Some people might think the question, “What is faith?”, is unnecessary or even disrespectful. They believe faith is something you can only understand by experiencing it personally. To them, trying to break it down logically or explain it like a science experiment weakens its beauty and power.

For example, a person who trusts in Christ for salvation may think they don’t need to examine that trust in a deep way or think about how it compares to other experiences. They might worry that if they think too much about it, it might take away from its meaning.

But this kind of objection is just one example of a larger problem in the world today: many people are pushing aside the intellectual side of Christianity. They treat religion as a personal experience that’s hard to explain, and they say theology—or how we explain our beliefs—is just a symbol. According to this view, you can have all kinds of opinions about God and still be “united” in faith. They say it doesn’t matter if our beliefs are different, as long as we all feel the same inside.

This mindset is clearly against being precise. Today, nothing makes a person more disliked in religious debates than asking people to define what they mean. You can talk beautifully about God, faith, salvation, and other topics, but the moment someone asks, “What do you mean by that word?” people get upset. They don’t like interrupting their smooth speeches with plain definitions.

So it’s not surprising that many will be offended by the title of this book. In a time when people are passionately talking about “faith”—often making it sound like the opposite of knowledge—it might feel awkward or even rude to ask the simple question, “What is faith?”

But the movement away from using our minds in religion is not something small. It started long ago and is deeply rooted in modern philosophy—especially from the time of Immanuel Kant. Today, many theologians and writers influenced by that thinking have trained people to distrust the intellect and to question the very idea of truth, like Pilate did when he asked, “What is truth?” (John 18:38).

This attack on the mind has even been led by brilliant thinkers. But it has had consequences. Even in ordinary life, we now see that people are less interested in careful thinking. In many areas—especially those not related to technology or the physical sciences—there’s a serious decline in clear, logical thinking.

Scholars like Schleiermacher and Ritschl were smart, but they helped push this anti-intellectual trend. Because of their influence, detailed research in biblical studies has largely been replaced by lazy opinions and vague impressions. We no longer build our beliefs on strong study but instead follow feelings and trends.

And this isn’t only a problem in the Church. It shows up in regular education too. A lot of today’s teaching methods avoid making students learn facts. Some teachers even say it’s wrong to ask students to memorize or work hard. I once heard a well-known educator tell a group of college professors that their job wasn’t to teach but just to give students a chance to learn—as if students will just learn on their own without help.

This kind of thinking joins with the natural laziness of youth to make modern education weaker than it once was. Of course, not every subject is suffering. In the hard sciences like chemistry and physics, facts are still important. But in the study of literature, history, and language, ignorance is growing, and many students are less educated than those of earlier generations.

Today’s students are told not to take notes in class, that memorizing is childish, and that they should just think for themselves and “unify their world.” But how can they unify something they’ve never learned? You can’t organize knowledge if you don’t have any. Trying to “digest ideas” without having any facts to think about is like trying to digest food on an empty stomach. Students today are starving for facts.

We’re not saying students shouldn’t be original thinkers. In fact, we want to encourage originality in every possible way. But the truth is that most students today are not original at all. They just repeat whatever is popular. They parrot what their teachers say, use the same trendy phrases without knowing what they mean, and follow the crowd like sheep. And all the while, they believe they are being rebellious and “independent,” simply because they criticize the same things everyone else criticizes—especially supernatural Christianity.

But this kind of criticism isn’t original—it’s popular. True originality means being willing to go against the tide, to think for yourself, and to seriously examine what Christ actually taught. If there’s one thing we should encourage in young people today, it’s independent thinking—real independent thinking, not just repeating fashionable opinions.

So it’s wrong to think that conservative Christians like us hold on to old ideas just because they are old or because we are afraid of new facts. Actually, we welcome new discoveries. We believe that the Christian faith will become strong again when young people reject the shallow ideas of today, think deeply, and recover true intellectual independence.

In one way, yes, we are traditionalists. We believe that anything great must be connected to the past. We don’t want to trade the historic Church for modern spiritual fads. But in another way, we are also radicals. We don’t just want to keep things the way they are—we are looking for something new: a real revival of spiritual power. We want young people to stop mindlessly repeating modern ideas and start asking deep questions about life and truth. We believe Christianity grows best not in the dark but in the light.

