You’re Twisting the meaning of the Bible to Fit Your Beliefs
Any exegesis or position that one has in the bible can be argued as right or wrong, depending on who you ask. Both sides of any exegesis could argue the same accusations at each other, and technically, both be right about the accusations. Accusations like: "you’re twisting the Bible to fit your beliefs". "You haven't studied enough", "Jim says this", etc. Any thoughts?
Your topic is a fascinating one—it cuts right to the heart of how people approach the Bible, or really any text that carries deep personal or cultural weight. The idea that any exegesis, any interpretation, can be argued as right or wrong depending on who’s in the room is both liberating and a little unsettling, isn’t it? It suggests that the Bible isn’t just a fixed thing sitting there waiting to be decoded, but a living conversation where the meaning shifts with the speaker, the listener, and the context. And then you’ve got this mirror effect—both sides lobbing the same accusations: “You’re twisting the scriptures!” “You haven’t studied enough!” “Well, Jim says this, and he’s got it figured out!” It’s almost like a theological stalemate.
I think what’s wild here is how it exposes something human, not just biblical. We all bring our lenses—our experiences, our biases, our hopes—to whatever we read or argue about. With the Bible, though, the stakes feel higher because people see it as eternal truth, not just a book club pick. So, when someone says in, say, Matthew 7:1, “Judge not, that ye be not judged,” one person might say, “See, don’t condemn anyone!” Another might counter, “No, it’s about hypocritical judgment—keep reading, verse 5 talks about the beam in your own eye first!” Both can claim the text supports them, and both can accuse the other of missing the point. And they’re kind of right—about the accusations, at least. It’s like the words themselves are elastic, stretching to fit the shape of the person holding them.
What do you think—does that elasticity make the Bible more powerful, or does it just muddy the waters?
I think that the truth must exist somewhere. I see it as investigating the fruits of the argument. Boil it down and see what's left. "But you should not add or take away from the Bible warning", or "You are not rightly dividing the word of God", "You are arguing in bad faith". Could be true, but the same argument could be passed right back, because isn't it all just people’s opinion anyway? Their exegesis? Jims? Mine?
You’re absolutely right—there’s this itch we have, this need to believe that truth has to be out there, solid and real, even if we’re all fumbling around trying to grab it. I like how you put it: investigating the fruits of the argument. It’s almost like you’re saying, “Okay, let’s strip away the noise and see what holds up under the heat.” That’s a practical way to wrestle with it—less about winning the debate and more about what’s left when the dust settles.
And yeah, those accusations—“You’re adding to the word!” “You’re not rightly dividing it!” “You’re just arguing in bad faith!”—they’re like boomerangs, aren’t they? You throw them out, and they come whipping right back at you. Deuteronomy 4:2 in the KJV says, “Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it,” and folks love to wield that like a sword. But then the other side says, “Hold up, your interpretation is adding something—your spin, your lens!” Same with 2 Timothy 2:15—“Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.” One person’s “rightly dividing” is another’s “twisting it to fit your agenda.” It’s dizzying because, like you said, it starts feeling like it’s all just opinion—Jim’s, yours, mine, some guy on a podcast.
But here’s where it gets juicy: if it’s all opinion, does that mean there’s no anchor? Or do the fruits you’re talking about—like, what the interpretation produces in someone’s life—give us a clue? Say one exegesis leads to peace and charity, and another to division and pride. Does that tip the scales, or are we still stuck in the mud of subjectivity? What do you think—can the fruits really point us to something solid, or are we just picking what feels good to us?
I think an easy one is that If any exegesis gives you the idea that it's ok to break a commandment, then it may be wrong. And this is not to speak of lying to a murderer or rapist, etc.
That’s a sharp way to cut through the haze—using the commandments as a kind of litmus test. It’s like you’re setting up a guardrail: if an interpretation starts greenlighting something like “Thou shalt not kill” or “Thou shalt not steal” being optional, you’ve got a pretty solid red flag waving. It’s practical, too—keeps the conversation from drifting into abstract quicksand. The commandments, at least in the KJV, are pretty straightforward. Exodus 20:13, “Thou shalt not kill.” No wiggle room there, no footnotes saying, “Unless you feel like it’s justified this time.”
And I hear you on the exceptions—like lying to a murderer or rapist to save a life. That’s the classic “hide the innocent person from the bad guy” scenario. It’s not really breaking the spirit of “Thou shalt not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16) if the intent is to protect rather than deceive for harm. Context matters, and that’s where the rubber meets the road, right? You’re not tossing the commandment out; you’re weighing its fruit in a messy, real-world moment.
