by Joel V Webb | Jun 29, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters, Sacraments, Spiritual Disciplines, Theology & Practice
There is a lot of buzz in our modern world talking about discipleship. Everywhere you turn there seems to be a new video series, course, or initiative that promises to be the next big thing in discipling the people in your church! And, as often happens with this kind of stuff, while it may be very good, it certainly doesn’t do all that it has promised. But why is this the case? Firstly, it is not about the intention or desire of those wishing to disciple or create this content. Everyone involved has a serious and deep desire to see Jesus transform people’s lives, and to make them disciple making members of God’s Kingdom. The good intentions and love of Christ are not what is questionable here.
I believe more fundamentally in the modern evangelical space, we have somewhat forgotten what discipleship is all about. So many of the pipelines or pathways of discipleship I hear about are all looking to keep people coming back every week, get involved in volunteering, inviting other people to church, and Lord willing to start giving. None of these actions are bad, and we certainly want to see them happen. But, these are not the point of discipleship.
The theological capstone of being a Methodist is the idea of Entire Sanctification, or Perfect Love. Simply put, the work of the Holy Spirit has done its work (to the extent possible in our mortal human lives this side of eternity), where our love has been transformed, and while we are not perfect in performance, our love is wholly set on Christ. Certainly sounds like a lofty goal, but John Wesley and his theological descendants certainly believe it is possible. Where many Methodists stop is looking back to where Wesley was inspired to understand this as the goal of the Christian life, and that comes from the Eastern Orthodox position of theosis. Similar in end, theosis, or deification, where the believer achieves unification or the likeness of God.
Now, this might seem like too much for some, and I certainly get it. But if we look at the Biblical data, we see that ultimately the goal of the Christian life is to look like Jesus. To be His image bearer. While sin entered the world and broke us, Christ in what He has done has paved the way for us to do what we were originally created to do: embody His character and co-create within His good creation.
But if this is the actual goal of the Christian life, how have we gotten to where we are today? Well, in my estimation, much of our discipleship material is decidedly more informational and training based than it is anything else. Fundamentally what we have forgotten is the Christian faith is not a set of ideas you are convinced of and believe. It is a way of life that you embody and engage the world with. It has been a product of post-enlightenment philosophy that has relegated personal belief and faith to a set of ideas, and not an all-encompassing way of life.
When we look at the Old Testament, through to the first centuries of the Church we see not people changing where they go on weekends, but a fundamentally different way of life. And in losing this way of thinking, we have forgotten how to do discipleship. Not because we don’t love Christ, or love people. But because we are limiting something that is supposed to have full reign of our entire being, and turned it into a training program.
So all this being said, what does ancient discipleship look like? It can be boiled down to two primary pillars. Spiritual Disciplines, and the Means of Grace.
Richard Foster describes spiritual disciplines as practices that help us draw closer to Christ and experience spiritual freedom, not as ends in themselves. They are the actions that through encountering Christ in the build up our character and relationship with Christ to know Him more. Practices such as prayer, reading, fasting, silence, giving, worship, celebration and more. I highly encourage people to read Foster’s book, Celebration of Discipline. This classic lays out the forms and flow of the main Christian disciples that make up the Christian way of life.
More than just building up our lives, spiritual disciplines are also essential because they ultimately form what we love. Through repeated and intentional action, doing these things form and shape our minds and lives in a certain way. We are creatures of habit, and when we get set in a way of doing things, it is part of what makes us who we are. So by daily participating in spiritual disciples, we encounter Christ, and we also shape our lives around Him.
Means of Grace as traditionally understood in the Christian faith, and in Methodism are those ways by which God imparts His grace to the believer. Grace is easily understood often as two different things. Unmerited grace and also divine enablement. It is the latter especially that is important here. Because we know as humans we are unable to do what we are called to as followers of Christ in our own strength (or at least I know I can’t!), there are certain ways Christ has promised as channels through which the Holy Spirit endows and bestows His strength and enablement.
With this the first question is, “can’t the Holy Spirit do that without a specific physical means?” Sure He can. But what the Christian faith has always believed is that stuff matters. We are not totally disembodied, and our encounters with God are not just subjective, internal experiences where we meet Him. We are physical beings as much as we are spiritual beings. We cannot get away from stuff, and to disconnect the two is an unfortunate recent trend in particularly the Evangelical world that smacks of a tacit gnosticism that disdains the physical.
It does not mean that God cannot and does not meet us in times of prayer, singing, silence or in hearing the Word. He certainly does do all of those things! But we can never forget that He has also, through His Church, ordained and established various physical means that we know by faith we encounter Him and receive His grace.
Of course there are the Sacraments (which we will talk about in a moment). But there are also other means of grace that are not Sacraments that people have seen how Christ endows His enablement to His followers. Mattox, in his book Responsible Grace, has quite a list of those non-Sacraments means of grace that Wesley recognized. In more traditional expressions of the Church these are called sacramentals. Other means from the Sacraments that grace is given.
The two Sacraments the Protestant world recognizes (I talk about them HERE) are those of Baptism and the Eucharist (Communion/the Lord’s Supper). In Baptism, the initiatory Sacrament there is grace conveyed to the believer as Christ, not the baptized is the primary actor and agent (See St. Paul in Colossians speak about Baptism). The specific effects of the grace conveyed at Baptism are discussed, debated and understood differently. John Wesley spoke about sinning away his baptism by the age of 10 or 12. But what is undisputed is that Baptism brings the person into the Church, and they are given grace, whether they are an infant or a newly converted adult.
