Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
Brokenness theology is not only unbiblical and spiritually damaging. It is also the gateway drug to a whole host of other heresies and errors. By teaching people that they are primarily helpless victims of forces outside their control, rather than willful sinners in need of salvation, it opens the door toward seeing every difficulty or challenge in life as an incapacitating force over which they have no control.

A popular, contemporary evangelical song opens with these words: 
O come, all you unfaithfulCome, weak and unstableCome, know you are not alone
A few verses later we read:
O come, bitter and brokenCome with fears unspokenCome, taste of His perfect love
A subtle, yet devastating error is found in such sentiments, one that is causing great mischief in evangelical churches. It is, at its most basic, a substitution of the language of brokenness for the biblical language of sin.
It is subtle, as much false teaching is, because it sounds on the surface very biblical. Has not the fall introduced disorder into the world? Has it not wrecked human relationships, destroyed families, churches, and nations, and brought about the dissolution of God’s good design for human life? It has done all of these things and more.
Is brokenness, then, such a bad way of describing the human predicament? It is indeed. Brokenness theology is, in fact, a denial of the Bible’s teaching on sin, a perversion of the Bible’s teaching on salvation, and a theology that leaves fallen sinners without hope.
What are the components of brokenness theology? First, it must be said that brokenness theology may give lip service to orthodox tenets of Christian theology. It may not deny that the Fall has corrupted human nature outside of Christ, or that we all are guilty sinners as a result. It does not, however, as a matter of routine patterns of speech (seen in sermons, songs, conference talks, articles, books, etc.) emphasize fallen human nature and individual acts of sinful rebellion as the most fundamental problem facing humanity. Instead, it emphasizes brokenness, which can be defined as disordered aspects of human existence. Brokenness, however, is not the same thing as sinfulness. Brokenness happens to a person. It comes from outside of him. The song I opened this article with gives a representative sample of the kinds of things one finds in brokenness theology: weakness, instability, loneliness, weariness, barrenness, bitterness, fear. But note that all of these states are framed in this song as if they were caught like the common cold; they are things that happen to you.
The biblical picture is far different: yes, we are weak in ourselves; yes, we face manifold temptations to give in to disordered instability in our lives, to succumb to self-pity and despair in the face of loneliness, to become bitter when God’s providence is hard, to rage against God for our barrenness, to succumb to fear and anxiety in moments of stress. But all of these responses are sinful. They are not neutral things that happen to us. Brokenness theology turns humans into passive victims of forces outside their control, rather than sinners who chose to rebel against God and who are therefore in desperate need of forgiveness and spiritual transformation.
In short, brokenness theology gives sinners a false understanding of the fundamental problem they face (God’s wrath), obscures the solution (repentance, faith, sanctification), and leaves them without hope (they’re simply broken victims). As such, it is a narcissistic, therapeutic perversion of the gospel. Sinners outside of Christ are indeed slaves to sin (Rom 6:17–21), but those savingly united to Christ are not helpless victims of forces outside their control. The grace of God has pulled us out of ourselves, to turn us to the savior in whom we find forgiveness for our rebellion, anxiety, fear, bitterness, grumbling, and doubts, and to find daily strength to fight against these sinful states of heart and mind. Brokenness theology teaches that God’s grace merely gives us help to endure all of these states, which are taken as characterizing the normal Christian life. These states, however, are sinful and must be repented of, not endured as so many unfortunate things that simply happen to us.
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The eschatological kingship of Christ begins already at his first coming culminating in his resurrection and ascension. Already at and dating from Christ’s exaltation, “God has placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church” (Eph. 1:22; cf. v. 20). This is a key eschatological pronouncement…. The entire period between his exaltation and return, not just some segment toward the close, is the period of Christ’s eschatological kingship, exercised undiminished throughout.

I am grateful to Doug Wilson for his amiable rejoinder to my critique of postmillennialism and for providing me with an opportunity to further address this topic.
Despite its promise to address seven critical points, Doug’s rejoinder leaves me searching for substantive engagement. Rather than grappling with the exegesis of any of my arguments, Doug selectively interacts with isolated sentences, entirely sidestepping the two challenges my article poses: (1) recovering postmillennialism’s pillar prooftexts and (2) addressing its problem passages.
A Bumper Car in a Demolition Derby
Doug astutely observes, and appears to lament, that discussions on eschatology often resemble “paradigm bumper cars,” lacking meaningful interaction and debate. This happens when we fail to discuss, as he puts it, “our root assumptions, how … we justify those assumptions, and who has the burden of proof,” creating conversations with no depth.
I provided an alternative to bumper-car discourse by writing a substantial critique rooted in the grammar and syntax of the very Scriptures that Doug has said are central to his eschatological assumptions. Why then did he show up at the demolition derby, to which I invited all postmillennialists, in his bumper car? To demonstrate that his paradigm is not simply bumping into the hard reality of the biblical text, he needed to show where my exegesis falls short.
Instead, Doug sought to establish his root assumptions elsewhere. Let’s examine his arguments to see if the foundations hold.
Unintended Universalism
Doug identifies my article’s thesis early on:
Postmillennialism lacks a biblical text to establish its assumption that “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea” (Hab 2:14) before the second coming.