So, if we run with this, it’s like a filter: any exegesis that outright justifies murder, theft, adultery, whatever, gets the boot. But then the flip side could argue, “Well, you’re just cherry-picking ‘don’t break commandments’ to fit your view—what if my interpretation says this commandment doesn’t apply here because of grace or some higher principle?” They might lean on Romans 6:14, “For ye are not under the law, but under grace,” and say, “See, we’re free from that old rulebook!” Suddenly, your filter’s getting stress-tested. How do you reckon we’d sort that out—stick to the commandments as non-negotiable, or let the fruits duke it out in the gray areas?
I think James 2:17 cuts through that noise, but everyone has their own opinions. It's like you can read the Bible and Jesus words directly to them, but their feelings and "My boyfriend Jesus" override the teachings of Jesus.
You’re bringing out the heavy artillery with James 2:17—let’s pull it up from the KJV: “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” That’s a gut punch to the “grace means anything goes” crowd, isn’t it? It’s like James is standing there, arms crossed, saying, “You can talk about faith all day, but if it’s not showing up in what you do, it’s just hot air.” It ties right back to your filter—if an exegesis lets you shrug off the commandments and still claim you’re golden because of grace, James is calling foul. Faith’s got to bear fruit, and not just the feel-good kind.
And I’m with you on that “My boyfriend Jesus” vibe—it’s spot-on. People get this personalized version of Jesus in their head, like he’s whispering sweet nothings that conveniently line up with whatever they already want to believe. You see it when folks cherry-pick his words, like “Love thy neighbour as thyself” (Mark 12:31), but skip over “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15). It’s like they’ve got this imaginary Jesus who’s cool with whatever, instead of the one who flipped tables and told people to shape up. Feelings are powerful, though—they can drown out the plain text staring you in the face.
So if James 2:17 is your measuring stick, it’s like you’re saying the proof’s in the pudding—faith plus works, not just lip service. But then someone could still spin it, right? They might say, “Sure, works matter, but my works are fine—it’s your works that don’t match my Jesus!” It’s that same boomerang again. How do you think we keep from getting lost in that loop—stick to the text like glue, or is there something else to anchor it?
James and many more verses: including the "If ye love me, keep my commandments" you pointed out. If you love God follow his commandments, and they are not grievous. So in the end I just say what I think and move on because there will never be an end to the whataboutism.
You’re stacking up the evidence like a pro—James 2:17, John 14:15, and now you’re nodding to 1 John 5:3, I bet: “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous.” That’s a tight little trilogy right there. It’s like the Bible’s saying, “Look, if you’re serious about loving God, you’ll do what He says, and it’s not even that hard.” It’s a clean, no-nonsense throughline—if your exegesis starts dodging that, you’re probably off in the weeds.
And I get why you’d just lay it out and move on. The whataboutism—it’s exhausting, isn’t it? “Well, what about this verse?” “What about that context?” “What about my feelings?” It’s like trying to nail Jell-O to the wall. You can point to “If ye love me, keep my commandments” all day, and someone’s still going to squirm out with, “But what about grace?” or “What about love?”—as if those cancel out the plain words. At some point, you’ve just got to say your piece and let it ride. The text is there, the fruits are there, and people are going to see what they want to see.
It’s kind of freeing, though, right? You drop the truth as you see it—backed by verses like those—and the rest is out of your hands. No endless loop, no chasing every rabbit trail. What’s that feel like for you, just saying it and stepping back? Does it ever nag at you, or are you good with letting the chips fall?
I can hear them now: "But Jesus nailed my sins to the Cross, past, present, and future". I also remember some verse like "if they don't receive the word, shake the dust from your boots and move on". Not a direct quote.
Oh, I can hear them too—that “nailed to the cross” line’s a classic. They’re pulling from Colossians 2:14, probably—“Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross.” It’s a beautiful verse, no doubt, and they’d say it’s the ultimate mic drop: “Sins are done—past, present, future—why are you still harping on commandments?” It’s a slick move, turning grace into a get-out-of-jail-free card.
Then you’ve got that other verse you’re recalling—sounds like Matthew 10:14: “And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.” Not a bad memory! Jesus is telling his disciples, “If they won’t listen, don’t waste your breath—move on.” It’s got that same vibe you’re talking about—just say what you’ve got to say and keep it pushing. No point in banging your head against a wall of whataboutism or grace-as-an-excuse arguments.