The second of course is the Table. The pinnacle and high point of Christian worship universally for the first 1500 years of the faith, and still for much of the Church in our day. Celebrating Communion is not just a remembrance of what Christ has done, but is also a reception of the benefits of His work on the cross. It is here that we encounter Jesus as both the host of the feast, and as the meal itself. Just as the consumption of the Passover Lamb was an essential part of being saved, likewise in the consuming of the perfect Paschal Lamb, we too receive grace and our salvation as we eat and drink in faith.
It is these two things, the spiritual disciplines and the means of grace that a Christian is discipled. The disciplines are like a lattice that is built. It is a structure or a framework of the Christian life. And then through the means of grace, that life grows, is nourished and eventually fruit is produced. What distinguishes this understanding of discipleship from more modern forms we often see is that this is life encompassing, not just for a time on Sunday and sometime else during the week.
The spiritual disciples are elements we should build our days around. Morning, Midday, Evening & Compline prayer as the traditional offices of the Church provide an opportunity to keep our hearts and minds on the goodness of God, and our ever need for His help. Regular reading and studying of Scripture keep us in constant understanding of the person of Jesus Christ that Holy Scripture points us to. Fasting empties us of our physical strength so that we can better rely on His strength. These, and the other spiritual disciplines construct and formulate our lives around a life knowing it is for God, and God alone that we live. Rather than the modern secular practice of fitting our faith in our life as another thing, classic Christian discipleship recognizes life is truly lived the other way around. We construct our lives around the truth of the world as explained and lived out in the Christian faith.
Then, as that structure is being built we are then nourished by the means of grace. Yes, the spiritual disciples in and of themselves are also offered as means by which Christ, through the Holy Spirit gives His graces to us, and then it is with these others, especially the Lord’s Table that we are nourished. If the spiritual disciples are common means of grace, the Lord’s Supper is as John Wesly called it “the grand channel of God’s grace.” It is not just one among many of the ways God gives His grace to us, but is the primary ordained way in which we encounter the Spirit and are enabled and empowered for the Christian life.
Sure, other kinds of studies, small groups and opportunities for learning the nuts and bolts of the faith are essential and important, but they must be done in conjunction and subject to the work of how the Church has always discipled new believers. Not just by being informational, but first transformational through spiritual disciplines and the means of grace, and then build up with information.
by Joel V Webb | Jun 5, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters, Review, Sacraments, Theology & Practice
What is reality? And if we have lost the picture of it in the Christian context, how do we return?
This question and more are handled by Zachary Porcu in this very easy to read and understand, yet deeply profound book. While coming from an Eastern Orthodox perspective, the nature of the topic is still immensely applicable to any believer in any context.
Out of the gate, Porcu sets the stage of where we are currently at. For the most part, many in Western Christianity while truly believing in Christ as Lord and Savior, are in every other respect, functioning secular materialists in their worldview and theology. One thing I have appreciated as I have studied the Eastern Orthodox world more is their intention in ensuring that the way we understand and experience reality is in line with the ancient worldview of the early Church rather than the development that culminates from 19th Century German philosophy. This way of seeing the world does not delineate between the spiritual and the physical as we are so use to. Instead, these two realities are intertwined in an inseparable way that was commonly understood in the ancient world, and by the first followers of Christ.
This way of looking at things has led to many unintended consequences. Rather than seeing how Christ may work in a comprehensive way in all things, we either find ourselves in a tug of war between Christ working individually through salvation, or through society to being about the perfect recreation as He intended. This tension between what can be boiled down to the political left and right, are ultimately incorrect in their ultimate assessment, because again, they are looking at the world, and her problems through the lens as a modern secular materialist.
So what is the answer?
Sacramental Christianity. This word might scare some who come from low-liturgy backgrounds, or have fundamentalist tendencies. Porcu makes the excellent point that the way God now, following the ascension of Christ and the coming of the Holy Spirit does not just interact with us in a spirit-to-spirit way, as many in the modern west act. Because of the incarnation, God coming in the flesh, that means that He also interacts through what we would call the physical, and this is through sacrament.
Rather than just looking for that “feel good moment”, sacramental Christianity is about knowing that God works through the means of Grace He has instituted in the Church. The primary focus of this is of course Eucharist (Communion, or the Lord’s Supper). As we journey to understanding the Christian faith is more than just a set of beliefs, but a participation in an ongoing story, we then see how we are empowered to follow Christ as we engage in the life of the Church.
Now, I will note, Porcu does list the seven primary sacraments of the Orthodox faith. As a Protestant, I affirm the two sacraments of Baptism & Eucharist. Yet, I do believe that the others on the list may provide similar sacramental benefit, as they are all involved in engaging us in receiving from Christ.
Through the book he uses a simple analogy. Being a electrical unit that needs plugged in to work. At baptism, the believer is plugged into the wall. And then as we participate in sacrament through the life of the Church (primarily Eucharist) it is the electricity that flows to power us. This can help us see the ongoing work of Christ in our lives, rather than always focusing on the one time salvation experience that we are trained to look for.
The focus of Sacramental Christianity is to retrain our minds and worldview, to see existence as the early followers of Jesus would have. Rather than being dulled by materialism and secularism, we are awakened again to a world charged with the presence of God, where heaven and earth are not competing realms but interpenetrating realities. This shift is not merely intellectual—it is deeply formative. It calls us not just to think differently, but to live differently, to recover practices that reorient our desires, our worship, and our understanding of what it means to be human. In many ways, this is a call to repentance at the level of imagination—a turning away from a flattened, disenchanted view of the world toward one that is alive with meaning, mystery, and divine presence.
Porcu’s strength is in his ability to take what could be an abstract philosophical and theological discussion and ground it in the lived experience of the Church. He is not simply arguing for a different framework; he is inviting the reader into a different way of inhabiting reality. That invitation is both challenging and hopeful. Challenging, because it requires us to unlearn deeply ingrained assumptions shaped by modernity—assumptions that have quietly catechized us into seeing faith as private, inward, and largely disconnected from the material world. Hopeful, because it offers a more coherent and holistic vision of the Christian life—one that refuses to reduce salvation to a moment or faith to mere cognition, but instead presents it as an ongoing participation in the life of God.
