Christ the Treasure: “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field.” Matthew 13:44. Our Lord describes the “kingdom of heaven” as a treasure hidden in a field, discovered not by effort but by revelation, and received not through negotiation but with joy. The man does not labor to improve the treasure, nor does he barter for its worth; he simply recognizes what has been found. Everything that follows, selling all, purchasing the field, relinquishing former claims, flows from the surpassing value of the treasure itself. So it is with Christ. When He is revealed as the life and righteousness of His people, and as their true inheritance, the hold of lesser treasures quietly dissolves. Philippians 3:7-8. The soul is not forced to relinquish them; it does so willingly, even gladly, having discovered something of infinitely greater worth. Matthew 6:21.

Whether the treasure in the parable is understood as Christ Himself, or as the kingdom whose riches are found in Him, the point remains the same, the kingdom’s surpassing worth cannot be separated from Christ. Even if the treasure is not intended as a direct allegory of Christ as a figure in the story, the parable cannot be rightly read in a way that excludes Him as the substance of what is treasured. “In whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” Colossians 2:3.

Just now when reflecting on Christ as this treasure, I couldn’t help but remember a gospel message I heard years ago on this particular passage. In his introduction, the brother said that we were going on a “treasure hunt.” It was such a simple and fitting way to put it, and it stayed with me. Even now, whenever I come across that verse, it’s hard not to think of those words, because Christ is not merely a treasure, but the treasure, the one pearl of great price. As a small side note, I heard that message nearly twenty years ago, and that same brother is still preaching the same gospel today. That, in itself, is a sweet reminder of the Lord’s faithfulness in keeping His people, both him and us, in Christ for so many years. I Thessalonians 5:24.

As hinted at above, the parable leaves no room for calculation. There are no terms to be met, no scales to be balanced, no future benefits weighed against present cost, only joy in the discovery of surpassing worth. The same pattern appears in the calling of the disciples. “And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all and followed him.” Luke 5:11. No bargaining is recorded, no conditions are proposed, no rewards are negotiated. Christ is revealed, and the response follows. Yet much of our religious thinking introduces precisely what the parable excludes. We begin to speak of salvation as a transaction, of faith as a qualifying act, and of obedience as a measurable contribution. In this way, the treasure is no longer central, and Christ Himself is subtly displaced.

For many, Christ is little more than a bridge to “heaven,” a requirement to be crossed rather than the treasure to be possessed. Heaven, as it is often imagined, becomes a moral merit economy in which faith functions as currency, obedience is tallied for reward, and Christ is no longer received as the inheritance, but reduced to a means of obtaining something beyond Himself. This inversion strikes at the very heart of the gospel. Scripture does not present Christ as the doorway to something better; it presents Him as that which is better. To treat Christ as a means rather than the end is to strip Him of His glory and to misunderstand salvation altogether.

But where Christ is revealed as the treasure, life, righteousness, and inheritance of His people, the heart is reoriented. Desires once scattered among many pursuits are gathered into one, and the soul learns to rest where God has placed its life. To have Christ is to have the riches of the kingdom already, for “he that hath the Son hath life.” I John 5:12. Here the gospel comes to rest, not in what we manage to maintain for Christ, but in what Christ has faithfully secured for us. MPJ.

Trinitarianism: “And if any man think that he knoweth anything, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know.” I Corinthians 8:2. “Thus, he is not a brother in Christ; he is a blasphemer and a cultist!” — “Although MPJ relies heavily on cult-like tactics, logical fallacies, and strawman arguments to challenge the Trinity, the only cure for the heretic MPJ is the true gospel of the Triune God.” — “MPJ loathes the concept of the Trinity so much that he created a straw man to argue against it.” Those lines, taken on their own, fairly capture the spirit of a lengthy article written about me, in which I was charged with denying the Trinity, or at least a particular formulation of it, and on that basis declared outside the faith. I cite it not to answer the accusation itself, but because it illustrates the manner in which the entire case was framed.

The name of the article was, “Abusing ‘Righteousness’ at the Expense of the Trinity: A Reply to Marc Peter Jacobsson, Sovereign Redeemer Books.” It was written roughly two months ago, though I only became aware of it yesterday, and that only because someone felt compelled to direct me to it. In one sense, I wish I had never seen it. I am generally content to walk quietly, to labor in my own corner, and to leave controversy where it lies. And yet, having now seen it, I find myself conflicted. Not because my confidence has been shaken, nor because I feel a need to vindicate myself, but because I cannot help but think of how such words might land on others, particularly on those who are weak, new to the faith, or simply trying to learn Christ without being caught in the crossfire of theological hostilities.

My primary concern has never been for those who feel firmly established in the faith, or for those who are confident in their theological systems and well-versed in doctrinal distinctions. My heart is much more with the weak, the young believer, and the one who is simply trying to look to Christ and rejoice in Him, without yet understanding many of these finer points of doctrine. It is to those that my thoughts continually gravitate, and with them in mind, I can’t help but wonder how such strong warnings, accusations, and condemnations might sound to ears that are not accustomed to sifting theological controversy. Such warnings are not light matters, and they ought to make all of us cautious, myself included.

