Only One Mediator

The call to discernment in the Christian life is rarely as simple as labeling some ideas “good” and others “bad.” It requires patiently asking what truth something contains and what error it smuggles in. It’s less like stamping passports and more like sorting jelly beans to find the black licorice ones—whether (correctly) to enjoy them or to throw them away.

One of the books I’ve been reading recently is about spiritual trauma, and I’ve found myself doing a lot of that sorting. I want to discuss one example, because it highlights a real issue I’ve seen in the Christian world.

The book argues that one cause of spiritual trauma is telling people they are intrinsically bad and helpless to change, and therefore must look outside themselves for rescue. This, the author claims, instills guilt and helplessness that inevitably leads to victimization.

On the face of it, this denies the gospel. Scripture teaches that we are sinful. Not inherently in our creation, but now by nature as children of Adam. And we are helpless to rescue ourselves. We were dead in our sins, but God, being rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ (Eph. 2:1–10). The author is arguing against that historic Christian claim.

I don’t think the book is right. Because it contradicts Scripture. But also because I don’t think the proposed alternative actually works. Yes, healing from trauma can involve rediscovering agency and, in some sense, learning to trust ourselves rather than depending on a controlling or manipulative figure (more on that below). But the notion that we are therefore our own rescuers quickly collapses. It burdens us with the impossible task of self-redemption. And total self-trust is not the mark of a healthy person but of a narcissist. We do sin, and we do need rescue.

However, if we stop there, we miss an adjacent truth that lies behind some of the author’s arguments—a truth that is real and crucial to name. While we need rescue from our sins, we can easily confuse the true source of that rescue, Jesus, with worldly “saviors” who claim or are given His place.

It is common for people to treat human authority figures as substitute Christs. I know many who absorbed the idea—implicitly or explicitly—that their pastor, faith community, husband, or parent was meant to be Jesus to them. What they said was what He said. How they acted bore the stamp of His approval.

This misunderstands biblical authority. God does call people into leadership. A parent who abandons their calling to shepherd their children is not a good father or mother. But while God establishes these roles, He also relativizes them. Jesus is the head of the church and the family. Any authority that steps outside His headship is to be resisted. And only Jesus can be our source of hope and rescue. There is only one mediator between God and humanity.

Every authority must be approached with the same discernment we named at the start. I want my kids to trust me insofar as I am actually wiser than they are. But I also want them, especially as they grow older, to feel free to question and disagree—especially if they believe I’m out of line with what Jesus teaches. Healthy churches are commited to the truth, but they always remain open to correction and careful not to speak beyond Scripture. We should test every spirit.

Confusing Jesus with human representatives harms everyone involved. It harms those doing the confusing, because every human will inevitably misrepresent God to some degree. We are all sinners. More importantly, it pulls us away from learning to place our trust fully in Jesus. The more my children—or anyone else—look to me as their rescuer, the more they lose out on the unshakeable power of the gospel of God’s love.

At the same time, this confusion also harms those who are looked to for rescue. We are not meant to be Jesus to anyone. I cannot rescue myself, and I certainly cannot rescue another. Much of my adult life has been spent learning—over and over—that I am not the Christ. Putting that trust and hope in a human being is corrosive to their rest and their sense of themselves. And starting to believe we deserve that trust and hope is poison to our souls.

So while we must not abandon the gospel for a therapeutic view of salvation, neither should we imagine we are defending the gospel by propping up institutions or leaders who elevate human beings to the place of God. The answer to both errors is to continually return to the hope that we all need rescue—and that God has accomplished that rescue powerfully, apart from us, and invites us into the freedom of resting in Him as our only hope.