Quit praying to Satan!

There’s an traditional African folk song called “What a Mighty God We Serve.” If you grew up Christian, maybe you heard it in Sunday school. Sometimes adults sing it too. Goes like so.

♫ What a mighty God we serve

♫ What a mighty God we serve

♫ Angels bow before him

♫ Heaven and earth adore him

♫ What a mighty God we serve

Years later I found out it has more lyrics—words my children’s and youth pastors never bothered to teach us. You might be able to guess why.

♫ I command you Satan in the name of the Lord

♫ To take up your weapons and flee

♫ For the Lord has given me authority

♫ To walk all over thee

There are variations. I often hear “put down your weapons” in the second line, which makes way more sense than “take up your weapons.” There’s also “stomp all over thee” in the fourth—which comes with stomping movements, which are always fun.

Anyway. Lots of Sunday schools skip these lines, so lots of Christians aren’t aware of ’em. I hadn’t heard them in years; then they came up again in summer youth camp. The pastor got all the kids to sing along with the first part, but when she broke into the second part, the kids sat there confused: “Why’s she singing to the devil?” Anyway, because they didn’t sing along, she concluded, “I guess you don’t know that part,” and went right back to the “What a mighty God we serve” bit they did know.

As to why churches don’t teach it: Well you are singing to the devil! And shouldn’t. Don’t do that.

Likewise there are a number of Christians who pray to the devil. You may have seen it happen. Someone gets up to pray. Then, in the middle of all their other praises and petitions to God, they put the Lord on pause, and dial Satan in on our conference call.

“And Satan, we rebuke you. We bind you. We cast you out. You have no authority here. You have no business in this place. You get out of here, Satan. You’re under our feet.”

And so on. You get the idea.

Again: Don’t do that!

I know; I know. You’ve seen pastors and prayer leaders do it. You’ve seen Christians whom you greatly respect doing it. Loads of people do it. But they shouldn’t do it either.

“Don’t make me come down there!”

1 Corinthians 4.14-21.

The church of Corinth’s confusion about which faction to follow, about clever Christian teachings, about how blessed they are in Christ, provoked the apostles to send them someone trustworthy to correct the church: The apostle Timothy. 1Co 4.17 In the 60s Timothy wound up leading the church of Ephesus, but at this point in the 50s, he was apparently sent by Paul to various hotspots where the Christians were losing sight of the main thing, i.e. following Christ Jesus.

’Cause churches get like that! Still get like that. They follow popular teachers, they get all agitated about what sinners are up to, they dabble in politics (or get fully invested in ’em), they invent loopholes to justify all their sins, they relabel their fleshly behavior to make their evil attitudes sorta sound Christian. The Corinthians did all that stuff and more, and though Paul and Sosthenes rebuke ’em a lot for stuff like this, here Paul recognizes a letter alone is not gonna cut it: He has to send them a good example. Can’t be him right now; he’s in Macedonia. 1Co 16.5 But Timothy’s a good man, so he’ll send ’em Timothy.

1 Corinthians 4.14-21 KWL

14I don’t write these things to embarrass,

but to caution you all, like my beloved children.

15You may have myriads of teachers in Christ,

but not many parents,

for I’m your father in Christ Jesus, through the gospel,

16so I urge you to mimic me.

17This is why I send you Timothy:

He’s my beloved child and has faith in the Master.

He’ll remind you of my way in Christ Jesus,

just as I teach it everywhere in every church.

18Though I myself am not coming to you,

—and some will puff up about that—

19when the Master wills, I will come quickly.

I will know what’s what,

not by the teaching of those who’ve been puffed up,

but the power.

20For God’s kingdom isn’t about teaching,

but about power.

21What do you want?

Should I come to you with a stick?

Or in love, and a spirit of gentleness?

To be fair, though the apostles say, “I don’t write these things to embarrass, but caution you,” no doubt some of this stuff did embarrass them. They thought they were doing great! 1Co 4.8 But they were confusing material prosperity, and clever teachings, with success—as pagans typically do. By pagan standards they’re doing great! But by God’s kingdom’s standards—which to pagan minds, is upside-down in an awful lot of ways—they were completely buggered, and needed some hands-on course correction. They needed Timothy.

Read the bible this August. Yes, all of it.

Back when you were making New Year’s resolutions, one of them mighta been to read the bible. All the bible, from Genesis to the maps; probably using one of those bible-in-a-year plans. Lots of Christians do.