One of the most helpful contributions of the book is how it exposes the inadequacy of the categories we often use to talk about Christian life and mission. The common dichotomy between “personal salvation” and “social transformation” begins to break down when viewed through a sacramental lens. In a sacramental worldview, Christ is not working in competition between individual hearts and societal structures, but is redeeming and restoring all things in and through His Body, the Church. This reframing helps dissolve some of the ideological tensions that have come to define much of modern Christianity, particularly in the West. What we often interpret as theological disagreement may, at a deeper level, be the result of a shared but unexamined commitment to a secularized understanding of reality.
For those in pastoral ministry, especially within low-church or revivalist traditions, this book serves as a helpful corrective without being unnecessarily polemical. It does not caricature Protestantism, nor does it demand an abandonment of evangelical convictions. Instead, it gently but persistently presses us to consider whether those convictions have been unintentionally narrowed by a secular framework. It asks whether our emphasis on conversion, for example, has been detached from incorporation into a sacramental community, or whether our understanding of grace has been reduced to an internal experience rather than a lived, embodied reality mediated through the Church.
Why this book matters for Protestants
For Protestant readers in particular, Journey to Reality is valuable not because it argues for Eastern Orthodoxy, but because it exposes a blind spot many of us have inherited. Much of Protestant theology, especially in its modern expressions, has been filtered through post-Enlightenment assumptions that subtly reshape how we read Scripture, understand salvation, and practice the Christian life. The result is often a sincere but truncated faith—rich in conviction, yet thin in sacramental depth and cosmic vision.
Porcu’s work helps Protestants recover categories that are not foreign to our tradition, but foundational to it. The Reformers themselves held a robust view of the means of grace, even where they disagreed with Rome or the East on their number and nature. John Wesley, in particular, spoke of the sacraments as “ordinary channels” through which God conveys grace—language that resonates strongly with the vision Porcu presents. In this sense, the book can serve as a retrieval tool, helping Protestants reconnect with aspects of their own theological heritage that have been neglected or overshadowed.
Additionally, this book provides a needed corrective to the tendency toward individualism that pervades much of Protestant practice. By emphasizing participation in the life of the Church, it calls believers out of a purely personal or privatized faith and into a communal, embodied reality. This is not a denial of personal conversion, but a deepening of it—situating it within the ongoing life of worship, sacrament, and discipleship.
It also challenges the reduction of faith to intellectual assent or emotional experience. In many Protestant contexts, the Christian life is often measured by what one knows or feels. Porcu redirects attention to what God is objectively doing through the Church, inviting believers to trust in and submit to those means of grace even when subjective experience fluctuates. This can be especially grounding in seasons of doubt, dryness, or spiritual fatigue.
Perhaps most importantly, Journey to Reality helps Protestants see that recovering a sacramental worldview does not require abandoning core commitments to Scripture, justification by faith, or the authority of the gospel. Rather, it invites a fuller integration of those commitments into a way of life that takes seriously the Incarnation—that God works not only through words and ideas, but through matter, bodies, and created realities.
In that sense, the book is not a threat to Protestant identity, but an invitation to deepen it.
In that sense, Journey to Reality can function as a bridge text—helping Protestants recover a richer sacramental imagination without requiring full agreement with every aspect of Eastern Orthodox theology. As someone who affirms two sacraments rather than seven, I still found Porcu’s broader point compelling: that God’s grace is not limited to internal or invisible means, but is communicated through tangible, embodied practices that shape us over time. Even where there is theological disagreement, there is still much to be gained by wrestling with the vision he presents.
Another notable strength is the accessibility of the book. Porcu avoids overly technical language without sacrificing depth. His use of analogy—particularly the image of being “plugged in” at baptism and continually energized through participation in the sacramental life of the Church—is simple but effective. It provides a helpful way of understanding the continuity of the Christian life, pushing back against the tendency to overemphasize a one-time decision while neglecting the ongoing means by which God sustains and transforms His people.
This also has significant pastoral implications. In many of our contexts, believers struggle with assurance, spiritual dryness, or a sense that their faith is stagnant. A sacramental framework offers a different approach. Rather than constantly looking inward for evidence of spiritual vitality or chasing emotional experiences, it directs us outward—to the concrete means of grace given to the Church. It roots the Christian life not in fluctuating feelings, but in the steady, objective work of God through Word and sacrament.
At a broader level, Porcu’s work invites us to reconsider what we mean by “reality” itself. If reality is fundamentally sacramental—if it is created and sustained by God, and continually bearing His presence—then the Christian life is not about escaping the world, nor merely managing it better. It is about rightly perceiving it and rightly participating in it. This has implications not only for worship, but for ethics, vocation, and daily life. Work, relationships, creation care, and even suffering can be reinterpreted within a framework where God is actively present and at work.
Of course, readers from different traditions will engage the book in different ways. Some may find certain claims overstated or wish for more nuance in areas of theological disagreement. Others may feel a tension between Porcu’s presentation and their own ecclesial commitments. Yet even where one does not fully agree, the central thrust of the book remains valuable. It raises questions that many of us have not been trained to ask, and it challenges assumptions that have long gone unquestioned.
Ultimately, Porcu reminds us that Christianity is not simply about escaping the world or fixing it through purely human means. It is about participation in the life of God, made available to us through Christ, and continually mediated by the Spirit through the life of the Church. To return to reality, then, is to return to this participatory vision—to see, receive, and live in a world where God is truly present and at work, not just in extraordinary moments, but in the ordinary rhythms of sacramental life.
