“For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.” (1 Corinthians 13:9–10)
Paul now turns the lens toward human limitation. Our knowledge is partial. Our prophecy is incomplete. We live in the tension between revelation and mystery, between what is seen and what is still veiled. This is not a flaw—it is a feature of faith. To know in part is to be invited into wonder. To prophesy in part is to speak with reverent restraint.
“But when the perfect comes…” Here, Paul points to the eschaton, the fullness of God’s kingdom, the unveiling of glory, the face-to-face communion with Christ. In that moment, the scaffolding of partial gifts will fall away, and the structure of perfect love will stand revealed. The partial is not discarded in disdain, but fulfilled in beauty. It passes away not in shame, but in surrender.
This is a call to spiritual humility. We do not yet see the whole. We do not yet speak the whole. But we are held by the One who is whole. And in that holding, love becomes our compass. It does not demand full understanding to act. It does not require perfect clarity to care. It moves forward in faith, trusting that the perfect will come, and that love will be the bridge that carries us there.
Thursday, November 13, 2025
The Immortality Of Agape
“Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.” (1 Corinthians 13:8)
Paul’s declaration is not merely a contrast. It is a coronation. Love is enthroned above all spiritual gifts. Prophecy, tongues, and knowledge, each a treasured manifestation of divine grace, are temporary scaffolds. They serve the church in its infancy, but they are not eternal. They will pass away, not because they are flawed, but because they are finite.
“Love never ends” is the anthem of eternity. It is not seasonal. It is sovereign. While gifts flicker and fade, love burns with unquenchable fire. It is not the echo of heaven. It is its essence. Prophecies will be fulfilled. Tongues will fall silent. Knowledge will be completed. But love? Love remains. It is the breath of God, the heartbeat of the kingdom, the enduring melody of redemption.
Paul’s declaration is not merely a contrast. It is a coronation. Love is enthroned above all spiritual gifts. Prophecy, tongues, and knowledge, each a treasured manifestation of divine grace, are temporary scaffolds. They serve the church in its infancy, but they are not eternal. They will pass away, not because they are flawed, but because they are finite.
“Love never ends” is the anthem of eternity. It is not seasonal. It is sovereign. While gifts flicker and fade, love burns with unquenchable fire. It is not the echo of heaven. It is its essence. Prophecies will be fulfilled. Tongues will fall silent. Knowledge will be completed. But love? Love remains. It is the breath of God, the heartbeat of the kingdom, the enduring melody of redemption.
In this verse, Paul is not diminishing the gifts. He is contextualizing them. They are tools for the journey, not treasures of the destination. Love is the only gift that is both the path and the prize. It is the one virtue that does not expire with time, but expands into eternity.
Tuesday, November 11, 2025
The Eucharist And The Psychology Of Belief
Defining The Issues:
Among Roman Catholic doctrines, few are as mystifying, or as fiercely defended, as the belief in transubstantiation: the idea that bread and wine become the literal body and blood of Jesus Christ during the mass. This teaching, central to Catholic identity, is not metaphorical, symbolic, or poetic. It is presented as metaphysical fact. Yet this claim, when examined critically, raises profound questions, not just theological, but psychological, philosophical, and sociological.
Why do people believe this? And more importantly, how does such belief persist in the face of reason, sensory contradiction, and historical ambiguity?
Among Roman Catholic doctrines, few are as mystifying, or as fiercely defended, as the belief in transubstantiation: the idea that bread and wine become the literal body and blood of Jesus Christ during the mass. This teaching, central to Catholic identity, is not metaphorical, symbolic, or poetic. It is presented as metaphysical fact. Yet this claim, when examined critically, raises profound questions, not just theological, but psychological, philosophical, and sociological.
Why do people believe this? And more importantly, how does such belief persist in the face of reason, sensory contradiction, and historical ambiguity?
The Dogma And Its Discontents:
The Roman Catholic Church teaches that during the consecration, the "substance" of bread and wine is transformed, while the "accidents" (their physical properties) remain unchanged. This Aristotelian framework, borrowed from ancient metaphysics, was codified in the 13th century and remains official doctrine.
But this raises immediate problems:
The Roman Catholic Church teaches that during the consecration, the "substance" of bread and wine is transformed, while the "accidents" (their physical properties) remain unchanged. This Aristotelian framework, borrowed from ancient metaphysics, was codified in the 13th century and remains official doctrine.
But this raises immediate problems:
*Philosophical incoherence: The distinction between substance and accidents is largely obsolete in modern philosophy. Most contemporary thinkers reject the idea that something can change in essence while remaining physically identical.
*Empirical contradiction: There is no observable transformation. The bread looks, tastes, and behaves like bread. The wine remains wine. The claim rests entirely on ecclesiastical authority, not evidence.
*Empirical contradiction: There is no observable transformation. The bread looks, tastes, and behaves like bread. The wine remains wine. The claim rests entirely on ecclesiastical authority, not evidence.
*Theological tension: If God is spirit, then why insist on physical consumption? Does this not reduce the divine to the material?
These are not trivial objections. They strike at the heart of what it means to believe something, and how belief is formed, sustained, and justified.
These are not trivial objections. They strike at the heart of what it means to believe something, and how belief is formed, sustained, and justified.
The Psychology Of Tangible Faith:
Literal belief in the eucharist often stems not from reasoned conviction, but from psychological need. Faith, for many, is not merely intellectual assent. It is emotional anchoring. The idea of physically consuming Jesus offers a sense of intimacy, immediacy, and certainty. It makes the abstract concrete. It turns spiritual longing into ritual satisfaction.
This is especially potent for converts. Many who enter Roman Catholicism from more symbolic traditions describe a yearning for depth, mystery, and embodiment. The eucharist offers all three. But once the emotional bond is formed, the metaphysical claim becomes secondary. Belief follows experience, not the other way around.
This pattern mirrors what psychologists observe in high-control groups and cults. Members are often led to accept ideas that, from the outside, seem irrational or extreme. The mechanism is not coercion. It is immersion, affirmation, and emotional reward. The more emotionally satisfying the belief, the less likely it is to be questioned.
Literal belief in the eucharist often stems not from reasoned conviction, but from psychological need. Faith, for many, is not merely intellectual assent. It is emotional anchoring. The idea of physically consuming Jesus offers a sense of intimacy, immediacy, and certainty. It makes the abstract concrete. It turns spiritual longing into ritual satisfaction.
This is especially potent for converts. Many who enter Roman Catholicism from more symbolic traditions describe a yearning for depth, mystery, and embodiment. The eucharist offers all three. But once the emotional bond is formed, the metaphysical claim becomes secondary. Belief follows experience, not the other way around.
This pattern mirrors what psychologists observe in high-control groups and cults. Members are often led to accept ideas that, from the outside, seem irrational or extreme. The mechanism is not coercion. It is immersion, affirmation, and emotional reward. The more emotionally satisfying the belief, the less likely it is to be questioned.
Conditioning And Cognitive Entrenchment:
For cradle Catholics, the eucharist is introduced early, often before abstract reasoning develops. It becomes part of the spiritual landscape, reinforced by ritual, repetition, and community. Questioning it feels not just unnecessary, but disloyal.
This is a textbook case of cognitive entrenchment. When beliefs are tied to identity, community, and emotional stability, they become resistant to change, even in the face of contradiction. The eucharist is not just a doctrine, but a psychological anchor.
And yet, this raises a troubling possibility: that belief in the eucharist persists not because it is true, but because it is comforting.
For cradle Catholics, the eucharist is introduced early, often before abstract reasoning develops. It becomes part of the spiritual landscape, reinforced by ritual, repetition, and community. Questioning it feels not just unnecessary, but disloyal.
This is a textbook case of cognitive entrenchment. When beliefs are tied to identity, community, and emotional stability, they become resistant to change, even in the face of contradiction. The eucharist is not just a doctrine, but a psychological anchor.
And yet, this raises a troubling possibility: that belief in the eucharist persists not because it is true, but because it is comforting.
Refuting The Literalist Lens:
The literal interpretation of the eucharist demands scrutiny. It asks believers to accept that they are consuming a deity’s flesh, an idea that, stripped of context, would be considered grotesque or insane. The Roman Catholic Church deflects this with appeals to mystery. But mystery, while sacred, should not be a refuge from reason.
A more coherent approach would embrace the eucharist as symbol. To see the bread and wine as representations of Christ’s presence, sacrifice, and communion is not to diminish their power. It is to elevate their meaning. Symbols speak to the soul. They invite reflection, not fleshly consumption.
Moreover, symbolic rituals allow for spiritual depth without metaphysical absurdity. They honor mystery without demanding belief in the implausible. They make room for doubt, nuance, and growth. To understand why we believe, and how we came to believe, is to honor both the divine and the human dimensions of faith.
The literal interpretation of the eucharist demands scrutiny. It asks believers to accept that they are consuming a deity’s flesh, an idea that, stripped of context, would be considered grotesque or insane. The Roman Catholic Church deflects this with appeals to mystery. But mystery, while sacred, should not be a refuge from reason.
A more coherent approach would embrace the eucharist as symbol. To see the bread and wine as representations of Christ’s presence, sacrifice, and communion is not to diminish their power. It is to elevate their meaning. Symbols speak to the soul. They invite reflection, not fleshly consumption.