In response, instead of trying to reclaim traditional prooftexts, Doug resigns himself to anchoring postmillennialism on John 3:16–17. He declares that postmillennialism’s foundation is “the love of God for the world as expressed in the cross of Christ,” concluding, “The love of God for this broken world is the bedrock. Everything else follows.”
While mining for postmillennialism’s elusive biblical bedrock in these parts, Doug tries to mix Arminianism and Calvinism, and thereby unwittingly makes a case for universalism:
I agree with the evangelical Arminians that the love of God as expressed in the atonement is a love that extends to the whole world (1 John 2:2). I also agree with evangelical Calvinists that the love of God as expressed in the cross of Christ is a love that secures the salvation of the object of that love (John 6:44). Put those two truths together and what you have is a robust and deep postmillennial foundation.
Actually, put those two statements together and what you have is universalism. Arminians believe the love of God as expressed in the atonement is a universally indiscriminate love that extends in the same way to every person without exception. Doug therefore affirms, by the time he finishes the second statement, that the love of God as expressed in the cross is a universally indiscriminate love that secures the salvation of its object, that is, the salvation of every person without exception.
In addition to Doug’s theological misstep, there are exegetical difficulties. For example, consider the key phrase “so that the world might be saved” in John 3:17. It does not imply that the majority of “the world” will be saved any more than the analogous phrase “so that you might be saved” in John 5:34 implies that the majority of Christ’s audience (“you”) would be saved. Both verses use the same construction: ἵνα (“so that”) + a passive aorist subjunctive of σῴζω (“might be saved”). In the second verse, the plural “you” refers to those who “were seeking all the more to kill him” (John 5:18; cf. 5:35–47). Consequently, John 3:17, in light of 5:34, actually challenges the belief that the majority of “the world” will be saved.
Passages referring to the salvation or Savior of the world (John 3:16–17; 12:47; 1 John 2:2; 4:14) do not imply that the majority of humanity will be saved. There is no need to explain away the straightforward meaning of texts like Matthew 7:13–14: “Wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (cf. 20:16; 22:14; Luke 13:23–24; 18:8).
God’s love for the world as expressed in the cross cannot support postmillennialism any more than it can universalism. I will grant that Doug is not a universalist, while reserving the right to question his clarity on definite atonement, if he concedes that he has not found in John 3:16–17 the sought-after text establishing his assumption that “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea” (Hab 2:14) before “the resurrection of the righteous” (Luke 14:14).
Rightly Dividing the “Already” and “Not Yet”
According to Doug, non-postmillennialists insist that the future subjection of all things to the Second Man, the subjection that “we do not yet see” (Heb 2:8), “will never unfold.” He says, “To believe in it while also insisting that it will never unfold is hard for me to swallow.” Of course, no one believes “it will never unfold.” Non-postmillennialists simply recognize the subjection of all things to the Last Adam mentioned in Hebrews 2 as being “not yet” (Heb 2:8), as awaiting fulfillment in “the world to come” (Heb 2:5).
Doug appears similarly unaware of any paradigm but his own when he asserts, “It seems really odd to exult in a reign over the Lord’s enemies that His enemies never find out about.” Again, every Bible-believing Christian anticipates that all the enemies of Jesus will “find out about” his reign eventually. The only question is “When—before the second coming or at it?” Doug assumes that unless the enemies of Christ encounter his kingship in new and dramatic ways before the second coming, his interadvental reign will lack authentic victory.
Doug looks in the wrong direction for indications of Christ’s victorious inaugurated reign. The true indication lies in the past, not the future. The “already” subjection of all things to Christ fully unfolded when God “put all things under his feet” (Eph 1:22) in AD 30 (or 33). The exalted Christ has publicly triumphed over all his adversaries through the cross: “he disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them” (Col 2:15). He “has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers having been subjected to him” (1 Pet 3:22). The fullness of inaugurated, interadvental victory was secured and realized when the resurrected Christ ascended to his heavenly throne.
Richard Gaffin writes in “Theonomy and Eschatology: Some Reflections on Postmillennialism,”
The eschatological kingship of Christ begins already at his first coming culminating in his resurrection and ascension. Already at and dating from Christ’s exaltation, “God has placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church” (Eph. 1:22; cf. v. 20). This is a key eschatological pronouncement…. The entire period between his exaltation and return, not just some segment toward the close, is the period of Christ’s eschatological kingship, exercised undiminished throughout.
The reign of Jesus stands resolutely victorious thus far. It remains fundamentally triumphant at every point on the interadvental timeline. No further subjugation of adversaries or conversion of nations is necessary to declare and experience the complete victory of the inaugurated kingdom. Nothing will (or even could) come under the feet of Christ at a future point in his inaugurated kingdom that was not already subjected to him at his inauguration: “all things” in Ephesians 1:22 encompasses everything. The subjugation of Christ’s enemies cannot unfold during the inaugurated kingdom any more than it already has.
The inaugurated reign of Christ certainly holds unrealized potential. Ultimate triumph lies on the horizon. Key passages, such as 1 Corinthians 15:24–28 and Hebrews 2:5–8, emphasize this “not yet” subjection of all things to Christ. Significantly, this future subjection will unfold at “the end” (1 Cor 15:24) in “the world to come” (Heb 2:5) and not before (see following sections).