This is a short book, but it carries weight far beyond its length. It is accessible enough for the average church member, yet substantive enough to provoke deeper theological reflection and meaningful pastoral application. I would especially recommend it to pastors, teachers, and thoughtful laypeople who sense that something is missing in the way faith is often practiced in the modern West. For those willing to engage it seriously, Journey to Reality offers not just a critique, but a path forward—a way of recovering a fuller, richer, and more faithful vision of the Christian life.
by Joel V Webb | May 28, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters, Theology & Practice
I think all of us are familiar with the words of Christ from Matthew 7:20, “Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.” We all understand what is being presented, what we produce tells us what we are all about. This too can be said about the kind of disciple that the Church produces. A great example of this is to just look at someone’s pet. So often, the type of person someone is can be seen in their pet. How are they trained, are they skittish, aggressive, shy etc…
My hope is that this is all of our goals in life. The purpose of the Christian life is to be the image of God. To do what we were created to do and look like our creator. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition this theology goes under the name of theosis, “becoming like God”, or “deification.” In my own Methodist tradition we call this Entire Sanctification, or Perfect Love, where the love of Christ is made so thoroughly in us that while we are not perfect in our performance (still being a fallible human), our love, intention or bent has been wholly shaped towards Christ.
This goal, I believe, is the fullness of the Christian life. Not some shallow “fire insurance” joke, where we just skip outta going to hell, but the actual purpose or telos of our creation, to be like the one who made us and loves us. And, by extension of all of this, I believe that this is the mission of the Church. That above everything else is to produce saints—those that look like Christ.
A particular practice that I have picked up last year, when talking about certain people from the Bible and Church history, is to use the honorific “Saint” in front of their name. This title recognizes how that person imaged Christ through thick or thin, and set an example for all of us as to how to follow Jesus no matter what. The fruit of their lives is that they are remembered and known as a saint, one who became like Christ.
The Church is not called to produce leaders as its primary end, but saints, and that distinction shapes everything about how we do ministry.
But what happens when we in the Church forget what we are about? What do we forget, whether in language or action, our purpose and mission? Sure, we know we are to produce something, but what? In recent months I have been confronted with the tacit proposition that our goal is to produce leaders, and it is then through those leaders who produce disciples. For those who have the vision to produce leaders who then make other leaders and disciples, I have no question of their motives. They love Christ and love His Church, and have the best of intentions to grow the Kingdom. They want to see a next generation embrace following Christ and spreading the Gospel to a world in desperate need of His healing.
Where the disconnect comes in is how we go about doing it. There’s a lesson for us to be learned in our day. The methods of leadership development, coaching, advertising and structuring look attractive. They work in the business world, shouldn’t they work in the Church? But the question we need to ask is not, “do they work”, but rather, “is this what we should be doing?”
I spent time in the real estate world in the area of development. I’ve attended countless leadership development and coaching sessions, conferences and seminars all about building your sphere of influence, inspirational ability, sales pipeline, talking points and the like. Those things work, and they are good when you are trying to sell something. These events are crafted for the sake of moving people towards the skills they need to do their work well. And it does work. But is it for us in the Church?
We in the Church are in a completely different sort of work. We don’t sell. Through Christ we shepherd immortal souls. We are not out there trying to invigorate people to get excited about the next initiative. We are called to faithfully preach the Word, and administer the sacraments, knowing that through the power of the Holy Spirit we will be transformed to look like Christ.
During the height of Norse pagan conquest of Anglo-Saxon England, it was the missionary work out of Iona and Lindisfarne on Holy Island from faithful servants like St. Columba and St. Aidan that saw the ravaged land of England and boldly took the Gospel, slowly but surely reconquering the land for Christ as it had once been. These missionary monks were from Ireland, and had been trained by those influenced by St. Patrick, who himself had been from Roman Britain and went and evangelized and converted Ireland for the Gospel.
The entire time, their work was something totally unlike that of how those around them were conquering. While the pagan Vikings conquered England by the sword, these monks emulated Christ and boldly proclaimed the Gospel, even if it meant their death.
It is totally understandable. The Western world is tough right now for the Church, especially denominations. And I am not in a position of leadership outside of my local parish, so I don’t fully understand the perspective or the pressures. But what I do know is the difference in the work we are doing. Yes, we need structures and processes. We need to plan and strategize. But how we in the Church go about that is not acting as if we are dealing with a business that sells widgets and gadgets. Our task is good stewardship in what we have been blessed with. But the product of our work is not leaders or initiatives. It is saints.
How we go about the work of the Kingdom matters—not just that we are doing the work. Sure, we can dress up business models, leadership pipelines and development, growth initiatives and the like. And they might work for a time. We might see raging success and things happen. But in the end, is that work producing results…or is it producing saints? I firmly believe the Church is called to multiply and grow. Yet, the question sits in my mind: what are we multiplying, and how are we doing it?
Leadership is not the telos of the Church; sainthood is. Leaders may be necessary, even beneficial, but they are not the end for which the Body of Christ exists. The Church is not called to produce influence, scale, or organizational success, but to form people who bear the image of Christ in holiness and love. Leadership, rightly understood, emerges as a byproduct of sanctification; those conformed to Christ will often guide and shepherd others. But when leadership itself becomes the goal, we risk substituting competence for communion and effectiveness for faithfulness. The true measure of the Church is not how many leaders it raises up, but whether it is forming saints whose lives radiate the life of God.
When we forget to see the ends to which we are called, we can get lost in the means of going about it. When we get sidetracked by the methods and structures of how someone else operates and try to import it into our world, we start losing the plot to why we even exist. Sure, St. Aidan and St. Columba could have inspired the reconquest of England by Christians. But they knew that wasn’t their way of going about things. They embraced that their task was souls.