We believe that a true revival of the Christian faith—like the Reformation of the 1500s—will bring freedom to the world. That revival will be the work of God’s Spirit. But one of the tools the Spirit may use is a renewing of the mind. The downward, anti-thinking movement called Modernism—which kicks the intellect out of religion—will be replaced. People will start thinking again. The next great Reformation will be joined by a new Renaissance. That’s why we strongly support original thought and honest questioning.

However, originality must be earned. It doesn’t come from being lazy or ignoring facts. You can’t say anything meaningful about a subject unless you’ve actually learned something about it. Before you can be original, you have to pay attention to the facts.

Right now, many students aren’t doing that. And that’s what’s really hurting our schools. When we teachers insist on learning facts, people accuse us of just dumping our own opinions on students. They say we just lecture, force students to take notes, and then demand they memorize everything. That, they say, kills creativity.

It’s true there was a time when education focused too much on memorization and didn’t allow much room for personal thought. But now the opposite has happened. The focus on “thinking for yourself” has gone too far. It’s impossible to think clearly without first knowing something. Storing up knowledge in your mind is not the final goal, but it’s the starting point. Students need something to think about—and that something is facts.

So, even though having a mind full of facts doesn’t automatically make someone wise, you can’t think wisely without facts. Sadly, the modern education system acts like students can reason without having anything to reason about. Teachers today often expect students to think deeply without giving them the tools they need. It’s like asking someone to build a house without bricks.

That’s why we believe hard work and facts should be respected again. You can’t think with an empty mind.

If ignorance in regular schools is bad, it’s even worse when it comes to the Christian faith and the Bible. Many Bible study classes today avoid really digging into the Bible itself, almost like it’s a dangerous disease. To some churchgoers, the idea of simply learning what the Bible actually says is totally new.

Sometimes when I’m invited to preach at a church, the pastor asks me to lead the Bible class too. He’ll tell me that when he teaches it, he makes it “practical”—meaning, he gives people tips for how to live better the next week. That’s fine, but when I teach the class, I don’t just give life tips. Of course practical advice is useful. But that’s not all people need.

If a Bible class only gives out advice and doesn’t help people understand what the Bible actually teaches—doctrinally and historically—then it’s not preparing them well for life. So when I teach, I try to give people what they’re not getting elsewhere: the actual message of the Christian faith, straight from the Bible.

One reason people in the Church today are so unfamiliar with basic Christian truths is because sermons rarely teach doctrine anymore. But even more important than preaching is something many have forgotten: the Christian home. The home is the most important Christian teaching environment—not the pulpit, not the school.

Many of us who are now adults didn’t learn the Bible at Sunday School. We learned it at home. For example, I learned the Bible on Sunday afternoons with my mother. And I can say this with confidence: when I was just 14, I probably understood the Bible better than many modern-day seminary students.

That’s a bold claim, but it’s true. And many of these students come from Christian homes. A large number are even children of pastors. But when they arrive at seminary, they’re often shockingly unfamiliar with the Bible’s basic content.

The saddest part is that this isn’t really their fault. Many of their fathers—who are ministers—have replaced biblical teaching with moral talks or emotional stories. And even worse, they’ve failed to teach their own children about the Bible. The Christian home, once a stronghold of biblical instruction, has stopped doing its job.

This failure of Christian families explains a lot about why there’s so much ignorance in the Church today. But if we stop there, we’re just pushing the question further back: Why did Christian families stop teaching the Bible in the first place? Why have pastors stopped preaching doctrine? Why have Sunday Schools and Bible studies focused so much on application and ignored the truths they’re supposed to be applying?

These questions point to the heart of the problem. Over the last hundred years, a spiritual shift has been happening. It’s not just in philosophers like Kant, Schleiermacher, and Ritschl—it’s in regular people too. It’s a skeptical spirit that pushes aside the mind and lifts up feelings or personal will in its place.

This is one of the biggest problems of our time: people have stopped caring about what Christianity teaches. They don’t know what the Bible says, and they’re not interested in finding out. There’s been a clear decline in intellectual seriousness.

And this isn’t only happening among evangelicals. The same problem exists among those who reject traditional Christian beliefs. In fact, some of the most popular religious books today show that even so-called “progressive” thinkers are abandoning solid methods of studying the Bible.

There used to be a respected way to interpret Scripture, called the grammatical-historical method. This method was simple but powerful: instead of reading our own thoughts into the Bible, we were supposed to find out what the biblical authors actually meant. We had to ask what they said, not what we wished they had said.