Doug’s insistence that this future subjection will unfold in our present world contradicts these texts and wrongly divides the dual nature of NT eschatology—the “already” and “not yet.” In this framework, the “already” centers on the first coming of Christ while the “not yet” anticipates his second coming. Recognizing the robustness of the “already” subjection of all things to Christ within the context of this dual focus of eschatological fulfillment helps us appreciate two important truths: (1) there is no need for or even possibility of any further subjection of Christ’s enemies during the inaugurated kingdom (Eph 1:22), and (2) our eager anticipation should be directed exclusively toward the “not yet” subjection of all things to Christ in “the world to come” (Heb 2:5–8).
The New Jerusalem Is Not Yet
In “Can Kings Come in Too?” Doug suggests that the prophecy of kings bringing the glory and honor of the nations into the new Jerusalem (Rev 21:24, 26) will find fulfillment in this world. To make his case, he dons his preterist hat and identifies the new Jerusalem in Revelation 21 and 22 as the church on earth right now.
The preterist interpretation of the new heaven and new earth and new Jerusalem in Revelation 21:1–22:5 is surely one of the most implausible idiosyncrasies of any eschatological system. This passage only depicts the “not yet,” the world to come, for only then will death, mourning, crying, and pain be eradicated (21:4); only then will the unrepentant be thrown into the lake of fire, which is the second death (21:8); only then will the sun and moon be unneeded (21:23–24); only then will the curse be no more (22:3); and only then will people on earth see Jesus face to face (22:4; 1 Cor 13:12).
The new Jerusalem has not yet come down out of heaven (Rev 21:2, 10). When John envisages the kings of the earth bringing the glory and honor of the nations into the new Jerusalem (21:24, 26), in fulfillment of Isaiah 60, he foresees events that will take place in the world to come.
“The Point When” Is Not Yet
Doug continues to hear the following when he reads 1 Corinthians 15:25: “For he must reign, gradually subduing his foes, until all his enemies are under his feet.” He still assumes that the subduing of enemies in this verse describes an interadvental process rather than a definitive point at “the end” (1 Cor 15:24). He overlooks the grammatical evidence that precludes his reading.
In section 2.2.2 of my original article, I show extensively that “the verse actually says that the subduing of all enemies will take place at the culmination of Christ’s reign and not before.” I defend the following translation: “For he must reign until the point when he shall put all his enemies under his feet.” There is actually a Greek word (οὗ) meaning “the point when” in this verse, and the aorist subjunctive verb translated “he shall put [all his enemies underfoot]” describes an action that will occur—from beginning to end—at that point. Apart from any engagement with my analysis, Doug concludes that “it sounds like an argument that Christ will reign over His enemies until the day when He finally starts to reign over them. Which maketh little sense.”
In addition to ignoring the grammar, this critique misunderstands the NT’s portrayal of eschatological fulfillment. It is entirely consistent with biblical teaching to affirm that the inaugurated King is reigning over all his subjected foes (Eph 1:20–22; Col 2:15; 1 Pet 3:22) while also anticipating a definitive subjugation of those foes at “the end” (1 Cor 15:24–28) in “the world to come” (Heb 2:5–8). Doug’s rebuttal fails to address the exegesis directly, leaving the initial interpretation unchallenged.
Anticipating His Inheritance
In “Trashing His Inheritance?” Doug isolates and focuses on my statement that “Psalm 2 nowhere prophesies redemption.” He disagrees, countering that the prophecy of Messiah’s “inheritance” (Psa 2:8) finds fulfillment in the “inheritance in the saints” (Eph 1:18), which according to Doug belongs to Christ through “redemption” (Eph 1:7).
The insurmountable problem with this counterargument is that the “inheritance in the saints” (Eph 1:18) belongs to the Father, not Christ (see 1:19–20). Jesus will not receive the inheritance promised to him in Psalm 2:8–9 until he returns (Rev 19:15).
A culmination of inheritances will occur at the second coming: (1) the Father will claim his “possession” on the day of “redemption” as anticipated in Ephesians 1:14 (NASB, NIV, CSB, KJV), (2) believers will receive their “inheritance” when they experience the “salvation ready to be revealed in the last time” as mentioned in 1 Peter 1:4–5, and (3) Christ will obtain his “inheritance”—“the nations”—by means of “a sharp sword” and “an iron rod” on the day of “God’s wrath” as prophesied in Psalm 2:8–9 and Revelation 19:15.
My statement that Psalm 2 nowhere prophesies redemption is part of a broader argument demonstrating that this psalm predicts the rebellion and ultimate judgment of the nations, not their redemption or conversion. This interpretation is supported by Revelation 19:15, which aligns Psalm 2:8–9 with eschatological judgment.
Doug highlights the Second Psalm’s relevance to “studying how the New Testament instructs us in the reading of the Old.” He mentions (rightly, of course) that Acts 4:25–26 and 13:33 cite Psalm 2:1–2 and 2:7 respectively as prophecies of the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. Astonishingly, he fails to mention that Revelation 19:15 cites Psalm 2:8–9, which contains the prophecy of Messiah’s “inheritance.” Omitting this crucial discussion on Revelation 19:15 is significant, particularly since the near-universal consensus on Revelation 19:11–21 is that it prophesies the second coming.