We are called to that same task today.
by Joel V Webb | Apr 16, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters, Theology & Practice
Whenever we open up the book of Revelation we immediately put on the glasses of “THE END OF THE WORLD!”, and in doing so we interpret everything that St. John writes is speaking to some future event(s) that will happen in a certain way. And while yes, there certainly are parts of Revelation yet to happen (in my view we are in-between chp. 20 & 21) that have yet to take place at the final consummation and the restoration of Eden throughout the whole world as we who are redeemed are raised to life in new resurrected bodies..
But what if in only at looking at Revelation this way is actually pigeon-holing the vision that St. John received. That by assigning only future value to what is written in the words of the strangest and most mis-understood book in Scripture we are missing out on the beauty and strength that the Holy Spirit has for the Church as we continue as faithful workers in the harvest field until He comes again?
I propose, rather than seeing the images as just future events, we instead look at Revelation as a rallying call for us here and now. Not just as a description of events in the first-century back then, or a future-century ahead of us…but rather as an immensely captivating stained-glass kaleidoscope of what we as believers living here and now are called to participate in. Revelation is not just an image of the end, but actually of the beginning that started in Acts 2 and carries on to us today through to Christ’s coming again.
The picture that St. John paints are not of literal future literal bowls, trumpets, beasts and destruction; but rather as prophetic and otherworldly icon of the worship of the Church as we join in endless worship of the Creator, Sustainer and Savior. The call to this kind of worship is to be faithful in the face of whatever the devil and world throw our way. Not as a get outta dodge at the last moment.
The Throne and Living Creatures
Revelation 4:2-11 (NIV) – At once I was in the Spirit, and there before me was a throne in heaven with someone sitting on it. And the one who sat there had the appearance of jasper and ruby. A rainbow that shone like an emerald encircled the throne. 4 Surrounding the throne were twenty-four other thrones, and seated on them were twenty-four elders. They were dressed in white and had crowns of gold on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, rumblings and peals of thunder. In front of the throne, seven lamps were blazing. These are the seven spirits of God. Also in front of the throne there was what looked like a sea of glass, clear as crystal. In the center, around the throne, were four living creatures, and they were covered with eyes, in front and in back. The first living creature was like a lion, the second was like an ox, the third had a face like a man, the fourth was like a flying eagle. Each of the four living creatures had six wings and was covered with eyes all around, even under its wings. Day and night they never stop saying: “‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,’ who was, and is, and is to come.” Whenever the living creatures give glory, honor and thanks to him who sits on the throne and who lives for ever and ever, 10 the twenty-four elders fall down before him who sits on the throne and worship him who lives for ever and ever. They lay their crowns before the throne and say: “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.”
Imagine the transcendent majesty of God’s throne, resplendent in jasper, carnelian, and an emerald rainbow encircling its glory, surrounded by a vast crystal sea and flashes of lightning that proclaim His eternal power. At its center stand the four living creatures, lion, ox, man, and eagle (the 4 images associated with each of the Gospel accounts), covered with eyes signifying divine omniscience, each with six wings veiling their forms as they ceaselessly intone, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!” In reverent response, the twenty-four elders, clothed in white robes and bearing golden crowns, prostrate themselves, casting their crowns before the throne while declaring, “Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created.” The early church fathers, such as Irenaeus, interpreted these creatures as emblematic of animated creation itself, representing noble wildness, faithful servitude, rational humanity, and swift spiritual insight, united in perpetual praise around the divine presence. This vision models the Church’s priestly vocation: vigilant, Trinitarian doxology that shapes our earthly liturgy, inviting believers today to join heaven’s ceaseless anthem with eyes attuned to God’s holiness amid the world’s distractions.
The Slain Lamb
Revelation 5:6-14 (NIV) – Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders. The Lamb had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of him who sat on the throne. And when he had taken it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each one had a harp and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of God’s people. And they sang a new song, saying: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth.” Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they were saying: “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying: “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praised and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!” The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
From this sovereign scene emerges the Lamb, standing as though slain yet radiant with seven horns of perfect power and seven eyes, the seven Spirits of God, taking the sealed scroll from the right hand of Him who sits upon the throne. Instantly, myriads upon myriads of angels encircle in thunderous acclaim: “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” Their voices swell as every creature in heaven and on earth, under the earth and in the sea, echoes back eternal “Amen,” while elders and living beings fall prostrate in clouds of incense-filled worship. Early interpreters like Victorinus of Pettau regarded this as the unveiled mystery of the gospel following Christ’s Incarnation, where the Lamb’s sacrificial triumph shifts creation’s praise from Creator alone to the Redeemer who conquers through blood. This Christocentric liturgy typifies the Church as the Lamb’s Bride, empowered to sing the “new song” of salvation in our sacraments; it calls us to Eucharistic participation today, savoring redemption’s foretaste and anticipating the great marriage supper of the Lamb in heavenly consummation.
The Global Multitude
Revelation 7:9-17 (NIV) – After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice:“Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” All the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell down on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying: “Amen! Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God for ever and ever. Amen!” Then one of the elders asked me, “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?” I answered, “Sir, you know.” And he said, “These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore, “they are before the throne of God and serve him day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence. ‘Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them,’ nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; ‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’ ‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’”
Before the throne and Lamb appears a great multitude that no one could number, drawn from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing robed in white with palm branches of triumph, their voices united in exultation: “Salvation belongs to our God who sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb!” Angels, elders, and living creatures encircle them, ascribing blessing, glory, wisdom, thanksgiving, honor, power, and might forevermore, revealing the blood-washed throng eternally shepherded, hungering and thirsting no more beside the river of life. The patristic tradition, linking this to Ezekiel’s life-giving river and Pentecost’s tongues of fire, understood it as the sealed Church emerging victorious through tribulation, the full harvest of souls waving palms in eschatological joy. This image embodies our present calling as a diverse priesthood in creation: conformed to heavenly citizenship now, our worship becomes a defiant conqueror amid chaos, embodying Pentecost’s promise until the final victory when every knee bows and every tongue confesses the Lamb’s reign.
