We live in a time and culture that values “self.” Actually, values might not be strong enough. The truth is, we’re obsessed with the idea of self. We idolize it. We’re constantly talking about self-actualization, self-promotion, self-help, and self-care (after all, “it’s not just hygiene—it’s virtue”¹). Do we even need to mention the selfie craze? Today, “self” is number one.

One of the key features of this obsession is the prioritization of our own reason—our logic, our thoughts, and our “truth.” But as I’ve studied Martin Luther’s The Bondage of the Will, I’ve realized this obsession isn’t new. When Erasmus of Rotterdam defended the freedom of the human will in salvation, he was already shaped by a culture of humanism that celebrated the self.

The more I’ve studied the debate between the free will and the bound will, the more convinced I am that this isn’t just a debate about “free will” versus “bound will” as much as it is a debate about pride versus humility. I’m convinced that belief in the free will is rooted in pride, while belief in the bound will is born out of humility. The whole discussion can be boiled down to this:

Are we obsessed with the self, or have we despaired of it?

And nowhere is this contrast clearer than in Luther and Erasmus’s debate over the authority and clarity of Scripture.

Free Will and the Authority of Scripture

Luther argued that the arrogance of Erasmus’s “free will” position was evident in his posture toward the Scriptures. Like Erasmus, our fixation on the self distorts how we approach God’s Word.

The first thing it does is lead us to assume that we are the primary interpreters of Scripture. We assume that the text is dead—and that we, through our authoritative free will, are the living interpreters who must give it life and meaning. Because we value our own reason, logic, and truth, we instinctively stand over Scripture rather than under it. We imagine that understanding the Bible depends on our ability to make sense of its “flat and lifeless” words.

But this is the exact opposite of reality.

We are not the ones who interpret Scripture—Scripture interprets us.

It’s not the biblical text that lies dead; it’s our hearts that are born dead in sin (Ephesians 2:1–3). We don’t stand over the Bible; the Bible stands over us. We are not the living “movers” acting upon the text; rather, the living Word acts upon us:

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.
Hebrews 4:12–13

Luther wanted Erasmus to see that Scripture makes authoritative, dogmatic assertions over us. Such divine authority only goes to prove the reality of our bound condition—that our hearts are enslaved to sin, death, and judgment. Luther wrote:

The Holy Spirit is no Sceptic, and the things He has written in our hearts are not doubts or opinions, but assertions—surer and more certain than sense and life itself.²

If the Scriptures are the living and breathing Word of God—asserting, commanding, and creating life—then our wills are anything but free. They are bound, and the Word must act upon them. God’s Word is the sole authority.

Free Will and the Clarity of Scripture

Our obsession with self also affects how we hear Scripture. If our posture toward the Bible is wrong, our interpretation will be wrong too. When we stand over Scripture—making demands of what it must say to us—we inevitably miss what God intends for us to hear. From that posture, Scripture will always seem unclear.

As a pastor, I often meet people who struggle with this. They open their Bibles looking for answers to life’s questions—who to marry, whether to take a promotion, how to handle a wayward child, or even how to vote. And they’re often disappointed when the Bible doesn’t give them clear answers. It’s not that they’re trying to misuse Scripture, but that they’ve come to it with the wrong posture. Instead of listening to what God is saying, they tell God what they want Him to say. The natural result is confusion and disappointment. Scripture seems difficult, cryptic, or inaccessible.

But is that really the case?

Are the Scriptures some kind of divine code that only the pious can crack? Are they a spiritual gold rush where the most determined diggers find hidden nuggets of wisdom? Or are they like Dr. Pepper’s secret 23-flavor recipe—no one really knows it, but with enough skill and determination, you might get close?

Luther would say no.

When Luther spoke about the clarity of Scripture, he didn’t deny that some parts of the Bible are hard to understand. What he denied was that God’s Word is ever unclear about what truly matters. For Luther, the issue was not about the complexity of the grammar or the mystery of the doctrine—it was about the posture of the heart.

