PAUL — THE REDEEMED TERRORIST

A Modern Parable of Misplaced Adoration and Misplaced Outrage

There are moments in Scripture when the Holy Spirit holds up a mirror, not to the ancient world, but to ours. And if we dare to look long enough, we begin to see that the human heart has not evolved. The crowds have not changed. The impulses of nations have not matured. The reflexes of mobs remain the same. And the pattern of misplaced adoration and misplaced outrage continues its ancient march through modern streets.

One of the clearest mirrors is the story of a man named Saul — a man the early church feared, avoided, whispered about, and prayed against. Scripture does not soften his reputation. It says plainly:

“Saul was breathing out threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” (Acts 9:1)

He was, by every definition of the word, a violent persecutor — a man who terrorized the early believers, dragging men and women from their homes, scattering the church, and standing proudly as Stephen was stoned. If the early church had a “most wanted” list, Saul’s face would have been on it.

And yet… God looked at this man and said something no one expected:

“He is a chosen vessel unto Me.” (Acts 9:15)

The crowd saw a threat. God saw an apostle. The believers saw a destroyer. God saw a deliverer. The church saw a terrorist. God saw a teacher of nations.

This is the scandal of grace — the holy reversal that confounds human judgment. God did not destroy Saul. He redeemed him. He did not silence him. He sent him. He did not judge him. He transformed him.

And the people who once feared him… now feared the change in him.


THE CROWD STILL CHOOSES THE WRONG HERO

This is not the only time Scripture exposes the crowd’s blindness. In the Gospels, we see a moment so shocking it still echoes through history:

“Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ?” (Matthew 27:17)

Barabbas was an insurrectionist, a murderer, a man who used violence to achieve his aims. Jesus was innocent, healing, restoring, teaching, and revealing the Kingdom.

And yet the crowd cried:

“Give us Barabbas!” (John 18:40)

And then:

“Crucify Him!” (Mark 15:13)

The innocent was condemned. The guilty was embraced. The Prince of Peace was rejected. The man of violence was celebrated.

Nothing has changed.

Humanity still prefers the familiar rebel over the unfamiliar redeemer. We still cheer for the one who fights like us and crucify the one who convicts us. We still misread the moment, misjudge the messenger, and misunderstand the mission.


THE AGE‑OLD DICHOTOMY: MISPLACED ADORATION AND MISPLACED EVISCERATION

This is the pattern:

  • We adore the wrong savior.
  • We attack the right one.
  • We embrace the loudest voice.
  • We reject the truest voice.
  • We defend the one who mirrors our anger.
  • We crucify the one who exposes our corruption.

The crowd still chooses Barabbas. The crowd still fears Paul. The crowd still stones the very one God sends to deliver them.

And this is where the parable becomes painfully modern.

We live in a time when public figures are judged not by truth but by tribal instinct. When reformers are labeled threats. When disruptors are treated as dangers. When the one exposing corruption is attacked more fiercely than the corruption itself. When the one calling for repentance is treated as the enemy of the people.

This is not new. This is not political. This is biblical anthropology — the study of the human heart in rebellion against God.


THE PARABLE FOR OUR TIME

So here is the parable, written in the language of Scripture but speaking to the age we live in:

There was once a man the people feared. They whispered his name with dread. They warned their children about him. They prayed God would stop him.

And God did — but not the way they expected.

He did not strike him down. He struck him awake. He did not silence him. He sent him. He did not judge him. He justified him.

And the people who once feared him now feared the change in him.

They trusted the old version — the one who fit their narrative. They distrusted the new version — the one who fit God’s purpose.

Meanwhile, the crowd still adored the wrong hero. They still cheered for the Barabbas spirit — the one who fought like them, hated like them, and reflected their rage back at them.

But the redeemed man? The transformed one? The one God raised up to expose what others refused to see?

They tore him apart with the same stones they once saved for the Christ.

Because nothing has changed.

The crowd still calls Barabbas’ name,
Still trembles at Paul’s transformed flame.
They misread signs, the hour’s true face,
Yet God still lifts the unlikely in grace,
To stand against shadows,
to challenge disgrace.
Amen.

