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Education
April 16, 2025
The sinfulness of man is nowhere more vivid than in his defiance of divine authority. When the Sovereign of the universe stands before him, man meets majesty not with reverence but with pride, apathy, and unbelief. Such was the scene in Jerusalem in AD 33. Confronted with the King of kings, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, opted for cowardice cloaked in cynicism. “What is truth?” he asked—rhetorically, damningly—before handing over Christ to be crucified.
Moments earlier, Jesus had declared the very purpose of His coming: “to bear witness to the truth.” Those who are of the truth, He said, hear His voice. Pilate did not. Nor did the crowds. In that failure lay the lie—and the judgment. For over two millennia, Pilate’s folly has echoed across history: a pattern of divine treason repeated wherever truth is scorned. The moral remains the same—where lies govern, ruin is never far behind.
If sin is revealed in rebellion against truth, then grace is unveiled in humble submission to it. When man meets the Sovereign with awe, repentance, and obedience, righteousness takes root. Such was the scene in Jerusalem in the year King Uzziah died. The prophet Isaiah, caught up into the heavenly court, beheld the majesty of the Lord. Surrounded by seraphic worship, he was undone. Before the throne of the King of kings, Isaiah saw himself rightly—and was transformed (Isaiah 6).
Cleansed, commissioned, and called to proclaim the will of God, the prophet emerges not with self-assurance but with thunderous truth. His voice, now anchored in revelation, echoes through the ages. The lesson, no less urgent: life and fruitfulness flow only from truth.
Human beings inevitably live under the sway of what they revere. Man is always mastered—either by truth or by its counterfeit—and the fruits are plain enough: either the character of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22) or the chaos of idolatry. The challenge lies in the subtle counterfeits: a surface sheen of truth that lacks weight. Knowledge may abound, yet bear little fruit. Piety may glow within echo chambers, yet flicker out before the encroaching dark.
A culture drained of moral and imaginative potency often signals a deeper crisis: unbelief not merely in doctrine, but in the dominion of Christ. Christians may affirm high theology while living like practical atheists. This, too, is idolatry which is an attempt to reduce God to a set of abstractions, safely caged in the intellect, with little claim on the every square inch of life.
Many Christians excel at affirmation but falter at application. Doctrines are declared with precision, yet lived with contradiction. Take the omnipresence of God: often confessed, rarely considered. If His presence were truly believed, sin would be sobering, not casual. Prayer would be frequent, not forgotten. Even the mundane corners of life would shine with significance. Courage would swell in those who carry Christ’s name, and peace would be less elusive.
Likewise, the omniscience of God is readily affirmed—but often undermined by epistemologies borrowed from unbelief. Were God’s perfect knowledge taken seriously, classical Christian education would not be a luxury but a necessity. Scripture would be studied, not sidelined. Secret thoughts would be guarded, words chosen with care, and humility would prevail—not as a virtue signaled, but as a life lived under divine scrutiny.
The justice of God is widely affirmed, yet frequently betrayed. Many who proclaim it nevertheless capitulate to secular social justice dogmas, tolerate evil in polite company, hesitate to reward righteousness, and neglect the good of their neighbor. The irony is sharp: in affirming divine justice, they abandon its implications.
When Christians dwell in a culture of idols and feel no palpable tension, something is deeply amiss. Compromise, not conviction, is likely at work.
The same holds true for divine sovereignty. Too often, it is confined to the realms of soteriology and sometimes cosmology—majestic in theory, irrelevant in practice. But if God's sovereignty were truly believed, it would reshape everything. Joy and optimism would mark the Christian life. Hope would extend into the present, not merely the eschaton. Stewardship—of body, time, and money—would matter. Gospel proclamation would be unflinching. And ideologies that blaspheme Christ would not be tolerated in the name of civility.
How different would our lives look if we truly believed the truths we so easily affirm? What if theology were not merely confessed but embodied? The answer lies in recovering the old idea of Coram Deo—to live consciously before the face of God. It is the only path to genuine holiness: not sanitized piety, but the raw and reverent devotion and imitation of a holy God.
True holiness is rarely quiet. It disrupts. It offends. It refuses to flatter the status quo. It is impatient with vice and attentive to the forgotten, the mundane, the small. It liberates, reforms, and causes trouble—not for the sake of rebellion, but for the sake of righteousness.
When Christians dwell in a culture of idols and feel no palpable tension, something is deeply amiss. Compromise, not conviction, is likely at work. Their senses dulled, they tolerate what ought to grieve them—worshiping false gods by default, not defiance. Such accommodation erases the essential distinction between the holy and those who revel in sin.
What is needed now are Christians who pose a growing threat to the enemies of God—not by militancy, but by difference. Christians whose culture is visibly distinct from that of the godless. Christians who stand with courage, who serve as salt and light in a decaying world. Christians who live as if Christ actually redeemed them: a holy people, commissioned to build His Kingdom here and now. But such lives are only possible when lived Coram Deo—before the face of God, in reverent belief that He is who He has revealed Himself to be.
At New Saint Andrews College, this is not a peripheral ambition—it is the central one. The goal is to graduate leaders who have reckoned with truth and resolved to live Coram Deo. Every lecture and mentorship is ordered toward shaping minds, hearts, and habits in submission to Christ. Without that, even the most impressive credentials would ring hollow. For allegiance to the Lordship of Christ is not a meme, nor a bumper sticker. It is a costly, comprehensive loyalty to the risen King who lives, reigns, and rules forever.