Moreover, symbolic rituals allow for spiritual depth without metaphysical absurdity. They honor mystery without demanding belief in the implausible. They make room for doubt, nuance, and growth. To understand why we believe, and how we came to believe, is to honor both the divine and the human dimensions of faith.
Saturday, November 8, 2025
Rome As A Promoter Of Superstition And Ignorance
Introduction:
Eucharistic Adoration And The Mystification Of Doctrine:
One of the most distinctive practices within Catholic theology is eucharistic adoration. Rooted in the doctrine of transubstantiation, this ritual involves the worship of the consecrated host as the literal body of Christ. The belief that bread and wine become the actual substance of Christ’s body and blood, while retaining their physical appearance, was formalized at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 and reaffirmed by the Council of Trent.
The consecrated host is displayed in a monstrance and adored in silence, often accompanied by prayers and hymns. While many Catholics find this practice spiritually meaningful, critics argue that it exemplifies a theology that mystifies rather than clarifies. The metaphysical claim that a piece of bread becomes divine substance, without empirical evidence, requires acceptance of supernatural premises that defy rational scrutiny.
This emphasis on mystery can deepen reverence, but it also promotes magical thinking and discourages theological reflection. Moreover, the exclusivity of the priesthood in performing consecration reinforces a clerical monopoly on divine access. Laypeople are invited to adore but not to understand, to participate but not to question.
Relics, Medals, And The Materialization Of Faith:
The Roman Catholic Church has long encouraged the veneration of physical objects believed to carry spiritual power. These include relics of saints, fragments of the “True Cross,” holy water, scapulars, and medals. Such items are often treated as conduits of divine grace or protection.
The veneration of relics dates back to the early centuries of Christianity. Churches were built over the tombs of martyrs, and pilgrims traveled to touch or view these sacred objects. The cult of relics reached its height in the Middle Ages, with pilgrimage sites such as Santiago de Compostela and Rome drawing thousands of visitors annually.
Medals and scapulars function as wearable tokens of devotion. The Miraculous Medal, associated with apparitions of the Virgin Mary to St. Catherine Labouré in 1830, is believed by many to offer protection and blessings. The Brown Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel is similarly worn as a sign of consecration and a promise of salvation.
While these practices may offer comfort and a sense of connection to the sacred, they also reflect a worldview steeped in superstition. The use of such objects can resemble the function of good luck charms, tokens believed to influence divine favor or shield against misfortune. This materialization of faith risks reducing religion to a transactional system, where spiritual outcomes are tied to physical acts and objects rather than moral transformation or intellectual engagement.
Since antiquity, the Roman Catholic Church has profoundly influenced the development of Western civilization. Its influence on law, education, art, and moral philosophy is profound. Yet alongside its contributions to culture and charity, Rome has also cultivated a religious framework that promotes superstition and discourages intellectual independence. Through its hierarchical governance, sacramental theology, and material expressions of faith, including relics, medals, and eucharistic adoration, the Roman Catholic Church has historically fostered a religious culture that often prioritizes ritual over reason and mystery over understanding.
Centralized Authority And Intellectual Conformity:
The Roman Catholic Church is governed by a strict hierarchical structure, with the pope at the top, followed by cardinals, bishops, and priests. This centralized model has enabled doctrinal consistency across centuries, but it has also limited theological diversity and discouraged lay inquiry.
Historically, the church restricted access to the Bible. For centuries, the Bible was available only in Latin, and its interpretation was reserved for clergy. The Council of Toulouse (1229) prohibited laypeople from possessing vernacular translations of the Bible, citing the risk of heretical misinterpretation. This policy reinforced dependence on clerical authority and discouraged personal engagement with Scripture.
Even today, while lay education has improved, theological dissent is tightly managed. Challenges to core doctrines, such as the nature of the sacraments or the role of the papacy, are often met with institutional resistance. The result is a culture in which questioning is discouraged and conformity is expected, limiting the development of a more critically engaged faith.
The Roman Catholic Church is governed by a strict hierarchical structure, with the pope at the top, followed by cardinals, bishops, and priests. This centralized model has enabled doctrinal consistency across centuries, but it has also limited theological diversity and discouraged lay inquiry.
Historically, the church restricted access to the Bible. For centuries, the Bible was available only in Latin, and its interpretation was reserved for clergy. The Council of Toulouse (1229) prohibited laypeople from possessing vernacular translations of the Bible, citing the risk of heretical misinterpretation. This policy reinforced dependence on clerical authority and discouraged personal engagement with Scripture.
Even today, while lay education has improved, theological dissent is tightly managed. Challenges to core doctrines, such as the nature of the sacraments or the role of the papacy, are often met with institutional resistance. The result is a culture in which questioning is discouraged and conformity is expected, limiting the development of a more critically engaged faith.
Eucharistic Adoration And The Mystification Of Doctrine:
One of the most distinctive practices within Catholic theology is eucharistic adoration. Rooted in the doctrine of transubstantiation, this ritual involves the worship of the consecrated host as the literal body of Christ. The belief that bread and wine become the actual substance of Christ’s body and blood, while retaining their physical appearance, was formalized at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 and reaffirmed by the Council of Trent.
The consecrated host is displayed in a monstrance and adored in silence, often accompanied by prayers and hymns. While many Catholics find this practice spiritually meaningful, critics argue that it exemplifies a theology that mystifies rather than clarifies. The metaphysical claim that a piece of bread becomes divine substance, without empirical evidence, requires acceptance of supernatural premises that defy rational scrutiny.
This emphasis on mystery can deepen reverence, but it also promotes magical thinking and discourages theological reflection. Moreover, the exclusivity of the priesthood in performing consecration reinforces a clerical monopoly on divine access. Laypeople are invited to adore but not to understand, to participate but not to question.
Relics, Medals, And The Materialization Of Faith:
The Roman Catholic Church has long encouraged the veneration of physical objects believed to carry spiritual power. These include relics of saints, fragments of the “True Cross,” holy water, scapulars, and medals. Such items are often treated as conduits of divine grace or protection.
The veneration of relics dates back to the early centuries of Christianity. Churches were built over the tombs of martyrs, and pilgrims traveled to touch or view these sacred objects. The cult of relics reached its height in the Middle Ages, with pilgrimage sites such as Santiago de Compostela and Rome drawing thousands of visitors annually.
Medals and scapulars function as wearable tokens of devotion. The Miraculous Medal, associated with apparitions of the Virgin Mary to St. Catherine Labouré in 1830, is believed by many to offer protection and blessings. The Brown Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel is similarly worn as a sign of consecration and a promise of salvation.
While these practices may offer comfort and a sense of connection to the sacred, they also reflect a worldview steeped in superstition. The use of such objects can resemble the function of good luck charms, tokens believed to influence divine favor or shield against misfortune. This materialization of faith risks reducing religion to a transactional system, where spiritual outcomes are tied to physical acts and objects rather than moral transformation or intellectual engagement.
Promoting Ignorance Through Ritual And Mystery:
The cumulative effect of these practices is the cultivation of a religious culture that privileges obedience over understanding. By emphasizing mystery, ritual, and clerical authority, the Roman Catholic Church has historically discouraged critical inquiry among the faithful.
While the church has produced great thinkers, such as Augustine, Aquinas, and Bellarmine, its institutional framework has often subordinated reason to dogma. Education was historically reserved for clergy, and theological literacy among laypeople remained low. Even today, many Catholics participate in rituals without fully grasping their theological significance.
The Latin Mass, for example, was the standard liturgical form for centuries, despite being unintelligible to most congregants. The introduction of vernacular liturgy after the Second Vatican Council improved accessibility, but the persistence of Latin Mass communities reflects ongoing tensions between tradition and understanding.
This mystification serves a purpose: it reinforces ecclesiastical authority and maintains spiritual dependency. In doing so, it perpetuates a cycle in which superstition is not only tolerated but sanctified, and ignorance is framed as humility before divine mystery.
The cumulative effect of these practices is the cultivation of a religious culture that privileges obedience over understanding. By emphasizing mystery, ritual, and clerical authority, the Roman Catholic Church has historically discouraged critical inquiry among the faithful.
While the church has produced great thinkers, such as Augustine, Aquinas, and Bellarmine, its institutional framework has often subordinated reason to dogma. Education was historically reserved for clergy, and theological literacy among laypeople remained low. Even today, many Catholics participate in rituals without fully grasping their theological significance.
The Latin Mass, for example, was the standard liturgical form for centuries, despite being unintelligible to most congregants. The introduction of vernacular liturgy after the Second Vatican Council improved accessibility, but the persistence of Latin Mass communities reflects ongoing tensions between tradition and understanding.
This mystification serves a purpose: it reinforces ecclesiastical authority and maintains spiritual dependency. In doing so, it perpetuates a cycle in which superstition is not only tolerated but sanctified, and ignorance is framed as humility before divine mystery.
Additional Examples Of Superstitious Practices:
Beyond relics and sacraments, the church has historically endorsed practices that blur the line between devotion and superstition:
Beyond relics and sacraments, the church has historically endorsed practices that blur the line between devotion and superstition:
*St. Blaise’s Blessing of the Throats: On his feast day, priests cross candles over the throats of parishioners to prevent illness. While symbolic, the ritual is often treated as a literal safeguard against disease.
