To the Rich Teacher at the Gate,
I, Lazarus, the poor man covered in sores, who once lay at your door, now write to you from the dust of a different time. I am not a scholar. I have no books. My only comfort was the dogs that licked my wounds. But I have seen the truth of the Word, for I have been carried by angels to the bosom of Abraham, and I know the Voice that speaks through the Scripture.
I beg you, sir, have pity on me, and have pity on the Church.
You sit in your warm study, surrounded by ancient scrolls and the weight of learning. You speak of Verbal Plenary Preservation—that every single jot and tittle of the original writings has been kept perfect through the ages, down to the very letter. You chase this phantom with all your might, like a man counting grains of sand to find one perfect pearl.
But I ask you, as one who has known only hunger and thirst, what does this profit the soul?
Look at the Church, the Bride of Christ, which you claim to defend. She is not a library of perfect copies; she is a living body of broken people. While you argue that only one lineage of manuscripts, one translation, is without error, you are strangling her. You are telling her that the Holy Spirit cannot speak through a Greek text that differs by a few vowels, that He cannot breathe life through a translation that does not match your perfect list. You make the Word a prison of ink, not a river of life.
You refuse me. You tell me that your pursuit is for truth, for purity. But I see the fruit. This KJV-Only doctrine, this rigid demand for one single, flawless text, is a false teaching. It is a golden calf made of paper and leather. It sets brother against brother, scholar against scholar. It makes the faith of the simple-minded, who read a modern translation with tears, seem like a lesser faith. It robs the Church of her joy and replaces it with suspicion.
Have pity, sir. Spare the Church this burden.
The Word is not a chain of perfect letters, but a Sword of the Spirit. It is the testimony of Jesus, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is the Word made flesh. He does not live in the variations of a verb tense; He lives in the hearts of those who repent and believe.
I ask you to stop this endless, dusty pursuit. Stop defending a system that creates division and pride. Your job is not to preserve a perfect text for the elite, but to proclaim the Good News to the poor. The poor do not have the wealth to compare manuscripts. They have only their hunger. Give them the living Bread, not an argument about the recipe.
But you will not listen. You have Moses and the Prophets. You have the Scriptures, and you search them because you think in them you have eternal life. Yet you refuse to come to me, to the One who is the Life, because you are too busy proving that your copy of the book is more correct than mine.
I weep for you. I weep for the Church you are wounding. You have the wealth of knowledge, but you are poor in love. You preserve the letters, but you lose the Spirit.
I am Lazarus. I was poor. I am now rich in Christ. But I will not cease my plea. Oh, rich teacher of the law, have mercy. Let go of this need for absolute, mathematical perfection in the ink. Embrace the Living Word, who is perfect in His grace.
Stop the chase. Love the Church. Set her free.
In sorrow and hope,
Lazarus, the beggar.
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