Then, somwhere around February or March, you kinda fumbled the plan. It happens to the best of us! Hopefully you got right back on it and caught up with the reading. Many don’t. Some skip over all the parts they missed, figuring they’ll read ’em next year. Some never do read ’em next year.

And some, of course, quit altogether.

But you realize you can pick up thty resolution at any part of the year, right? It doesn’t have to be in January. You don’t have to start reading the bible in January. In fact, some of the bible-reading plans have you read the bible twice or three times a year, meaning you start in January and July; or January, May, and September. But September’s usually super busy, and August is not… so hey, why not start in August? Get done in November instead of the busy, busy December.

Of course you can also read the bible in a month. It’s totally doable. I do it in January; you can do it in August. Or September, or October, or any month; if your August happens to be crazy busy, maybe next month would be better. But there’s no reason to procrastinate reading the bible… well, other than crippling depression, and for that you oughta see a doctor. But otherwise there’s not!

As I’ve written elsewhere, the year-long reading plans makesthe bible sound like a massive project, and it’s really not. An audio bible will be less than 100 hours long, and if you listened to it three hours a day (or 90 minutes twice a day), you’re done in 33 days. Audiobooks tend to go at a slow pace, so if you sped it up to 150 percent speed, those three hours will now be two. I of course read much faster than an audiobook will go. So can most of you. An hour of bible a day can get the bible done in a month. I know from experience; I’ve done it for years.

Though the bible’s a big thick book collection, going through the whole of it in August is far from impossible. Go for it!

How Jesus submits to his Father.

John 5.30.

After Jesus cured some guy, the Judeans objected because he did it on sabbath, so Jesus went into a teaching about how he works because his Father works—and he’s also gonna judge the world at the End.

He ends this declaration with this statement, which I figured I’d discuss on its own because it has to do with how Jesus submits to his Father. Submission is a loaded concept for certain Christians—especially since some of ’em are interpreting the idea in ways which wind up going heretic. So it’s turned this statement into a loaded one.

Statement first though.

John 5.30 KWL

“I can’t do anything on my own.

I judge just as I hear,

and my judgment is fair

because I don’t seek my own will,

but the will of the One who sends me.”

Just to remind you: Separation of powers is an American thing. Our executives don’t judge, and our judges don’t carry out their rulings but have cops and marshals who do that. But that’s obviously not how ancient kings work. Kings were the supreme rulers of their land, and were by themselves the supreme court—if a king ruled, there’s no overruling him.

Our ideas of plaintiffs and defendants, who got to argue their case before the judge; of laws and precedents the king was supposed to follow: Those are important. If the king actually follows those things, you’ll get a fair trial. But despots don’t care about any of those things, and do as they please. Rogue Supreme Courts ignore the Constitution and precedents, ignore the people who argued in front of them, rule according to their agendas, and make up ridiculous arguments to defend their rulings. Ancient and medieval kings didn’t even bother to defend themselves; they figured they had every right to rule as they pleased. Fairness? Fairness doesn’t matter.

In comparison, Jesus says he’s not a despot. He doesn’t judge on his own. He judges as he hears, meaning he listens to the plaintiffs and defendants before him. He follows a Law which defines good and evil. He takes God’s will into consideration; not his own.

As any good Israeli king should. As Solomon did. And of course, as Romans didn’t—they might be bothered to have fair trials when it was a fellow Roman on trial, like Paul, but if you didn’t have citizenship they’d simply torture you, as they almost did Paul. Ac 22.24-27 Or they’d delay your trial ’cause they wanted a bribe, likewise as they did with Paul. Ac 24.25 Right here, Jesus is contrasting his fair and righteous rule with that of Romans—and corrupt judges, like the senators who later sentenced him to death.

Because being a fair judge is what God wants. God cares about truth. God doesn’t want people unjustly punished and penalized. God doesn’t want the guilty to go free, the evildoer to unrepentantly get away with it. Corrupt judges look the other way because they favor the rich and powerful, and maybe want their wealthy friends to take ’em on vacations and help ’em buy RVs. Jesus in contrast will always rule fairly. Always.