Something Greater Than Sunday Service

Silhouettes of people watching a burning city while a person holds an ancient scroll

The Unsettling Claim We Still Ignore

There is someone greater than Sunday service. Someone greater than church attendance. Someone greater than scriptural literacy. And Jesus names Him plainly in Matthew 12.

When the Pharisees accused His disciples of breaking Sabbath law, Jesus responded with a declaration that shook the foundations of their religious system: “Something greater than the temple is here” (Matthew 12:6). He followed it with Hosea’s ancient rebuke, “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6), and then concluded with a claim only God could make: “The Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath” (Matthew 12:8).

They were not irreligious men. They were not casual about Scripture. They were not indifferent to holiness. And yet they were the ones who missed Him.


When the System Overshadows the Savior

The Pharisees had allowed the system to eclipse the Savior. They guarded the Sabbath with precision, but ignored the Lord of the Sabbath standing in their grainfield. They revered the temple, but rejected the One greater than the temple walking in their midst. They knew the Scriptures, but could not recognize the Author when He spoke.

Jesus reminded them of David eating the consecrated bread (1 Samuel 21:1–6), and of the priests who ***“profane the Sabbath and are guiltless” (*Matthew 12:5). In other words: the Law itself makes room for mercy — if you read it with God’s heart.

Modern church culture is not far behind. We have built an ecosystem around attendance, programming, and performance. We measure spiritual vitality by how full the sanctuary is, how polished the service feels, and how many verses we can quote.

But attendance is not intimacy.
Literacy is not maturity.
Activity is not a transformation.

And none of these guarantees that we are walking with Christ.


The Danger of Religion Without Mercy

Jesus’ rebuke echoes the prophets. Isaiah warned of people who “draw near with their mouth… while their hearts are far from Me” (Isaiah 29:13). Micah asked, “Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams?” and answered with God’s requirement: to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly (Micah 6:8).

The Pharisees could spot a broken rule but not a broken person. They could parse the law but not perceive the Lawgiver. They could defend the temple but not discern the presence of God.

Jesus wasn’t condemning their devotion — He was exposing their distortion.
The Sabbath was never meant to be a cage.
The temple was never meant to be a monument to human correctness.
Scripture was never meant to be a weapon used to condemn the guiltless.

All of it pointed to Christ, and all of it finds its fulfillment in Him.


The Subtle Substitutes We Still Choose

This is why His words still matter. Something greater than the temple is here. Something greater than our buildings, our services, our ministries, and our rhythms is here.

And if we are not careful, we will repeat the same mistake: mistaking proximity to religious activity for proximity to Jesus Himself.

Jesus warned of this very danger: “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have life… yet you refuse to come to Me” (John 5:39–40).

It is entirely possible to be faithful to the schedule and unfaithful to the Savior.
Present in the sanctuary and absent in the Spirit.
Knowledgeable of the text and untouched by the Truth.

Jesus is not calling us away from the church but back to its center.
Not away from Scripture but into its purpose.
Not away from worship but into its heart.

The point has never been the temple, the ritual, or the rule.
The point has always been Him.


The Question That Still Confronts Us

And so the question lingers, as sharp now as it was in that grainfield:

Are we guarding the rules or walking with the Ruler?
Are we attending services or attending Christ?
Are we reading Scripture or being shaped by it?
Are we practicing religion or extending mercy?

Something greater than Sunday service is here.
Something greater than our routines and rhythms is here.
Something greater than our best attempts at holiness is here.

His name is Jesus — and He is still inviting His people to recognize Him.

JOURNEY GIFT SHOP NOW OPEN

The Journey Gift Shop is officially open!

I’ve put together a growing collection of eagle‑themed and inspirational items that reflect the heart of this ministry and the message behind the Journey. Feel free to stop in, look around, and see what speaks to you. More designs and products will be added as the shop grows — this is just the beginning. Help us grow by spreading the word!

The Deceiver Who Doesn’t Look Like One

A Teaching for an Age of Cultural Unrest

We live in a time when people expect evil to announce itself loudly. Many imagine the devil in a red suit, tail swishing, pitchfork in hand, smoke curling around his feet. It is a comforting caricature because it makes deception easy to spot. If the enemy looked like that, no one would fall for him.

