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First, I must express my deep gratitude for the Thursday night Bible study group I attend. The sincerity, passion, and hunger for truth within that fellowship continually inspire me to grow, to dig deeper into Scripture, and to run the race with greater intentionality—pressing toward the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:14). This is not a political piece but a commentary on the danger of deferring unquestioningly to ecclesiastical authority and their publications.

During one of our recent sessions, a thoughtful question arose concerning the authority of “official sources.” It prompted in me a deeper reflection on the human tendency to defer too readily to credentials and consensus, often without testing the spirit or the substance of what is being presented.

Friedrich Nietzsche once observed,

“Most people don’t really want the truth. They just want constant reassurance that what they already believe is the truth.”

This is painfully evident in our culture. There exists a subtle illusion—that if something is published in a textbook, reported by a major news outlet, or endorsed by a recognised institution, it must be true. But this is a dangerous assumption. We must guard against this.

Voluntary ignorance is neither bliss nor is it innocence—it is rebellion disguised as comfort. It is the choice to remain in the dark when the light has already been lit. Scripture mourns this refusal in Hosea 4:6:

“My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge; because you have rejected knowledge, I reject you from being a priest to me.”

This is not the ignorance of the uninformed, but of the unwilling—those who turn their backs on revelation. The apostle Paul echoes this in Romans 1:20–21,

“For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. For although they knew God, they neither glorified Him as God nor gave thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.” (Romans 1:20–21, NIV)

This reminds us that God’s eternal power and divine nature have been clearly seen in creation, yet many chose not to glorify Him. “Their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.”

To reject truth is to embrace decay. And in doing so, we not only silence the voice of God—we disqualify ourselves from the very power through intimacy we were meant to carry and the safety he hails us to.

We must be exceedingly careful about what we accept as authoritative. Throughout history, from ancient to modern, official channels have frequently been exploited to disseminate propaganda, manipulate public opinion, and suppress dissent. Whether through media, education, or even religious institutions or publications, the machinery of power has often served not to liberate minds, but to control them.

As the adage goes: “History is written by the victors.” Those in power shape the narrative—not necessarily according to truth, but according to their agenda. From imperial conquests to doctrinal councils, from political regimes to academic institutions, we find a repeated pattern: the voices of the dissenters are silenced, and the stories of the conquerors enshrined.

Even within the early Church, Paul—who was among the most credentialed of his time—was not blindly accepted. Scripture honours the Bereans, who “received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true” (Acts 17:11, NIV). They did not mistake official status for divine authority.

They searched the Word for themselves. That kind of spiritual vigilance is rare—and precious.

Jesus Himself made it clear: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Not consensus. Not credentials. Not comfort. Not even Orthodoxy, but Truth.

“Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were unlearned and ignorant men, they marvelled; and they took knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus.” (Acts 4:13)

This verse highlights how the religious elite were astonished that Peter and John, without formal education, spoke with such boldness and authority. What set them apart was not institutional learning, but that “they had been with Jesus.”

Similarly, Jesus Himself was not formally trained in the rabbinical schools of His day:

“And the Jews marvelled, saying, How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?” (John 7:15)

In modern terms, they were asking, “How does this man teach with such knowledge and authority when He hasn’t been formally educated?”

They’re saying, ‘He wasn’t formally accredited’—as if that disqualifies Him. What they really mean is: how can they trust someone who hasn’t pledged loyalty to the official narrative? The answer is simple—He doesn’t. And that’s precisely why He has power. If He did it their way, He’d be just as powerless as the rest of them.

When we stop thinking critically and allow institutional voices to do our thinking for us, telling us what to think and what not to think, we are not in control anymore and we place ourselves in bondage. During the Middle Ages, for instance, the Roman Catholic Church’s monopoly over biblical interpretation led not only to theological corruption but also to literal executions of those who dared challenge their authority.

We often expect propaganda to flourish under Marxist or authoritarian regimes, but as Noam Chomsky astutely observes, “Propaganda is to a democracy what the bludgeon is to a totalitarian state.” In other words, the most sophisticated control of thought does not occur where dissent is brutally crushed, but where consent is manufactured through media, education, and cultural engineering. In his seminal work Manufacturing Consent, Chomsky argues that “the national mind” must be guided not through overt force but through subtle narratives and institutional gatekeeping.

This spirit of engineered consensus—where questioning is equated with rebellion—is not confined to politics. It persists today in both secular and sacred spheres. From pulpits to parliament, we see a growing intolerance for dissent and an elevation of orthodoxy—be it ideological, theological, or scientific—over truth-seeking. The danger lies not merely in deception but in our refusal to interrogate the narratives we inherit.

Engineered consensus and official gatekeeping exist for one purpose only: to suppress dissent and silence those who earnestly seek truth. They are not neutral institutions, but mechanisms designed to protect prevailing narratives—not because those narratives are true, but because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Truth, by its very nature, is not afraid of questions. It welcomes examination, because it stands on its own merits. A lie, however, needs scaffolding—constant reinforcement, censorship, and defence—because it cannot endure the light of honest inquiry.