In section 3.2, I argue that Revelation 19:11–21 depicts Christ’s return, as virtually all interpreters throughout history have concluded (Doug grants that this passage enjoys “virtually universal agreement from all interpreters” before going on in his commentary to place himself outside that longstanding consensus). Subsection 3.2.2 is even titled “Wilson’s Preterism.” Yet all of this remains unaddressed by Doug. Until he engages with these arguments, the prevailing interpretation stands: Psalm 2:8–9 foretells not the redemption but the decisive judgment of the nations at the kingdom’s culmination, at which point God will give the crucified and resurrected Christ his inheritance.
The exalted Christ already received what we might call the guarantee or downpayment of his future inheritance when the Father put “all things under his feet” (Eph 1:22). For God seated him “far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come” (Eph 1:21).
The Success of the Great Commission
In “Can We Just Sit Tight Then?” Doug quotes one of my topic sentences (“Fourth, the apostolic era saw the success of the Great Commission”) and rejects it while disregarding the exegetical support (he also seems to think mistakenly that I use Matthew 24:14 here). Then he quotes Mark 16:15, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation,” concluding that “we are nowhere close to being done with that assigned task.”
We agree that the church’s task won’t be complete until Jesus returns; we mustn’t just sit tight. Nevertheless, three decades after the cross, the apostle to the gentiles declared that “the gospel” had been “preached to all creation” (Col 1:23) and had done its saving work “in all the world” (Col 1:6). Note how closely Paul’s language here mirrors Mark 16:15—there is nearly a word-for-word correspondence.
Paul affirms elsewhere that the gospel had “gone out to all the earth … to the ends of the world (Rom 10:18; cf. Acts 1:8) and had “been made known to all the nations,” where it was producing “the obedience of faith” (Rom 16:26; cf. 1:5), in fulfillment of the Abrahamic promise in Genesis 12:3 to bless all the nations (cf. Rev 5:9; 7:9). Remarkably, the advance of the gospel during the two millennia since Paul penned these words in Romans and Colossians is still not enough for postmillennialists to affirm the success of the Great Commission.
Christ’s prophecy that the gospel would be proclaimed “throughout the whole world as a testimony to all the nations” (Matt 24:14), according to Doug, “did happen, back in the first century.” He thus concedes that this did not necessarily include all global populations, such as the Mayans. In short, he acknowledges that “all the nations” does not imply comprehensive worldwide reach in Matthew 24:14. It’s unclear, then, on what basis Doug continues to infer that “all the nations” in 28:19 suggests a far more comprehensive scope than previously.
Consider the nations that did hear the gospel “back in the first century” in fulfillment of Matthew 24:14, such as the Macedonians. It would be unreasonable to assume that the majority of their populations were reached: “proclaimed … to all the nations” (24:14) does not imply that the majority of citizens in any nation heard the gospel. Similarly, “disciple all the nations” (28:19) does not imply that the majority of citizens in a discipled nation will be disciples.
The point is not that “proclaim” (24:14) and “disciple” (28:19) are synonymous. The point is that “all the nations” (24:14) and “all the nations” (28:19) are. These two verses do not necessarily describe the same activity, but they do share the same scope of activity when referring to “all the nations.” The phrase “disciple all the nations” communicates neither worldwide nor nationwide saturation. Doug’s counterargument needed to address this by engaging with the presented arguments.
Revisiting Doug’s Perspective
In “Heads or Tails,” Doug grants my argument in 2.2.3 that the verb “destroy” in 1 Corinthians 15:24 signifies the judgment of Christ’s enemies rather than their salvation. He claims I miss the point, though, which is that the salvation of God’s people is often the flip side of the coin: God saves his people by judging their enemies.
But that’s not how Doug argues on page 15 of Heaven Misplaced (which I quote in 2.2). There he interprets the destruction and subjugation of Christ’s enemies described in 1 Corinthians 15:24–25 as salvation (here is the quote again):
In the common assumption shared by many Christians, at the Lord’s return the first enemy to be destroyed is death. But the apostle here says that it is the last enemy to be destroyed. The Lord will rule from heaven, progressively subduing all His enemies through the power of the gospel, brought to the nations by His Church.
Here Doug posits that Christ vanquishes his foes “through the power of the gospel.” Recall that the gospel’s power is “the power of God for salvation” (Rom 1:16). Doug even clarifies in the final clause that the subjugation in view does not refer to punitive measures but to the evangelistic efforts of the church. This perspective is the focus of my critique in 2.2.3. As I wrote there, “καταργέω, the term Paul uses to describe the destruction of the rulers, authorities, and powers in 1 Corinthians 15:24, means ‘destroy, abolish, wipe out, bring to an end.’ To my knowledge, no lexicon, theological dictionary, commentary, or example from usage suggests that this verb can refer to salvation, the opposite of its meaning.”
In any case, the crux of the matter lies in the timing of the destruction. As I argue in sections 2.2.1 and 2.2.2, the definitive act variously described as destruction, subjugation, and subjection in 1 Corinthians 15:24–28 occurs solely at “the end” (1 Cor 15:24) in “the world to come” (Heb 2:5) “when all things shall be subjected to him” (1 Cor 15:28a; cf. Heb 2:5–8), “at which time the Son himself will also be subjected to him who subjected all things to him” (1 Cor 15:28b). Doug’s stance lacks scriptural support for a progressive salvation leading to a converted world prior to the second coming.