*Holy Water Fonts: Found at the entrance of churches, these are used to bless oneself upon entry. Many believe the water offers protection from evil, despite no theological basis for its efficacy beyond symbolism.
*Novena Promises: Some devotional booklets claim that specific prayers, if said for nine consecutive days, will guarantee miracles or divine intervention. This formulaic approach to grace resembles superstition more than theology.
The Charge Of Moral Relativism Is A Deflection From Rome’s Own Legacy:
In defending its theological and institutional authority, Roman Catholic apologists have often accused Protestantism of fostering moral relativism. It is argued that the rejection of centralized ecclesiastical control and the embrace of Sola Scriptura—Scripture alone—leads to doctrinal fragmentation and subjective morality. Yet this critique, while rhetorically convenient, serves more as a deflection from Rome’s own legacy of mystification and intellectual suppression than a substantive theological argument.
Protestantism, far from promoting relativism, emerged as a response to the very superstitions and abuses that Rome had institutionalized. Reformers like Martin Luther and John Calvin sought to restore moral clarity by grounding doctrine in Scripture rather than in the rituals, relics, and mystical claims of the Roman Church. The Protestant emphasis on personal engagement with the Bible and the primacy of conscience before God was not a descent into chaos. It was a rejection of the ignorance perpetuated by Rome’s clerical monopoly.
Indeed, the Roman Catholic Church’s claim to moral consistency is undermined by its own historical record. Practices once condemned, such as usury, indulgences, and the toleration of slavery, were later revised or quietly abandoned. These shifts reveal not a timeless moral compass, but a pragmatic adaptation to political and cultural pressures. Meanwhile, Protestant traditions have often led the way in moral reform, championing literacy, civic responsibility, and ethical accountability.
The accusation of relativism also ignores the fact that Protestant confessions, such as the Westminster Confession or the Augsburg Confession, articulate coherent moral frameworks rooted in Scripture and reason. These documents reflect principled convictions, not arbitrary preferences. The diversity within Protestantism is not evidence of relativism, but of theological vitality and freedom from centralized dogma.
In contrast, Rome’s insistence on uniformity has often masked deeper uncertainties. Its reliance on mystery, ritual, and sacramental exclusivity has discouraged lay inquiry and fostered a passive religiosity. The critique of Protestantism as relativistic thus functions less as a defense of truth and more as a justification for Rome’s own promotion of superstition and ignorance.
Roman Catholicism's Questionable Intellectual Heritage:
The Roman Catholic Church’s legacy is complex. It has preserved sacred traditions, inspired acts of charity, and offered spiritual guidance to billions. Yet its institutional emphasis on ritual, mystery, and hierarchical control has also promoted forms of belief that critics argue foster superstition and discourage intellectual freedom. Through practices like eucharistic adoration, the veneration of relics, and the restriction of theological inquiry, the church has often substituted reverence for reason and tradition for understanding. A critical engagement with this legacy invites not rejection, but reform, a call for a faith that embraces both mystery and meaning, both devotion and discernment.
*Holy Water Fonts: Found at the entrance of churches, these are used to bless oneself upon entry. Many believe the water offers protection from evil, despite no theological basis for its efficacy beyond symbolism.
*Novena Promises: Some devotional booklets claim that specific prayers, if said for nine consecutive days, will guarantee miracles or divine intervention. This formulaic approach to grace resembles superstition more than theology.
In defending its theological and institutional authority, Roman Catholic apologists have often accused Protestantism of fostering moral relativism. It is argued that the rejection of centralized ecclesiastical control and the embrace of Sola Scriptura—Scripture alone—leads to doctrinal fragmentation and subjective morality. Yet this critique, while rhetorically convenient, serves more as a deflection from Rome’s own legacy of mystification and intellectual suppression than a substantive theological argument.
Protestantism, far from promoting relativism, emerged as a response to the very superstitions and abuses that Rome had institutionalized. Reformers like Martin Luther and John Calvin sought to restore moral clarity by grounding doctrine in Scripture rather than in the rituals, relics, and mystical claims of the Roman Church. The Protestant emphasis on personal engagement with the Bible and the primacy of conscience before God was not a descent into chaos. It was a rejection of the ignorance perpetuated by Rome’s clerical monopoly.
Indeed, the Roman Catholic Church’s claim to moral consistency is undermined by its own historical record. Practices once condemned, such as usury, indulgences, and the toleration of slavery, were later revised or quietly abandoned. These shifts reveal not a timeless moral compass, but a pragmatic adaptation to political and cultural pressures. Meanwhile, Protestant traditions have often led the way in moral reform, championing literacy, civic responsibility, and ethical accountability.
The accusation of relativism also ignores the fact that Protestant confessions, such as the Westminster Confession or the Augsburg Confession, articulate coherent moral frameworks rooted in Scripture and reason. These documents reflect principled convictions, not arbitrary preferences. The diversity within Protestantism is not evidence of relativism, but of theological vitality and freedom from centralized dogma.
In contrast, Rome’s insistence on uniformity has often masked deeper uncertainties. Its reliance on mystery, ritual, and sacramental exclusivity has discouraged lay inquiry and fostered a passive religiosity. The critique of Protestantism as relativistic thus functions less as a defense of truth and more as a justification for Rome’s own promotion of superstition and ignorance.
Roman Catholicism's Questionable Intellectual Heritage:
The Roman Catholic Church’s legacy is complex. It has preserved sacred traditions, inspired acts of charity, and offered spiritual guidance to billions. Yet its institutional emphasis on ritual, mystery, and hierarchical control has also promoted forms of belief that critics argue foster superstition and discourage intellectual freedom. Through practices like eucharistic adoration, the veneration of relics, and the restriction of theological inquiry, the church has often substituted reverence for reason and tradition for understanding. A critical engagement with this legacy invites not rejection, but reform, a call for a faith that embraces both mystery and meaning, both devotion and discernment.
The Cost Of Clarity: Mary, Redemption, And Rome’s Doctrinal Dilemma
Defining The Issues:
The Roman church’s formal rejection of the title “Co-Redemptrix” for the Virgin Mary is not merely a doctrinal clarification—it is a revealing act of theological self-limitation. While the church claims to uphold Marian devotion and her unique role in salvation history, its refusal to recognize her as Co-Redemptrix exposes a deep inconsistency in its theological framework and weakens its apologetic credibility. The implications of this decision reverberate through centuries of Catholic tradition, challenging both the coherence of its doctrinal development and the integrity of its public witness.
Apologetic Weakness:
From an apologetic standpoint, the rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” is a strategic misstep. Protestant critics have long accused the Roman church of Marian excess, claiming that it attributes to Mary what belongs to Christ alone. By refusing to define the title, the Catholic Church attempts to avoid this charge. But in doing so, it appears evasive rather than principled.
Catholic apologists often defend Marian doctrines by appealing to typology, tradition, and the development of doctrine. Yet when pressed on Mary’s role in redemption, they are left with a paradox: she is central, but not definable; exalted, but not titled. This ambiguity weakens the church’s apologetic posture and invites skepticism about the coherence of its theology.
The Roman church’s formal rejection of the title “Co-Redemptrix” for the Virgin Mary is not merely a doctrinal clarification—it is a revealing act of theological self-limitation. While the church claims to uphold Marian devotion and her unique role in salvation history, its refusal to recognize her as Co-Redemptrix exposes a deep inconsistency in its theological framework and weakens its apologetic credibility. The implications of this decision reverberate through centuries of Catholic tradition, challenging both the coherence of its doctrinal development and the integrity of its public witness.
Historical Roots And Development Of The Title:
The concept of Mary’s participation in redemption did not emerge from isolated theological speculation but was cultivated through centuries of devotional and liturgical evolution. By the early medieval period, the Roman church had already begun to elevate Mary’s role through the proliferation of Marian feast days, prayers, and iconography. The “Stabat Mater” hymn, which portrays Mary standing at the foot of the Cross, became a powerful symbol of her suffering alongside Christ and her spiritual solidarity with His Passion.
Theologians such as Anselm of Canterbury and later Duns Scotus contributed to a growing body of thought that emphasized Mary’s unique sanctity and her intimate cooperation with divine grace. These developments laid the groundwork for the title “Co-Redemptrix,” which gained traction in the 15th and 16th centuries, especially in the devotional writings of Spanish and Italian scholars. The term was used to express Mary’s subordinate yet profound role in the economy of salvation—not as an equal to Christ, but as the most exalted human participant in His redemptive mission.
Despite this momentum, the Roman Catholic Church never formally defined the title. Successive popes praised Mary’s role in salvation but stopped short of doctrinal elevation. The 2025 doctrinal note Mater Populi Fidelis, issued by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, marked the first explicit rejection of the title, citing concerns over theological clarity and ecumenical sensitivity.
The concept of Mary’s participation in redemption did not emerge from isolated theological speculation but was cultivated through centuries of devotional and liturgical evolution. By the early medieval period, the Roman church had already begun to elevate Mary’s role through the proliferation of Marian feast days, prayers, and iconography. The “Stabat Mater” hymn, which portrays Mary standing at the foot of the Cross, became a powerful symbol of her suffering alongside Christ and her spiritual solidarity with His Passion.
