This is a hard word, but it is a necessary one

I speak now as a pastor to fellow elders and leaders—men entrusted with souls, not merely with institutions.

This is a hard word, but it is a necessary one.

Some of you know, quietly and clearly, that Verbal Plenary Preservation as defined by KJV-Onlyism, the claim of a perfect, flawless Textus Receptus, and the idea that one English translation is the final authority are not true. You have read enough. You have studied enough. You have seen the evidence. You know the arguments do not hold. You know the history does not cooperate. You know the theology is forced.

And yet, you continue to lend your support.

Not because you are convinced—but because you are sentimental.

You loved the founder of your denomination. You respected him. You were shaped by him. Perhaps he preached Christ faithfully, suffered much, and bore good fruit in his generation. His death left a vacuum, and in that vacuum you felt a weight of obligation: “We must protect what he built.” You feared that questioning certain doctrines would feel like betraying his memory.

So you stayed silent.

Worse, you supported younger pastors who inherited his platform but not always his discernment. You knew they were wrong. You knew they were overstating claims, misrepresenting history, and binding consciences where Scripture does not. But you told yourself it was for the sake of unity, continuity, loyalty.

Brothers—this is not shepherding. This is abdication.

Scripture does not permit elders to trade truth for nostalgia.

Paul’s farewell to the Ephesian elders in Acts 20 is chilling precisely because it names this temptation. He warns that wolves will arise not only from outside, but from among yourselves, speaking twisted things to draw disciples after them. His command is not “honor the founders” or “protect the movement,” but “pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock.”

The flock does not belong to the founder.
The denomination does not belong to its history.
The church belongs to Christ.

Sentimentality is not a fruit of the Spirit. Loyalty to a man—living or dead—is not a biblical virtue when it comes at the expense of truth. The New Testament never tells elders to preserve a legacy. It tells them to guard the gospel.

Some of you justify your support by saying, “These younger pastors are sincere.” Sincerity is not a qualification for teaching. Apollos was sincere—and still needed correction. Peter was sincere—and still had to be rebuked publicly by Paul when the truth of the gospel was at stake.

Others say, “The issue is not essential.” But you know better. When a teaching elevates one translation to functional inspiration, when it equates faithfulness with intellectual dishonesty, when it trains believers to distrust evidence and scholarship as spiritual threats, it is no longer a side issue. It shapes how people understand truth itself.

False teaching is not only about what is said, but about how people are trained to think.

And here is the most sobering truth: your silence teaches. Your financial support teaches. Your presence on platforms teaches. By standing behind teachers you know are wrong, you are discipling the next generation into confusion while telling yourself you are keeping the peace.

But there is no peace where truth is quietly sacrificed.

Ezekiel’s warning to watchmen was not aimed at heretics—it was aimed at leaders who saw danger and said nothing. God does not measure elders by how well they protected institutions, but by whether they warned the flock when error crept in wearing familiar clothes.

You are not dishonoring your founder by correcting error that grew in his shadow. If he was a godly man, he would not want his name used as a shield for doctrines that cannot stand in the light. The truest way to honor faithful men of the past is not to freeze their conclusions, but to imitate their courage to follow truth wherever it leads.

Brothers, it is not too late.

You can still speak.
You can still withdraw support.
You can still correct privately—and publicly if needed.
You can still model repentance, which is not weakness but leadership.

The church does not need more gatekeepers of tradition. It needs shepherds with clean hands and clear consciences.

Do not let future believers say of this generation of elders: “They knew better—but they chose comfort.”

Christ walks among the lampstands. He knows why we stay silent. He knows why we speak. And He still calls overseers to be faithful—not sentimental.

This is not a call to rebellion.
It is a call back to your first charge: to guard the truth for the sake of the flock, whatever it costs.