Luther described Scripture’s clarity in two ways: external and internal.

The external clarity of Scripture refers to its plain meaning—the objective words and message that can be read, studied, and understood by anyone. The external Word is not hidden or encoded. It is written in human language, communicated through real sentences, stories, and promises. It declares openly and unmistakably who God is and what He has done in Christ. As Luther put it:

There is nothing whatever left obscure or ambiguous; but all things that are in the Scriptures are by the Word brought out of darkness into the clearest light.³

This means that, on the surface, Scripture is not the problem. Anyone can pick up a Bible and see that it points to a holy God, sinful humanity, and a gracious Savior. The message is not veiled behind symbolic riddles—it’s right there on the page.

But while the external clarity of Scripture is plain, that doesn’t mean everyone sees it. That’s where internal clarity comes in.

The internal clarity is the work of the Holy Spirit, who opens blind eyes and softens hard hearts to believe and embrace what the external Word proclaims. It’s not that the text changes—it’s that we do. The same light that shines on everyone finally pierces the darkness of the individual heart. Luther wrote:

If many things still remain abstruse to many, this does not arise from obscurity in the Scriptures, but from the blindness or dullness of those who will not take the trouble to look at the very clearest truth.⁴

In other words, the issue isn’t with the clarity of God’s Word, but with the corruption of the human will. We don’t fail to understand because Scripture is murky; we fail because sin makes us resistant to what it says. While the Scriptures say that Jesus came to save us, we are still at work trying to save ourselves. This all changes when the Holy Spirit uses the Word to bring our dead hearts to life.

If the external clarity proclaims Christ, then the internal clarity proclaims Christ “for you”—for your sins, for your resurrection, for your righteousness.

Scripture is not about you—but it does proclaim Christ for you. In the end, that’s what grace is: God’s Word coming to those who can do nothing to save themselves. Scripture reveals that the work of salvation is already accomplished. Jesus has forgiven all of your sin. Your resurrection is secured in Jesus’s life.

And what does it take to receive this good news? Well, all it takes is a posture of humility to the authority of Scripture. All it takes is submission to the clarity of the Scriptures. In other words, all it takes is the only thing you already have—your bound will.

1.Caroline Mimbs Nyce, “Self-Care as a Moral Imperative,” The Atlantic, January 2021, https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2021/01/self-care-moral-imperative/617774/.
2. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, trans. J. I. Packer and O. R. Johnston (Grand Rapids: Revell, 1957), 70.
3. Ibid, 91.
4. Ibid, 92.

Like Rudy, that’s not the kind of answer any of us like to hear. When we’re wrestling with life’s struggles and questions, it feels like no answer at all—almost dismissive or evasive. But, as Martin Luther argued in The Bondage of the Will, our discomfort with that response actually proves its truth. The problem isn’t that the answer is incomplete; it’s that the incompleteness is the point. We’re meant to realize that we can’t fully understand God because we’re not Him. That’s not a flaw in faith—it’s the essence of it. God is God. You are not. And that’s exactly why you can’t understand.

Desiderius Erasmus—the Dutch humanist whom Luther was responding to in The Bondage of the Will—wasn’t trying to get into Notre Dame. But he was trying to understand how to reconcile an all-powerful, all-knowing God with the supposed free will of sinful humanity. Erasmus acknowledged God’s sovereign grace in theory but couldn’t reconcile it with human responsibility in practice. “Does God choose man for salvation entirely,” he wondered, “or does man’s choice play some part in the process?” 

When it comes to the question of free will, one of the biggest struggles we face is related to the justice of God. A common question goes something like this: “How can God condemn people for their sins when their wills are bound and they cannot freely choose Him?” Even someone with a loose moral compass can sense the apparent unfairness. If we don’t have a free will to choose God, how can He hold us liable for not choosing Him? This is the question of the bound will and the unjust God.

You’re not going to like the answer, but here it is: “There is a God—and you’re not Him.”

Thankfully, Luther doesn’t just play the “God card” and leave us to puzzle out divine justice on our own. He helps us see why this answer is actually a source of comfort.