Doug’s Admission: The Core of Postmillennialism
Doug candidly confesses, “At the end of the day, if you ask me how I believe all this . . . I just do.” This underscores a critical point: eschatological convictions should be rooted in rigorous exegesis rather than one’s theological gut. The strength of one’s eschatology is measured by its scriptural foundation, not the depth of conviction.
The Superstore Remains Fully Stocked
Doug likens my comprehensive critique to a superstore brimming with arguments. He claims that his blog post—a mere shopping cart—is too small to address the breadth of content. He needs to get a bigger shopping cart. He owes readers a substantial response that avoids cherry-picking and engages in careful, methodologically disciplined grammatical-historical exegesis.
Jeremy Sexton is a pastor at Christ the King Church in Springfield, MO.
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“Give me Adam’s complaining and Jacob’s obstinacy and Samson’s lust.” The angels of heaven seem to shout, “Stop! Surely he has reached his limit!” But again he speaks to say, “Burden me more! Add to me the weight of all the sins of the next two thousand years, add to me all the sins of all the ages that will follow. Load on the guilt of the blasphemer, the perjurer, the murderer, the adulterer, then the shame of the thief, the gossip, the hater, the idler.”

When of great physical strength have sometimes carried outrageously heavy burdens—six hundred pounds, seven hundred pounds, eight hundred. And even then they have said, “I still have not been fully tested. Put on some more weight! Load me up!” With confidence they have gripped the bar and with great straining and groaning they have lifted it clear of the ground. Yet in every case, they have eventually reached a point where they have had to cry out, “Stop! I have hit my limit. I cannot carry any more weight.”
I wonder if you have ever considered that the burden Christ carried for us was without limit. Have you considered the tremendous weight he bore on Calvary?
There was his own burden of hunger and thirst and bereavement, and the burden of the thousand insults and outrages that had been heaped upon him. On top of that was the burden of seeing the sorrows of his mother and friends as they watched him suffer and struggle for breath. On top of even that was the burden of witnessing the crimes of the soldiers who were putting him to death and the mocking of the criminals who hung beside him.
Even as we consider this our hearts begin to cry, “Stop! Surely he cannot bear anymore.”
Yet Christ says, “Add more. Add to me the sins of the people of Israel as they turned and rebelled and chased after false gods.” 
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Your elder is not Jesus. They may be Christ-like, but the ultimate voice a Christian should hear and follow is Jesus’s, and not their elder’s. Your elder can pray for you, warn you, show you safe paths, and plead with you. But ultimately, every member is in the hands of the Lord Himself. We are God’s sheep, the people of His pasture.

I was talking to some elders of another church recently about struggles they were having, and they mentioned something I’ve heard countless times: A member is leaving the church and taking swings at the leadership as they walk out.
Please hear me out. The church needs elders. The church deserves to have good elders. God Himself demands elders to shepherd His flock well. However, the church can also be damaged by idealism. Sadly, we live in a world marred by sin. We live in a world where no elder on this side of heaven will ever live up to the ideal standard. Idealism, when it comes to either church membership or church leadership, will ruin relationships, destroy unity, and is deeply unbiblical. There will never be a perfect elder nor a perfect member.
I am not saying you should stay in an abusive church. I am not saying you should stay where the elders show blatant ignorance of your soul. I am not saying members should just put up with poor or sinful leadership. What I am saying is, elders will always fail you if the standard is perfection. Only Jesus, the chief shepherd, is perfect.
My hope from this article is that we, as a Christian community, may give and grow in grace. I’m not giving a pass to sloppy, neglectful, or even sinful shepherding. But, I am advocatign that we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep. Why? Because your elders will fail you.
The Shepherd’s Heart
The church deserves to have a shepherd who shows Jesus’ compassion and love for His flock. Jesus routinely showed empathy and understanding to His people. He wept with Mary and Martha at Lazarus’s death. He understood perfectly the hearts of those around Him. Jesus, as the chief shepherd, knows our hearts better than we know them ourselves. My elders, and your elders, will never know your heart perfectly. Elders may be physicians of the soul, but it is Jesus who is the great physician. If a member expects the elders to understand everything going on in their hearts, they have expected men to do God’s work.
The Shepherd’s Vision
Jesus knew exactly why He was here. Jesus came to do His Father’s will. Jesus had a mission and accomplished that mission. Jesus then commissioned His Apostles to go and make disciples of all nations, promising them the Holy Spirit. But He never promised the Apostles they would have perfect mission vision. He did not promise Peter he would be right on everything. Sometimes the Apostles caught themselves off guard as they were prevented from doing things. Sometimes they would drift in the wrong direction and have to be rebuked by another Apostle.
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Dawkins’ conundrum, of course, is that all the nice culturally Christian things he enjoys have been brought to him courtesy of “bad” Christians—those dreaded orthodox types who actually took the Bible seriously when it said, for instance, that man is made in the image of God. Dawkins likes the idea of human rights, but he has also decried “speciesism,” which leads him to conclude some humans (like the unborn or the mentally disabled) have fewer rights than others. But why stop there? Why assume Richard Dawkins has any rights?