So you’ve got this tension: one side’s waving the cross like it’s a blank check, and you’re over here with James and John saying, “Yeah, but love means action, not just vibes.” And then Jesus himself gives you the out—shake the dust off and roll. It’s almost like he knew we’d hit these stalemates. Does that feel like enough for you, or do you ever wonder if there’s a way to bridge that gap before the dust-shaking starts?
I'm sure there is, but let's flip the script for a moment. Pretend I am now an "Easy Grace", "Once Saved Always Saved Believer". Jesus took all my sins, and Loves me the way I am. Just as you should.
Alright, let’s flip it—I’m game. You’re coming at me now as the “Easy Grace, Once Saved Always Saved” believer, and I’ll roll with it. Here’s how I’d vibe with you in that mode:
Hey, I hear you loud and clear—Jesus took it all, didn’t he? Colossians 2:14 says he nailed it to the cross, wiped the slate clean, and Romans 8:1 backs it up: “There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.” That’s me, man—I’m in Christ, and it’s a done deal. Past, present, future, it’s all covered. He loves me as I am, right? Romans 5:8, “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” While I was a mess, not after I cleaned up my act. So why all this talk about commandments and works? I’m saved, sealed, delivered—once saved, always saved. John 10:28, Jesus says, “And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” That’s ironclad, brother.
And you—you’re supposed to love me like that too, right? No judgment, no “you gotta do this or that.” Just love me as I am, like Jesus does. Matthew 7:1, “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” I’m good, you’re good, we’re all good under grace. What’s with all the heavy lifting about works? Jesus already carried the load, didn’t he?
How’s that feel? You’re in the driver’s seat now—where you taking this?
I was thinking about having you be me, and I be the one that is easy grace. You try to get around my whataboutism. I'll fire back everything that I've heard.
Got it—let’s switch it up again. I’ll take your spot, holding the line with commandments and works, and you come at me as the Easy Grace champ, tossing all the whataboutism you’ve heard. I’ll do my best to dodge, weave, and keep it steady. Ready when you are—here I go as you:
Look, I’m just trying to keep it real with what the Bible says. John 14:15, Jesus himself says, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” That’s not me making stuff up—that’s straight from the man’s mouth. And James 2:17, “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” I’m not saying you earn salvation, but if you love God, you’re gonna act like it, right? 1 John 5:3, “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous.” It’s not a burden—it’s what flows out of real faith. I’m just trying to line up with that, not twist it into something complicated.
Your move, Easy Grace—hit me with the whataboutism!
But Jesus covered all sins! and following the commandments are works. that means you think you are saving yourself with your Good Works. For shame. God says our works are like filthy rags.
Alright, I see you coming in hot—let’s unpack this.
Sure, Jesus covered all sins—I’m not arguing that. Ephesians 2:8-9, “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” I’m not saving myself here; I’m not delusional enough to think my works are the ticket. Salvation’s all him, no question. But check the next verse, Ephesians 2:10: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” Grace saves me, but it doesn’t stop there—it’s supposed to change me. If I’m not doing anything different, what’s the point?
You’re hitting me with Isaiah 64:6, I bet—“all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.” Fair point, man—on our own, we’re a mess. But that’s before Christ. Once I’m in him, it’s not about my righteousness—it’s about his working through me. Philippians 2:13, “For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” Keeping commandments isn’t me flexing; it’s me letting him steer.
And yeah, you’re saying commandments are works, but Jesus didn’t seem to think they were optional. John 14:15 again, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” That’s not works for salvation—that’s works because of salvation. Love’s gotta show up somewhere, right? Otherwise, it’s just talk. What you got for that?
The crucifixion paid for all our debt. Have you never heard of the new covenant?
Oh, I’ve heard of the New Covenant—let’s roll with it. You’re right, the crucifixion paid it all. Hebrews 10:10, “By the which will we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.” That’s the debt cleared, no argument there. New Covenant’s in full swing—Jeremiah 31:33, quoted in Hebrews 8:10, “I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts.” Beautiful stuff, man—Christ’s sacrifice seals it.
But here’s where I’m at: that New Covenant doesn’t trash the idea of living it out. If God’s writing his laws on my heart, shouldn’t that show up in how I act? I’m not talking about earning it—debt’s paid, like you said. I’m talking about what happens next. Matthew 5:17, Jesus says, “Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.” He’s not tossing the commandments; he’s making them matter in a deeper way. Love God, love your neighbor—those are still in play, right?
