It’s time for reformation when...
There are no wolves in sheep’s clothing, only wolves in no clothing.
There are no public defenders, only wolves dressed up as ambulance chasers.
The Word of God is faithfully preached, the sacraments are rightly administered, church discipline is truthfully practiced, and everything stays the same.
There is an inverse relationship between sermons preached and sanctification.
There is a positive relationship between church planters and sheep being eaten.
Propaganda, Conspiracy, and Deceit walk into a bar, and Truth gets them all drunk on lies.
Sinners empathize with the slogan “empathy is sin.”
After beating up Empathy, robbers dressed up as shepherds walk to the other side of the road to Wolf Law, LLC, retain legal counsel, and swap their shepherd masks for attorney-client privilege.
Pastors file a lawsuit against Empathy for defamation and their attorney persuades the jury that their reputation is beyond repair.
Pastor Pharma celebrates the successful trial of a drug that will inoculate pastors against the deadly toxin of empathy. Certain chemicals in the drug are scarce, and the drug will be limited supply. It was deemed the safest to inoculate as many pastors as possible, as they are on the front lines in battling this epidemic emotion. Pastor Pharma regrets that most congregants will remain susceptible.
There is nothing new to say. No good news, just good olds.
Eschatology has been pressurized into a fossil by time and history.
Eschatology slips into archeology. The fossilized acorn is what it was, is what it is.
Everything is clear—even Scripture.
The Reformation is the only guide for reforming the church.
The voices of dead men speaking about the living voice of God are louder than the living voice of God.
Everyone knows what the reformers did but no one knows what the reformers didn’t.
The tree cut down by the ax of God’s judgment is processed into premium wood and used to create a trophy case for the ax of God’s judgment. Tickets available for supervised viewing.
We can no longer imagine what imagination tastes like. What does that sentence even mean?
“Figure it out” — the burden of our literalistic age. Freedom is a figure of speech.
Freedom of conscience is serving a life sentence for convincing science to follow art.
How desperately we, like Nicodemus, must be born again. Whatever is born of the fact is fact, and whatever is born of the symbol is real.
The wind blows where it pleases. We hear it’s sound, laughing in the leaves, and think the joke’s on Nicodemus.
Quote from Søren Kierkegaard
“A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think thats just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it’s a joke.”
Question
Where do you see signs of gospel aberration? How do you talk to others about those signs when their eyes are blinded and their ears are plugged?
I really could spill an ocean of ink on this. But if I have to pick one sign of gospel aberration that rises above the rest right now, it’s our obsession with “leaders.”
Not maturity.
Not shared life.
Not mutual discernment.
Leaders.
And I don’t mean healthy influence or experienced voices. I mean the fixation on singular figures — titles, platforms, headship structures — in ways that feel like open defiance of Jesus’ words in Matthew 23.
“Do not be called Rabbi.”
“You are all brothers.”
“The greatest among you shall be your servant.”
We read that and then immediately build systems that hinge on exactly what He warned about.
What that obsession has produced is a body that no longer functions like a body. Christ’s people have been trained to sit still, listen well, and not interfere. We call that order. Scripture calls it something closer to paralysis.
The result is an inert, passive church culture where spiritual responsibility is outsourced upward instead of shared outward. A handful speak. The rest receive. And then we wonder why sanctification feels thin and why discernment feels fragile.
That, to me, is not a side issue. It’s foundational drift.
As for how I talk to people about it when they can’t see it — I think of Whitaker Chambers in Witness. After he left communism, he described what it felt like to speak to his old friends as being like one of those breathless men who had outrun the lava flow of a volcano. You’re trying to tell people the eruption has already started, and they’re still calmly debating policy.
That image stays with me.
It’s not that I think I’m smarter. It’s that once you see the flow, you can’t unsee it. And trying to explain it to those still standing comfortably in it feels surreal.
So I don’t argue much anymore. I describe what I see. I point to the fruit. I point to Matthew 23. I ask simple questions:
Why does our structure look so different from Jesus’ warnings?
Why are we so comfortable with titles He directly resisted?
Why does everything hinge on one voice?
If someone is ready, that’s enough. If they’re not, pressing harder rarely helps.
Good post Aaron, but why didn’t you say anything about how gender bias plays into all this?
I’m referring to the prevalence of misogyny and himpathy in church spaces.