To that end, it is not the godless who have historically posed the greatest threat to truth, but rather the institutional custodians of religion and ideology who feel most threatened by it. Jesus Christ was not crucified by atheists, but by the religious elite—the scribes and Pharisees, the authorised gatekeepers of orthodoxy in His day. It was not Rome’s scepticism that condemned Him, but Israel’s own priesthood, fearful of a truth that exposed their hypocrisy. Likewise, Martin Luther and the Reformers were not hunted down by pagan philosophers, but by the Church itself—because they dared to hold official doctrine up to the light of Scripture.

This consolidation of power and punishment of dissent leads to the infantilisation and bondage of the church.

In fact, one might say that it is precisely because something is “official” that it must be examined more rigorously. Power, whether sacred or secular, must never be allowed to insulate itself from accountability. As George Orwell warned,

“The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those who speak it.”

And so it remains. The truth-seeker becomes the heretic, the reformer becomes the rebel—not because they are false, but because they are inconvenient.

I have personally witnessed the quiet decay concealed beneath the polished façade of institutional expertise. Years ago, during an informal meeting while I worked at major international bank—which shall remain unnamed—I shared with one of their economists a long-range graph showing the 100-year average performance of the Dow Jones Industrial Average. To my eye, the warning signs were glaring: the chart was climbing with unsettling confidence, defying historical cycles, ignoring the inevitability of correction, and dismissing the weight of economic gravity. It was taking a ride without paying the price.

I turned to him and said plainly, “There’s a major recession coming—something that could rival the crash of the 1920s.” He laughed. “No, impossible, that can’t happen,” he said, waving it off.

It did. This was 3 years before the American subprime mortgage crisis was that occurred between 2007 and 2010 that contributed to the 2007–2008 global financial crisis. 

The arrogance was staggering. Not because he lacked intelligence or data—but because his confidence was built on models that insulated him from uncomfortable truths. It was a sobering reminder that credentials do not equal wisdom, and expertise does not always equate to foresight.

We trust economists, analysts, and financial “authorities” because they are credentialed and cloaked in jargon. But truth does not require a doctorate. And foresight is not the sole domain of the initiated. What I saw—what many of us saw—was common sense being outshouted by group-think.

And so, yet again, the experts failed. Not because they lacked education, but because they parrot instead of question and scrutinise. Or worse—because their models served systems, not truth.

As with theology, medicine, and history, the problem is not that people are unqualified—but that qualification has become a substitute for discernment and thinking. Titles can deceive, especially when they are used to shield institutions from scrutiny.

Let this remind us: truth is not democratic, and reality is not swayed by consensus.

It is within this very context—of engineered consensus and sanctioned orthodoxy—that the phenomenon of Tall Poppy Syndrome thrives. In cultures where conformity is subtly rewarded and outliers quietly punished, any unofficial opinion stands out like a sore thumb. Not because it is necessarily wrong, but because it is unfamiliar. And what is unfamiliar is often assumed to be dangerous. After all, if a perspective were valid, surely it would be recognised, endorsed, and platformed by the gatekeepers of knowledge? “Surely,” they say, “those in authority wouldn’t purposely propagate ignorance.” But why indeed?

The uncomfortable truth is that those in authority often benefit from ignorance—because an unthinking populace is an easily governed one. As history repeatedly shows, it is not uncommon for institutions—be they political, religious, or academic—to suppress inconvenient truths for the sake of control, tradition, or profit. The suppression is rarely violent, but rather socially coded: a rolling of eyes, a polite exclusion, a quiet removal from the conversation. The tall poppy is cut down not by argument, but by cultural scissors wielded in the name of stability.

And so, the unfamiliar voice is cast as a threat, not because it lacks truth, but because it disrupts comfort. The very question—“Why would they lie?”—is precisely the one that must be asked. For if truth is light, then we must ask who profits from the darkness.

In short, your ignorance is “their” power and specifically when it comes to the word of God, your ignorance is the devils power.

Let us then not be swept along by the comfort of consensus. Let us, like the Bereans of Acts 17:11, search the Scriptures daily to see if these things are so. Truth does not demand silence. It invites dialogue—and it dares us to follow wherever it leads.

This institutional idolatry isn’t confined to the Church. It extends to nearly every area of public life—science, history, education, politics, and medicine. In the United States, for example, a study published in The BMJ revealed that medical error is the third leading cause of death, a sobering fact that undermines the unquestioned reverence for the medical establishment (Makary & Daniel, BMJ, 2016).

How about that?

As Dr. Robert Mendelsohn famously stated, “The medical establishment has become so successful, almost no one is healthy anymore.” The quote may sound extreme, but it drives home an urgent point: when systems prioritise power and preservation over people and truth, they become engines of harm—no matter how “official” they appear.