When addressing the question of the bound will and the unjust God, Luther distinguishes between “three great lights”—which he calls “a common and good distinction”¹: the light of nature, the light of grace, and the light of glory.

The Light of Nature – God’s Justice Questioned

Luther begins with a pointed question: why is God’s justice the only attribute we single out for scrutiny? No one claims to be stronger than God or greater in power. No Christian I know suggests that we have more wisdom or foreknowledge than He does. We never question His omnipotence or omniscience in relation to our own. And yet, when it comes to God’s justice, we hesitate. We ask whether His justice is truly just—as if this might be the one area where our own character could edge out God’s.

Luther writes:

“But here God must be reverenced and held in awe, as being most merciful to those whom He justifies and saves in their own utter unworthiness; and we must show some measure of deference to His divine wisdom by believing Him just when to us He seems unjust. If His justice were such as could be adjudged just by human reckoning, it clearly would not be divine; it would in no way differ from human justice. But inasmuch as He is the one true God—holy, incomprehensible, and inaccessible to man’s understanding—it is reasonable, indeed inevitable, that His justice also should be incomprehensible; as Paul cries, saying: ‘Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How inscrutable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out!’ (Rom. 11:33). They would not, however, be ‘unsearchable’ if we could at every point grasp the grounds on which they are just”² 

The light of nature shows that, as fallen humanity, we can never ascend to the heights of God’s justice. When we try to perceive His justice through the lens of natural, sinful reason, we inevitably distort it. As Luther puts it, “By the light of nature, it is inexplicable that it should be just for the good to be afflicted and the bad to prosper”³. Seen through this light, many conclude that God is either unjust or nonexistent. The natural person cannot comprehend divine justice by what can be seen or reasoned. Justice—as seen in this life— will never add up.

In short, the light of nature can’t make sense of the answer, “You are not God.” It leaves us only with frustration and confusion.

The Light of Grace – God’s Justice Achieved

Thankfully, this isn’t the only light we see in Scripture. Luther argues that the confusion of the light of nature finds its clarity in the light of grace—the grace revealed in the Gospel.

“Yet all this, which looks so much like injustice in God, and is traduced as such by arguments which no reason or light of nature can resist, is most easily cleared up by the light of the Gospel and the knowledge of grace, which teaches us that, though the wicked flourish in their bodies, yet they perish in their souls.”⁴

Jesus is both the revelation of God’s demands and His promises. He fulfills the Law in righteousness and then offers that righteousness as a gift. In other words, Jesus lived righteously for us and then gave His righteousness to us. This, Paul says, is what defines God as “the righteous (just) God.” The righteousness given to sinners on account of Christ is God’s justice achieved:

But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it—the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe… It was to show His righteousness at the present time, so that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.

Romans 3:21–26

The Light of Glory – God’s Justice Realized

The primary answer to the question of the bound will and the unjust God is grace—God’s gift of righteousness in Christ. Yet even here, the light of grace still seems—at least to our natural senses—unjust. There will always be space for the claim of an unjust God if how we receive this grace is through mere faith. How is it fair that faith alone be the means by which we receive grace? Our wills are bound and yet we must still believe? 

Luther answers:

“The light of glory insists otherwise, and will one day reveal God, to whom alone belongs a judgment whose justice is incomprehensible, as a God whose justice is most righteous and evident—provided only that in the meantime, we believe it, as we are instructed and encouraged to do by the example of the light of grace explaining what was a puzzle of the same order to the light of nature.”⁵

One day, God in His glory will set everything right. He will pour out judgment on all ungodliness and sin. He will call to Himself all who, by believing in His Son, have cried out for mercy and have received His grace. But all of that is “one day.” His justice will be fully realized then, but for now, faith alone allows us to grasp what we cannot yet see.

God’s Justice – The Ultimate Comfort

“There is a God—and you’re not Him.” That can be a tough pill to swallow when wrestling with the question of the bound will and the unjust God. But remember: the incompleteness of the answer is the answer. You’ll never be able to figure it out. Justice is not left up to you—and praise God for that! His sense of justice is greater than yours.