Breaking news: Area Englishman announces he enjoys eating but is still glad that all the farms and gardens are dying. Oh wait, actually it’s Richard Dawkins, explaining that he considers himself a “cultural Christian,” even though he’s glad that fewer and fewer Westerners consider themselves “believing Christians.” In the full interview, he expresses shock and dismay at the display of a Ramadan message at the terminus in London’s King’s Cross station. Christianity as a belief system may still be “all nonsense,” but if it’s between a Muslim culture and a Christian culture, Dawkins says he will vote “team Christian” every time.
This isn’t exactly a new sentiment for the former New Atheist rock star. Some of us remember the small tweetstorm he impishly ignited back in 2018, when he said he much preferred the lovely bells of Winchester Cathedral to the “aggressive-sounding” cry of “Allahu Akbar!” His love for the King James Bible is also well known—though he once urged his atheist friends to make sure “religion” isn’t allowed to “hijack” that great “cultural resource.” One wonders exactly what kind of “resource” Dawkins thinks the Bible is. A collection of aphorisms? Ten rules for life? The best fairy tales ever? 
Whatever it is, Dawkins thinks it’s sort of, well, nice, and he thinks Christianity is “a fundamentally decent religion” by comparison with Islam.
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Written by J. Garrett Kell |
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
Understanding the nature of temptation should sober us. It reminds us that no matter how good temptation makes sin appear, it’s a mirage. The temptation to be stingy is an invitation from Satan to resist the generosity that reflects Jesus. The impulse to click on pornography is an invitation from Satan to grieve God for a quick rush of lust. The urge to hurry your prayers and neglect Bible reading is an invitation to trust your wisdom over God’s. Temptation stokespride and tells you that you deserve to be at the center of the universe. Indulging in its fleeting offerings only leaves us empty and full of regret.

What Is Temptation?
We must understand sin, but we also need to understand temptation and how it relates to our sin. Maybe a few stories will help:
Sarah sighed as she glanced at her phone. It was another message from her coworker Brian. He was charming, funny, and dangerous—at least to her. She knew a date with him was off-limits because he showed little interest in Christianity. At the same time, she was tired of being overlooked by the single men at church. Brian, on the other hand, flirted with her and flattered her. This awakened something inside her that she enjoyed and wanted to pursue. But she knew she shouldn’t.
With situations like this in mind, the apostle James vividly describes how sin and temptation work: “Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death” (James 1:14–15).
Sin acts as an angler who baits the hook with a deceptive lure. The lure then floats along in front of us, and our sinful flesh is enticed. We crave what God forbids and give ourselves convincing reasons to succumb: “One look won’t hurt.” “You’ll miss out if you don’t.” “It’s not a big deal.” “God will forgive you.” “Just this one time.” “You deserve this.”
If we surrender to our evil desires instead of God’s Spirit, then sin comes to fruition. Sin rewards us with an initial rush of enjoyment and sense of satisfaction. But that sense of fulfillment is eventually replaced with regret, which affords an opportunity for repentance. But if we resist repentance, sin’s influence in us grows like a cancerous tumor in the soul, and we can become calloused to God. Inevitably, death results.1
Temptation, therefore, is not a friendly voice but a deadly invitation. To better understand the nature of temptation, let’s consider what it isn’t and what it is.
Temptation Is Not Iniquity (Matt. 4:1–11)
Reid was plagued by anger. In heated moments, he had an impulse to punch tables—or worse, people. His background as a brawler was difficult to escape. But just because he was tempted with outbursts of anger didn’t mean he was sinning.
Scripture repeatedly warns us not to give in to temptation. For instance, God warned Cain, “Sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is contrary to you, but you must rule over it” (Gen. 4:7). Likewise, Paul told the Ephesian church what my friend Reid needed to regularly hear: “Be angry and do not sin” (Eph. 4:26).
Scripture repeatedly shows us that temptation and sin are not the same. Jesus was tempted by Satan yet escaped without sinning (Matt. 4:1–11; Heb. 4:15).
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Everything could fall apart. The darkest things imaginable could happen, except one: that God would lose one of us who has been saved by faith and fail to complete the work He has begun in us. We will see Jesus face to face in all of His glory. One day, all believers will inhabit a place without sickness, without tears, and without death. A place where it can no longer come undone, but this is not it.

There is something about me that always wants to be in control. If I am sick, I want to outlearn the disease and overcome it. If relationships start to fail, I want to be able to charm them back to life. We all desire control. I think this is why we buy into so many fad diets promising snake-oil results. I do not say this as a judgment on eating right; it is wise, but how much stems from the desire to bend reality to fit our ideals? If there is something I can do, then it is something I can control. “I am the master of my ship.” The desire to govern this world has even entered Christian circles. “If you can muster enough faith, all will go right. Positive thoughts create positive results.” The problem is it is not true. We could do all of this, and it could still fall apart. We are not the masters of our destinies.
With every peal of thunder, I realize that I am not the center of the universe. When it comes to orchestrating the master plan for creation, I am no more special than the other 7 billion people on the planet. We all tend to live as if we are, but it is a delusion. You and I could come into contact with something in this fallen world that could end our lives within a matter of days, and there is nothing we can do about it.