A Call to Worship
These three prophetic images of the throne’s living creatures chanting Holy, holy, holy, the slain Lamb receiving universal blessing, and the global multitude waving palms in victory offer just a glimpse of the breathtaking beauty the Holy Spirit unveils through St. John. They reveal Christ’s Church, from the Spirit’s outpouring at Pentecost in Acts 2 to His glorious return in Revelation 22, perpetually joined in cosmic worship of the Lamb who was slain yet now reigns victorious forever on heaven’s throne.
Read Revelation this way; as Sacred Scripture truly intends and the glasses of fear and end-times dread shatter. In their place rises wonder, enchantment, and holy awe at God’s matchless beauty who He is: the Creator enthroned, rainbow-girded, eyes ever watchful. And what He’s done: redeeming us through the Lamb’s blood to sing the new song with every creature in sea and sky. This vision doesn’t paralyze; it propels. Our worship becomes defiant Hallelujahs! amid tribulation’s seals, trumpets, and bowls, faithful labor in the harvest fields where souls still ripen for the kingdom. We preview the throne-room marriage feast, robed in white, palms raised, as the Bride made ready.
Church, this is our calling now: to live these heavenly patterns on earth. Next week: How is Revelation’s worship reflected when you gather to hear the Word, receive the Sacraments and go into the world as a faithful witness of Christ our Lord?
by Joel V Webb | Apr 1, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters
Teachers in Christ’s church wield the sacred Scriptures with immense responsibility. As James soberly warns, “Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (James 3:1, NET). A couple Scripture examples we will look at are Ezekiel 37, Acts 2, and John 7:38, that could be used more as launchpads for personal application than anchors in their biblical storyline. These verses, ripped from context, morphed into endorsements for declaring miracles, forcing revival, and tapping prosperity. The presentation may be compelling, yes, but faithful? That is the question we must press with great care: Does this approach honor the original author’s intent to his immediate audience, and God’s timeless purpose for His covenant people?
Ezekiel 37: Dry Bones as Proof Text for Personal Decrees?
“God told Ezekiel to prophesy to dry bones, so now you speak life to your business, your marriage, your kids!” Ezekiel 37 flashes on the screen, fueling urgent calls to command outcomes through bold declarations. It stirs hope in the hearers, no doubt. But rewind to Judah’s desperate world in 593 BC. Ezekiel, himself exiled in Babylon, addresses a defeated nation doubting any return from divine judgment for their idolatry (Ezek. 36:31-32). The valley of bones symbolizes national death after Jerusalem’s catastrophic fall, not individual pep talks for modern challenges. God alone breathes life into the scene: “I will put breath in you” (v. 5, NET), promising restoration to the covenant land as a witness to the nations (vv. 21-28).
The prophet obeyed a direct vision from the Lord (v. 1), not some freelance exercise of faith. For Judah, this foretold both physical return from exile and spiritual renewal under a new covenant with heart-surgery from God (Ezek. 36:26), all as His sovereign act, culminating ultimately in Christ who calls the dead to life (John 5:25-29).
Yanking Ezekiel for “speak life” formulas skips entirely over God’s righteous judgment on idolatry and His gracious initiative in restoration. What God meant for His people: Trust Yahweh’s faithfulness to restore Israel, pointing forward to the Messiah’s greater valley-conquest over sin and death.
Acts 2: Pentecost as Revival Blueprint?
“Acts 2 shows us, pray, tarry, tongues, fire! Do this to break revival’s dam in our region.” It sounds powerful and practical. But step into 30 AD Jerusalem for the full picture. Post-resurrection, 120 disciples awaited the promised Spirit (Acts 1:4-5), fulfilling Joel 2 for last-days witness to the ends of the earth (Acts 2:17-21). The event arrives “suddenly” from heaven (v. 2, NET), with no human technique dictating the timing. Peter’s sermon indicts Israel’s sin, exalts the crucified Jesus as Lord and Christ (vv. 22-36), yielding 3,000 baptisms into a repentant, sharing community (vv. 41-47).
The broader context matters deeply: Israel’s feast of harvest (Lev. 23:15-21), reversing Babel’s division (Gen. 11) for a global gospel advance. This was not a repeatable strategy for regional breakthroughs, but the birth of the Church, now God’s chosen people to bear His image to the world.
Treating Acts 2 as a checklist ignores Pentecost’s once-for-all inauguration of the kingdom age. God’s point to His people: The Spirit empowers witnesses of the crucified Messiah amid opposition, building one holy nation called out from the world (1 Pet. 2:9).
John 7:38: Living Waters as Prosperity Rivers?
“Out of your belly flow rivers!” , tying it to Eden’s gold-laden stream (Gen. 2:11). Activate your spirit-man for healing, joy, “financial prosperity,” we’re urged. It invigorates the listeners. But John 7 unfolds at the Feast of Tabernacles (v. 2), where Jesus cries out amid the water-pouring rite symbolizing future blessing (Zech. 14:8). To the thirsty believer, He says, “Come to me” (v. 37). Those rivers? The Spirit poured out on parched Israel post-exile, as living water quenching ultimate thirst (Isa. 44:3; Jer. 2:13), fulfilled at the crucifixion when blood and water flow from His side (John 19:34).
John’s Gospel frames Jesus as the new temple (John 2:21), the new exodus rock (John 4:14). No Eden gold here; eternal life fuels mission (John 20:21).