And of course, here lies the deeper problem: we are afraid. We long to trust, to feel safe in the hands of “experts” and authorities.

It is a case of misplaced patrifilial–love—the sacred trust and affection meant for the heavenly Father wrongly projected onto earthly authorities. We long for protection, direction, and affirmation, but instead of seeking it in God, we place it in institutions, leaders, and systems that were never meant to carry that weight. And when they collapse, so too does our faith—because it was built on sand, not stone.

But in our desire for comfort, we begin to outsource our response-ability—that is, our God-given ability to respond with discernment and courage. We hand over our agency, little by little, until we are no longer thinking or acting for ourselves, but merely echoing the sanctioned narratives of others. In doing so, we unknowingly surrender our God-given power.

As the historian Lord Acton famously wrote: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” And when we relinquish responsibility, we create a vacuum—a space quickly filled by those who are all too eager to think, decide, and speak for us. That is the breeding ground of tyranny, both political and spiritual.

But God has not called us to remain passive or immature. He calls us to grow up into Christ, to put on the full armour of God, and to wield the sword of truth (Ephesians 6:17)—not just to defend ourselves, but to cut through the lies of the devil that keep us bound. Truth is not merely an idea—it is a weapon. And it has been entrusted to those who are willing to seek, question, discern, and stand, even when standing costs everything.

God desires maturity, not blind obedience. He invites us into a kingdom where truth sets us free (John 8:32), not binds us to fear.

And if we cannot trust those who have placed themselves in authority—let that sink in—then who can we trust? Who will guide us, protect us, anchor us in the storm of human failure and systemic deception? The answer is both ancient and living: the Lord alone is our defender, and His Word is our manual for life, not a museum piece for commentary.

The Bible was never meant to be outsourced to experts or kept behind theological glass. It is a living sword, a mirror, a lamp, a weapon. It teaches us not merely to believe but to interface with God, to cooperate with His Spirit, and to discern truth in a world that trades in illusions.

As 2 Timothy 3:16–17 declares:

“All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness,
so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”

By choosing to take responsibility for our spiritual maturity—to get into the Word for ourselves—we reclaim the power God intended us to walk in. We stop living second-hand faith. We stop leaning on broken cisterns. We stop waiting for someone else to tell us what God already made accessible.

The Bible is not a commentary on power. It is power. And it is ours—if only we will take it up. Romans 1:16 tells us:

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God to save everyone who believes”

So what are we to do, we who genuinely long to walk in truth?

We must return to the Source—Scripture, the Spirit, and sincere fellowship with those who are unafraid to question. We must become like the Bereans: willing to test, search, challenge, and verify—not with arrogance, but with humility and reverence. Our loyalty must be to truth, not to tradition.

In a world overflowing with noise, credentials, and curated narratives, the pursuit of truth is not just a moral act—it is a spiritual discipline and a form of worship.

In that same vein, I am beginning a new mini-series on Genesis 4—a chapter that has stirred my spirit afresh. The story of Cain and Abel is often recited with surface-level familiarity, yet beneath the soil of these verses lies a profound and, at times, unsettling tension.

There seems to be considerable controversy and speculation about what truly transpired in those early moments of humanity’s moral awakening. Why was Abel’s offering accepted, and Cain’s rejected? What did their sacrifices really represent? Was this merely a story of jealousy—or something deeper, more systemic, and more prophetic?

This chapter does not merely recount the first murder—it confronts the human condition, the nature of acceptable worship, and the consequences of offering God something He never asked for. It also offers a prophetic mirror: how even today, systems of power repeat Cain’s error—elevating form over faith, image over intimacy, and control over covenant.

In light of our discussion on official authority, Genesis 4 invites us to ask: Whose voice are we really listening to? Whose offering are we bringing—and why?

I invite you to journey with me as we unpack this narrative with fresh eyes, drawing from Hebrew etymology, historical context, and theological insight. Let’s seek to uncover not just what happened—but what still happens, in our own hearts, when the spirit of Cain tries to silence the voice of true worship.

Stay tuned for Part One: “THE OFFERING GOD NEVER ASKED FOR.”

PRAYER

Lord,

Awaken in me a discerning spirit. Guard me from the allure of comfortable illusions, and grant me the courage to challenge deception—even when it wears a robe of authority. Teach me to be like the Bereans: anchored in Your Word, led by Your Spirit, and unwilling to bow to the idols of consensus. May I pursue truth with a clean heart, not for controversy, but for clarity.

Amen.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

• How can I encourage others in my community to think critically and seek God’s truth for themselves?
• Do I too readily accept something as true simply because it comes from an “official” source?
• How can I learn to discern between truth and propaganda in a world saturated with information?
• What practices can I implement to become more like the Bereans in my spiritual walk?
• Am I willing to stand alone for the truth if necessary—even if it means being misunderstood or rejected?

MEMORY VERSE

“Then Jesus said to those Jews who believed Him, ‘If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:31-32, NKJV)

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