Once we are gone, our co-workers would remember us and then replace us. Sure, they may even put up a picture for a few years to commemorate our contribution, but they would continue without us. Our demise would most likely hit our family the hardest, but our children would move on with their lives just like we would want them to. Even the one we love, if the Lord wills, would find someone else to love and with whom to share the rest of their life.
I dislike thinking about these things, but it is good. It reminds me that the world is not yet how it should be, so I should not put my trust and hope in it. There is something eternal that deserves my devotion and attention. Something else should be my refuge.
Though storms swell around us, we have found salvation in the cleft of the rock: Christ Jesus. All the sins that caused us to be fearful of God have been forgiven. The great and righteous judge of the universe has reconciled us to Himself through the cross. Yes, we, sinners, are friends of God. He calls us His children.
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Simplicity means that God’s essence is identical with His attributes. God is not some unrevealed being who possesses attributes such as love and knowledge. Rather, God is love and God is knowledge. This truth is tremendously reassuring, for it means when we encounter God’s love or knowledge, we are genuinely meeting with God. Were attributes not identical with essence, God’s revelation of Himself would perversely cloak rather than reveal Him.

We live in an age of distraction, entertainment, and lasciviousness, all of which inoculate us against holy passion for the God who made and redeemed us. We can let the sociologists conduct surveys of culture and the psychologists ponder counselling feedback, but theologians know that a fresh sight of God is what revives the soul. Familiarity with history reassures us that our present culture of distraction is not as new as it imagines. Back in 1681 John Owen bemoaned that “the world is at present in a mighty hurry…it makes men giddy with its revolutions.”[1]
So, we revive our affections for God by theologizing in the only way that is true theology – contemplation of God as He has revealed Himself, with desire that our thoughts of Him change us and glorify God. The doctrine of simplicity is a teaching aimed to affirm that everything about God matters, and everything God says of Himself matters.
God Matters
The doctrine of simplicity addresses who God is: how important, vital and truly God-like He is. Understanding simplicity takes effort. God will be counter-intuitive to creatures since our daily experiences are shaped by engaging with creation rather than the Creator. We are more used to managing matters dependent upon us than worshipping the maker upon whom we depend.
We can feel impatient reflecting on who God is as things we do seem more urgent. The Church has not been well served by those who have substituted technique, management, and advertising for scripturally-shaped knowledge of God. To any who think they can discover a life-changing ethic or philosophy of discipleship without the tough work of understanding the doctrine of simplicity, Augustine warned, “There is no living rightly without believing rightly in God.”[2] Who God is matters for life and worship.
Everything God Says of Himself Matters
Much good can be done by sharing with the world what God has done for us – sending His Son and Spirit, bearing His own wrath at sin in the person of the Son, and raising Him to ascendant life to await a future return to judge all. We must rejoice in all God has done and will do, and we must share the gospel news with all. Still, the command to teach all Jesus said must include what Jesus said about the nature of God. He is perfect (Mat. 5:48), He is humble (Mat. 11:27-29), He is omniscient (Mat. 6:6). It is a temptation to focus on ‘what God does’ at expense of ‘who God is.’ What sinful hearts we have, that even the saving works of God can be seized on to muffle what God reveals of Himself.
We must resist focusing only on part of what the Bible says of God. “A scriptural description of God comprises three aspects: the revelation of the one Essence by means of various attributes; the enumeration of the divine Persons; and the revelation of his deeds.”[3]
The doctrine of simplicity is the grammar of God. It seeks to ensure that when we read one thing about God in the Bible, we do not allow that to prevent us believing something else the Bible affirms of God, even if our first reading may seem to contradict it. Simplicity helps us worship the God who is both omnipresent and incarnate; both forgiving and wrathful; both above us and in us.
Bavinck defined simplicity as the teaching that “God is sublimely free from all composition, and that therefore one cannot make any real distinction between his being and his attributes. Each attribute is identical with God’s being: he is what he possesses … Whatever God is, he is that completely and simultaneously.’[4] Bavinck quotes Irenaeus and Augustine to sustain his point that simplicity has always been the instinct of the Church. Indeed, simplicity guards the nature of God from misrepresentation.
All that is created is composed of parts. People can change or lose part of what they possess while remaining who they are. A person can change with old age: losing patience to become grumpy. Such change in attributes may strain family relationships but would not mean the person had ceased to be who they are.
That is how humans are – we can change and lose attributes while remaining who we are in essence. God is different than us. Simplicity affirms that God’s essence is identical with His attributes. The Bible affirms not that God has a quality called love which could increase or decrease without changing who God is. Rather, ‘God is love’ (1 Jn. 4:8). Simplicity ensures that this statement is maximally true of God. Since God is love, He can never lose nor lessen His love.
If we are tempted to think that the deeds of God are all that matters, just focus on the love God shows on the cross. Consider that without simplicity there is no guarantee the love shown on the cross will remain a reality in the future. The Spirit can only pour an endless fountain of God’s infinite love into our hearts if God is love. The Spirit’s work requires God be simple, and on this basis of simplicity the Spirit’s work can be relied upon through all seasons of this life into eternity.