Theologians such as Anselm of Canterbury and later Duns Scotus contributed to a growing body of thought that emphasized Mary’s unique sanctity and her intimate cooperation with divine grace. These developments laid the groundwork for the title “Co-Redemptrix,” which gained traction in the 15th and 16th centuries, especially in the devotional writings of Spanish and Italian scholars. The term was used to express Mary’s subordinate yet profound role in the economy of salvation—not as an equal to Christ, but as the most exalted human participant in His redemptive mission.
Despite this momentum, the Roman Catholic Church never formally defined the title. Successive popes praised Mary’s role in salvation but stopped short of doctrinal elevation. The 2025 doctrinal note Mater Populi Fidelis, issued by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, marked the first explicit rejection of the title, citing concerns over theological clarity and ecumenical sensitivity.
Theological Incoherence:
The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” creates a theological contradiction within Catholic doctrine. The Catholic Church teaches that Mary is the Immaculate Conception, the Mother of God, the Queen of Heaven, and the Mediatrix of All Graces. She is celebrated in liturgy, venerated in shrines, and invoked in prayers as a powerful intercessor. Yet when it comes to acknowledging her as a participant in redemption, Rome recoils.
This inconsistency raises a critical question: if Mary’s cooperation in salvation is real and unique, why is it unnameable? The refusal to define her as Co-Redemptrix suggests a fear of theological consequences, a fear that fully articulating Mary’s role blurs the line between creature and Redeemer. But this fear betrays a lack of confidence in the Roman Catholic Church’s own doctrinal development, which has long affirmed that grace can elevate without equating.
The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” creates a theological contradiction within Catholic doctrine. The Catholic Church teaches that Mary is the Immaculate Conception, the Mother of God, the Queen of Heaven, and the Mediatrix of All Graces. She is celebrated in liturgy, venerated in shrines, and invoked in prayers as a powerful intercessor. Yet when it comes to acknowledging her as a participant in redemption, Rome recoils.
This inconsistency raises a critical question: if Mary’s cooperation in salvation is real and unique, why is it unnameable? The refusal to define her as Co-Redemptrix suggests a fear of theological consequences, a fear that fully articulating Mary’s role blurs the line between creature and Redeemer. But this fear betrays a lack of confidence in the Roman Catholic Church’s own doctrinal development, which has long affirmed that grace can elevate without equating.
Apologetic Weakness:
From an apologetic standpoint, the rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” is a strategic misstep. Protestant critics have long accused the Roman church of Marian excess, claiming that it attributes to Mary what belongs to Christ alone. By refusing to define the title, the Catholic Church attempts to avoid this charge. But in doing so, it appears evasive rather than principled.
Catholic apologists often defend Marian doctrines by appealing to typology, tradition, and the development of doctrine. Yet when pressed on Mary’s role in redemption, they are left with a paradox: she is central, but not definable; exalted, but not titled. This ambiguity weakens the church’s apologetic posture and invites skepticism about the coherence of its theology.
Political And Ecumenical Pressures:
The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” must also be understood in light of ecclesial politics and ecumenical diplomacy. In an age of interfaith dialogue, the Roman Catholic Church is eager to present a more inclusive and less controversial face. The refusal to define Mary’s co-redemptive role is a concession to Protestant sensibilities, not a theological necessity.
This raises a deeper issue: is Rome shaping its doctrine based on truth or on public relations? If theological definitions are contingent on ecumenical strategy, then the church’s claim to doctrinal authority is compromised. The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” becomes not a defense of orthodoxy, but a symptom of theological insecurity.
The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” must also be understood in light of ecclesial politics and ecumenical diplomacy. In an age of interfaith dialogue, the Roman Catholic Church is eager to present a more inclusive and less controversial face. The refusal to define Mary’s co-redemptive role is a concession to Protestant sensibilities, not a theological necessity.
This raises a deeper issue: is Rome shaping its doctrine based on truth or on public relations? If theological definitions are contingent on ecumenical strategy, then the church’s claim to doctrinal authority is compromised. The rejection of “Co-Redemptrix” becomes not a defense of orthodoxy, but a symptom of theological insecurity.
Devotional Discrepancy:
Despite its doctrinal restraint, the Roman Catholic Church continues to promote Marian devotion in ways that inadvertently affirm her co-redemptive role. Marian apparitions, consecrations, and feast days all point to a figure who is more than a passive witness. The faithful are encouraged to seek Mary’s intercession, to consecrate themselves to her, and to view her as a spiritual mother who shares in Christ’s mission.
This devotional reality stands in tension with doctrinal minimalism. Rome's refusal to define Mary as Co-Redemptrix creates a gap between belief and practice, a gap that confuses the faithful and undermines theological integrity. If Mary is functionally treated as Co-Redemptrix, then denying her the title is both dishonest and destabilizing.
Despite its doctrinal restraint, the Roman Catholic Church continues to promote Marian devotion in ways that inadvertently affirm her co-redemptive role. Marian apparitions, consecrations, and feast days all point to a figure who is more than a passive witness. The faithful are encouraged to seek Mary’s intercession, to consecrate themselves to her, and to view her as a spiritual mother who shares in Christ’s mission.
This devotional reality stands in tension with doctrinal minimalism. Rome's refusal to define Mary as Co-Redemptrix creates a gap between belief and practice, a gap that confuses the faithful and undermines theological integrity. If Mary is functionally treated as Co-Redemptrix, then denying her the title is both dishonest and destabilizing.
Rome Divided Against Itself:
The Catholic Church’s rejection of the title “Co-Redemptrix” is a decision fraught with contradiction. It reveals a theology that is unwilling to follow its own logic, an apologetic posture that retreats from clarity, and an ecclesial strategy driven more by diplomacy than conviction. While the Catholic Church here seeks to preserve Christocentric orthodoxy, it does so at the expense of theological coherence and devotional honesty. The Roman church must confront its own contradictions if it wishes to present a theology that is both truthful and compelling.
The Catholic Church’s rejection of the title “Co-Redemptrix” is a decision fraught with contradiction. It reveals a theology that is unwilling to follow its own logic, an apologetic posture that retreats from clarity, and an ecclesial strategy driven more by diplomacy than conviction. While the Catholic Church here seeks to preserve Christocentric orthodoxy, it does so at the expense of theological coherence and devotional honesty. The Roman church must confront its own contradictions if it wishes to present a theology that is both truthful and compelling.
Saturday, October 25, 2025
Joseph Smith Is Correct Because Joseph Smith Said So
This passage has been taken from Joseph Smith's Translation of the Bible, also referred to by the Mormons as the Inspired Version of the Scriptures:
[Genesis 50] 24 And Joseph said unto his brethren, I die, and go unto my fathers; and I go down to my grave with joy. The God of my father Jacob be with you, to deliver you out of affliction in the days of your bondage; for the Lord hath visited me, and I have obtained a promise of the Lord, that out of the fruit of my loins, the Lord God will raise up a righteous branch out of my loins; and unto thee, whom my father Jacob hath named Israel, a prophet; (not the Messiah who is called Shilo;) and this prophet shall deliver my people out of Egypt in the days of thy bondage.
25 And it shall come to pass that they shall be scattered again; and a branch shall be broken off, and shall be carried into a far country; nevertheless they shall be remembered in the covenants of the Lord, when the Messiah cometh; for he shall be made manifest unto them in the latter days, in the Spirit of power; and shall bring them out of darkness into light; out of hidden darkness, and out of captivity unto freedom.26 A seer shall the Lord my God raise up, who shall be a choice seer unto the fruit of my loins.
27 Thus saith the Lord God of my fathers unto me, A choice seer will I raise up out of the fruit of thy loins, and he shall be esteemed highly among the fruit of thy loins; and unto him will I give commandment that he shall do a work for the fruit of thy loins, his brethren.
28 And he shall bring them to the knowledge of the covenants which I have made with thy fathers; and he shall do whatsoever work I shall command him.
29 And I will make him great in mine eyes, for he shall do my work; and he shall be great like unto him whom I have said I would raise up unto you, to deliver my people, O house of Israel, out of the land of Egypt; for a seer will I raise up to deliver my people out of the land of Egypt; and he shall be called Moses. And by this name he shall know that he is of thy house; for he shall be nursed by the king’s daughter, and shall be called her son.
30 And again, a seer will I raise up out of the fruit of thy loins, and unto him will I give power to bring forth my word unto the seed of thy loins; and not to the bringing forth of my word only, saith the Lord, but to the convincing them of my word, which shall have already gone forth among them in the last days;
31 Wherefore the fruit of thy loins shall write, and the fruit of the loins of Judah shall write; and that which shall be written by the fruit of thy loins, and also that which shall be written by the fruit of the loins of Judah, shall grow together unto the confounding of false doctrines, and laying down of contentions, and establishing peace among the fruit of thy loins, and bringing them to a knowledge of their fathers in the latter days; and also to the knowledge of my covenants, saith the Lord.
32 And out of weakness shall he be made strong, in that day when my work shall go forth among all my people, which shall restore them, who are of the house of Israel, in the last days.
33 And that seer will I bless, and they that seek to destroy him shall be confounded; for this promise I give unto you; for I will remember you from generation to generation; and his name shall be called Joseph, and it shall be after the name of his father; and he shall be like unto you; for the thing which the Lord shall bring forth by his hand shall bring my people unto salvation.
34 And the Lord sware unto Joseph that he would preserve his seed forever, saying, I will raise up Moses, and a rod shall be in his hand, and he shall gather together my people, and he shall lead them as a flock, and he shall smite the waters of the Red Sea with his rod.
