Last week, we explored two very different understandings of grace. In the Calvinist view, grace is irresistible and particular, whereas the Arminian view sees grace as universal and resistible. Both views agreed that salvation is by grace and rejected salvation by works, piety, or sacraments, as Luther did earlier. However, they disagreed on how grace works, who receives it, and whether it can be rejected or lost.
This brings us to today’s focus on John Wesley, who built on the Arminian view of grace and offered a new way of understanding it, one that emphasized transformation. For Wesley, grace wasn’t just about being saved; it was about being changed.
Historical Context:
Before we dive into John Wesley’s powerful view of grace, we need to understand the world he was living in, because the world around him deeply shaped the way he thought about salvation, transformation, and what it means to follow Jesus.
In the early 1700s, England was changing fast because of the Industrial Revolution. Factories were rising, people were moving into crowded cities like London and Manchester, and the economy was shifting in ways no one had seen before. But with all that growth came poverty, pollution, and pain. Families were crammed into dirty dwellings. Children worked long hours in factories, and many adults turned to alcohol, especially cheap gin, to cope with the misery. It got so bad that historians call it the “Gin Craze.” Crime soared, and prostitution and moral decay became rampant in London’s streets. People were struggling to survive, and the Church, for the most part, wasn’t responding to the crisis. At the same time, the Church of England had grown cold and formal. It was the official state church, but for many, it was just something you did, not something that changed you. People showed up to services, but their hearts were far from God. There was a spiritual deadness that matched the social despair.
And it wasn’t just in England. In Germany, believers had started to notice the same pattern where people claimed to be Christian but lived untransformed lives. That concern gave rise to a movement called Pietism. In this movement, Philipp Jakob Spener (1635–1705) and August Hermann Francke emphasized personal devotion, heartfelt faith, Bible study, and actually living out what you believe. John Wesley was deeply influenced by Pietism, especially during his time in Germany and through his interaction with the Moravians. That experience lit a fire in him. He began to see that true Christianity wasn’t just about believing the right things or going to the right church. It was about a transformed life.
What drove Wesley was a deep concern that too many people were claiming grace without living changed lives. They believed that God forgave them, but they weren’t growing in holiness. Wesley couldn’t accept that. He believed that grace that doesn’t transform is not grace at all. Grace wasn’t just a ticket to heaven; it was the power to live a new life now.
He once said:
“By salvation I mean not barely according to the vulgar notion deliverance from hell or going to heaven but a present deliverance from sin a restoration of the soul to its primitive health its original purity a recovery of the divine nature the renewal of our souls after the image of God in righteousness and true holiness in justice mercy and truth.”
Wesley’s Threefold Grace: A New Chapter in the Story of Salvation
Wesley’s theology of grace unfolded in three major movements:
- Prevenient grace
- Justifying grace
- Sanctifying grace
Prevenient Grace (Grace That Goes Before Us)
This idea wasn’t new. It was first introduced by Jacobus Arminius as a solution to the problem of human inability. If we are born in sin and cannot choose God on our own, then how can we respond to the gospel? Arminius proposed that God gives prevenient grace to everyone, a grace that goes ahead of us, softens our hearts, awakens our conscience, and gives us the real possibility of saying “yes” to God.
Wesley took this idea and made it central. He believed that God’s grace is at work in every person, long before they’re aware of it, wooing, nudging, convicting, preparing. It’s not saving grace yet, but it’s grace, nonetheless.
John 1:9 The true Light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.
This verse supports Wesley’s belief that Christ’s grace is not withheld from anyone, and it illuminates everyone, making salvation truly available.
Two parts of the Saving Grace
For Arminius and many reformers before him, such as Calvin and Luther, justification and sanctification were often seen as part of a single, ongoing process.
But Wesley introduced something new. For the first time, he proposed that saving grace could be understood in two distinct stages.
Justifying Grace (Grace That Forgives)
Justifying grace is what happens the moment a person responds to God’s call and places their faith in Christ. In that instant, they are forgiven, adopted into God’s family, and declared righteous, not because of anything they’ve done, but because of what Jesus has done for them.
Romans 5:1 Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.
This moment of justification is instant, complete, and entirely dependent on grace. But for Wesley, it wasn’t the finish line. It was the new beginning.