And if justice is not in your hands, then neither is your salvation. God’s ability to save is greater than yours. Your will is bound. And God is just. And how do we know?

The just God has revealed His righteousness in human history in the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. There, God has forgiven your sins by taking them upon Himself and giving you His righteousness. His historical and bodily resurrection assures you that a life of justice awaits beyond the grave:

“There is a life after this life; and all that is not punished and repaid here will be punished and repaid there; for this life is nothing more than a precursor, or, rather, the beginning, of the life that is to come.”⁶

And though all of these objective, salvific, just, merciful, and life-giving realities are grasped only by faith, it’s a far better anchor than the fiction we call “free will.”

1. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, trans. J. I. Packer and O. R. Johnston (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1996), 314–315.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid, 315.
4. Ibid, 316.
5. Ibid, 317.
6. Ibid, 316.

My testimony of coming to faith in Christ is a bit confusing. Unlike many of the people who influenced me spiritually during my adolescence, I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty when I “got saved.” Like many of my peers, I’ve had countless conversion moments. I’ve walked the aisle plenty of times. I’ve said the sinner’s prayer more than a few times. I’ve rededicated my life to the Lord again and again. I’ve been baptized twice. You get it. If there was one certainty in my Christian experience, it was that I had no certainty about my Christian experience.

As I look back on where I was and the context in which I grew up, I’ve become increasingly convinced that I was surrounded by a functional theology of free will. What I mean is that while there was plenty of lip service paid to a theology of grace alone, at the end of the day, grace only got you so far.

As I said in my last article, the confusion around free will does not usually arise from debating whether it exists—most people can be convinced that it’s a fiction—but from considering its implications. If my will is bound, how do I make sense of “my choice,” “my prayer,” or “my dedication”?

Growing up, in the practical outworking of the Christian life, there was always something left for me to do: a prayer to pray, a decision to make, fruit to display, or sincerity to prove. The theology of “It is finished” was replaced—or at least overshadowed—by the practice of “Do more, try harder.” The impression I was left with was that if I was going to be saved, I had to do my part. And though nobody said it out loud, the assumption was that I had to exercise my free will to do the impossible—to save my own soul. Yes, Jesus did most of the work, but it was up to me to finish it. This is free will theology.

Humanism Is Rooted in a Lack of Assurance

I didn’t read Martin Luther’s The Bondage of the Will until much later in my spiritual journey. But when I finally did, my heart was instantly stirred, because someone was finally putting words to my frustrated questions about the theology I grew up with.

Like when Luther asked Erasmus: “If ‘free will’ merits a tiny bit, and grace the rest, why does ‘free will’ receive the total reward?”¹

Exactly! How does the effort of our so-called “free will” continue to receive most of the credit functionally if we truly believe, theologically, that Christ’s work counts for—at least—the vast majority of our salvation? As I studied the debate between Luther and Erasmus, I began to see that Luther was using his arguments on the bound will to press Erasmus toward a clearer doctrine of assurance rooted in the Gospel and the Scriptures. In other words, this is not just a theological question. It’s a functional question—a pastoral question.

Let’s start with the fact that Desiderius Erasmus was a Renaissance humanist. From the outset, Erasmus was predisposed to skepticism and speculation. Academically, this was fashionable in his day. With humanism’s emphasis on human agency, practical piety, philological rigor, and moderation, he naturally leaned toward an optimistic view of human responsibility. He also downplayed the certainty of Scripture’s assertions.

Luther once quipped, “…in your view, it is no matter what any man believes anywhere, if only the peace of the world is preserved”.² Erasmus argued that Scripture was not overly clear about whether or not our will is bound and that it would be best not to speculate or make dogmatic assertions. “God gives us commands, and we should obey. I can obey; therefore, I must have free will,” reasoned Erasmus.