35 And he shall have judgment, and shall write the word of the Lord. And he shall not speak many words, for I will write unto him my law by the finger of mine own hand. And I will make a spokesman for him, and his name shall be called Aaron.
36 And it shall be done unto thee in the last days also, even as I have sworn. Therefore, Joseph said unto his brethren, God will surely visit you, and bring you out of this land, unto the land which he sware unto Abraham, and unto Isaac, and to Jacob.
37 And Joseph confirmed many other things unto his brethren, and took an oath of the children of Israel, saying unto them, God will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence.
38 So Joseph died when he was an hundred and ten years old; and they embalmed him, and they put him in a coffin in Egypt; and he was kept from burial by the children of Israel, that he might be carried up and laid in the sepulchre with his father. And thus they remembered the oath which they sware unto him.
We now shall proceed to offer a few concise critical comments on the above passage:
The above cited text was authored by none other than Joseph Smith. It is not found in any extant copies of the Hebrew text of Genesis. It is not found in any existing ancient translations of the Bible. This is highly unusual for a religion that claims to be from before Christ's birth.
Mormonism would more closely resemble the religions of the pagan nations, which Joseph and later Jewish descendants learned to despise, due to their pantheons of gods. Mormons do not believe in only one true God. They are just like the "Gentiles" they declare themselves not to be. But here is the twist: we are not dealing with real history, or even claims that are plausible for their times. Mormonism maintains that everything has been corrupted, making it elusive to intellectual challenges by external standards. We are dealing with an instance of ad absurdum.
This "prophecy" is self-referential. Smith wrote a prophecy about himself and his own teachings. Followers are obviously expected to accept all of this as incontrovertibly true. Outsiders are to come to believe these claims. It is a circular appeal, which is inherently absurd. Anyone can write a "prophecy" about himself. It is self-fulfilling, giving the appearance of being "true" even though it is not.
There is a broader element of irony about this "translation" of the Bible, namely, it is not the primary text which Mormons use, even though it is indeed considered an inspired text by them. They usually consult the King James Version above all else.
Thursday, October 9, 2025
The Hour Of True Worship
First, As for the Samaritans: Our fathers worshipped in this mountain, near to this city and this well; there the Samaritan temple was built by Sanballat, in favour of which she insinuates, 1. That whatever the temple was the place was holy; it was mount Gerizim, the mount in which the blessings were pronounced; and some think the same on which Abraham built his altar (Gen. 12:6, 7), and Jacob his, Gen. 33:18-20. 2. That it might plead prescription: Our fathers worshipped here. She thinks they have antiquity, tradition, and succession, on their side. A vain conversation often supports itself with this, that it was received by tradition from our fathers. But she had little reason to boast of their fathers; for, when Antiochus persecuted the Jews, the Samaritans, for fear of sharing with them in their sufferings, not only renounced all relation to the Jews, but surrendered their temple to Antiochus, with a request that it might be dedicated to Jupiter Olympius, and called by his name. Joseph. Antiq. 12.257-264.
Matthew Henry's Commentary on the Whole Bible
Secondly, As to the Jews: You say that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship. The Samaritans governed themselves by the five books of Moses, and (some think) received only them as canonical. Now, though they found frequent mention there of the place God would choose, yet they did not find it named there; and they saw the temple at Jerusalem stripped of many of its ancient glories, and therefore thought themselves at liberty to set up another place, altar against altar.
(2.) Christ's answer to this case of conscience, v. 21, etc. Those that apply themselves to Christ for instruction shall find him meek, to teach the meek his way. Now here,
[1.] He puts a slight upon the question, as she had proposed it, concerning the place of worship (v. 21): "Woman, believe me as a prophet, and mark what I say. Thou art expecting the hour to come when either by some divine revelation, or some signal providence, this matter shall be decided in favour either of Jerusalem or of Mount Gerizim; but I tell thee the hour is at hand when it shall be no more a question; that which thou has been taught to lay so much weight on shall be set aside as a thing indifferent." Note, It should cool us in our contests to think that those things which now fill us, and which we make such a noise about, shall shortly vanish, and be no more: the very things we are striving about are passing away: The hour comes when you shall neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem worship the Father. First, The object of worship is supposed to continue still the same—God, as a Father; under this notion the very heathen worshipped God, the Jews did so, and probably the Samaritans. Secondly, But a period shall be put to all niceness and all differences about the place of worship. The approaching dissolution of the Jewish economy, and the erecting of the evangelical state, shall set this matter at large, and lay all in common, so that it shall be a thing perfectly indifferent whether in either of these places or any other men worship God, for they shall not be tied to any place; neither here nor there, but both, and any where, and every where. Note, The worship of God is not now, under the gospel, appropriated to any place, as it was under the law, but it is God's will that men pray every where. 1 Tim. 2:8; Mal. 1:11. Our reason teaches us to consult decency and convenience in the places of our worship: but our religion gives no preference to one place above another, in respect to holiness and acceptableness to God. Those who prefer any worship merely for the sake of the house or building in which it is performed (though it were as magnificent and as solemnly consecrated as ever Solomon's temple was) forget that the hour is come when there shall be no difference put in God's account: no, not between Jerusalem, which had been so famous for sanctity, and the mountain of Samaria, which had been so infamous for impiety.
[2.] He lays a stress upon other things, in the matter of religious worship. When he made so light of the place of worship he did not intend to lessen our concern about the thing itself, of which therefore he takes occasion to discourse more fully.
First, As to the present state of the controversy, he determines against the Samaritan worship, and in favour of the Jews, v. 22. He tells here, 1. That the Samaritans were certainly in the wrong; not merely because they worshipped in this mountain, though, while Jerusalem's choice was in force, that was sinful, but because they were out in the object of their worship. If the worship itself had been as it should have been, its separation from Jerusalem might have been connived at, as the high places were in the best reigns: But you worship you know not what, or that which you do not know. They worshipped the God of Israel, the true God (Ezra 4:2; 2 Ki. 17:32); but they were sunk into gross ignorance; they worshipped him as the God of that land (2 Ki. 17:27, 33), as a local deity, like the gods of the nations, whereas God must be served as God, as the universal cause and Lord. Note, Ignorance is so far from being the mother of devotion that it is the murderer of it. Those that worship God ignorantly offer the blind for sacrifice, and it is the sacrifice of fools. 2. That the Jews were certainly in the right. For, (1.) "We know what we worship. We go upon sure grounds in our worship, for our people are catechised and trained up in the knowledge of God, as he has revealed himself in the scripture." Note, Those who by the scriptures have obtained some knowledge of God (a certain though not a perfect knowledge) may worship him comfortably to themselves, and acceptably to him, for they know what they worship. Christ elsewhere condemns the corruptions of the Jews' worship (Mt. 15:9), and yet here defends the worship itself; the worship may be true where yet it is not pure and entire. Observe, Our Lord Jesus was pleased to reckon himself among the worshippers of God: We worship. Though he was a Son (and then are the children free), yet learned he this obedience, in the days of his humiliation. Let not the greatest of men think the worship of God below them, when the Son of God himself did not. (2.) Salvation is of the Jews; and therefore they know what they worship, and what grounds they go upon in their worship. Not that all the Jews were saved, nor that it was not possible but that many of the Gentiles and Samaritans might be saved, for in every nation he that fears God and works righteousness is accepted of him; but, [1.] The author of eternal salvation comes of the Jews, appears among them (Rom. 9:5), and is sent first to bless them. [2.] The means of eternal salvation are afforded to them. The word of salvation (Acts 13:26) was of the Jews. It was delivered to them, and other nations derived it through them. This was a sure guide to them in their devotions, and they followed it, and therefore knew what they worshipped. To them were committed the oracles of God (Rom. 3:2), and the service of God, (Rom. 9:4). The Jews therefore being thus privileged and advanced, it was presumption for the Samaritans to vie with them.