Sanctifying Grace (Grace That Transforms)
Here’s where Wesley’s voice was distinct from his predecessors. Wesley emphasized that salvation wasn’t just about being forgiven. It was about being transformed. Sanctifying grace is the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit shaping us into the likeness of Christ. It involves growth in love, holiness, and obedience. This growth is not to earn salvation, but because grace changes what we love and how we live.
Philippians 2:13 It is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose.”
Sanctification, for Wesley, wasn’t optional. It was essential. Grace that leaves us unchanged isn’t grace at all. As he once said:
“By justification we are saved from the guilt of sin, and restored to the favour of God; by sanctification we are saved from the power and root of sin, and restored to the image of God.” -On Working Out Our Own Salvation, 1785.”
Wesley’s threefold structure, grace that awakens, grace that justifies, and grace that sanctifies, invited people into a lifelong journey of salvation, not just a moment of conversion. For him, grace wasn’t only about what God does for us, but also what God does in us and through us.
Now that we’ve walked through the threefold journey of grace, it’s worth stepping back and asking, how is this view different from other major Christian traditions? What makes this approach to grace unique?
How Wesley’s View Differs from Catholic, Calvinist, and Arminian Perspectives:
Wesley’s understanding of grace stood firmly in the Protestant tradition, especially when it came to justification by grace through faith alone. He rejected the idea that our works have any role in our salvation. But he had some distinct differences with other traditions.
Let’s start with the Catholic view. In Catholic theology, especially after the Council of Trent, justification is understood as happening through infused righteousness. That means God not only forgives us, but first makes us inwardly righteous, and this inner change becomes the reason He accepts us. Wesley disagreed with this. He believed we are accepted by God not because we’ve already become righteous, but through faith in Jesus Christ alone. The transformation follows, not precedes, our acceptance.
Now to the Calvinist view. Calvinists taught that when someone is justified, their past, present, and future sins are covered by the imputed righteousness of Christ, meaning Christ’s perfect life is credited to their account. Wesley affirmed that forgiveness is by grace, but he had serious concerns about how this teaching was often understood. He observed that some believers treated it like a license to sin: “Since Jesus covers all my sins, I don’t have to worry too much about obedience.” To Wesley, this led to antinomianism, the idea that moral effort or holiness didn’t matter because grace covered it all.
Then there’s the Arminian view, which Wesley was deeply influenced by. Arminianism teaches that justification is conditional on ongoing faith, while past sins are forgiven at conversion, remaining in grace requires continued belief and repentance. Arminius didn’t sharply separate justification and sanctification, instead focusing on the need to remain faithful to stay justified. He didn’t clearly define which sins are forgiven when.
Wesley’s Distinct Contribution:
Wesley kept Arminianism’s universal, resistible grace but added a new depth that is that the grace not only saves, but it also transforms. He was the first to clearly distinguish justification (pardon and acceptance) from sanctification (inner renewal and growth). Justification, in Wesley’s view, covers past sins and reconciles us to God, but sanctification is the ongoing process by which God helps us overcome present sin and grow in holiness.
He described salvation not as a checklist of steps (as in the Reformed ordo salutis or order of salvation) but as a continuous journey via salutis, the “way of salvation.” And this journey isn’t passive. Grace is fully initiated by God, but it invites active, willing participation from us.
As Wesleyan scholar Randy Maddox put it, Wesley’s theology is best described as Responsible Grace; “Grace” because everything begins with God’s initiative; “Responsible” because grace always calls for a response: repentance, faith, obedience, and love.
Perfectionism and Assurance of Salvation:
Wesley’s theology of grace cannot be fully understood without exploring two key aspects that deeply shaped his preaching and personal journey. They are Christian perfection and assurance of salvation. These weren’t side topics for Wesley; they were essential to how he believed grace worked in real life.
Coming to Christian perfection, or entire sanctification as Wesley called it, meant that a person could, by the power of the Holy Spirit, come to a place in this life where their heart was fully shaped by love for God and love for neighbor. That love would cast out self-centeredness, pride, and willful sin. It is not sinless perfection or moral flawlessness. In Wesley’s words, it is “love excluding sin; love filling the heart.”