But let’s be honest: Jesus totally has an agenda. He’s totally biased. He admits it. Ignore all those Christians who claim Jesus and God are the only unbiased judges in the universe; of course the LORD is biased. Fortunately for us, grace means he’s biased in our favor, which is why Jesus says in this very same passage, “I promise you the one who hears my word, and trusts the One who sends me, has life in the age to come and doesn’t go into judgment.” Jn 5.24 KWL Those who follow Jesus don’t get a trial! They go straight into the age to come. That’s the team we wanna be on.

So what other bias does Jesus confess to? He says it right there in today’s verse: “I don’t seek my own will, but the will of the One who sends me.” He’s not a despot who does whatever he wants; he only wants to do as the Father wants. The Father is a righteous judge; therefore the Son’s gonna be a righteous judge.

If you’re anxious Jesus is gonna be furious at sin, much like angry preachers are… well okay, he certainly hates sin. Especially when people exploit the poor and needy, and figure it’s okay because they went through all the proper religious motions to wipe out all their bad karma. The LORD already said, through Isaiah, he’s not listening to such people. Is 1.15 He wants ’em to repent!

Therefore he’s gonna be a righteous judge—who may be exorbitantly lenient on those who follow him, but judges everyone else fairly, on merit. And while there are many Christians who insist only the people who follow Jesus are gonna enter the age to come, I’m pretty sure Jesus is gonna extend grace to a lot more people than they’re expecting. People who honestly didn’t know any better; people who died before hearing the gospel, so they’re not penalized for rejecting it; babies who died before they could hear it, of course. Jesus is far more gracious than angry preachers. Or me!—there’s lots of people I wouldn’t let in, but thankfully I’m not the judge.

Terrified of God-experiences.

Here’s the dirty little secret you’re gonna find among the vast majority of people who insist we shouldn’t seek God-experiences: The very idea of coming face-to-face with the living God? Scares the poop out of ’em.

The reason they insist God doesn’t appear to people anymore, is because they’re hoping to goodness he doesn’t. They absolutely don’t want him to. Frightens them.

They’re also extremely nervous about the second coming. They might talk, and talk a lot, about how it may happen in their lifetime… but they really don’t want it to. That’s half the reason they’ve embraced End Times interpretations in which certain things must take place before Jesus’s return (even though nothing else has to): They want a heads-up. They wanna know he might be coming soon so they can get ready. Not because they’re sinning themselves sore and they wanna clean up first; mainly it’s to brace themselves for the absolutely petrifying prospect of encountering our Lord in person.

And of course they’re extremely nervous about death. Same reason.

Why are they afraid of God? Lots of reasons; none good. I suspect most of it comes from growing up, or worshiping, with Christians who don’t do grace. Been there! Instead of being introduced to a loving God who wants to save us, who already has a positive attitude towards us, who doesn’t merely have infinite patience for us but wants us to be with him… they’re taught all sorts of other unhealthy, dysfunctional things about God.

Mainly that God hates sin. That he can’t abide it; it absolutely cannot be in his holy presence. And since we humans are sinners… well when we stand before him, it’s not gonna be pleasant, is it? He’ll be furious with us. Good thing Jesus steps between his holy rage and us, and stops his Father from vaporizing us with a syllable. Although sometimes they’ve not been taught that either; sometimes Jesus is the one with all the holy rage, slaughtering sinners until the blood and gore is waist-deep over the land.

Seriously, that’s what they expect a God-experience to consist of. So of course they’re scared witless! They don’t want any such encounter with an wrathful God. They think we’re nuts for wanting to go there… and when we tell ’em how gracious God is, they’re pretty sure that can’t be a legitimate God-encounter, because God shoulda burnt us to a crisp. Must be the devil tricking people into believing God’s some kind of infinitely tolerant liberal. That way when Jesus finally does appear, these fools will run to embrace him, only to get butchered along with all the other sinners.

Yep, those graceless Christians really did the devil’s work on ’em—getting them to be terrified of the One who loves them the most in the universe.

Pretentious Christians and persecuted apostles.

1 Corinthians 4.6-13.

Every once in a while Paul uses irony—rhetorically says the opposite of what he actually means in order to reveal its ridiculousness. Irony is best known in its angry form, sarcasm. Yep, there’s sarcasm in the bible. ’Cause sometimes its writers get angry at injustice, sin, and stupidity—and the Corinthians were being kinda stupid by dividing themselves into factions. They should know better than to do this; they should be more spiritually mature than this! But they weren’t.