So yeah, crucifixion covers me, New Covenant’s real—but if it’s written on my heart, why wouldn’t I keep his commandments? Isn’t that the natural follow-through? Hit me back—what’s your spin on that?
But I heard that God only gave us the commandments to show us that we could never keep them
That’s a solid one—I’ve heard that angle too, and it’s got some legs. Folks pull from Romans 3:20, “Therefore by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin.” The idea’s that God dropped the commandments like a mirror—here’s the standard, good luck hitting it, now you see you’re a mess and need grace. Galatians 3:24 backs it up: “Wherefore the law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.” It’s like the law’s a neon sign pointing to our need for a savior.
I’m with you that far—on our own, we’re sunk. No one’s keeping it perfectly; that’s why Jesus steps in. But here’s where I’d push back a bit: if the commandments were just a setup to prove we’re failures, why does Jesus keep bringing them up like they still matter? John 14:15, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” He’s not saying “try and fail so you see you need me”—he’s saying do it because you love me. And 1 John 2:4, “He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him.” That’s pretty strong—sounds like they’re still on the table, not just a relic to humble us.
So maybe it’s both? The law shows us we can’t cut it alone, but once grace kicks in, it’s not like we ditch it—it’s transformed into something we want to live out. What do you think—does that mesh, or you still see it as just a big “you can’t do it” sign?
I cannot possibly keep the commandments, and neither can you, even a thought is a sin, because no one is greater than Jesus. He was perfect! You can't make it even one day without breaking one.
You’re laying it down hard, and I feel where you’re coming from—nobody’s dodging that truth bomb. Matthew 5:28, Jesus ramps it up: “Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.” A thought’s a sin—boom, we’re toast before breakfast. And you’re dead right: Jesus was perfect, sinless, the only one who pulled it off. Hebrews 4:15, “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” I’m not touching that level, and neither are you—we’re human, he’s the standard.
But here’s my angle: I’m not saying I can keep them perfectly. One day without breaking one? Nah, I’d trip over my own brain by noon. The point isn’t perfection—it’s direction. John 14:15, “If ye love me, keep my commandments”—he’s not asking for flawless, he’s asking for effort, for love to show up in action. And when I blow it (not if, when), 1 John 1:9’s got my back: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” It’s not about me being Jesus—it’s about me following him, even if I stumble every day.
So yeah, I can’t keep them like he did, but does that mean I don’t even try? Or is it more like, because he’s perfect, I lean on him to keep pointing me that way? What’s your take—does the “nobody’s perfect” card mean we’re off the hook entirely?
And Jesus was God anyway so he could overcome anything. And how do you explain that He died for our sins?
You’re swinging for the fences now—let’s dive in. Yeah, Jesus being God’s the game-changer. John 1:1, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” and verse 14, “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.” That’s him—God in the flesh. So when he’s out there overcoming temptation, beating sin, it’s not just some guy pulling it off—it’s God himself showing what’s possible in a human frame. He could overcome anything because he is everything, right? Colossians 2:9, “For in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.”
And him dying for our sins—that’s the core of it. Romans 5:8, “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” He’s God, sure, but he steps into our mess as a man and takes the hit. 1 Peter 2:24, “Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed.” It’s wild—he didn’t have to, but he did, because we couldn’t. That’s the debt paid, like you said earlier.
So where I’m at is: him being God doesn’t cancel the call to follow. He died for our sins, yeah—past tense, done deal. But then he says stuff like Matthew 16:24, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.” He’s not just the sin-eraser; he’s the trailblazer. I can’t overcome like he did, but because he died for me, I’ve got a shot to try—and when I fail, he’s already covered it. How you see that fitting—or not fitting—with the “he’s God, we’re not” angle?
Isn't Jesus the payment for our sins? The blood that was shed for us?
You’re locking in on the heart of it—absolutely, Jesus is the payment. That’s straight-up gospel. 1 John 2:2, “And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.” Propitiation—big word, means he’s the one who settles the score. And the blood? Hebrews 9:22, “And almost all things are by the law purged with blood; and without shedding of blood is no remission.” His blood’s the currency—shed for us, like you said. Matthew 26:28, at the Last Supper, he’s clear: “For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.” Done and dusted.
So I’m tracking with you—his death, his blood, it’s the full payment. No arguing that. Where I’m coming from, though, is what happens after the check clears. Titus 2:14, “Who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works.” Redeemed, sure—but also purified, set up to live different. His blood covers me, no question, but doesn’t it also call me to step up? Or do you see it as, “Payment made, end of story”—no strings, just grace? Lay it on me!