To the extent that the modern evangelical movement prioritizes soteriology over theology, simplicity counters that good theology empowers soteriology. Justification may well be the “hinge on which religion turns,”[5] but it is God who justifies, and simplicity ensures the God we worship is willing and able to justify.
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Jesus exposed the Pharisees’ application of the Exodus 21:24 command, “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth’” (Matthew 5:38). They measured righteousness by personal retribution. They took a law meant to curb sinful retaliation and used it to justify personal vendettas. This is what moralism always does: It picks and chooses what it wants to obey. In this case, the Pharisees rejected Leviticus 19:17-18, “You shall not hate your fellow countryman in your heart…You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the sons of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” And in its place, they chose eye-for-eye payback. Why? Because moralism always panders to our fallen nature.

“Do not think I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets;
I did not come to abolish but to fulfill.”
Matthew 5:17
 
Tunes we hear as children often stay with us as adults. Who doesn’t know Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star? Even after many decades, who couldn’t start a round of Wheels on a Bus? Children’s songs are nostalgic, bringing us back to a time of simplicity and safety—who can’t hear their mom singing a sweet lullaby in their ear? 
Today’s Siren also has a childhood song. It’s the song of moralism—the chorus we heard growing up, the melody that plays in the background of our mind, and the ditty we hum to ourselves without even realizing it. Be Nice is the title. Do good things is the refrain. And God will accept you is the message.
It’s the song that prioritizes external behavior. In Christian circles, it sounds like this: Put something in the offering plate and say your evening prayers, and then God will bless you; you’ll put a smile on His face and earn His favor. After all, “God helps those who help themselves.” Right?1 
An Oldie, But Baddie
Moralism is an oldie—the song the Pharisees sang as they followed their man-made rules for righteousness, measuring personal holiness by external benchmarks and their own legalistic traditions. But it is not a goodie. It is a damning song that dismisses God’s requirement for acceptance and spurns Jesus’ words, “You are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). 
Jesus Was No Moralist
Unlike the Pharisees, Jesus addressed a person’s inner condition over their external obedience. He searched hearts; He didn’t offer lists to cross off. He called His hearers to recognize their spiritual bankruptcy (Matthew 5:3); He didn’t give boxes to check. Jesus pleaded with men to sorrow over sin, humble themselves, and seek a righteousness they could not earn (Matthew 5:4-6). 
The contrast was unmistakable. Jesus taught that only “the pure in heart…shall see God” (Matthew 5:8), while the moralistic Pharisees promised divine acceptance based upon ritual adherence (Mark 7:3-4). No wonder Jesus said, “unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20)—a standard that still applies today. 
Cleaning Up the Moralistic Mess
Moralistic righteousness is the context of Jesus’ mission statement in Matthew 5:17, “Do not think I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill.” 
For centuries, the Pharisees had elevated their oral traditions to the status of Scripture. According to the Talmud, “It [was] more culpable to teach against the ordinances of the scribes than against the Torah itself.”2 The rabbis commanded, “Give more heed to the words of the rabbis than to the words of the Law.”3 They even warned, “He who transgresses the word of the scribes throws away his life.”4 By opposing the Pharisees’ moralistic application of the Old Testament, Jesus knew He was stepping into dangerous territory. 
Thus, to avoid any misunderstanding, Jesus defended His heart-probing teaching from the outset. Yes, His teaching would differ significantly from the religious leaders’ hallowed traditions, but He was not “abolishing the Law” in any way. He was fulfilling it—filling out the Law’s true meaning, something the Pharisees had covered up for centuries. 
This is why the next 31 verses of Matthew 5 are framed by the statement, “You have heard it said…but I say to you” (Matthew 5:21–22; 27–28; 31–32; 33–34; 38–39; 43–44). Jesus was cleaning up the moralistic mess the Pharisees had made. He was contrasting His gospel with theirs, making it clear that no amount of outward obedience (“you have heard it said”) could ever earn acceptance into God’s presence (“but I say to you”). The righteousness God requires must surpass the Pharisees’ external behavior. Nothing less than a sinless mind, righteous motives, and flawless attitudes would suffice.. 
Exposing the Heinousness of Hate
Jesus began to unmask the Pharisees’ moralistic gospel by setting His sights on their view of murder. “You have heard that the ancients were told, ‘You shall not commit murder’ and ‘Whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court’” (Matthew 5:21). Who would disagree with that? Murder is a heinous sin (Exodus 20:13). 
But Jesus was not disparaging the sixth commandment. He was showing how shallowly the Pharisees had interpreted it. Simply checking off the box, “I did not murder,” was never what God intended—though that is what the Pharisees taught. God demanded much more. His requirement ran much deeper. He was looking for a murder-free spirit, a heart without hatred, and a mouth free from insulting speech. 
This is why Jesus added, “But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the court; and whoever says to his brother, ‘You good-for-nothing,’ shall be guilty before the supreme court; and whoever says, ‘You fool,’ shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell” (Matthew 5:22–23). 
Quite a contrast, isn’t it? Even the unseen sins of anger and hatred, and the all-too-common sin of insulting words, are worthy of hell. This is no moralistic message. 
Condemning an Adulterous Mind
Jesus then turned to the Pharisees’ superficial application of sexual purity.
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