Scripture tells a very different story. Genesis describes the serpent as “more subtle than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made” (Genesis 3:1). Subtle—not grotesque, not terrifying, not obvious. The first deception in human history did not come through fear. It came through beauty, persuasion, and a voice that sounded safe enough to trust.

The serpent did not frighten Eve. He flattered her. He appealed to her desire for wisdom, insight, and elevation. Genesis 3:4–6 shows the strategy clearly: “Ye shall not surely die… your eyes shall be opened… ye shall be as gods.” And when Eve looked at the fruit, she saw that it was “pleasant to the eyes” and “desired to make one wise.”

The serpent did not come with a scythe. He came with a compliment.


The Modern Face of Deception

In our cultural moment, deception rarely marches in wearing a villain’s costume. It arrives dressed in glowing language—words like justice, compassion, identity, authenticity, progress, unity, freedom, inclusion. These words are good in themselves, which is precisely why they are so effective when twisted.

Paul warned the church about this very thing. He wrote that false teachers come “with good words and fair speeches [that] deceive the hearts of the simple” (Romans 16:18). He also said that Satan himself “is transformed into an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:14). The enemy does not need horns when he can wear light. He does not need a pitchfork when he can use high‑sounding words.

This is why Paul cautioned believers: “Let no man beguile you with enticing words” (Colossians 2:4). Enticing words are the serpent’s favorite tool. They sound noble. They sound enlightened. They sound compassionate. And because they sound good, people rarely stop to ask whether they are true.


Why Flattery Works So Well

Flattery bypasses discernment and goes straight for identity. It tells people what they want to hear:

  • You’re enlightened.
  • You’re compassionate.
  • You’re morally superior.
  • You’re on the right side of history.
  • You’re brave for believing this.

Once a person receives that affirmation, they will defend the ideology that delivered it—even if that ideology contradicts Scripture, truth, or reality itself. They are not defending ideas anymore; they are defending the version of themselves the ideology promised.

This is why some people react so strongly when confronted. Truth does not just challenge their beliefs; it threatens their identity. Paul described this dynamic in 2 Timothy 3:7 when he spoke of people who are “ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.” They are not wicked people. They are unanchored people—people who drift toward whatever voice sounds the most affirming.

Eve was not foolish. She was human. And humans are vulnerable to the voice that tells them what they want to hear.


The Cultural Moment We’re Living In

Our society is not divided because people love evil. It is divided because people have been seduced by beautiful lies. Isaiah warned of a time when people would “call evil good, and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). Paul foresaw a generation that would “not endure sound doctrine” but would instead gather teachers who tell them what they want to hear (2 Timothy 4:3–4).

We are living in that moment.

The deceiver does not need horns when he has hashtags. He does not need a tail when he has slogans. He does not need a pitchfork when he has influencers, pundits, and charismatic personalities who speak with confidence and charm.

The serpent’s wardrobe has changed, but his strategy has not.


The Call for Discernment

Discernment is not suspicion. It is not cynicism. Discernment is the ability to recognize when something sounds good but is not true. Scripture calls believers to this kind of maturity. John wrote, “Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God” (1 John 4:1). Hebrews 5:14 says mature believers have their senses trained to “discern both good and evil.”

In an age where every ideology markets itself as righteous, compassionate, and enlightened, the people of God must learn to test the fruit, not admire the packaging. The serpent’s words were beautiful. The fruit was deadly.


A Final Word

If someone accuses you of being “mean” for challenging deception, remember Paul’s question in Galatians 4:16: “Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” Truth will always feel abrasive to those who have been comforted by lies. You are not being harsh. You are being anchored. And anchored people will always look unkind to those who are drifting.

The deceiver does not come dressed in red. He comes dressed in whatever the culture currently calls good.

The task of the believer is not to admire the costume, but to discern the voice.

From Clerical Robes to Robes of Righteousness

Leaving Rome’s Vestments for Christ’s Rament

There is a long and winding history behind the garments worn by religious leaders. It stretches from the wilderness tabernacle to the courts of Solomon, from the vestments of Aaron to the embroidered robes of the high priest. But somewhere along the way, the garments that once pointed toward Christ were repurposed into garments that obscured Him. What began as a God‑ordained symbol in the Old Testament became a Roman‑adapted uniform in the institutional church. And what was meant to be fulfilled in Christ was instead revived as a system of clerical identity.