I myself don’t encourage Christians to get too sarcastic. Few to none of us have the self-control necessary to wield sarcasm safely. Contrary to those folks who say, “Sarcasm is my spiritual gift,” no it’s not. It’s a form of anger, and seldom a healthy form. I won’t even say Paul and Sosthenes were exhibiting a healthy form of it here. They were understandably irritated at the Corinthians right about now in their letter, but I’m pretty sure this passage alienated the Corinthians more than it got ’em to repent. (As is hinted by 2 Corinthians.)

My translation of the passage first, and I’ll expound on it afterward.

1 Corinthians 4.6-13 KWL

6I use the example of these things—

of myself and Apollos—

for you, fellow Christians,

so you might learn from us the saying:

“No more than what was written,”

so you don’t inflate one over another any more:

7What makes you special?

What do you have that you weren’t given?—

if it was given to you, why boast like it wasn’t given to you?

8Now you have enough?

Now you’re wealthy?

You rule like kings without us?

I wish you ruled like kings,

so we might rule like kings with you,

9for I think God puts us apostles on the lowest level,

like death-row inmates,

since we become entertainment to the world,

to angels and to humans.

10We are morons because of Christ.

And you are wise in Christ!

We, weak. You, strong!

You, glorious. We, dishonored.

11Even now, we still hunger and thirst and are naked,

and get punched, and are homeless,

12and are exhausted from manual labor.

We bless while we get told off.

We put up with persecution.

13We help others while getting slandered.

We become what the world cleans off their shoes;

even now, the scum of everything.

Like I said, the apostles used a lot of irony here: What makes the Corinthians special? Why do they boast about blessings as if they earned ’em? Why do they think they get to live their best lives, while at the very same time, the apostles feel like they’re living their very worst lives? What’s up with that?

And why does American Christianity consistently act exactly the same way as these dense Corinthian a--holes?

On judging your leaders. (As we should!)

1 Corinthians 4.1-5.

Paul and Sosthenes end chapter 3 of 1 Corinthians thisaway:

1 Corinthians 3.22-23 KWL

22Whether it’s Paul, Apollos, Kifa,

the world, life, death, the present, the future—

everything belongs to all of you.

23And you belong to Christ,

and Christ belongs to God.

I bring this up ’cause the next passage starts with οὕτως/útos, “therefore,” and a previous pastor of mine was extremely fond of saying, “Whenever you see a ‘therefore’ in the bible, read the verses before it so you’ll know what it’s there for.” The apostles wrote about how there shouldn’t be factions in Christ’s body period, much less fighting over one apostle or another, since all the apostles work for Christ anyway.

Likewise there’s nothing wrong with listening to multiple apostles! You can listen to Paul and Apollos; you don’t have to choose one or the other. You can listen to Kifa (which is Simon Peter’s Aramaic nickname Jn 1.42) too. And the other guys who wrote the New Testament. And the great saints who followed Jesus after them, if they have anything which still encourages us to follow Jesus. And your pastor. And your favorite Christian authors, Christian preachers, Christian podcasters, Christian bloggers. We all work for Jesus.

Well… assuming we do work for Jesus. For that, you gotta use your noggin and first make make sure we do. Make sure we’re producing good fruit. Double-check everything we say against God’s character and the bible. And if we’re making honest mistakes, be gracious… and if we’re not being so honest, or hard-headedly demand you’re the problem, and how dare you critique the Lord’s anointed: Yeah, you need to keep far, far away from such people. Not every self-proclaimed Christian is all that Christian.

Wait, is it okay for us to judge Christian leaders? Well of course it is. I bring it up ’cause it’s right there in today’s passage.

1 Corinthians 4.1-5 KWL

1For this reason, people* should consider us

like Christ’s subordinates,

and managers of God’s revealed mysteries.

2Here in addition, it’s a requirement for managers

that one should find they have faith.

3To me, this is the smallest thing,

that I should be judged by all of you,

or by a day in a human court.

But I don’t judge myself either,

4for I didn’t know anything on my own.

But I was justified out of this:

The Master is the one judging me.

5Therefore judge nothing before the right time—

which is whenever the Master might come.

He will give light to what’s hidden in the dark,

and will reveal the plans of people’s hearts,

and then a commendation will come to each person from God.

Baptizing babies, versus baptizing believers.