Luther saw the deep problem with this. He argued that Scripture was clear—and that through the plain reading of the text, it offered assurance through faith in Christ. Scripture, he insisted, clearly revealed the saving work of Jesus—from His incarnation to His atonement, resurrection, and ascension—and that this revelation killed two birds with one stone:

1. If Jesus had to come and die for us, then it is clear that we cannot save ourselves, and our wills are therefore bound.
2. If Jesus did come and die for us as the Scriptures reveal, then our assurance is forever settled in Him.

Luther couldn’t comprehend how Erasmus could be content to live without salvific assurance when Scripture was so clear—especially about both assurance and humanity’s lack of free will:

“I certainly grant that many passages in the Scriptures are obscure and hard to elucidate, but that is due, not to the exalted nature of their subject, but to our own linguistic and grammatical ignorance; and it does not in any way prevent our knowing all the contents of Scripture. For what solemn truth can the Scripture still be concealing, now that the seals are broken, the stone rolled away from the door of the tomb, and the greatest of all mysteries brought to light—that Christ, God’s Son, became man, that God is three and one, that Christ suffered for us, and will reign forever? Are not these things known, and sung in our streets? Take Christ from the Scriptures—and what more will you find in them? You see, then, that the entire content of the Scriptures has now been brought to light, even though some passages which contain unknown words remain obscure.”³

With a Free Will, There Is No Assurance

Ultimately, Erasmus’s assumption of free will left space for a constant lack of assurance—and it always does. The possibility of free will inevitably leads to judgment and guilt. When assurance is rooted in our performance, our determination, our commitment, or our piety, uncertainty will always follow. The doubts of salvation “in our hands” always drown out God’s promise of assurance in Christ.

We all feel what Luther felt when he considered the possibility of free will:

“For my own part, I frankly confess that even if it were possible, I should not wish to have free-will given to me… Not only because, in the face of so many dangers and adversities, and so many assaults from devils, I should be unable to stand firm and keep hold of it… but because, even if there were no dangers, adversities, or devils, I should still be forced to labor under perpetual uncertainty… For even if I lived and worked to eternity, my conscience would never be assured and certain how much it ought to do to satisfy God… as I myself learned to my bitter cost through so many years of battling.”⁴

The Absence of Free Will Grounds Our Assurance in Christ

In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul presents the case that God’s justification of sinners happens by means of a one-sided declaration. God freely justifies sinners on account of His own will, which is motivated by mercy. This has been God’s will from the very beginning:

“For he says to Moses, ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.’ So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy.”

Romans 9:15-16

Salvation is in no way contingent upon the supposed free will of humanity. There is no contribution to justification on account of human agency. It depends entirely on God’s will of mercy.

In other words, ”free will merits nothing, and God’s will receives all of the reward.” A true theology of “grace alone” is rooted in the fact that God has given His reward to us in the person and work of Christ. Our assurance has been taken out of our hands and placed firmly into His.

The height of the Christian experience is realizing that your salvation has nothing to do with your experience. It has everything to do with Christ’s. It was God who exercised His free will to do the impossible—to save your soul.

Free will is bad news. But the Good News is announced in accordance with God’s will in Christ as He said from the cross, “It is finished.”

1. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, trans. J. I. Packer and O. R. Johnston (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1996), 237.

2. Ibid, 13.

3. Ibid, 71.

4. Ibid, 313–14.

As a pastor teaching a 12th-grade Bible class at a local Christian school, I guide students through the core theological topics of the Christian faith. Rather than skimming the surface, we dive deeply into a few key subjects, sparking rich discussions among teenagers who are beginning to grapple with their beliefs.

In our unit on sin and anthropology, I open with a provocative question: “Which is stronger—man or sin?”

The room falls silent. Eyes squint, pencils tap, and nervous glances are exchanged. Some students hesitantly raise their hands, others fidget. Remarkably, every student answers correctly: sin is stronger than man. Every time. Some point out that if man were stronger, Jesus’ death would have been unnecessary. Others cite humanity’s moral decline, arguing that history shows no progress in overcoming sin. A few draw from personal experience, noting that if man could conquer sin, we would have stopped sinning long ago.