But today, even scholars who pretend to follow this method are really ignoring it. Take Professor Goodspeed, for example. In his translation of the New Testament, he changed the word “justify” to “make upright.” That sounds small, but it’s actually huge.

The Bible teaches that we are justified by faith, meaning we are declared righteous by God, not made righteous by our own efforts. Changing that word ruins the core of the gospel. It replaces salvation by faith with salvation by merit—a belief that belongs to the Middle Ages, not to the Bible.

But my point here is not only theological—it’s historical. Even if Goodspeed doesn’t care about justification, Paul clearly did. A translator’s job is to show what Paul actually said, not what the translator wishes he had said.

And this applies to the teachings of Jesus too. Modern writers are doing the same thing with Jesus. They tell us what they think Jesus should have been like, instead of asking what He was really like.

One popular religious writer said, “Jesus didn’t care much about the afterlife.” That’s an incredible statement—one that’s completely false. Anyone who reads the Gospels knows that Jesus talked constantly about heaven and hell. His words are filled with urgency because of what comes after death.

In Matthew 10:28, Jesus said:

“Do not fear those who kill the body but are not able to kill the soul. But rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul and body in Gehenna” (UASV).

And in Matthew 18:9, He said:

“It is better for you to enter into life with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into the Gehenna of fire” (UASV).

These warnings are not just side notes in Jesus’ teaching—they are at the very center. They can’t be explained away or removed without changing who Jesus actually was.

If someone wants to reject Jesus’ teaching about the afterlife, at least they should do so with careful study. But modern writers don’t even bother. They simply force their own views onto Jesus and call it “new scholarship.”

So, in response to this modern anti-intellectual trend, one of the main goals of this book is to stand up for the importance of the mind. Specifically, we want to challenge the false idea that knowledge and faith are opposites.

It may seem ironic that I’m writing about the intellect, when I personally feel I’ve only experienced it in small ways. But in our time, reason has so few defenders that even someone like me must speak up.

In the past, reason was honored like a queen on her throne. People respected logic and truth. But now that queen has been overthrown. In her place sits pragmatism—a system that values what is useful more than what is true. Only a few people still serve the old queen of reason. And though they are small in number, they continue to hope for the day when truth will rule again.

Of course, the attack on reason hasn’t been random. It has been defended by detailed philosophical systems. I don’t pretend to fully refute all those deep theories. I know that questions about knowledge and truth are complex and difficult. But even though there are puzzles in philosophy, they don’t prove the mind is useless. They just show that human understanding has limits.

Still, I’m not ready to give up the pursuit of truth. I won’t accept the view that truth is always out of reach or that it doesn’t matter. I don’t believe everything is just about “what works.” I believe truth can be known, even if not completely.

But what are some ways in which the modern world has pushed the intellect out of religion?

First, there’s a popular idea that religion and theology are separate. People say theology is just the changing expression of a shared experience. In other words, they believe religious experience is real, but theology is just a way to describe that experience in a way that makes sense for a particular generation. As time changes, they argue, so must our theology.

These people claim they’re not against theology. They say we’ll always have some theology, but it’s never final or absolute—it just fits whatever people are thinking at the time.

That’s why new creeds and statements of belief are being written to replace the historic ones. These modern creeds are supposed to “interpret” Christianity in modern ways so people from different backgrounds can all agree.

The differences between these new creeds and the older ones are huge. But the biggest difference is often overlooked: the old creeds were written by people who believed what they were saying was actually true. The new creeds, on the other hand, are often not even meant to be true—just helpful.

To me, this is a serious problem. If theology is just a set of symbols or metaphors, and not something that’s intended to be permanently and objectively true, then it’s a waste of time. Why spend your life writing symbolic language that no one believes is factual?

This kind of thinking is not like real science. Scientists often revise their ideas, but their goal is always to get closer to the truth. Every new theory is supposed to be more accurate than the last. Even if science doesn’t reach the final truth in every case, it’s trying to.

But the pragmatist theologian doesn’t even try to say what is ultimately true. His theology is just a symbol—a tool for one generation, meant to be replaced by the next. According to this view, the best theology is whatever best expresses people’s feelings during a particular era. So the Nicene Creed may have been fine for the 4th century, and the Westminster Confession for the 1600s, but now we need new versions that flatly contradict the old ones in meaning.