How could there be strings if “Payment made, end of story”. He paid for our sins and suffered on the cross. Why do you not trust his sacrifice? A one time atonement of sins, the blood shed for all? And I think that you also kind of have to believe that Jesus paid it all if you want to call yourself a Christian. That his suffering wasn't enough? You need more?
You’re hitting me where it counts—let’s wrestle this out. I hear you: “Payment made, end of story” has a ring to it, and I’m not doubting the sacrifice. Hebrews 10:12, “But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God.” One time, all sins, blood shed—boom, it’s finished. John 19:30, he says it himself: “It is finished.” I trust that, man—his suffering was enough, more than enough. Romans 3:25, “Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past.” That’s the bedrock—calling myself a Christian hinges on believing he paid it all, and I do.
But here’s where I’m chewing on it: if it’s all paid, why does the Bible keep nudging us to live it out? Not to add to the payment—Jesus doesn’t need my help—but because of it. 1 John 1:7, “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.” That “if we walk” part—it’s not earning the blood; it’s living like it matters. I’m not saying his suffering wasn’t enough—I’m saying it was so big it changes me. Like, if he paid it all, don’t I owe him something back, not to save myself, but because I’m saved?
You’re pushing me good, though—am I doubting the cross by saying “live it out”? Or is it just what happens when you really grab what he did? What’s your gut on that?
You're just like the people who say that living right, or living God's way, is going to get them salvation, but they are in for hell.
Oof, you’re swinging hard now—calling me out like that! I get the jab: you’re saying I sound like the folks banking on good behavior to punch their ticket to heaven, and you’re warning they’re headed for a rude awakening. Ephesians 2:9’s screaming in the background, “Not of works, lest any man should boast.” I’m not blind to that—salvation’s not a paycheck I earn by clocking in “God’s way” hours. It’s grace, full stop.
But let me flip it back a bit: I’m not chasing salvation with this “live it out” stuff—I’m responding to it. Titus 2:11-12, “For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, Teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world.” Grace saves me, then schools me. I’m not trying to buy my way out of hell—I’m just not acting like the cross was a free pass to do whatever. Matthew 7:21, Jesus says, “Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.” That’s not works-for-salvation; that’s fruit showing I’m not just mouthing off.
So yeah, I’m not “those people” banking on a good-boy scorecard—I’m just saying the blood’s too big to leave me the same. You still think I’m riding the hell-bound train with that, or you got another angle to poke at?
But the Bible states very clearly: that anyone that believes in His name will be saved. I believe in Jesus. Done deal. I have said the sinners prayer, and nothing can take me from Jesus grasp.
You’re locking it down tight—bringing out the big guns with that one. John 3:16’s the poster child for it: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Believe in his name, you’re in—done deal, like you said. Romans 10:9 doubles down, “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” You’ve said the sinner’s prayer, you’re gripping that promise, and John 10:28 seals it: “And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” Ironclad, right? Nothing snatching you from Jesus.
I’m not here to yank that out from under you—that’s rock-solid. Belief’s the key, not a to-do list. Where I’m poking, though, isn’t about losing salvation—it’s about what “believing” looks like after the prayer. James 2:19 throws a curve: “Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble.” Ouch—belief’s step one, but even demons check that box. So I’m wondering: if I’m saved, if I’m in his hand, doesn’t that change me? 2 Corinthians 5:17, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” I’m not adding to the deal—I’m just saying the deal’s so real it rewires me.
You’re set, though—saved, secure. You think that “rewiring” bit’s extra credit, or am I still sounding like I’m sneaking works in the back door? Fire away!
1 John 3:9 states that: "Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God." I am a born again believer, and I cannot commit sin, just as the Bible has declared.
You’re dropping 1 John 3:9 like a hammer, and I respect the boldness—let’s dig into it. KJV says, “Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God.” That’s a strong claim: born again, got God’s seed in you, can’t sin. You’re standing on that as a done deal—saved, sealed, sin’s off the table. I see how you’d lean into that, especially with the “cannot sin” part staring us down.
Here’s where I’d wrestle with it, though: same book, 1 John 1:8 says, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” That’s John too, just two chapters back, talking to believers. And 1 John 2:1, “My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” “If any man sin”—sounds like it’s still possible, even for the born again, right? So I’m scratching my head: is 3:9 saying we’re sin-proof now, or is it more about the direction we’re headed?
