Restoring Apostolic Faith

Every now and then, you hit a moment that reminds you why theologians, scholars, and anyone who studies Scripture beyond the surface often feel like strangers in their own church.

I hit that moment recently.

I shared a simple Hebrew clarification about Genesis 1:1–2—nothing wild, nothing speculative, just what the earliest readers understood. And the response?

“Knowledge puffs up.”

“We only want the Holy Spirit to teach us.”

“We don’t need all that.”

There it was: the most misused verse in modern church culture.

Let’s talk about it.

1. When Paul said “knowledge puffs up,” he wasn’t condemning knowledge.

He was correcting arrogance.

The verse comes from 1 Corinthians 8, where some believers flaunted their superior understanding to shame weaker members.

Paul wasn’t saying knowledge itself was the problem—

he was saying knowledge without love is empty.

If Paul believed knowledge was dangerous, he wouldn’t also say:

• “Brothers, do not be children in your thinking… but in your thinking be mature.” (1 Cor 14:20)

• “Study to show yourself approved.” (2 Tim 2:15)

• “Let the word of Christ dwell richly within you.” (Col 3:16)

The man practically begged believers to grow up mentally.

“Knowledge puffs up” wasn’t a ban on learning.

It was a warning against weaponizing learning.

Today it gets flipped on its head—

people use it as an excuse not to learn at all.

That’s not humility.

That’s fear dressed as spirituality.

2. The Bible never glorifies ignorance. Ever.

Look at Paul’s model.

He didn’t walk into the Areopagus in Acts 17 and say,

“Hey, the Holy Spirit will tell you everything you need.”

He reasoned.

He debated.

He quoted their own poets.

He used their philosophical categories.

He spoke their intellectual language better than they did.

And that’s why they invited him back.

Not because he was simple—

but because he had done the work.

Paul didn’t see knowledge as a liability.

He saw it as a bridge.

A tool.

A calling.

A way to meet people where they actually lived and thought.

The early church didn’t grow because its leaders rejected knowledge.

It grew because they refused to stop learning.

The early church fathers didn’t fear knowledge either—they saw it as essential to faithfulness.

Ignatius wrote, “Be eager to be firmly grounded in the teachings of the Lord and the apostles.” (Ign. Eph. 11)

Clement of Alexandria even argued that knowledge protects the believer:

“Knowledge is a guardrail to righteousness… the soul cannot be saved without understanding.”(Stromata 7.10)

From the beginning, Christian maturity wasn’t measured by how little you knew—

but by how deeply you allowed truth to transform you.

3. Depth isn’t the problem. People’s insecurity is.

There’s a reason some believers bristle when someone introduces Hebrew, Greek, context, or early church history.

Depth creates discomfort.

Discomfort exposes shallowness.

Shallowness often reacts defensively.

Most people aren’t malicious—they’re just not ready to leave the kiddie pool.

And that’s okay.

But here’s what you can’t do:

You can’t let the ones clinging to the shallow end set the depth for everyone else.

4. The deeper waters were never meant for crowds—just for the willing.

There are people out there who want more:

• More understanding

• More historical grounding

• More context

• More clarity

• More awe

They’re hungry.

They’re curious.

They’re willing to swim where their feet don’t touch the bottom.

And those are the people the RAF writing is for.

Not the ones who are terrified of going deeper.

Not the ones who weaponize verses to stay comfortable.

Not the gatekeepers of surface-level faith.

If you spend your energy trying to convince people who don’t want water in their hair,

you’ll miss the ones who are already putting on goggles.

5. So what do we do?

We keep learning.

We keep studying.

We keep honoring Scripture with the curiosity it deserves.

And we stop interpreting rejection as failure.

Some groups aren’t rejecting you.

They’re rejecting the depth they’re afraid of.

But others—quietly, cautiously, slowly—are watching you.

And when they finally work up the courage to wade deeper,

they’ll remember the person who didn’t dumb things down,

but also didn’t look down on anyone.

They’ll remember the guide standing waist-deep in the deep end, smiling, saying:

“It’s okay.

You’re ready.

Come on in.”

Final Thought

To reflect on the words of a peer and friend, Oliver Richardson III—words that have stuck with me:
Language is essential to theology because God chose to reveal Himself through words. And words only do their job when they’re understood in their own time, place, and culture. When we ignore context or import our modern assumptions into the text, the result is almost always bad theology. As E. Randolph Richards and Brandon J. O’Brien remind us, “Language is the most obvious cultural difference that separates us from the Bible.”

If we want to bridge that gap, we have to pay attention to the words, the phrases, and the cultural river the Scriptures flowed from. One of the simplest and most powerful ways to keep ourselves honest is by studying the biblical languages—or at least by respecting those who do.

Because at the end of the day, depth isn’t arrogance.

It’s stewardship.

And the church desperately needs more people willing to step off the shallow end and learn how to swim.