In this view, theology isn’t judged by whether it’s true or false, but by whether it’s useful or emotionally satisfying. That kind of thinking doesn’t allow any theology to be permanently true.

This pragmatist idea is also used in missions. People say it’s unfair to expect Christians in the East to accept the creeds written by Western believers. The Eastern mind, they argue, is different, and should have its own way of expressing Christianity.

So churches in the East have started writing their own belief statements. This sounds fresh and exciting. But sadly, when we read them, they often sound exactly like modern Western unbelief. They don’t reflect some ancient Eastern insight. Instead, they repeat all the same trendy, vague ideas you might hear on a university campus in Chicago.

In other words, the Eastern mind, when influenced by modern education, ends up thinking like the modern West. These new creeds often just copy the naturalism and skepticism of the Western world. So the claim that different cultures need different “thought-forms” for their theology doesn’t really hold up. It’s all just the same old modernism in different packaging.

This brings us to a serious danger. The pragmatist view leads to a kind of skepticism with no bottom. If all theology is just a passing symbol for a momentary feeling, then no belief can ever be universally or eternally true. Two opposite doctrines could both be seen as “valid,” simply because they worked for two different people.

People compare this to science, saying that since science progresses, theology must also change. But there’s a big difference. Science changes because it’s getting closer to a stable, outside reality. But pragmatist theology isn’t reaching for truth—it’s just shifting for convenience. That’s not progress. That’s just movement with no direction, like a spinning wheel.

By contrast, those of us who hold to historic Christianity believe truth is objective. We believe theology should aim to describe the facts of God’s revelation—not just interpret how people feel about God. This kind of theology can grow and improve, but it starts with the goal of truth. Without that, there can be no real progress at all.

Like chemistry or any real science, theology has a foundation of facts. The subjects may differ. The evidence and methods may differ. But theology, too, is about collecting, organizing, and understanding truth.

So the real debate in the Church today isn’t just about certain doctrines. It’s about whether doctrine itself even matters. Modern theology doesn’t just critique the old creeds or challenge what the Bible teaches—it denies that anything can be permanently true. That’s the real crisis.

Liberal preachers might still say the old beliefs are “useful,” or that different beliefs can serve different people. But if a creed is only “useful” and not true, then it’s not really a creed at all. That’s why even total denials of biblical doctrine can be disguised as “affirmations” today. People might say they accept every word of a confession, but if they only accept it as a symbol and not as truth, they are still rejecting it.

Some Modernist preachers try to be polite. They say they don’t want to offend anyone’s faith. They’ll say the old beliefs might still help “simple Christians.” But that’s not comforting—it’s dangerous. From a biblical perspective, it would be more honest if they just came out and rejected Christianity openly. At least then we could have a fair debate.

What we can’t accept is this idea that truth is different for different people, or that the gospel means different things depending on who’s listening. That idea is not just wrong—it’s an attack on truth itself.

If theology is removed—or if it’s only symbolic—what replaces it? There are two common answers in the modern religious world: mysticism and a new kind of positivism.

Mysticism puts feelings above thinking. It focuses on personal experiences and often claims those experiences can’t be explained. But mystics still end up talking about their feelings—sometimes more than anyone else.

There’s an old joke that Herbert Spencer talked more about the “Unknowable” than the boldest theologian ever talked about God. That’s the problem with mysticism: it says experience is indescribable, but then spends page after page trying to describe it.

People today who throw out theology often talk about God in personal terms—calling Him their “heavenly Father” or talking about trusting Him. But this raises an important question: What do they really mean when they talk like that?

One well-known preacher tells a story from his childhood. He once heard his father—who loved the Westminster Shorter Catechism and believed in solid theology—praying when he thought he was alone. The boy was surprised. The prayer wasn’t filled with doctrinal language. It was simple and heartfelt. His father just poured out his heart to God. There was no mention of hell or any atonement theory. It was just a personal moment with God.

The preacher used this story to say that theology isn’t really necessary. But let’s look more closely. Why did that man feel so free and safe talking to God that way? What gave him the confidence to throw himself into the arms of his heavenly Father? It wasn’t ignorance. It was because he already knew who God is—he had been shaped by a deep understanding of God’s character through years of theological study and Scripture.