Secondly, He describes the evangelical worship which alone God would accept and be well pleased with. Having shown that the place is indifferent, he comes to show what is necessary and essential—that we worship God in spirit and in truth, v. 23, 24. The stress is not to be laid upon the place where we worship God, but upon the state of mind in which we worship him. Note, The most effectual way to take up differences in the minor matters of religion is to be more zealous in the greater. Those who daily make it the matter of their care to worship in the spirit, one would think, should not make it the matter of their strife whether he should be worshipped here or there. Christ had justly preferred the Jewish worship before the Samaritan, yet here he intimates the imperfection of that. The worship was ceremonial, Heb. 9:1, 10. The worshippers were generally carnal, and strangers to the inward part of divine worship. Note, It is possible that we may be better than our neighbours, and yet not so good as we should be. It concerns us to be right, not only in the object of our worship, but in the manner of it; and it is this which Christ here instructs us in. Observe,
a. The great and glorious revolution which should introduce this change: The hour cometh, and now is—the fixed stated time, concerning which it was of old determined when it should come, and how long it should last. The time of its appearance if fixed to an hour, so punctual and exact are the divine counsels; the time of its continuance is limited to an hour, so close and pressing is the opportunity of divine grace, 2 Co. 6:2. This hour cometh, it is coming in its full strength, lustre, and perfection, it now is in the embryo and infancy. The perfect day is coming, and now it dawns.
b. The blessed change itself. In gospel times the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth. As creatures, we worship the Father of all: as Christians, we worship the Father of our Lord Jesus. Now the change shall be, (a.) In the nature of the worship. Christians shall worship God, not in the ceremonial observances of the Mosaic institution, but in spiritual ordinances, consisting less in bodily exercise, and animated and invigorated more with divine power and energy. The way of worship which Christ has instituted is rational and intellectual, and refined from those external rites and ceremonies with which the Old-Testament worship was both clouded and clogged. This is called true worship, in opposition to that which was typical. The legal services were figures of the true, Heb. 9:3, 24. Those that revolted from Christianity to Judaism are said to begin in the spirit, and end in the flesh, Gal. 3:3. Such was the difference between Old-Testament and New-Testament institutions. (b.) In the temper and disposition of the worshippers; and so the true worshippers are good Christians, distinguished from hypocrites; all should, and they will, worship God in spirit and in truth. It is spoken of (v. 23) as their character, and (v. 24) as their duty. Note, It is required of all that worship God that they worship him in spirit and in truth. We must worship God, [a.] In spirit, Phil. 3:3. We must depend upon God's Spirit for strength and assistance, laying our souls under his influences and operations; we must devote our own spirits to, and employ them in, the service of God (Rom. 1:9), must worship him with fixedness of thought and a flame of affection, with all that is within us. Spirit is sometimes put for the new nature, in opposition to the flesh, which is the corrupt nature; and so to worship God with our spirits is to worship him with our graces, Heb. 12:28. [b.] In truth, that is, in sincerity. God requires not only the inward part in our worship, but truth in the inward part, Ps. 51:6. We must mind the power more than the form, must aim at God's glory, and not to be seen of men; draw near with a true heart, Heb. 10:22.
Thirdly, He intimates the reasons why God must be thus worshipped.
a. Because in gospel times they, and they only, are accounted the true worshippers. The gospel erects a spiritual way of worship, so that the professors of the gospel are not true in their profession, do not live up to gospel light and laws, if they do not worship God in spirit and in truth.
b. Because the Father seeketh such worshippers of him. This intimates, (a.) That such worshippers are very rare, and seldom met with, Jer. 30:21. The gate of spiritual worshipping is strait. (b.) That such worship is necessary, and what the God of heaven insists upon. When God comes to enquire for worshippers, the question will not be, "Who worshipped at Jerusalem?" but, "Who worshipped in spirit?" That will be the touchstone. (c.) That God is greatly well pleased with and graciously accepts such worship and such worshippers. I have desired it, Ps. 132:13, 14; Cant. 2:14. (d.) That there has been, and will be to the end, a remnant of such worshippers; his seeking such worshippers implies his making them such. God is in all ages gathering in to himself a generation of spiritual worshippers.
c. Because God is a spirit. Christ came to declare God to us (ch. 1:18), and this he has declared concerning him; he declared it to this poor Samaritan woman, for the meanest are concerned to know God; and with this design, to rectify her mistakes concerning religious worship, to which nothing would contribute more than the right knowledge of God. Note, (a.) God is a spirit, for he is an infinite and eternal mind, an intelligent being, incorporeal, immaterial, invisible, and incorruptible. It is easier to say what God is not than what he is; a spirit has not flesh and bones, but who knows the way of a spirit? If God were not a spirit, he could not be perfect, nor infinite, nor eternal, nor independent, nor the Father of spirits. (b.) The spirituality of the divine nature is a very good reason for the spirituality of divine worship. If we do not worship God, who is a spirit, in the spirit, we neither give him the glory due to his name, and so do not perform the act of worship, nor can we hope to obtain his favour and acceptance, and so we miss of the end of worship, Mt. 15:8, 9.
(2.) Christ's answer to this case of conscience, v. 21, etc. Those that apply themselves to Christ for instruction shall find him meek, to teach the meek his way. Now here,
[1.] He puts a slight upon the question, as she had proposed it, concerning the place of worship (v. 21): "Woman, believe me as a prophet, and mark what I say. Thou art expecting the hour to come when either by some divine revelation, or some signal providence, this matter shall be decided in favour either of Jerusalem or of Mount Gerizim; but I tell thee the hour is at hand when it shall be no more a question; that which thou has been taught to lay so much weight on shall be set aside as a thing indifferent." Note, It should cool us in our contests to think that those things which now fill us, and which we make such a noise about, shall shortly vanish, and be no more: the very things we are striving about are passing away: The hour comes when you shall neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem worship the Father. First, The object of worship is supposed to continue still the same—God, as a Father; under this notion the very heathen worshipped God, the Jews did so, and probably the Samaritans. Secondly, But a period shall be put to all niceness and all differences about the place of worship. The approaching dissolution of the Jewish economy, and the erecting of the evangelical state, shall set this matter at large, and lay all in common, so that it shall be a thing perfectly indifferent whether in either of these places or any other men worship God, for they shall not be tied to any place; neither here nor there, but both, and any where, and every where. Note, The worship of God is not now, under the gospel, appropriated to any place, as it was under the law, but it is God's will that men pray every where. 1 Tim. 2:8; Mal. 1:11. Our reason teaches us to consult decency and convenience in the places of our worship: but our religion gives no preference to one place above another, in respect to holiness and acceptableness to God. Those who prefer any worship merely for the sake of the house or building in which it is performed (though it were as magnificent and as solemnly consecrated as ever Solomon's temple was) forget that the hour is come when there shall be no difference put in God's account: no, not between Jerusalem, which had been so famous for sanctity, and the mountain of Samaria, which had been so infamous for impiety.
[2.] He lays a stress upon other things, in the matter of religious worship. When he made so light of the place of worship he did not intend to lessen our concern about the thing itself, of which therefore he takes occasion to discourse more fully.
First, As to the present state of the controversy, he determines against the Samaritan worship, and in favour of the Jews, v. 22. He tells here, 1. That the Samaritans were certainly in the wrong; not merely because they worshipped in this mountain, though, while Jerusalem's choice was in force, that was sinful, but because they were out in the object of their worship. If the worship itself had been as it should have been, its separation from Jerusalem might have been connived at, as the high places were in the best reigns: But you worship you know not what, or that which you do not know. They worshipped the God of Israel, the true God (Ezra 4:2; 2 Ki. 17:32); but they were sunk into gross ignorance; they worshipped him as the God of that land (2 Ki. 17:27, 33), as a local deity, like the gods of the nations, whereas God must be served as God, as the universal cause and Lord. Note, Ignorance is so far from being the mother of devotion that it is the murderer of it. Those that worship God ignorantly offer the blind for sacrifice, and it is the sacrifice of fools. 2. That the Jews were certainly in the right. For, (1.) "We know what we worship. We go upon sure grounds in our worship, for our people are catechised and trained up in the knowledge of God, as he has revealed himself in the scripture." Note, Those who by the scriptures have obtained some knowledge of God (a certain though not a perfect knowledge) may worship him comfortably to themselves, and acceptably to him, for they know what they worship. Christ elsewhere condemns the corruptions of the Jews' worship (Mt. 15:9), and yet here defends the worship itself; the worship may be true where yet it is not pure and entire. Observe, Our Lord Jesus was pleased to reckon himself among the worshippers of God: We worship. Though he was a Son (and then are the children free), yet learned he this obedience, in the days of his humiliation. Let not the greatest of men think the worship of God below them, when the Son of God himself did not. (2.) Salvation is of the Jews; and therefore they know what they worship, and what grounds they go upon in their worship. Not that all the Jews were saved, nor that it was not possible but that many of the Gentiles and Samaritans might be saved, for in every nation he that fears God and works righteousness is accepted of him; but, [1.] The author of eternal salvation comes of the Jews, appears among them (Rom. 9:5), and is sent first to bless them. [2.] The means of eternal salvation are afforded to them. The word of salvation (Acts 13:26) was of the Jews. It was delivered to them, and other nations derived it through them. This was a sure guide to them in their devotions, and they followed it, and therefore knew what they worshipped. To them were committed the oracles of God (Rom. 3:2), and the service of God, (Rom. 9:4). The Jews therefore being thus privileged and advanced, it was presumption for the Samaritans to vie with them.