Morphing “rivers” into wealth or positive outcomes skips Jesus’ immediate audience: skeptical Jews needing the true Messiah amid temple ritual. God’s design for His people: Spirit from the smitten Rock (1 Cor. 10:4) quenches soul-thirst, equips disciples for witness.
Patristic Exegesis: Context as Safeguard Against Distortion
The church fathers modeled contextual exegesis with unwavering commitment, ensuring Scripture’s unity across its grand narrative of creation, fall, redemption, and consummation. Augustine, in his City of God, unpacked Ezekiel 37 not as a technique for personal breakthroughs, but as eschatological hope for bodily resurrection, a promise shadowed in Israel’s restoration yet fully realized in Christ’s empty tomb and our future glorification. He warned against those who “twist” texts to fit private interpretations, urging readers to trace prophecies through salvation history (City of God, Book XX).
Chrysostom’s Homilies on Acts delve deeply into Pentecost’s historical moment: Peter’s sermon as bold apologetics amid ridicule, the Spirit’s outpouring fulfilling Old Testament feasts while launching the church against temple-centric Judaism. He stressed the sermon’s Christocentric thrust—crucifixion, resurrection, lordship—not a formulaic repeat, but a divine pattern for preaching repentance in every generation. For Chrysostom, ignoring this context reduced the Spirit to a tool for spectacle rather than the sanctifier of God’s new covenant people.
Origen, the Alexandrian scholar, laid foundational principles in On First Principles: Begin with the literal-historical sense—Ezekiel’s vision amid Babylonian exile, Pentecost at Passover’s close—before ascending to spiritual typology. He critiqued Gnostics who detached verses for esoteric secrets, insisting the Spirit illuminates Scripture’s cohesive storyline, with Christ as its scarlet thread. John 7’s rivers, for Origen, evoked baptismal grace filling the church as new Israel, not individual material gain (Commentary on John).
Irenaeus championed recapitulation: All Scripture converges in Christ’s person and work. Ezekiel’s dry bones recast Adam’s fall, revived by the second Adam; Acts 2 fulfills the prophets for Jew and Gentile alike; John’s waters reverse Eden’s curse through the Word-made-flesh (Against Heresies). These fathers echoed Paul’s charge in 2 Timothy 2:15: “rightly handling the word of truth,” handling it as a unified tapestry where exile foreshadows cross, Pentecost ignites mission, and living water satisfies eternal thirst.
When preachers pluck verses free from this arc, of covenant judgment and mercy, Israel’s story fulfilled in Jesus, we forfeit God’s intended medicine for His people: humility before sovereignty, mission amid weakness, hope beyond this age.
Demand Faithful Interpretation
Paul urged earnestly: “Test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thess. 5:21, NET). The Bereans did this in Acts, and we must do the same today.
Ask your teacher these vital questions:
- Do they frame texts in redemptive history, or pluck them for punchlines?
- Do they honor the author’s audience and intent, or overlay modern wants?
- Do they trace promises to Christ as fulfillment, or freeze them in isolation?
- Do they echo fathers’ contextual depth, or skim the surface for effect?
Nicene exegetes preserved storyline unity: Old foreshadows New. Distortion fractures it irreparably.
Jesus rebuked the Sadducees: “You err, not knowing the Scriptures nor the power of God” (Matt. 22:29, NET). Fruits of decontextualized texts? Self-focused faith, fleeting excitement. Or humble obedience, Christ-centered hope enduring forever?
Church, probe graciously, steadfastly. Rally to expositors stewarding context with care. The true gospel thrives in the story’s full arc, grace weaving exile to glory, Christ our exile’s end.
by Joel V Webb | Mar 31, 2026 | Orthodoxy Matters, Theology & Practice
What sort of benefits does the cross of Christ provide us?
It certainly is an appropriate question to ask as we are just days away from Good Friday and Easter. Jesus died on the cross, something happened, and now because of it things are different for us. Throughout Church history there certainly have been a variety of understandings of that what, and for the most part they have been fairly consistent with each other. But something happened in the 20th century that provided a very different spin on what the work of Christ means for us in this life, and the next.
Any Christian who affirms the Nicene Creeds affirms that the work of Christ is for the forgiveness of our sins. Because Christ took our sins, we receive the blessing and benefit of having them no longer on us. Now we have to ask the question: what does that look like and mean? Classically, that question has been answered by the Church as proclaiming that we now receive new life, free from the curse through and because of Christ that enables us to become like Him in a way that was not possible before His once for all sacrifice.
The early Christian witness is remarkably unified: the cross is the place where God’s love, justice, and mercy converge. Paul writes, “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor 5:21). In Colossians he adds that God has “forgiven us all our trespasses, having canceled the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross” (Col 2:13–14, ESV). The cross, then, is the hinge of both forgiveness and new creation. We are no longer under the curse of the law, yet we are not left to drift into easy moral license; instead, we are placed into a new story—death to sin, life in Christ, formation into holiness.
The Church Fathers amplify this picture. St. Irenaeus speaks of Christ as the “last Adam” who recapitulates human life, summing up and redeeming every stage of our fallen history so that “what Adam rendered a slave he might make lord” (cf. Adv. Haer. 5.1.1). The cross is the definitive act through which Christ undoes the pride of the first Adam and restores human nature to communion with God. St. Augustine, writing in the 4th–5th century, similarly stresses that the cross is the place where God’s love and righteousness coincide: the innocent Son bears the punishment we deserve, and in that very act love is shown to be greater than our sin. As he puts it in one of his sermons, the cross bends the head to kiss us, extends the arms to embrace us, and opens the heart to receive us.