This wasn’t automatic or instant. It came as a second work of grace, after justification, and required both surrender and divine transformation. This was a key difference from the Arminians before him, who emphasized holy living but didn’t see sanctification as something that could be brought to a completed state in this life. For Wesley, grace wasn’t just pardon, it was the power to be made new.
This leads us to assurance of salvation, a topic that was intensely personal for Wesley. For years, even as a missionary to America, he wrestled with a deep sense of insecurity about his standing with God. He followed every rule, preached every sermon, and did all the right things, but still felt uncertain. It wasn’t until his heart was “strangely warmed” at a meeting on Aldersgate Street in 1738 that he experienced what he would later call the witness of the Spirit, a deep, inner assurance that he was truly a child of God. That moment changed him. From then on, Wesley taught that believers can know they are saved, not by looking inward for proof, but by trusting the Spirit to testify to their spirit.
Romans 8:16 The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.
Still, Wesley held this assurance in tension with human freedom. You could know you were saved today, but that didn’t guarantee you would always remain in grace. You could fall, drift, or walk away. But grace, for Wesley, was never static. It moved. It invited. It restored. It transformed. His emphasis on transformation wasn’t a push toward perfectionism in the modern sense, but it was a protest against nominal Christianity, where people claimed to be saved but lived lives unchanged. For Wesley, a grace that didn’t reshape the heart and life wasn’t grace at all.
Definition of Grace:
Grace is God’s active love reaching out to us at every stage of our lives. It begins by gently awakening our hearts before we even respond, continues by forgiving us and making us right with God when we put our trust in Him, and goes further by transforming us from the inside out. Grace is not just about being saved, it’s about being changed, day by day, into the person God created us to be.
Objections:
One of the main theological objections to Wesley’s threefold view of grace is that it introduces an overly linear or mechanical process to something as dynamic and relational as salvation. Critics, especially from Reformed and Lutheran traditions, argue that breaking grace into stages risks reducing the mystery of salvation into a checklist, suggesting that grace can be tracked like steps on a ladder.
Lutheran theologian Adolf Köberle noted,
“Sanctification is not a human addition to justification but its inner unfolding.”
This challenges Wesley’s clear separation of justification and sanctification as distinct graces, rather than integrated aspects of one saving relationship.
Another concern is that Wesley’s strong emphasis on sanctification, particularly his belief in Christian perfection, the idea that a believer can be freed from willful sin in this life, can seem to imply that salvation is ultimately dependent on human effort. Critics argue this weakens the doctrine of justification by faith alone, which states that we are declared righteous solely because of Christ’s merits, not our progress in holiness. Reformed theologians like B. B. Warfield criticized Wesleyan perfectionism as “a virtual return to the errors of Rome,” suggesting it opened the door to works-righteousness and spiritual anxiety. Even within Methodist circles, some have questioned whether this ideal of entire sanctification creates unrealistic expectations, leading either to spiritual pride in those who think they’ve arrived, or to despair in those who feel they never will.
Furthermore, some have argued that Wesley’s view can cause believers to misjudge their assurance of salvation based on internal feelings of holiness rather than the finished work of Christ. While Wesley was clear that sanctification follows grace and is empowered by it, the concern remains that in practice, sanctification can be misunderstood as a requirement to maintain or complete salvation, rather than a grateful response to it.
Influence of Wesleyan Soteriology on the Traditional Seventh-Day Adventist Soteriology:
The Seventh-day Adventist (SDA) understanding of salvation shares many similarities with Wesley’s view, particularly in emphasizing a grace that both pardons and transforms. Like Wesley, Adventists affirm that salvation is by grace through faith alone and any form of works-based righteousness. However, they also insist that genuine faith must bear fruit in a changed life marked by obedience to God’s commandments. This is closely aligned with Wesley’s emphasis on sanctification as an ongoing, grace-empowered journey of becoming like Christ.