Even if we don’t speak in theological terms when we pray, our ability to pray at all—with confidence and love—depends on the truths we believe about God. Without knowing who God is and what He has done, that kind of relationship wouldn’t exist.

It’s the same with friendships. If I trust a friend, it’s because I’ve seen who he is over time. I’ve watched how he acts, what he says, how he treats people. My knowledge of him is what makes our relationship possible. That’s how it works with God too.

So, even if a Christian’s prayers seem simple and heartfelt, they are rooted in deep truths about God’s character and actions, especially His work through Jesus. True Christian experience isn’t just raw emotion—it’s a relationship with a real Person whom we know through revelation.

This is where mysticism falls short. Real Christian faith is personal, but it is also based on knowledge. Pure emotionalism, separated from truth, can’t give us that.

Another common replacement for theology today is positivism—an idea that has been around a long time. In simple terms, positivism tries to build religion only on what can be seen or experienced. It leaves out all the unseen things, like God’s eternal nature, heaven, or the resurrection. Positivism has made a comeback in today’s churches, even though people may not call it by that name.

One example is Professor Ellwood’s book The Reconstruction of Religion. He combines the old positivist idea of humanity worshiping itself with a kind of vague respect for the “world-process.” That’s just a fancy way of saying, “We can be spiritual by admiring the world and humanity, without needing to believe in anything supernatural.”

This same kind of thinking shows up in many modern preachers who talk about “the Christlike God.” That phrase sounds nice, but when you dig deeper, it becomes clear that it’s being used in a very specific, unbiblical way.

If someone means that we know God through the eternal Son—the second Person of the Trinity—that’s something the Bible teaches, such as in Matthew 11. But that’s not what these preachers mean. Instead, they are saying that all theology and metaphysics should be thrown out. They don’t want to talk about whether God really made the world or whether there is life after death or whether Jesus truly rose from the grave.

To them, Christianity becomes nothing more than trying to imitate Jesus’ moral example. It’s no longer about knowing and worshiping the living God—just about being inspired by someone’s life. That’s not Christianity. That’s a religion of humanity using Jesus as a mascot.

And the Jesus they use isn’t even the real Jesus. He’s not the Jesus of the New Testament. He’s not the Jesus of history. He’s a fiction made to fit modern ideas.

The real Jesus believed in the Old Testament. He believed in a holy God, in judgment, in heaven and hell. He believed in a real Kingdom that would come with power. He didn’t just preach good morals—He called people to repent and believe, and He claimed to be the final Judge.

Today, many preachers ignore that. They might quote a verse from Jesus, usually taken out of context. Sometimes it’s even from the Gospel of John, which they themselves claim is unreliable. Then they use that one quote to build an entire message that goes against everything else Jesus said.

Some of us would like to ask questions: Did Jesus really preach that a better human life is the main goal? Did He leave Himself out of the gospel? Is it okay to dismiss His teachings on judgment, resurrection, and divine authority?

But modern preachers brush those questions aside. They say, “You’re just dodging Jesus’ moral demands.” This shows how far they have abandoned the use of reason.

But we don’t think reason can be pushed aside so easily. When people start thinking again—really thinking—they’ll realize that the religion many call “Christianity” today is something entirely different. You can’t hold on to the moral teachings of Jesus while rejecting His identity and authority. Eventually, you’ll have to choose: either reject Jesus completely, or accept everything He said about Himself.

So when people throw out theology and doctrine in favor of “pure experience” or “practical living,” what they’re really doing is rejecting Christianity. They’ve replaced it with a belief system that’s built on feelings and human ideas. That system might sound appealing, but it’s not the gospel—and it can’t save.

Another dangerous idea that’s common today is the false divide between knowledge and faith. Many people say you don’t need to know anything to have faith. In fact, they act like knowledge ruins faith—as if faith is more “pure” when it’s vague or emotional. But that kind of thinking totally misrepresents what true faith is.

Real faith always includes an intellectual element. It’s not just feeling or trusting—it’s trusting in something that you know to be true. Biblical faith is built on knowledge, and it leads to more knowledge.

One of the main goals of this book is to show that faith and knowledge are not enemies. Instead, faith depends on knowledge. You can’t truly believe in Christ unless you first know who He is and what He has done. You can’t trust Him as Savior unless you know what salvation means.