St. John Chrysostom, preaching in the 4th century, declares that the cross is not only the salvation of the Church but also “the boast of those who hope in it” (cf. his homilies on the Cross). For him, the cross frees us from enmity with God, breaks the authority of the devil, and delivers us from death and destruction. Through the cross, he says, we learn piety, discover the true nature of God, and are taught to die for others as Christ first died for us. In this ancient vision, the cross is never a mere event in the past; it is the living center of a transformed life and a reconciled world.
But in the 20th century, a new story attached itself to the cross. The so‑called “prosperity gospel” teaches that Christ’s death purchased not only spiritual salvation, but also material abundance, physical health, and social success. In this way of thinking, the atonement covers not just sin and guilt, but also poverty, sickness, and misfortune. Advocates of this view claim that if you have faith, give generously, and “confess” God’s promises, you will be rewarded with wealth, health, and a life free from suffering. The cross thus becomes less about reconciliation and more about a transaction in which God is obligated to grant earthly prosperity to those who “activate” their faith.
This message is a radical departure from Scripture. The apostles promise suffering, not immunity from it (Rom 8:17; 1 Pet 4:12–13). Jesus says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matt 16:24), not “follow me and I will guarantee you comfort.” Paul writes that “if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co‑heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory” (Rom 8:17). The New Testament repeatedly pits the way of the cross against the way of the world, warning that those who love money stand in danger of idolatry (1 Tim 6:10; cf. Matt 6:19–21).
The prosperity gospel also distorts the biblical doctrine of the Abrahamic covenant. It claims that believers are Abraham’s heirs and therefore entitled to material prosperity as part of God’s covenant blessing. But when Paul speaks of “the blessings of Abraham” falling on the Gentiles in Christ, he immediately explains that this blessing is the promise of the Spirit through faith (Gal 3:14). The covenant is fulfilled spiritually in reconciliation, adoption, and the indwelling of the Spirit, not primarily in bank accounts or real estate.
The Bible sounds a clear warning against the idolatry of wealth and the illusion that faith is a lever for acquiring it. Jesus warns that “no one can serve two masters… You cannot serve God and money” (Matt 6:24). The apostle John exhorts, “Little children, keep yourselves from idols” (1 John 5:21) a phrase that early Christian moralists read as a summons to flee the idolatry of greed. The pastoral letters likewise warn that the love of money is a root of many evils and can lead believers to wander from the faith (1 Tim 6:9–10). The Fathers echo these warnings. St. Augustine repeatedly warns against the “lust of the eyes” and the danger of treating wealth as a sign of God’s favor, pointing instead to the cross as the true mark of Christian identity. Likewise, St. John Chrysostom rails against the obsession with riches among his flock, urging them to see Christ crucified rather than Caesar adorned. For the Fathers, the cross is the final answer to the world’s false promises: it is the place where God exposes the emptiness of power, status, and wealth and offers something far greater: union with himself.
The prosperity gospel is not simply a different emphasis on the Christian life; it is a different gospel altogether. By teaching that the atonement guarantees material prosperity, it turns the relationship between God and human beings into a quid pro quo transaction: you give, you speak, you believe, and God must pay. This view undermines the very nature of grace, which is the unmerited favor of God. If prosperity is automatically attached to faith, then grace becomes a tool, and God becomes a kind of cosmic vending machine, programmed to dispense rewards when the right buttons are pressed. Moreover, the prosperity gospel misrepresents the nature of faith itself. The New Testament portrays faith as trust in the person and promises of Christ, not as a “spiritual force” that manipulates God. Yet many prosperity teachers speak of faith as a self‑generated power that can be harnessed to make God give. This is far removed from the Pauline picture of faith as the instrument by which we receive forgiveness, righteousness, and the Spirit (Gal 3:14; Eph 2:8–9). It is also alien to the apostolic view of prayer, which is directed to “Your will be done,” not to getting God to serve our desires (Matt 6:10; James 4:3).
The true gospel offers something more profound and lasting than the prosperity gospel’s glittering promises. The cross secures for us not an escape from suffering, but a share in the life of the risen Christ. St. Paul can write, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20). This is the heart of the gospel‑centered alternative: the Christian life is not about maximizing personal gain, but about being conformed to the image of Christ, even through the cross.
The cross brings us:
- Reconciliation with God: “We were reconciled to God by the death of his Son” (Rom 5:10) and “the Cross is the reconciliation of enemies to God” (Chrysostom).
- Deliverance from sin and death: the cross annuls the power of sin, breaks the hold of death, and unmasks the petty calculations of the devil.
- Sanctification and holiness: the Spirit is poured out on those who are joined to Christ, enabling us to walk in newness of life (Rom 6:4; Tit 3:5–7).
- Eternal inheritance: the cross is the pledge of resurrection and the promise of a new heavens and a new earth, where sorrow and pain will be no more (Rev 21:4).
For the Fathers, the cross is the icon of both God’s love and our vocation: it is the place where God stoops low enough to save, and where we are called to stoop low enough to serve. It is the standard raised against the world’s values, the pattern of true discipleship, and the guarantee of glory to come.
As we approach Good Friday and Easter, the prosperity gospel should not be our tutor. The cross did not come to make us rich by the world’s standards, but to make us heirs of God and joint‑heirs with Christ (Rom 8:17). It did not come to free us from suffering, but to give our suffering meaning by joining it to the body of the Crucified One. The benefits of the cross are spiritual, eternal, and relational: forgiveness, adoption, the Spirit, communion with God, and the hope of resurrection.
The true prosperity of the believer is to be like Jesus, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, to forgive as he forgave, and to hope as he hoped, even when the world calls it foolishness. As we walk toward the cross and the empty tomb, may we receive the cross’s real gifts, reject the false promises of the prosperity gospel, and live in the light of the one who, though rich, became poor for our sake, that we through his poverty might become truly rich in every way that matters (2 Cor 8:9).