One key distinction, though, is that Adventist theology places a stronger emphasis on the law of God, especially the Ten Commandments, as the enduring moral standard for believers. While Wesley emphasized inner holiness and love as the essence of sanctification, Adventists connect sanctification closely with obedience to God’s law, particularly Sabbath-keeping. Also, in SDA theology, the idea of investigative judgment adds a unique layer to soteriology, teaching that God’s judgment is reviewing the lives of believers, not to determine whether they have enough good works, but to affirm that their lives show evidence of abiding faith. Like Wesley, Adventists reject the idea of “once saved, always saved” and affirm that it is possible for believers to fall away. So, in many ways, Adventist soteriology echoes Wesley’s “responsible grace,” but it adds a distinctive prophetic and eschatological framework centered on judgment, covenant faithfulness, and the end-time vindication of God’s character.
Next week, I’d like to focus on three key stages in Adventist thinking about salvation: traditional SDA soteriology, the 1888 message, and some of the more contemporary Adventist understandings that have emerged since then. My goal is to help us trace where our beliefs have come from, how they’ve shifted, and why there’s still so much confusion in our churches when we talk about grace, faith, and obedience.
Discussion question:
In Calvinism, there’s no real choice in salvation; God chooses who will be saved, but those who are chosen are given strong assurance that they will persevere to the end. In Arminianism, people have a genuine choice to accept or reject grace, but assurance is conditional; it depends on continuing in faith. Wesleyan theology also emphasizes human choice throughout the journey of salvation, but assurance can feel less stable, since it depends not only on faith but also on ongoing transformation.
How do you feel about this tension between free will and assurance? Do you think having more choice makes assurance harder, or can the two go hand in hand?
Donald: I think it would be interesting for Adventists or non-Adventists to tune into, via YouTube, the SDA General Conference that concluded last Saturday night. The premier moment for the church was probably Sabbath afternoon and then the Saturday evening program. That’s when we heard, for the first time, Kohler sharing his developed thoughts as the new President of the General Conference.
To those who aren’t Adventist, that might not mean much. But for those of us who are, we’ve had quite a number of years under the leadership of a Wilson—either senior or junior. I don’t know exactly how many years, maybe 15 or 20. In any case, now we have the first President of the Seventh-day Adventist Church who comes from outside the North American Division. He also speaks from a different perspective. I think that’s fascinating, especially in the context of what Kiran just said. If I understood correctly, somewhere between 1845 and 1906, the church was still developing its identity. There were ongoing discussions and papers being presented—one perspective countering another.
So here we are in the year 2025, asking ourselves: What perspective do I have in the context of all this?
That was my long lead-in. Let me circle back and package up my thoughts on the General Conference. The Sabbath afternoon presentation was one that any Seventh-day Adventist would be proud of—no question. It would have been interesting to hear what Wilson would have said compared to Kohler, because I think there’s a difference. There’s a subtle difference in how they’re projecting the Adventist Church into the future.
Then, during the evening session, you see thousands of people gathered in St. Louis for the General Conference. I’m not sure they’re fully engaged with what Kiran said, or with what Kohler actually had to say. They spent the week crossing t’s and dotting i’s. They don’t make many major changes to the core beliefs of the church.
For many people, the General Conference—despite the thousands flying in from all over the world and spending millions collectively—is nothing more than a massive Seventh-day Adventist camp meeting. I don’t think it’s truly about organizing the church. It’s more about a sense of belonging: “I believe in this church, I feel good about this church, you’re a Seventh-day Adventist and so am I, and now we’re all together under one roof.”
It becomes a kind of “I’m okay, you’re okay” affirmation.
However, that doesn’t really answer Kiran’s question. I’m sure Kohler would respond to what he said, and so would Wilson. But I could go to the seminary and get a dozen different responses to what Kiran just presented.
So where are we? Do we really want someone to say, “This is how it is”?
I think Kiran has done an incredible job of helping us understand where we are—because most of us just land here, and it’s in a vacuum: Boom—this is what the church believes. Don’t you believe this too? I believe this, and I’m surrounded by Adventists, so I pick and choose the perspectives I resonate with.
To me, that’s the bottom line: it’s all about perspective and context.
You started with the Industrial Revolution and its impact on humanity—drunkenness, urban pollution, child labor. That gives us a huge perspective on the church, on organization, on faith.
Here’s my final point. I asked ChatGPT if the Industrial Revolution had a huge impact on our faith journey and the church. Then I asked: what will AI do to us? To summarize: everything’s fast. You have all the information. Now what are you going to do with it? You turn the page, you move quickly. AI means everything’s coming at you so fast, it’s overwhelming. The key becomes your perspective.