My wife remarked, when I mentioned these things to her, “why does he even waste his time on you? Doesn’t he have anything better to do?” If these questions touch the heart of the gospel as he understands it, then to ignore them would feel irresponsible. In that sense, I do not doubt his sincerity, nor do I assume his motives are petty or personal. He believes he is contending for Christ, and that is no small thing. Seen from that angle, his words are not born of indifference, but of earnest conviction. I do not doubt that the author loves what he understands to be the truth, nor do I question his zeal for guarding the faith once delivered to the saints. Such concern, when rightly ordered, is commendable. I’m reminded of Calvin's words: “A dog barks when his master is attacked. I would be a coward if I saw that God's truth is attacked and yet would remain silent.” The church has always needed men who take doctrine seriously and are genuinely concerned about error where Christ is at stake.

If I am honest, what keeps me careful in moments like this is a sober awareness of my own frailty. I do not stand on any imagined ground of infallibility, nor do I presume a clarity that others must share. I have wavered before, and I have misunderstood the Scriptures more than once. There is much I do not see clearly. At times, the thought even crosses my mind, what if they are right in some way? Not in the accusations made, but in seeing something I have missed. I am no theologian. I do not pretend to possess a comprehensive grasp of these matters. There are things others claim to see with clarity that I struggle to see at all, even when I labor to set aside my own assumptions and preconceived notions. It is a mercy to remember that our hope does not rest in our theological clarity, but in the Lord’s kindness to preserve us, even from ourselves, and to keep us from serious error, even when we’re blind to it. Psalms 119:18.

Further, if I am to be consistent with what I believe about God’s sovereignty in salvation, then I must also accept that understanding itself falls under that same sovereignty. II Timothy 2:7. God may have opened my eyes to some things, and He has left me blind to others for reasons known only to Him. I trust that there are brethren who see more clearly where I remain unsure. Revelation is always a gift, never a possession. And if God is to be known, He must make Himself known. Matthew 13:11.

With those opening thoughts, I want to briefly and plainly clarify something, not as a rebuttal, and certainly not as a defense of myself, but for the sake of those who may be confused by the charges that have been made. I know that I am not a denier of the Trinity in the sense in which that charge is commonly understood. I do not deny the Father, the Son, or the Holy Spirit. I do not deny the full and undiminished deity of Christ. I do not deny the Spirit of God, nor do I treat Him as an impersonal force. And I do not deny the testimony of Scripture concerning God’s self-revelation.

At bottom, the difference between myself and this critic is not whether the Father, the Son, and the Spirit are divine. On that point, there is no dispute. I affirm Christ’s full deity without reserve. I affirm the Father, the Son, and the Spirit without hesitation. I affirm the Scriptures without embarrassment or apology. The difference at hand is not whether God is revealed as Father, Son, and Spirit, but in how far we are willing to press certain theological formulations beyond the language and testimony of Scripture itself and then bind consciences to them as tests of spiritual life and death.

Theological systems do not arise out of thin air, nor are they born merely of pride or speculation. They are often formed in earnest attempts to safeguard truth, to answer real errors, and to give structure to the church’s understanding of Scripture. In that sense, they can be genuinely helpful. They provide language, categories, and guardrails that assist teachers and learners alike, especially in times of controversy. But systems, by their very nature, are secondary things. They help us speak about what Scripture teaches, but they are not themselves the measure of faith, nor the ground of our acceptance with God. Trouble arises when what was meant to serve understanding begins to govern conscience, when explanatory frameworks are pressed beyond Scripture’s own testimony and then treated as definitive tests of spiritual life and death.

Scripture invites clear and reverent confession, but it does not urge us beyond what God has revealed. It leaves unexplained things in His hands, where they belong. Deuteronomy 29:29. Its concern is not that we master metaphysical categories, but that we know the living God as He makes Himself known. John 17:3. Biblical confession centers on testimony: God is one; the Father sent the Son; the Word was made flesh; the Spirit gives life; Christ is Lord. Philosophical precision seeks to explain how these truths fit together. These can be helpful, but the danger is when an explanation replaces the confession, so that agreeing with a certain way of describing God is treated as equal to believing in Christ Himself. Scripture calls us to believe the testimony God has given of His Son; it does not require that we resolve every philosophical question that testimony raises.

One additional concern I feel compelled to note is a recurring pattern in how my words have been handled. Portions of my writings are quoted selectively, extracted and then interpreted through “oneness” or “modalist” frameworks that I have never adopted. It’s as though questioning certain doctrinal formulations automatically places me within those camps. It may help to say plainly what I have not said, and what I do not believe. I have never claimed that the Son is the Father, nor that the Spirit is merely a force. I have never taught that Christ is a created being, nor that the Son did not exist prior to the incarnation. Those ideas are rightly rejected because Scripture itself rejects them. What I have questioned is not the scriptural testimony itself, but the necessity of adopting later philosophical descriptions as though they were Scripture’s own speech.