The question seems daunting, but the answer is intuitive. The real tension lies not in the answer itself but in its implications. If sin is stronger than man, what does this mean for our daily Christian life? For our fight against sin? For repentance? For our choice to accept Jesus as Savior? Ultimately, the question becomes: If sin overpowers man, do we truly have free will?

The Theological Divide

This tension—between knowing sin’s dominance theologically and assuming personal control functionally—is striking. The debate over free will is ancient, stretching back to humanity’s earliest encounters with sin. It reached a peak during the Protestant Reformation, particularly in Martin Luther’s 1525 work, The Bondage of the Will, a response to Desiderius Erasmus’ The Freedom of the Will. Luther argued, based on a plain reading of Scripture, that humanity’s will is bound, not free. He boldly declared, “Free will is a downright lie.”¹ It’s a fiction.

What Free Will Is Not

When Luther denies free will, he is not saying humans lack a will entirely. A common misconception is that a bound will means we cannot choose anything—whether it’s the color of our shirt, whether to carry an umbrella, whom to marry, or which career to pursue. Luther clarifies that humans have freedom in matters “below us.” In temporal, earthly affairs, we can choose according to our desires: what to eat, which team to support, or where to park. God, in creating us as His image-bearers, grants us “natural ability” to make decisions within the bounds of our human nature. As Luther writes, “I know that ‘free will’ can do some things by nature; it can eat, drink, beget, rule, etc.”²

Thus, the absence of free will does not mean we are robots in everyday life.

What Free Will Is

The question of free will concerns matters “above us”—specifically, our “moral ability” to choose actions that lead to eternal salvation. Luther defines free will as “the power of the human will by which a man may apply himself to those things that lead to eternal salvation.”³ The issue is whether our choices can earn righteousness or merit eternal life. Luther’s answer is clear: they cannot.

This question is rooted in the doctrine of original sin. While we may choose to wear a certain shirt, attend church, or help someone in need, these actions do not address the deeper reality of Sin—the condition that renders us spiritually dead. In other words, we might believe our free will operates in relation to individual sins, but our wills remain entirely bound in relation to the condition of Sin. As Ephesians 2:1-9 explains:

And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the flesh and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Ephesians 2:1-9

Sin’s dominance leaves us spiritually lifeless, unable to move, change, or will our way to salvation. A lack of free will does not make us robots—it’s worse. It makes us spiritual corpses, wholly dependent on God’s grace. Our choices, prayers, or commitments, while real, lack any saving power.

Our will is not free but bound by our sinful nature, chained to sin and death. Even the good deeds we naturally choose cannot save us morally. As Isaiah 64:6 declares, “All our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment.” Our flesh deceives us, masking our spiritual deadness with the illusion of good works: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). Our bound will tricks us into believing it is free, blinding us to the depth of our captivity.

Living in Light of God’s Will

Acknowledging that sin is stronger than man reshapes how we view our faith. Our salvation rests not on our choices but on God’s. To say it bluntly, a lack of freewill takes salvation completely out of our hands. “Salvation belongs to the Lord” (Psalm 3:8; Jonah 2:9). It’s not our prayers that save us, but Jesus’ intercession. It’s not our commitment that secures us, but Christ’s faithfulness. It’s not our will that redeems us, but God’s electing love.

This truth does not negate our personal walk with God—our choices, prayers, and devotion remain part of our story. God certainly delights to use that stuff. But they are not the source of our salvation. Freewill is a fiction. It does not save. From beginning to end, our hope is anchored in God’s will, His election, His mercy, and the finished work of Jesus Christ on the cross. As Luther reminds us, our assurance rests not in our fleeting efforts but in the eternal blood of Christ. Through Him, your sins are forever forgiven. He has willed to love and save you. It is, truly, finished.

 1. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, trans. J.I. Packer and O.R. Johnston (Grand Rapids, MI: Revell, 1995), 230.
2.  Ibid., 265
3.  Ibid., 137