And when you describe yourself as the remnant—how do you handle that? Then you talked about the investigative judgment being a way forward. “I’m okay, you’re okay—let’s follow this path.”
So that’s my long answer to your long question. I think what Kiran has shared is very important, and I believe we’re standing at the cusp of another revolution.
Carolyn: I don’t think you can discuss the SDA Church without considering the credibility of Ellen G. White. When we talk about where God chooses to act, I always go back to John 3:16. That’s everyone. I believe God chooses certain tasks to be done by certain people, but much of the division around grace, perfection, and law-keeping has a lot to do with Ellen G. White.
She said many good things—I’m not discrediting her—but I do think she represents a core place in our history that we were once so immersed in and are now quiet about.
C-J: I don’t understand why this is such a big issue, because religion throughout millennia has always been generational. If you’re born into tribulation, it shapes you one way. If you’re born into prosperity, it shapes you another. The core is what Carolyn said: it’s never been about a single person except the person of Christ. As Christians, that’s the foundation. How we demonstrate that faith—whether as an offshoot of Judaism or Islam—depends on where you’re born, the text you receive, and how God reveals Himself in your circumstances.
I don’t mean gender when I say that—I’m referring to the Holy Spirit’s revelation. It’s about perspective, but that perspective needs continuity or it falls apart. That’s where churches come in. There must be rules—not so rigid that they exclude people, but not so loose that they’re meaningless. Without balance, there’s no grace; instead, you get oppression, fear, and condemnation.
When Christ came, He brought a different perspective—as a Jew, yes—but He introduced a God who is filled with love and grace. Through His mission, not just His obedience, He demonstrated that divine love. “Thy will be done”—that’s huge. It says more than any verse or generational interpretation. If we try to make faith into something others must adopt, instead of nurturing our personal relationship with God, we’ll end up in spiritual quicksand.
God reveals who we are, who the Holy Spirit is, and the purpose of that relationship. My relationship with God may seem strange to others. People might say, “You have no idea what you’re doing,” but to me, it’s deeply personal. I believe God holds me to a high standard. It may not fit anyone’s curriculum or doctrine, but I know when God says to me, “What are you thinking?” That clarity comes quickly.
For years, I bounced from one tradition to another. There were common threads, yes, but they didn’t deepen my spiritual roots. Wherever you are—whatever generation, whatever culture—God can grow you, deepen those roots, and produce good fruit.
And that should be enough. It should be enough for everyone—for those watching us and those in our spiritual communities. It’s our birthright. These are our families. We don’t always agree, but we love each other. We seek consensus.
David: It’s true that the church has a wide range of perspectives—often conflicting—on grace, salvation, the end times, and all the topics Kiran mentioned. But as Kiran also said at the start, the church had no real response to the Industrial Revolution. And, as Donald pointed out, we could say the same about the AI revolution.
Just yesterday, I saw a new Pew Research study about teenagers and technology use. A few years ago, about 24% of teens spent most of their time online. Now, that number is nearly 47%. Almost half of all teenagers are essentially living online.
So if we say the church didn’t respond to the Industrial Revolution, then it’s clearly not responding to the AI revolution either. Does that matter? Or—as Connie suggested—is it simply a personal thing? Is grace all that really matters in the end? And is grace operative in virtual spaces, the virtual environments where people are going to be living their entire lives, from waking up to going to sleep? Nearly half of all American teenagers already do (and those environments are still very crude—watch them grow more attractive, quickly). The question becomes: what does the church do in that world?
I agree that the church has always served a valuable role in bringing people together in an atmosphere of love, fellowship, and friendship. That’s a beautiful thing. But I don’t think that kind of togetherness has much to do with the theological debates Kiran laid out so well today.
So, will the church play a role in the AI revolution? I suspect it will. In fact, I think it’s already started. You’ll find online churches and rooms like this one where people gather. Some will try to attract others to join them, maybe with some ads on the side to monetize it. Who knows where it will go? But as long as these gatherings bring people together in a spirit of peace, love, and shared understanding, I see no problem. Of course, other groups will gather online for less noble purposes—just like they do offline. That’s inevitable.