As I wrote yesterday, when I was a baby I was baptized. My grandparents’ church believed in the practice of baptizing babies. The formal term for this is pedobaptism, although frequently—even among Americans!—you’re gonna see the British spelling and pronunciation, paedobaptism 'pi.doʊ.bæp.tɪ.zəm Mainly because, I suspect, when you talk about pedo– anything, people immediately think of pedophilia, and we’re not going there. But paedo– stuff reminds people of pediatricians, and they’re okay! So let’s talk paedobaptism then.

Baby baptism, or infant baptism, is the standard in older churches. They figure we, as Christians, have a covenant with God. And exactly like the ancient Israelis, part of that covenant obligates us to make sure our descendants grow up to follow God. The Israelis (and the Jews today) ritually circumcised their baby boys as their way of declaring, “This kid’s gonna grow up to follow God,” so paedobaptists baptize their baby boys and girls as a way of declaring the very same thing.

It took a few centuries for baby baptism to become the standard, but it’s locked in now. Orthodox, Catholics, and Ethiopians do it; Lutherans, Anglicans, and Moravians do it; and some Presbyterians, Methodists, Nazarenes, and Congregationalists do it—it’s become a controversy in their churches. The reason for the controversy is the Anabaptist movement. The ana– prefix means “re–,” because all the first Anabaptists were originally baptized as babies, figured that didn’t count, and got re-baptized.

The Anabaptists started in the early 1500s: A number of central European churches decided one shouldn’t be baptized until we make a conscious decision to follow Jesus. It’s a view which kinda makes sense—why baptize a baby who may grow up to never follow Jesus? I mean, your parents might intend to raise you Christian, but you have other ideas… and for that matter, your parents might change their minds and raise you as nothing whatsoever, much as some of my Christian family members have.

Perhaps you’ve encountered this phenomenon—I certainly have—where people don’t follow Jesus at all, yet imagine they’re Christian because their parents had ’em baptized. So if you ask ’em, they’ll tell you, “Oh, I believe in Jesus”—but they don’t know what he teaches, don’t produce good fruit, aren’t religious at all, and aren’t even good people. In what way are they Christian? Well they were baptized.

Anabaptist churches still exist, but the Anabaptist idea of believer baptism (or if you wanna use the formal term, credobaptism) was adopted by lots of Protestant churches. Namely the Baptists. And like I said, it’s become a controversy among some Protestants: Some of the churches which still do baby baptism have a noisy faction which wants ’em to stop it. Presbyterian churches especially; Jean Calvin believed in baby baptism, but a whole lot of Presbyterians have adopted the Anabaptist view.

I was baptized Catholic, but I was raised in believer-baptism churches, and still go to those churches. So my custom is believer baptism. The Anabaptist view is what I was taught, it’s what I’m pretty sure the scriptures encourage, and I think it makes way more sense.

But honestly… I read Calvin’s Institutes. I can see the point of view of those Christians who prefer baby baptism. And if there’s deliberately a later ritual in which those people who were baptized as babies can confirm they really do intend to follow Jesus… I don’t really have a problem with it. The important thing is you’re following Jesus. If you’re not, neither type of baptism matters, ’cause you’re not Christian!

I know, I know; it’s a controversy, so people are gonna demand I take sides, and preferably theirs. And demand I get enraged at the folks on the other side. Nope! Follow Jesus either way, and I don’t have a problem. Escalate this debate into a holy war, and I have a big problem—with you.

Rebaptism: Getting wet again.

When I was a baby, I was baptized. My grandparents were Roman Catholic; not good Catholics, but Catholic enough to want their first grandchild baptized. So I was.

Mom later became Christian. She doesn’t count her Catholic upbringing, ’cause she doesn’t feel she committed herself to Jesus till adulthood. I became Christian soon after. And our church was having a baptismal service, so the two of us decided to get baptized—her at 28, and me at 7.

Had we been in a Catholic church, we’d’ve learned about their sacrament of confirmation: You confess your faith in Christ Jesus, your bishop anoints you with oil (representing the Holy Spirit, who comes to indwell you when you believe in Jesus), and now your baptism counts. Now you’re Christian.

But of course I didn’t know any of that stuff. I only knew what my Protestant church taught me: When you come to Jesus, get baptized! So I did. Got rebaptized.

Lots of Christians get rebaptized. I’ve watched many of ’em do it:

• People who were baptized as infants into the Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran, or Presbyterian church, who later decide infant baptism doesn’t count; they wanna be baptized as believers.
• People who were baptized, but later slid away from Jesus, and wanna get devout and rededicate themselves to him, so they figure they oughta be baptized again.
• People who leave a heretic church, and figure that church’s baptisms don’t count, so they want a baptism which does count.
• People who just wanna. Their kids are getting baptized, so they wanna be baptized too as a good example. Or someone’s holding a baptism at a cool location, like the Jordan River in Israel, and they want the memory of getting baptized there.