Secondly, He describes the evangelical worship which alone God would accept and be well pleased with. Having shown that the place is indifferent, he comes to show what is necessary and essential—that we worship God in spirit and in truth, v. 23, 24. The stress is not to be laid upon the place where we worship God, but upon the state of mind in which we worship him. Note, The most effectual way to take up differences in the minor matters of religion is to be more zealous in the greater. Those who daily make it the matter of their care to worship in the spirit, one would think, should not make it the matter of their strife whether he should be worshipped here or there. Christ had justly preferred the Jewish worship before the Samaritan, yet here he intimates the imperfection of that. The worship was ceremonial, Heb. 9:1, 10. The worshippers were generally carnal, and strangers to the inward part of divine worship. Note, It is possible that we may be better than our neighbours, and yet not so good as we should be. It concerns us to be right, not only in the object of our worship, but in the manner of it; and it is this which Christ here instructs us in. Observe,
a. The great and glorious revolution which should introduce this change: The hour cometh, and now is—the fixed stated time, concerning which it was of old determined when it should come, and how long it should last. The time of its appearance if fixed to an hour, so punctual and exact are the divine counsels; the time of its continuance is limited to an hour, so close and pressing is the opportunity of divine grace, 2 Co. 6:2. This hour cometh, it is coming in its full strength, lustre, and perfection, it now is in the embryo and infancy. The perfect day is coming, and now it dawns.
b. The blessed change itself. In gospel times the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth. As creatures, we worship the Father of all: as Christians, we worship the Father of our Lord Jesus. Now the change shall be, (a.) In the nature of the worship. Christians shall worship God, not in the ceremonial observances of the Mosaic institution, but in spiritual ordinances, consisting less in bodily exercise, and animated and invigorated more with divine power and energy. The way of worship which Christ has instituted is rational and intellectual, and refined from those external rites and ceremonies with which the Old-Testament worship was both clouded and clogged. This is called true worship, in opposition to that which was typical. The legal services were figures of the true, Heb. 9:3, 24. Those that revolted from Christianity to Judaism are said to begin in the spirit, and end in the flesh, Gal. 3:3. Such was the difference between Old-Testament and New-Testament institutions. (b.) In the temper and disposition of the worshippers; and so the true worshippers are good Christians, distinguished from hypocrites; all should, and they will, worship God in spirit and in truth. It is spoken of (v. 23) as their character, and (v. 24) as their duty. Note, It is required of all that worship God that they worship him in spirit and in truth. We must worship God, [a.] In spirit, Phil. 3:3. We must depend upon God's Spirit for strength and assistance, laying our souls under his influences and operations; we must devote our own spirits to, and employ them in, the service of God (Rom. 1:9), must worship him with fixedness of thought and a flame of affection, with all that is within us. Spirit is sometimes put for the new nature, in opposition to the flesh, which is the corrupt nature; and so to worship God with our spirits is to worship him with our graces, Heb. 12:28. [b.] In truth, that is, in sincerity. God requires not only the inward part in our worship, but truth in the inward part, Ps. 51:6. We must mind the power more than the form, must aim at God's glory, and not to be seen of men; draw near with a true heart, Heb. 10:22.
Thirdly, He intimates the reasons why God must be thus worshipped.
a. Because in gospel times they, and they only, are accounted the true worshippers. The gospel erects a spiritual way of worship, so that the professors of the gospel are not true in their profession, do not live up to gospel light and laws, if they do not worship God in spirit and in truth.
b. Because the Father seeketh such worshippers of him. This intimates, (a.) That such worshippers are very rare, and seldom met with, Jer. 30:21. The gate of spiritual worshipping is strait. (b.) That such worship is necessary, and what the God of heaven insists upon. When God comes to enquire for worshippers, the question will not be, "Who worshipped at Jerusalem?" but, "Who worshipped in spirit?" That will be the touchstone. (c.) That God is greatly well pleased with and graciously accepts such worship and such worshippers. I have desired it, Ps. 132:13, 14; Cant. 2:14. (d.) That there has been, and will be to the end, a remnant of such worshippers; his seeking such worshippers implies his making them such. God is in all ages gathering in to himself a generation of spiritual worshippers.
c. Because God is a spirit. Christ came to declare God to us (ch. 1:18), and this he has declared concerning him; he declared it to this poor Samaritan woman, for the meanest are concerned to know God; and with this design, to rectify her mistakes concerning religious worship, to which nothing would contribute more than the right knowledge of God. Note, (a.) God is a spirit, for he is an infinite and eternal mind, an intelligent being, incorporeal, immaterial, invisible, and incorruptible. It is easier to say what God is not than what he is; a spirit has not flesh and bones, but who knows the way of a spirit? If God were not a spirit, he could not be perfect, nor infinite, nor eternal, nor independent, nor the Father of spirits. (b.) The spirituality of the divine nature is a very good reason for the spirituality of divine worship. If we do not worship God, who is a spirit, in the spirit, we neither give him the glory due to his name, and so do not perform the act of worship, nor can we hope to obtain his favour and acceptance, and so we miss of the end of worship, Mt. 15:8, 9.
Tuesday, October 7, 2025
The Long Obedience Of Love
“[Love] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Corinthians 13:7)
Paul’s crescendo of agape reaches its most resilient expression in verse 7. If the previous verses dismantle ego and expose love’s moral clarity, this verse reveals love’s tenacious heart. It is a litany of spiritual stamina, four declarations that stretch love beyond sentiment into the realm of perseverance. Here, love is not fragile. It is fierce. It is not passive. It is persistent.
“Love bears all things” is not a call to silent suffering, but to sacred sheltering. The Greek word suggests covering, protecting, shielding. Love does not expose weakness—it covers it. It does not broadcast failure. It absorbs it. In a world quick to shame and slow to shelter, love becomes a refuge. It bears the weight of others’ burdens, the sting of betrayal, the ache of disappointment. It is the roof that does not collapse under pressure, the cloak that does not slip in the storm.
“Believes all things” is not gullibility. It is spiritual trust. Love chooses to believe the best, even when the worst is easier. It is not naive. It is hopeful. It does not ignore reality, but it refuses to be cynical. In relationships strained by suspicion, love leans toward grace. It believes in redemption, in possibility, in the image of God still flickering in the fallen. Love does not build walls of doubt. It builds bridges of belief.
“Hopes all things” is love’s refusal to give up. It is the forward gaze of faith, the stubborn insistence that the story is not over. Love hopes when others despair. It hopes when the diagnosis is grim, when the prodigal is far, when the night is long. This hope is not optimism, but is eschatological. It is rooted in the resurrection, in the promise that all things will be made new. Love hopes because it knows who holds the future.
Paul’s crescendo of agape reaches its most resilient expression in verse 7. If the previous verses dismantle ego and expose love’s moral clarity, this verse reveals love’s tenacious heart. It is a litany of spiritual stamina, four declarations that stretch love beyond sentiment into the realm of perseverance. Here, love is not fragile. It is fierce. It is not passive. It is persistent.
“Love bears all things” is not a call to silent suffering, but to sacred sheltering. The Greek word suggests covering, protecting, shielding. Love does not expose weakness—it covers it. It does not broadcast failure. It absorbs it. In a world quick to shame and slow to shelter, love becomes a refuge. It bears the weight of others’ burdens, the sting of betrayal, the ache of disappointment. It is the roof that does not collapse under pressure, the cloak that does not slip in the storm.
“Believes all things” is not gullibility. It is spiritual trust. Love chooses to believe the best, even when the worst is easier. It is not naive. It is hopeful. It does not ignore reality, but it refuses to be cynical. In relationships strained by suspicion, love leans toward grace. It believes in redemption, in possibility, in the image of God still flickering in the fallen. Love does not build walls of doubt. It builds bridges of belief.
“Hopes all things” is love’s refusal to give up. It is the forward gaze of faith, the stubborn insistence that the story is not over. Love hopes when others despair. It hopes when the diagnosis is grim, when the prodigal is far, when the night is long. This hope is not optimism, but is eschatological. It is rooted in the resurrection, in the promise that all things will be made new. Love hopes because it knows who holds the future.
“Endures all things” is love’s final defiance. It is the grit of grace, the long obedience in the same direction. Love does not quit. It does not flinch. It does not flee. It stays when staying is costly. It endures betrayal, misunderstanding, silence, and sorrow. It is the love that walks to Calvary, that hangs on a cross, that rises again. In this, love is not weak. It is indomitable.
Together, these four verbs form a spiritual architecture of endurance. They are not sentimental, but sacrificial. They do not describe a feeling, but a force. Love bears, believes, hopes, and endures, not because it is easy, but because it is eternal. This is the love that outlasts gifts, outshines knowledge, and outlives death. It is the cruciform love of Christ, who bore our sin, saw our need, hoped for our return, and endured the cross for our redemption.
In practicing this love, we do not merely imitate Christ. We participate in His mission. For love, Paul insists, does not collapse under pressure. It carries. It trusts. It dreams. It perseveres. And in doing so, it becomes the most powerful force in the universe, the love that never fails.
Together, these four verbs form a spiritual architecture of endurance. They are not sentimental, but sacrificial. They do not describe a feeling, but a force. Love bears, believes, hopes, and endures, not because it is easy, but because it is eternal. This is the love that outlasts gifts, outshines knowledge, and outlives death. It is the cruciform love of Christ, who bore our sin, saw our need, hoped for our return, and endured the cross for our redemption.
In practicing this love, we do not merely imitate Christ. We participate in His mission. For love, Paul insists, does not collapse under pressure. It carries. It trusts. It dreams. It perseveres. And in doing so, it becomes the most powerful force in the universe, the love that never fails.
Agape’s Delight: Truth Over Transgression
“[Love] does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth.” (1 Corinthians 13:6)
Paul’s anatomy of agapē continues with a moral calibration of the heart. If verse 5 exposes love’s restraint, its refusal to be rude, self-seeking, reactive, or resentful, then verse 6 reveals love’s moral compass. Here, love is not merely relational; it is ethical. It is not blind affection, but discerning allegiance. It does not celebrate what wounds, distorts, or deceives. It rejoices in what heals, reveals, and redeems.