So yes, these are wordly revolutions. But fundamentally, I’m not sure anything truly changes spiritually. I agree that it’s our personal relationship with God that matters most, and I don’t think that’s going to change, no matter how virtual the world becomes.
Donald: Two things really stand out from today’s discussion. First, I’ve been sending out that AI response I mentioned earlier. One of the key ideas in it is that church is going to become extremely personal. Your access point is yours alone. You won’t need to go to a building to hear a preacher. That’s going to have an impact. Just look at what we’re doing right now—gathering together because technology allows us to. We’re choosing to be a community in this space.
Second, last week I brought up something that everyone here seemed to agree with: something remarkable about Don Weaver is his ability to hold two things concurrently. I’ve mentioned that to others, and I’ve tried to process it myself. Don, I don’t want to speak for you, but I think that dual capacity is significant.
So, yes, church is becoming more personal and private. You can decide for yourself: include or exclude Mrs. White, attend or not attend a building-based service—and feel perfectly okay about it. But Don would say, and I think he’d be right, that we can hold both: we can be individuals, and we can also belong to a community that shares a mission, that spreads a message. Most people, though, would probably say no—they’ll choose the private path.
And then there are those who flew in from halfway across the world last week just to be with other Adventists. They weren’t there for theology; they were there to say, “I love this church, I love these people.”
Carolyn’s point is also important. Some of us—maybe not all, but some—grew up deeply immersed in Ellen White’s vision of the church. That wasn’t a side dish—it was the main course. It shaped who we were in the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s.
C-J: I wasn’t born into the Adventist faith, and I don’t know this new leader personally. But from what I do know, I think Ellen White was trying to clean up a big mess. She came in and asked, “Where are the biggest problems? Where can we find consensus?” I believe she genuinely thought her insights were a revelation from God. When she called herself a prophet, I don’t think it was for harm or personal gain.
You see that throughout the Bible with the prophets. There’s destruction, and then there’s hope. Both are part of prophecy. The prophets were chosen for a specific time, with a specific message. If you look at people like Martin Luther or others who sparked reform movements, they weren’t necessarily wrong—they were trying to clean up a mess. They were leaning into God and asking, “How do we make this work among the imperfect?”
If we start from that premise, then yes—we can hold two truths. Are we sinners? Yes. Is there grace? Yes. The question is how that works in practice. What are the worldly rules that protect us? What’s the danger in tribalism? How do we acknowledge that we don’t understand everything, but trust that the divine loves all of us?
Even if we can’t explain it, we’re called to be kind, merciful, generous, and abundant—in our thoughts, in our words, in what we share. It’s not, “God blessed me because I got it right and you didn’t.” It’s that God works through the exchange, through our mutual lack, through our needs.
That spirit of shared provision was central to the early church—the Messianic Jewish believers who pooled everything: coats, bread, shelter. I think the church has held onto that spirit, at least in its mission work.
I’m personally very grateful for the time I’ve spent with this group. I’m also grateful to have been born into a Judeo-Christian tradition, because the root of it is deeply beautiful.
Don: If there’s a mess that needs cleaning up, it’s a mess of our own making. That’s the first point. We’re not immune to creating division ourselves. I think it’s actually a kind of arrogance—an alternative to holding two truths in tension—to insist that there is only one way forward. The idea that people from all walks of life, all educational and cultural backgrounds, all racial identities, for all time, should see God the same way is simply indefensible. It takes just a little humility to say, “We don’t know everything.” If we’re patient, God will reveal what we need to know for our salvation.
And often, what turns out not to be necessary is exactly what we thought was essential—living a pious life. What is necessary is accepting God’s grace and realizing that religion is about God, not about us. That’s not an easy stance to take, especially if you’ve grown up believing that what you do and how you worship is what saves you. But, as Kiran pointed out last week by reading from Paul, you can take passages from his writings—or from Ellen White—and come away with very different messages, sometimes seemingly contradictory.
Ellen White never claimed to be a prophet. She said she was a messenger. Others may ascribe prophetic status to her, but she herself was more modest about her role. I think the right posture is humility—recognizing that God’s ways are not our ways. There are many other viewpoints, many other sheep not of this fold. And we should be, of all people, the most humble and open-minded—ready to listen, to consider, to grow.
