply biblical.This series aims to explore that position with clarity, honesty, and conviction. We’ll walk through some of the core areas where the Churches of Christ differ from both Evangelical and ancient church traditions—doctrine, leadership, worship, and authority. We’ll look at the historical reasons people are drawn to older forms of Christianity and engage those concerns respectfully. But we’ll also challenge the assumption that just because something is old, it must be right—and we’ll make the case that what people are really searching for isn’t tradition or spectacle but truth.At the same time, this won’t be a one-sided defense. We’ll also take a hard look at ourselves—acknowledging where the Churches of Christ have sometimes turned helpful traditions into rigid tests of fellowship, elevated human interpretations to the level of doctrine, or failed to extend grace in the name of being “right.” Restoration can’t just mean returning to ancient practices—it must also mean returning to the heart of Christ.Most importantly, this series is an invitation. It’s an invitation to seekers who are tired of church that feels either hollow or oppressive. It’s an invitation to fellow believers within the Churches of Christ to remember what we’re really about. And it’s an invitation to anyone—regardless of background—who wants to build their faith not on shifting trends or centuries of heavy dogma but on the unshakable foundation of God’s Word. Get full access to Test Everything at testeverything.substack.com/subscribe