“Love does not rejoice in iniquity” is a sobering indictment of spiritual complicity. Iniquity, unrighteousness, injustice, moral failure, is not entertainment for love. It is grief. Love does not gloat over another’s fall, nor does it find satisfaction in scandal, cruelty, or sin. In a culture of voyeurism and vengeance, where failure is monetized and pain is politicized, Paul insists that love refuses to cheer for brokenness. It does not delight in the downfall of enemies or the exposure of flaws. It does not weaponize truth to shame, nor does it twist grace to excuse. Love is not a spectator of suffering—it is a healer of it.
“But rejoices in the truth” is love’s moral joy. Truth here is not mere factuality. It is reality as God sees it. It is the unveiling of what is good, right, and holy. Love celebrates integrity, not image. It delights in repentance, not reputation. It rejoices when justice rolls down like waters, when mercy triumphs over judgment, when the light pierces the shadows. In this way, love is not neutral—it is fiercely loyal to the truth that liberates. It does not bend to sentimentality or tribalism. It rejoices when the truth is spoken, even when it costs. It rejoices when the truth is lived, even when it hurts.
Together, these twin postures, grief over iniquity and joy in truth, form the moral rhythm of agapē. Love is not passive. It is not permissive. It is not indifferent. It is morally awake, emotionally honest, spiritually courageous. It weeps with those who weep and rejoices with those who rejoice, but only when the rejoicing is righteous. In verse 6, love is not a mood—it is a moral movement. It is the ethic of Christ, who wept over Jerusalem’s sin and rejoiced in the faith of a centurion. Who confronted hypocrisy and celebrated humility. Who bore the weight of iniquity to unleash the joy of truth.
In the divine economy, this kind of love is not sentimental—it is sanctifying. It does not merely feel—it forms. It does not merely comfort—it convicts. It is the love that exposes and embraces, that wounds and heals, that judges and justifies. It is the love that hung on a cross, not to rejoice in iniquity, but to rejoice in the truth that sets us free.
And in practicing it, we do not merely echo heaven—we embody it. For love, Paul insists, does not rejoice in iniquity. It rejoices in truth. And in doing so, it becomes the truth that rejoices over us.
Paul’s anatomy of agapē continues with a moral calibration of the heart. If verse 5 exposes love’s restraint, its refusal to be rude, self-seeking, reactive, or resentful, then verse 6 reveals love’s moral compass. Here, love is not merely relational; it is ethical. It is not blind affection, but discerning allegiance. It does not celebrate what wounds, distorts, or deceives. It rejoices in what heals, reveals, and redeems.
“Love does not rejoice in iniquity” is a sobering indictment of spiritual complicity. Iniquity, unrighteousness, injustice, moral failure, is not entertainment for love. It is grief. Love does not gloat over another’s fall, nor does it find satisfaction in scandal, cruelty, or sin. In a culture of voyeurism and vengeance, where failure is monetized and pain is politicized, Paul insists that love refuses to cheer for brokenness. It does not delight in the downfall of enemies or the exposure of flaws. It does not weaponize truth to shame, nor does it twist grace to excuse. Love is not a spectator of suffering—it is a healer of it.
“But rejoices in the truth” is love’s moral joy. Truth here is not mere factuality. It is reality as God sees it. It is the unveiling of what is good, right, and holy. Love celebrates integrity, not image. It delights in repentance, not reputation. It rejoices when justice rolls down like waters, when mercy triumphs over judgment, when the light pierces the shadows. In this way, love is not neutral—it is fiercely loyal to the truth that liberates. It does not bend to sentimentality or tribalism. It rejoices when the truth is spoken, even when it costs. It rejoices when the truth is lived, even when it hurts.
Together, these twin postures, grief over iniquity and joy in truth, form the moral rhythm of agapē. Love is not passive. It is not permissive. It is not indifferent. It is morally awake, emotionally honest, spiritually courageous. It weeps with those who weep and rejoices with those who rejoice, but only when the rejoicing is righteous. In verse 6, love is not a mood—it is a moral movement. It is the ethic of Christ, who wept over Jerusalem’s sin and rejoiced in the faith of a centurion. Who confronted hypocrisy and celebrated humility. Who bore the weight of iniquity to unleash the joy of truth.
In the divine economy, this kind of love is not sentimental—it is sanctifying. It does not merely feel—it forms. It does not merely comfort—it convicts. It is the love that exposes and embraces, that wounds and heals, that judges and justifies. It is the love that hung on a cross, not to rejoice in iniquity, but to rejoice in the truth that sets us free.
And in practicing it, we do not merely echo heaven—we embody it. For love, Paul insists, does not rejoice in iniquity. It rejoices in truth. And in doing so, it becomes the truth that rejoices over us.
Thursday, October 2, 2025
The Ethics Of Love’s Restraint
“[Love] does not behave rudely, it does not seek its own, it is not provoked, it keeps no record of wrongs.” (1 Corinthians 13:5)
This text continues Paul’s dismantling of spiritual pretense by deepening the anatomy of agapē. If verse 4 sketches love’s posture—patient, kind, unpretentious—verse 5 explores its restraint. Here, love is defined not by what it does, but by what it refuses to do. It is a portrait of self-governed grace, a love that resists the gravitational pull of ego, offense, and scorekeeping.
The phrase “does not behave rudely” confronts the moral imagination with a subtle but radical ethic. Rudeness is not merely bad manners. It is the failure to recognize the dignity of the other. In a culture of spiritual performance, where giftedness can eclipse gentleness, Paul reminds us that love never bulldozes. It does not interrupt, dominate, or humiliate. It moves with reverence, not force.
“Love does not seek its own” is a direct challenge to the self-centric spirituality that often masquerades as devotion. This is not a call to self-erasure, but to self-giving. Love does not orbit around personal gain, recognition, or control. It is centrifugal, always moving outward, always making space. In this way, Paul redefines greatness—not as accumulation, but as relinquishment.
“It is not provoked” speaks to emotional discipline. Love is not reactive. It does not flare up at insult or injury. It absorbs without exploding, listens without lashing out. This is not weakness, but strength under control, a spiritual poise that refuses to be hijacked by offense. In a world addicted to outrage, love is a quiet refusal to be mastered by anger.
Finally, “it keeps no record of wrongs” is perhaps the most scandalous of all. Love does not archive offenses. It does not weaponize memory. It does not build a case. This is not forgetfulness—it is forgiveness. It is the radical decision to release rather than retain, to heal rather than tally. In this, love mirrors the divine: the God who casts sins into the depths of the sea, who remembers them no more.
Together, these negations form a spiritual counterculture. They resist the impulse to dominate, to demand, to retaliate, to remember. They invite us into a love that is spacious, selfless, serene, and merciful. Paul’s vision is not sentimental—it is sacrificial. It is not soft—it is sanctifying. In verse 5, love is not a feeling to be indulged, but a discipline to be embodied. It is the cruciform ethic of Christ Himself, who bore insult without retaliation, who gave without grasping, who forgave without ledger.
In the divine economy, this kind of love is not optional. It is eternal. It will outlast prophecy, tongues, and knowledge. It is the ethic of heaven breaking into earth. And in practicing it, we do not merely imitate God—we participate in His nature. For love, Paul insists, is not provoked. It provokes transformation.
This text continues Paul’s dismantling of spiritual pretense by deepening the anatomy of agapē. If verse 4 sketches love’s posture—patient, kind, unpretentious—verse 5 explores its restraint. Here, love is defined not by what it does, but by what it refuses to do. It is a portrait of self-governed grace, a love that resists the gravitational pull of ego, offense, and scorekeeping.
The phrase “does not behave rudely” confronts the moral imagination with a subtle but radical ethic. Rudeness is not merely bad manners. It is the failure to recognize the dignity of the other. In a culture of spiritual performance, where giftedness can eclipse gentleness, Paul reminds us that love never bulldozes. It does not interrupt, dominate, or humiliate. It moves with reverence, not force.
“Love does not seek its own” is a direct challenge to the self-centric spirituality that often masquerades as devotion. This is not a call to self-erasure, but to self-giving. Love does not orbit around personal gain, recognition, or control. It is centrifugal, always moving outward, always making space. In this way, Paul redefines greatness—not as accumulation, but as relinquishment.
“It is not provoked” speaks to emotional discipline. Love is not reactive. It does not flare up at insult or injury. It absorbs without exploding, listens without lashing out. This is not weakness, but strength under control, a spiritual poise that refuses to be hijacked by offense. In a world addicted to outrage, love is a quiet refusal to be mastered by anger.
Finally, “it keeps no record of wrongs” is perhaps the most scandalous of all. Love does not archive offenses. It does not weaponize memory. It does not build a case. This is not forgetfulness—it is forgiveness. It is the radical decision to release rather than retain, to heal rather than tally. In this, love mirrors the divine: the God who casts sins into the depths of the sea, who remembers them no more.
Together, these negations form a spiritual counterculture. They resist the impulse to dominate, to demand, to retaliate, to remember. They invite us into a love that is spacious, selfless, serene, and merciful. Paul’s vision is not sentimental—it is sacrificial. It is not soft—it is sanctifying. In verse 5, love is not a feeling to be indulged, but a discipline to be embodied. It is the cruciform ethic of Christ Himself, who bore insult without retaliation, who gave without grasping, who forgave without ledger.
In the divine economy, this kind of love is not optional. It is eternal. It will outlast prophecy, tongues, and knowledge. It is the ethic of heaven breaking into earth. And in practicing it, we do not merely imitate God—we participate in His nature. For love, Paul insists, is not provoked. It provokes transformation.
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