Carolyn: I love the church. I truly do. I’ve had many wonderful experiences with the Lord. But I missed out on grace for most of my life, and now that I’ve found it, I’m thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. But I have another issue—and that’s judgmentalism. I believe in the Ten Commandments, and I try to keep them. But our church has often been known as a unique, pure people, and we’ve taken pride in that. I think we need to revisit what it means to be “unique” and what it means to be “different.”
These things I’m bringing up are not just idle thoughts: I feel them deep in my gut. I really want to know. I want to love the Lord more. I want to release everything to Him, fully and without reservation. But I’m also human. I know I fall short, and I know the Lord covers me. But it’s hard to let go of what we’ve been taught since we were young. In the 1960s and 70s, I tried my best to be the very best Adventist I could be—and I know I fell short. We all do.
But I thank you. I love each one of you. Thank you for your patience—with me as a human, and as a sinner. I’m saved by grace.
Donald: That’s an incredible testimony, Carolyn. Thank you so much.
There are a couple of words we use in the church that we really tend to stumble over. One is “remnant.” When someone describes themselves as part of the remnant, I’m not sure where to go with that. I’m not sure we’re very humble when we use that word. The other word is “peculiar.” We’ve loved being called peculiar. We wore that word like a badge—to be strange, to be different. But strange and different aren’t the same thing. “Peculiar” can mean something entirely else. We’ve even used it to describe the Amish.
We had alternatives for everything. We didn’t play cards; we played Rook. We didn’t drink Coca-Cola; we drank something else. We didn’t drink coffee; we drank Postum. We had the whole thing figured out.
Carolyn: And we were judgmental about all of it.
Donald: Exactly. That’s the point. You can be peculiar if you want to—but then you’re standing in judgment. You’re saying, “I don’t associate with you.” You build a fence. “We’re inside, you’re outside.” And the fence is tall. If you’d asked me ten years ago, I would have said, “What do you want me to do with your kids over at the university where I teach?” Do you want me to pretend the fence doesn’t exist? Or do you want everyone to stay within it? And if not, why are you paying $40,000 to send your kids to an Adventist university? If we’re not going to be peculiar, then what are we doing?
C-J: I think religion, anywhere in the world, reflects the politics of the governments that rule during a given time. In the 1960s and 70s, our nation was incredibly divided—on issues of race, women’s rights, and education. There was this hierarchy, this belief in a “mandate of heaven” kind of ideology. But by the end of the 70s, as a more educated country, we were given the freedom to choose what we wanted to read, how to interpret it, and whether to incorporate it into our lives. Sure, there were bumps—we swung too far left or too far right at times—but by the 1990s, we were reaping the fruit of those decisions.
And then, we got greedy. As a nation, we became self-indulgent, like all great empires at their peak. Then COVID came—and it humbled us. We were isolated. We had time to think. And just at that moment, AI stepped into the public space. It had already been around in universities, research labs, and businesses, but now the general public was introduced to it. Of course, it had to be tweaked for average users. Most people didn’t know how to access it, or how to use it. The language was different. The tools were unfamiliar. You needed a device. You needed internet access. You had to take a class or go to a community center to learn it.
Right now, I think AI is at the stage society was in the 70s or 80s. It’s about to blossom. There will be restraints—around access and accountability—and there’s always danger in that. But hopefully, humanity will learn, just like it did with the printing press. Parents are realizing they can’t use AI as a babysitter. They’re learning to limit what their children can access, what they’re exposed to. We’re learning how to tap into AI’s potential—how to use it wisely.
Yes, it can be dangerous. Yes, it takes time to learn. People still ask, “Why can’t I just talk to a real person?” Because we’re social beings—we need a pack, a community. We need full, rich communication—not just check-the-box menus. But over time, with care and effort, we’ll learn to use AI within boundaries, with discernment. I don’t want to throw it out. I want to learn to live with it responsibly. And I believe that big church buildings—the ones that cost thousands of dollars to run, with giant parking lots—will become community centers. Places for the vulnerable. Places people can walk to again. Places for neighbors to come together.