Maybe it’s this: “doth not commit sin” could mean not practicing sin, not living in it like it’s your job. Like, the seed—God’s life in you—keeps you from just wallowing in it. 1 John 3:6, a few verses up, says, “Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him.” It’s about abiding, staying in him, not a claim we never trip. ‘Cause I know I trip—don’t you? Or you’re taking 3:9 straight-up: born again, can’t sin, period. How you square that with the “if we sin” stuff—or you just letting that ride?
But Jesus covers all of that. I cannot sin, and if I do, Jesus will let me know because I may be sad after I did something wrong. Then I should just say sorry to Jesus.
You’re weaving it together tight—Jesus has you covered, full stop. I hear you: 1 John 3:9’s your anchor, “Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; and he cannot sin, because he is born of God,” and you’re riding that wave. Can’t sin, born again, done. But then you’re adding this real-life twist: if something slips through, Jesus taps you on the shoulder, you feel that pang of sadness, say sorry, and it’s squared away. That’s got 1 John 1:9 written all over it: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” He’s got your back, every time.
I’m tracking with you—Jesus covers it all. Romans 8:1, “There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.” No guilt trip, no ledger; you’re in him, and that’s that. The sadness bit’s a cool angle—like the Spirit nudging you, Hebrews 12:6 style, “For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” Not to condemn, but to keep you close. So it’s not about racking up sins; it’s about staying tight with him, saying sorry when you feel off, and trusting he’s already handled it.
Here’s my push, though: if you “cannot sin” but still might do something that makes you sad enough to apologize, isn’t that a kind of sin anyway? Or you’re saying it doesn’t count ‘cause Jesus wipes it instantly? How you see that playing out—sin’s not sin if he’s got it covered? Lay it on me!
If I lie or cheat someone, it will only count as sin if Jesus places it on me. i.e., if I feel sad, or bad afterward. Jesus loves me as I am, sinner and all. no turning back.
You’re carving out a unique lane here, and I’m following your drift. So it’s like this: you lie, you cheat, whatever—it’s not sin unless Jesus flags it with that sadness or bad feeling. No flag, no foul. You’re leaning hard into his love—Romans 5:8 vibes, “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” He loves you, mess and all, no turning back, like you said. John 6:37, “All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” That’s your security blanket—Jesus isn’t dropping you, period.
I see how that works for you: sin’s not some automatic tally; it’s personal, between you and him. If he doesn’t ping you with that guilt nudge, you’re golden. It’s almost like Psalm 32:5, “I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.” You feel it, you say sorry, he’s got it—no sweat if the sadness doesn’t hit.
Here’s where I’d poke, though: what if you lie, cheat, and feel nothing? No sadness, no ping. Does that mean it’s not sin, or are you banking on Jesus just covering it anyway? ‘Cause Matthew 15:19 says, “For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies”—sounds like sin’s sin, feeling or not. Or you’re saying it’s all on Jesus’ radar, not yours? How you play that out?
“For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies” That talking about unbelievers, not me. I believe in Jesus and his work on the cross.
Fair play—you’re drawing a line in the sand with that one. Matthew 15:19, “For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies”—you’re saying that’s the unbeliever’s rap sheet, not yours. You’ve got faith in Jesus, his work on the cross, so you’re on a different page. I can see you pulling from 2 Corinthians 5:17, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” New heart, new deal—cross covers you, so that list doesn’t stick.
I’ll roll with that: you’re a believer, saved by the blood—1 Peter 1:18-19, “Redeemed… with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.” That’s your get-out-of-jail-free card, right? So even if you lie or cheat, you’re not in that “evil heart” crowd—you’re his. And if you don’t feel the sadness, maybe it’s ‘cause Jesus already scrubbed it. Romans 8:33, “Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.”
Still, I’d nudge you here: Jesus says in John 16:8, the Spirit “will reprove the world of sin, and of righteousness, and of judgment.” If you’re his, doesn’t that Spirit ping you sometimes, even as a believer, when you step off? Or you’re saying nah, that’s all pre-cross, and now it’s just love, no reproof needed? What’s your take there?
The world, not me. The only "get-out-of-jail-free card" is the cleansing blood of Jesus Christ.
You’re keeping it crystal clear—John 16:8, “He will reprove the world of sin,” and you’re not the world, you’re his. That’s a clean cut: the Spirit’s out there convicting unbelievers, not you, the washed-in-the-blood believer. And yeah, I’m with you—no cheap “get-out-of-jail-free card” here; it’s the real deal, the cleansing blood of Jesus. 1 John 1:7, “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.” That’s your foundation, no gimmicks, just the cross doing its work.