This is the story of two robes: the robe of the cleric and the robe of Christ. One is worn on the body. The other is worn on the soul.


The Priestly Garments of the Old Covenant

The robes of the Old Testament priesthood were not arbitrary. They were commanded by God, crafted with precision, and rich with symbolism. The ephod, the breastplate, the linen tunic, the sash—all of it was designed to communicate holiness, consecration, and the weight of intercession. These garments were not fashion; they were theology stitched into fabric.

But they were also temporary. The book of Hebrews makes this unmistakably clear: the entire priestly system was a shadow of the substance that would come in Christ. The garments, like the sacrifices, were placeholders—visible signs pointing toward an invisible fulfillment.

When the true High Priest appeared, the shadows were no longer needed. The priesthood changed, and with it, the garments. The Old Covenant robes served their purpose, then yielded to the One who would clothe His people not in linen, but in righteousness.


Rome’s Adaptation of Sacred Imagery

It is historically inaccurate to say that clerical robes originated in Rome. The truth is more subtle—and more revealing. Rome did not invent clerical garments; Rome appropriated them. The institutional church, emerging in the centuries after Constantine, reached back into the imagery of the Old Testament priesthood and repurposed it for its own hierarchy.

What had been a temporary symbol became a permanent uniform. What had been a shadow pointing forward became a structure pointing backward. The garments of Aaron were never meant to be resurrected after the cross, yet Rome revived them—not as symbols of a coming Messiah, but as markers of ecclesiastical authority.

In doing so, Rome unintentionally created a visual theology that suggested the Old Covenant priesthood had not ended. The vestments became a kind of ecclesiastical nostalgia, a way of clothing the clergy in the imagery of a priesthood that Christ had already fulfilled.

The result was a new kind of robe—neither commanded by God nor rooted in the New Covenant, but shaped by empire, hierarchy, and institutional continuity.


The Robe of Christ: An Inward Garment for a New Covenant People

The New Testament speaks of garments, but not the kind worn on the body. It speaks of a robe that cannot be woven, purchased, or displayed. It is the robe of Christ Himself.

Paul writes, “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ” (Galatians 3:27). Isaiah prophesied, “He has clothed me with the garments of salvation, He has covered me with the robe of righteousness” (Isaiah 61:10). These are not outward vestments. They are inward realities.

The robe of Christ is not worn by a class of clergy. It is worn by every believer. It is not a garment of office, but a garment of identity. It does not elevate one above another; it equalizes all at the foot of the cross.

This is the fundamental difference between clerical robes and Christ’s rament:

  • Clerical robes distinguish the few. Christ’s robe covers the many.
  • Clerical robes create hierarchy. Christ’s robe creates family.
  • Clerical robes are seen by men. Christ’s robe is seen by God.

The New Covenant does not clothe us outwardly. It clothes us inwardly. We do not wear garments of fabric; we wear the righteousness of the One who redeemed us.


Leaving Rome’s Vestments for Christ’s Rament

The word rament is old, but fitting. It means garment, vesture, covering. And it captures the contrast perfectly. Rome gave the Church vestments—visible, tangible, hierarchical. Christ gives His people rament—spiritual, invisible, transformative.

To move from clerical robes to robes of righteousness is not to reject history; it is to embrace fulfillment. It is to recognize that the garments of the Old Covenant were shadows, that the garments of Rome were adaptations, but that the garment of Christ is the reality.

We exchange earthly vestments for heavenly rament. We step out of the polluted river of institutional identity and into the clear spring of living water that flows from the throne of God. We leave behind the robes of office and take up the robe of Christ.

This is not a change of clothing. It is a change of covenant.


Conclusion: The Garment That Cannot Be Removed

The clerical robe can be put on and taken off. It can be folded, stored, or replaced. It can be worn by the unconverted and removed by the unfaithful. But the robe of righteousness cannot be removed, because it is not worn on the body—it is woven into the soul.

The Church does not need more vestments. It needs more Christ. It does not need garments of office. It needs garments of salvation. It does not need to dress like priests. It needs to live as a royal priesthood.

From clerical robes to robes of righteousness—from Rome’s vestments to Christ’s rament—this is the journey of every believer who steps out of the old and into the new, out of the shadow and into the substance, out of the garment of man and into the garment of God.