Yes, this is a kind of community—but it’s sterile. It’s not the same as a hug. It’s not the same as hearing, smelling, feeling the presence of people in the room. The smell of food, the clatter of silverware, the joy of seeing someone again—that’s real. That’s 3D. That’s life. We’ll find our way eventually. But for my generation, and for many others here, this transition is uncomfortable. Still, I have to be open to it, because I’m not going to stop it. I have to embrace it. Whether I like it or not, it’s here. I just have to find a way to move through it with good conscience—and with confidence that I’m not doing harm, even when I don’t fully know what AI can do yet.
Don: I think one of the things I’d like us to do in this class in the coming weeks is to have a real discussion on exactly what you’re talking about—how to make AI a responsible tool in the hands of people who are led by the Spirit. I hope we can go there together.
Reinhard: To me, that’s the challenge for Christians—regardless of denomination—when it comes to advanced technology. The Bible doesn’t mention it, of course, but that doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant. I think that’s another topic we need to explore.
But I want to go back to the earlier discussion about church leaders like Wesley, Calvin, and the Arminians. First, I want to note that some people don’t believe Jesus is part of the Trinity—that’s a belief held by Jehovah’s Witnesses and by Unitarians. That Unitarian view originated with Arius, a pastor in the fourth century, whose teachings were later considered heresy.
Throughout history, we’ve seen that when churches—especially the Catholic Church, which was the first established church—became large and powerful, it became very hard to change doctrine. That’s why the Reformation happened: to purify Christianity. That was the goal. And then, in the 18th and 19th centuries, many denominations emerged. Including us—Seventh-day Adventists—who wanted to go even further, to purify doctrine more deeply, which is where the idea of the “remnant church” comes in.
One thing I believe is that the rise of denominations in the 1800s and 1900s helped counterbalance the rise of science. Think about it: scientific theories—like Darwin’s theory of evolution—gave rise to more atheistic worldviews. So I think God allowed the rise of new denominations in that era to push back spiritually against these movements.
As for me, I personally believe the Seventh-day Adventist Church has the doctrines that are closest to what I need to become a better Christian and a stronger believer. I came from another denomination, but I chose this one because it helps me grow closer to God. But of course, we all need to believe in Jesus as our Savior. That’s the foundation, no matter the denomination. I think God looks at how deep our faith is and how we live each day.
About Wesley—I believe his theology emphasized that grace must result in transformation. We can’t just accept grace and then do whatever we want. In Hebrews 6, it says some people fall away and crucify Christ all over again. So this idea of “once saved, always saved” doesn’t seem correct to me. Some do fall away. I remember reading about a pastor in the 1950s who was once an associate of Billy Graham and then became an atheist. It happens. People lose their way if they don’t watch their lives.
In the end, it’s about keeping close to God. We know the truth, we believe it, and we live by it. That’s what Christians need. That’s what we need in life.
Don: Jesus talked about what it means to be peculiar in John 13—verse 35, I think, though I don’t have my Bible open at the moment. He said the key evidence that we are His disciples is our love for one another. So it’s not about being unique or peculiar because of what we believe or hold dear. It’s about how we treat each other. That’s the true mark of peculiarity—of distinctiveness—in a spiritual sense. I think Kiran should lead at least one class on the concept of the remnant. It’s a fascinating topic, and one that’s often misunderstood.
What impresses me when I study the remnant—especially as it appears in the Old Testament—is that you’re not a remnant just because you claim to be. The remnant is defined by God, not by us. Yet what we often try to do is define it ourselves—based on our understanding of Scripture, our interpretations, our doctrinal views. We draw circles around our own beliefs and call that the remnant. But that’s not how it works. The remnant isn’t self-appointed. It’s something only God determines.
Kiran: In response to Reinhard’s comment about this being a purified church because the Catholics messed everything up—I have to say, for the first time, I don’t feel that way anymore. When I wrote this lesson two weeks ago, something shifted in me. For the first time, I lost that old animosity toward Catholics. I realized—they’re not the bad guys I once believed them to be. They believed what they believed based on what their spiritual fathers taught them. I found myself confused, in a good way. For the first time, I saw every denomination as basically the same. We’re all like little children—each with our own uniqueness—but ultimately the same.
And here’s the strange part: I’m in what I believe is the most unique church, but I no longer feel different from everyone else. I feel the same. That feeling is hard to explain, but it’s real.
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