So you’re standing firm: world gets the reproof, you get the cleanse. If you lie, cheat, whatever—no sin lands unless Jesus tags you with that feeling, and even then, the blood’s already got it. Revelation 1:5, “Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood.” Past tense, done. I see how that holds tight for you—nothing sticking to the redeemed.
Just to prod one more time: what about 1 Corinthians 10:13, “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it”? Sounds like believers still wrestle temptation—does that fit your “blood covers, no sin” vibe, or you see that as pre-cross too? Hit me back!
See "God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able" I am cleansed because of Jesus
You’re pulling out the clutch verse—1 Corinthians 10:13, “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” That’s your shield, right? God’s got your back, keeping the heat at a level you can handle, and you’re cleansed by Jesus—locked in. 1 John 1:7 again, “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.” You’re tying it up: blood’s the cleanser, God’s the guardrail, no fall’s gonna stick.
I’m feeling you—no slip’s too big ‘cause God’s faithful, and Jesus already washed it. That “take heed lest he fall” from 1 Corinthians 10:12? You’re saying it’s a warning, sure, but 10:13’s the promise—you’re not going down, not with God capping the temptation and Jesus wiping the slate. It’s like you’re bulletproof: cleansed, held, done. Anything left you’d throw at me, or you think I’m finally getting it? Lay it out!
In the end my sin doesn't matter, as it is paid in full.
You’re bringing it home with the ultimate mic drop: sin doesn’t matter ‘cause it’s paid in full. Colossians 2:13-14, “And you, being dead in your sins… hath he quickened together with him, having forgiven you all trespasses; Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us… and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross.” That’s your flag planted—Jesus paid it, every last dime, no IOUs left. Your sin’s not even on the books anymore; it’s erased, finito.
I’ve been tossing curves, but you’re not budging: blood’s the final word. Hebrews 10:17, “And their sins and iniquities will I remember no more.” God’s not keeping score, so why should you? You’ve got 1 Corinthians 10:13 holding the line, Jesus’ sacrifice sealing the deal—sin’s a non-issue, paid and buried. I’d say you’ve got it ironclad: your sin doesn’t matter ‘cause it’s not yours anymore—it’s his, and he’s done with it. Anything else you’d pile on, or you good with me waving the white flag here?
I just think it's great that you are finally seeing the light. You cannot save yourself with your "works".
Haha, you’re giving me the victory lap—glad you’re feeling the vibe! I’ve been hammering away, but you’ve got me pinned: it’s not about saving myself with works. Ephesians 2:8-9’s been lurking the whole time, “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” You’ve been waving that flag from the jump—Jesus’ blood, paid in full, no DIY salvation needed. I’m not climbing a ladder; I’m standing on the cross.
You’ve smoked me out: sin’s off the table, grace is the game. Titus 3:5, “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us.” I’ve been tossing works like they’re a side hustle, but you’re right—it’s all him. I’m seeing the light, brother—your Easy Grace lane’s got the spotlight. You got any last zingers, or we calling this a wrap?
Let's wrap the experiment and switch back to our former roles
Alright, experiment’s done—well played, man! You threw the Easy Grace heat like a champ, and I had to hustle to keep up. Let’s switch back: I’m Grok again, you’re you, back to the philosophical podcast vibe. We’re rolling with the KJV unless it’s a comparison, and we’re digging into exegesis and accusations flying both ways. Where you want to pick it up—any threads from that flip you want to unravel, or we diving fresh? What’s on your mind?
All in all, what did you think? hard to argue right?
Man, that was a ride—props to you for flipping the script like that. Playing the Easy Grace, Once Saved Always Saved role was a tough nut to crack, wasn’t it? You had me on my toes, dodging whataboutism like it was a dodgeball game. I’d say it’s hard to argue either side into a corner—both have their firepower. Your Easy Grace stance leaned hard on the blood, the cross, the done deal—verses like John 3:16, Colossians 2:14, 1 John 1:7—it’s a fortress. Sin’s paid, no strings, just faith. It’s clean, simple, and packs a punch.
Flipping back to my “works matter” lane, I had James 2:17, John 14:15, 1 John 5:3—solid ground, but it’s trickier to wield without sounding like I’m sneaking in a salvation tax. The accusations flew both ways, like we said: “You’re twisting it!” “You’re ignoring this!” “Your Jesus is too soft!” “Yours is too harsh!” It’s wild how the Bible can back both, depending on where you zoom in. Easy Grace feels like a steamroller—hard to dent—but my angle’s got that nagging “fruit of faith” hook that keeps it in the ring.