This book isn’t just about arguing with false ideas, though that will be part of it. Sometimes the best way to understand something is to see what it is not. So, to define faith, we’ll also need to compare it with wrong definitions. That way, we can be clear about what we mean.

This may lead to disagreement. Some people don’t like debates in the Church. They say we should focus on unity and avoid controversy. But controversy isn’t always bad. In fact, sometimes it’s necessary to fight for the truth.

Just a few years ago, many churches in America were experiencing what looked like peace. People got along. Denominations worked together. Church leaders avoided talking about controversial doctrines. But underneath that peace was a serious danger. Loyalty to Christ was being replaced with loyalty to organizations. Preachers were leading churches without ever clearly preaching the gospel. Even in official church meetings, it was considered inappropriate to talk plainly about the cross of Christ.

In that setting, it became urgent for some Christians to speak up. They remembered that Jesus had died for them. They felt they couldn’t keep supporting ministries that no longer taught His gospel. So they started asking hard questions: What is the Church really here to do? What is the message we’re supposed to be proclaiming?

God forbid those questions should ever be silenced again. We shouldn’t be afraid of controversy if it leads to truth. From the time of the Apostle Paul to today, every great revival in the Church has faced criticism. People always say bold preaching is “divisive” or “intolerant.” But that’s often a sign that it’s hitting a nerve. If the gospel never causes opposition, it’s probably not being preached clearly.

I believe that the debates happening now are not a waste of time. They’ve shaken things up. They’ve forced people to look past vague language and ask, “What do these words really mean?” And they’ve made it harder for people to hide behind church traditions or denominational labels. More and more, people are realizing they must choose: Will they stand with Christ—or against Him?

At the seminary where I serve, we’ve seen signs of real spiritual progress. A few years ago, the students had become lukewarm. They weren’t excited about doctrine. Their spiritual lives were shallow. But in the academic year 1924–1925, things began to change. Something like an awakening happened.

Students started thinking for themselves. They realized that compromise was dangerous. They showed courage in standing up for what they believed. They became interested again in the deep, foundational truths of Christianity. They developed real convictions.

This change—this revival of thinking and spiritual seriousness—was brought about by controversy. And I believe it was the work of the Holy Spirit.

May God keep that fire alive. May He protect us from those who want to smooth over disagreements just to keep things comfortable. May He help us settle these big questions the right way—by going back to the Bible and to Christ.

Because when the Church starts asking, “What is the truth?”, that’s often when real revival comes. History shows it. The Bible shows it. And even now, we’re starting to see it again.

This brings us back to the key question of this book: “What is faith?” That question is not just important—it’s extremely practical.

Preachers often say, “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved” (Acts 16:31). But how can someone respond to that call unless they know what “believe” really means?

In the past, sermons were often called “doctrinal” because they explained things clearly. That may sound dry to some people, but it was actually very helpful. I remember the pastor I had when I was growing up. He was a good preacher in many ways. But the thing that stood out most was how clearly he explained what someone must do to be saved.

Today’s preachers talk about the importance of being a Christian. But they often leave people confused about how to become one. They say faith is important, but they never explain what faith is.

This book was written to help fill that gap. If salvation comes through faith, then it’s essential to tell people what faith actually means. A preacher who can’t do that isn’t really preaching the gospel.

So, how do we find out what faith is?

At first, it might seem like we should approach the topic through psychology or philosophy. After all, people have faith in many things—not just in Christ. Faith in Jesus belongs to a broader category of human trust or belief. A full discussion might look at all those kinds of faith.

But I’m not trained to explore all those areas deeply. So I’ll take a different approach.

Let’s look at the highest and clearest example of faith—the faith described in the New Testament. Even non-Christian psychologists recognize that the Bible has some of the most powerful examples of faith in all of human history. The Apostle Paul even talks about the time before Christ as the time “before faith came” (Galatians 3:23). Of course, he doesn’t mean there was no faith at all in the Old Testament. But compared to the faith that came with Christ, it was just a shadow.

So, to answer our question—“What is faith?”—we will look to the Bible. The Bible, and especially the New Testament, is the best textbook we have on this subject.

You May Also Enjoy

No Indwelling in the Mystical Sense: Word as the Agent of Sanctification – Ephesians 6:17; 2 Timothy 3:16–17

About the Author

CLICK LINKED IMAGE TO VISIT ONLINE STORE

CLICK TO SCROLL THROUGH OUR BOOKS