The real disagreement, then, comes down to this, whether post-biblical metaphysical language, phrases such as “three eternal persons sharing one divine essence,” or carefully articulated distinctions like the Father as unbegotten, the Son as eternally begotten, and the Spirit as eternally proceeding, should be regarded as part of the gospel itself, or whether it represents a theological model developed to safeguard and summarize biblical truth? My contention has never been with the biblical testimony. It has been with the elevation of a particular explanatory framework to the status of gospel boundary. At this point, faith is no longer anchored in Christ as He is revealed in Scripture, but in one’s ability to articulate or affirm a particular theological construct. When those structures are elevated to the level of gospel boundary markers, the focus subtly shifts, from trusting Christ as He is revealed in Scripture, to affirming particular explanatory schemes as measures of spiritual life and death.

The Bible names the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, and bears faithful witness to each. It does not, however, speak in terms of three distinct, co-equal, co-eternal persons subsisting within one divine essence. That language developed later, particularly in the fourth century, as the church faced internal disputes over the person of Christ and the nature of God, (most notably in response to Arianism,) and began to employ philosophical terms drawn from Greek metaphysics to clarify and defend what it believed Scripture taught. If others wish to speak in that kind of protestant or confessional language, they are free to do so. I have no desire to police vocabulary, nor to silence those who find such formulations helpful. But neither do I feel compelled to follow where Scripture itself does not lead, or to labor to disprove systems I do not believe in. No believer, as far as I can see, is bound to accept a particular philosophical vocabulary simply because it became traditional.

And it remains an open and serious question, one that has not been demonstrated from that critique, how salvation itself is made to hinge upon affirming Nicene metaphysics rather than upon believing the testimony God has given of His Son. Scripture places eternal life not in mastering explanatory schemes, but in knowing the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom He has sent. John 17:3. MPJ

Offense of Christ Alone: “The world cannot hate you; but me it hateth, because I testify of it, that the works thereof are evil.” John 7:7. The world has never persecuted a man for speaking against vice. Such denunciations are often welcomed, and even celebrated, so long as they remain safely general and do not disturb the foundations upon which men rest. Luke 6:26. On the contrary, moral outrage is one of its favorite disguises. It allows the world to appear righteous while remaining untouched, to condemn obvious evils while preserving its confidence in itself. But when Christ says that the world hates Him because He testifies that its works are evil, He is speaking of something far deeper than the exposure of public sins. He is exposing not merely what men do, but what they trust in; not merely outward corruption, but inward righteousness. His testimony reaches beyond behavior to the very ground of human acceptance before God, stripping away every refuge of self-approval and leaving no standing except in Himself alone.

Christ bore witness against the world precisely at the point where it felt most secure. He challenged not its vices, but its virtues. He exposed the righteousness men boasted in, the religion they cherished, and the goodness they presumed would commend them to God. In doing so, He stripped away every refuge of self-justification. The Jews understood this clearly. They did not hear Him as a moral reformer, but as a threat to all they called holy and acceptable. John 5:18. And rightly so, for Christ did not come to improve the world’s righteousness, but to condemn it as insufficient, false, and condemned already apart from Him. John 6:29. He does not negotiate with human goodness; He declares it void. In doing so, He becomes an enemy to everything the world admires in itself. Luke 16:15.

How deeply offensive it must have been to those who prized their religion, their lineage, and their obedience, to hear a man they regarded with contempt openly declare that God was pleased with no one but Himself, and that the Father’s delight was singular, settled, and unshared. He asserted, with unwavering certainty, that the Father delighted in no righteousness, no devotion, no virtue under heaven but His own, and that no man could ever find acceptance with God except through Him. John 14:6.

In making Himself the sole object of the Father’s pleasure, He exposed every rival righteousness as false, and in doing so, made Himself unbearable to those who trusted in their own. The Jews recognized the implication immediately. What provoked their fury was not His condemnation of sin in general, but His declaration that apart from Him, even what men called good was evil. If He were right, then all they valued most was exposed as empty. And so, rather than abandon their righteousness, they resolved to destroy Him. John 15:22.

They would have listened eagerly to one who instructed them how to do the works of God, who assigned them a role, offered them some share in the work, and dignified their efforts with divine approval. But they could not endure the announcement that all their sincere thoughts, religious desires, and moral exertions were set aside entirely, of no value in securing acceptance with God. The claim that Jesus had come down from heaven not to assist men in their work, but to accomplish the work of God for them, and to do it alone, was intolerable. The scandal remains unchanged. It is found wherever Christ’s work is confessed as the whole of salvation rather than a means toward it, even in circles renowned for doctrinal precision and religious seriousness. MPJ