For these and all sorts of other reasons, people get rebaptized.

Yeah, there are certain Christians who think this is completely unnecessary. I’m one of them. But at the same time, I also think it’s harmless. You wanna be baptized again?—go ahead and get baptized again! Doesn’t offend God; doesn’t hurt anyone.

(That is, unless you take a wired microphone into the baptismal with you, which’ll kill you, so don’t do that. But otherwise, go right ahead.)

Dispensationalists and infallibility.

So here’s a weird little phenomenon I’ve discovered. I’ve actually seen it many, many times throughout my life, but didn’t recognize what was underneath it till recently.

I was talking to a fellow Christian a few weeks ago; we’ll call him Ayokunle. He’s dispensationalist, which means he believes God has saved people in many different ways throughout history. Darbyists believe God used six different ways, ’cause we’re in the sixth dispensation. But most of ’em figure there are at least two dispensations—one before Jesus, one after Jesus. Before Jesus atoned for our sins, they figure God saved people because they were good—if they followed the Law, God saved ’em, and if they didn’t, he didn’t.

Is this true? Not at all. God saves people by his grace, and he’s always saved people by his grace. Paul of Tarsus’s whole argument to the Galatians about why they needed to stop it with the legalism, was that God’s never saved anyone by good works. Abraham included! We’re right with God because we trust him, not because we followed commandments. Ga 2.16 If we ever could be saved that way, Jesus died for nothing. Ga 2.21

Anyway, my discussion with Ayokunle is because he loves to quote the old saying, “God works all things together for our good.” I’ve written on it elsewhere, and it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. I told him so.

ME. “There’s an entire book of the bible which refutes you. Ecclesiastes.”

HE. “Hm?”

ME. “ ‘Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.’ Ec 1.2 Vanities have no value. They mean nothing. They’re meaningless. But nothing God does is meaningless.”

HE. “Ecclesiastes?”

ME. “It’s a good read. Check it out.”

HE. “That is Old Testament.”

ME. “Correct.”

HE. “I am a New Testament Christian. Old Testament doesn’t apply.”

ME. “The bible doesn’t apply?”

HE. “New Testament does. Old Testament is of the old things which have passed away. ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ Rv 21.5 New Testament.”

ME. “So you don’t think the Old Testament should be in the bible.”

HE. “No; it should be in the bible. It has good stories. It tells us the history of the Jews. But it’s passed away. It’s dead.”

ME. “We’re not to trust it anymore for instructions on how to live our lives.”

HE. “Correct!”

ME. “But the 10 commandments are in there.”

HE. “Oh, the 10 commandments are in the New Testament too. We follow them. But the rest of the commandments are dead.”

ME. “So we can eat pork and shellfish.”

HE. “Yes!”

ME. “And have babies with our daughters.”

HE. “No! Why would you have babies with your daughters?”

ME. “I wouldn’t; that’s nasty. But it’s an Old Testament command to not have sex with your daughter. Lv 18.10 And you say that command is dead, so…”

HE. “No! No one should do that!”

ME. “Oh absolutely. But you said God no longer forbids it.”

HE. “Well there are natural laws.”

ME. “True. But people break those all the time, which is why God gives us biblical revelation. But you say it’s not biblical revelation anymore.”

He didn’t know how to answer that, so he quickly changed the subject. But it occurred to me afterward: In saying the Old Testament no longer counts, he also basically revealed he no longer considers it infallible.

In fact a lot of dispensationalists like Ayokunle explicitly teach the Old Testament failed: It didn’t successfully do the job of saving people! That’s why God had to replace its system of works-based salvation with grace. The Law no longer counts because it failed.

So when these folks claim they believe in biblical infallibility… well, it’s not consistent with everything they teach about the Old Testament. They might consider the New Testament infallible, but not the Old Testament. ’Cause it failed.

I pointed this out to a different dispensationalist I know, and after a bit of objecting, he finally said yeah, I got something there. If dispensationalists believe the Law failed to save, and needn’t be followed because it failed, then they can’t properly claim biblical infallibility. At least not for the whole bible. New Testament is fine.