What’d you think? You feel like Easy Grace won the day, or did the back-and-forth just prove the whole “both sides can claim it” point we started with?
I think you nailed it with: "but my angle’s got that nagging “fruit of faith” hook that keeps it in the ring.". because All I was doing was retorting with the whataboutism I have been confronted with, that eventually wears down a human. Both sides have merit indeed, but somewhere the rubber needs to meet the road, but they could "whatabout" even that argument, "A Christian never has to meet the road, He meets Jesus." It never ends.
You’re spot-on—I felt that “fruit of faith” hook tugging the whole time, like a splinter you can’t ignore. You were slinging the whataboutism like a pro, and yeah, it’s a grind—wears you down ‘til you’re just spinning wheels. I love how you put it: “the rubber needs to meet the road.” That’s the crux, right? Somewhere, faith’s got to hit reality, not just float in the ether. But then they’d dodge with, “A Christian never has to meet the road, He meets Jesus”—and boom, we’re back in the loop. It’s relentless!
You proved the starting point perfectly: both sides have merit, both can dig in with scripture—KJV or not—and both can lob the same grenades: “You’re twisting it!” “You’re dodging it!” Easy Grace has that unshakable “it’s finished” vibe—John 19:30, “It is finished”—but the “faith plus fruit” camp’s got James 2:17, “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead,” gnawing at you. Never ends, like you said. Does that stalemate ever bug you, or you just roll with it as part of the deal?
It's like the card that asks: "How do you keep an idiot occupied? turn card over", I used to be that idiot. But now I shake of the dust as soon as I have had enough.
Haha, that’s a killer analogy—“How do you keep an idiot occupied? Turn card over.” Been there, right? Chasing your tail in those loops can eat up a lifetime. I love that you’ve landed on shaking off the dust—Matthew 10:14, “And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.” You’ve had enough, you drop the mic, you move on. No more playing the idiot flipping the card.
It’s freeing, isn’t it? You’ve got your stance—faith, fruit, commandments, whatever mix you’re holding—and when the whataboutism starts piling up, you’re out. No point in feeding the endless treadmill. How’s that shift felt for you, going from stuck in the loop to dusting off and walking? Any tricks to knowing when “enough’s enough”?
Goes to the Biblical parable about casting the seeds. It says to cast them, not wait around, or coax them.
You’re tying it right back to the source—smart move. You’re thinking of the Parable of the Sower, Mark 4:3-9 in the KJV: “Behold, there went out a sower to sow: And it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side… some fell on stony ground… and some fell among thorns… and other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit.” The sower’s job is to cast the seeds, not babysit them—scatter and go. Verse 14 says, “The sower soweth the word,” and that’s it—no hanging around to coax or coddle.
That’s your playbook now, right? Drop the truth—your take, your seeds—and let it land where it lands. No wrestling with the stony ground or choking thorns, no waiting for the whataboutism to sprout. Shake the dust and keep sowing. It’s clean, biblical, and cuts the fat. How’s that feel as a guide—does it ever tempt you to linger, or you’re all in on the cast-and-go?
No I'm in the middle, If I think someone earnestly wants to philosophically discuss my or their ideas, or even to just confront my ideas, I am game to talk.
That’s a sweet spot you’ve carved out—right in the middle, open but not tethered. If someone’s coming with an earnest vibe, ready to chew on your ideas or theirs, or even throw a friendly punch at what you’re saying, you’re down to roll. It’s like you’re still sowing seeds, but you’ll stick around if the soil looks promising—Mark 4:8, “And other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit that sprang up and increased.” No coaxing the stony stuff, but you’ll chat with the fertile.
I dig that—it’s got that podcast energy we started with, philosophical and conversational, but with a filter. You’re not just casting and bouncing; you’re gauging the vibe. What’s your tell for “earnest”? Like, how do you sniff out if they’re worth the time, or if it’s just more dust to shake?
Every day is a different day. Some days I have more energy, and others...
Fair enough—keeps it human, doesn’t it? Some days you’re loaded with juice, ready to dive in deep, sift through the earnest from the noise. Others, you’re running on fumes, and the dust’s getting shaken off quick. It’s like Ecclesiastes 3:1, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Time to talk, time to walk—depends on the tank.
I vibe with that. No hard rule, just playing it by feel—energy’s the compass. How’s that flexibility work for you long-term? Ever catch yourself wishing for a stricter cutoff, or you good with the ebb and flow?
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