The Delusion of Divine Autonomy part 1

Let me ask you something as plainly as I can: What if the greatest danger facing the church today isn’t outright rebellion, but something far more subtle? What if the real threat isn’t that we’ll stop talking about Jesus, but that we’ll start talking about Him in a way that quietly centers us instead of Him?

You see, we live in a world that sings the praises of personal freedom. Everywhere you turn, there’s a voice—sometimes gentle, sometimes loud—telling you to believe in yourself, to chase your truth, to take control of your destiny. It’s the air we breathe. And like any lie that’s had time to age, it sounds noble now. It sounds… beautiful.

But if we trace the path of that song, it doesn’t lead to peace. It leads to pressure. And if we trace its roots, they go all the way back to a garden, and a tree, and a whisper that changed everything.

“You will not surely die,” the serpent said. “God knows that when you eat of it… you will be like Him.”

There it is. The seed of self-salvation. Not merely the temptation to sin, but the invitation to become sovereign. To cast off our dependence and become gods unto ourselves. That, you see, is the origin of autonomy. And every time we shift the gospel’s center from God’s grace to man’s decision, we are repeating the lie.

Now we don’t often say it in such stark terms, of course. We dress it up. We say, “God has done His part—now it’s up to you.” Or, “Jesus is offering salvation—if you’ll just take it.” It sounds faithful, but listen closely. The implication is that Christ opens the door, and we must walk through it on our own strength. That the decisive moment rests not with the cross, but with our choice.

And I want to say this gently, but clearly: That’s not good news. That’s exhausting.

If salvation starts with me, then I must sustain it. I must choose well, believe well, perform well, and hold fast—or else it all falls apart. That’s not grace. That’s spiritual performance wrapped in Christian vocabulary.

And oh, how weary it makes us. Have you felt it? That subtle fear, that quiet panic: “What if I haven’t done enough?” “What if I don’t believe hard enough?” “What if I fall away?”

You see, the gospel that centers on man always leads back to man. And we are too fragile to carry the weight of our own redemption.

But now, consider this: What if salvation didn’t rest on your shoulders at all? What if, instead of striving to begin or complete your faith, you were simply called to rest in the One who already has?

This is where the doctrines of grace rescue us.

They don’t puff us up—they humble us. And in that humbling, they heal us. Because they tell us, plainly and powerfully, that we bring nothing to the table but our need. That we were not sick, but dead. That God didn’t choose us because we believed—He chose us because He is rich in mercy. That Jesus didn’t die to make salvation possible—He died to make it certain. That when God calls, He awakens. And that once He begins a work, He always, always finishes it.

Now I know, these truths make many uncomfortable. But isn’t it better to be made uncomfortable by truth than comforted by a lie?

There’s no real comfort in a gospel that says, “You must manufacture your own faith.” But there is deep, immovable joy in a gospel that says, “It is finished.”

The world tells us we are our own. The gospel tells us we were bought with a price.

The world says to build your identity. The gospel says your identity is hidden in Christ.

The world says you are the author. The gospel says Jesus is both author and finisher.

So I ask you—not to provoke, but to plead—have you been trusting in your response more than your Redeemer? Have you made your decision the anchor of your assurance, rather than the unchanging mercy of God?

Because, dear friend, if you have… there is no shame in admitting it. But there is great danger in continuing on that path. It is the same path from Eden. It leads not to life, but to burden. Not to holiness, but to self-dependence. Not to joy, but to quiet despair dressed in Sunday best.

Come off the path.

Come back to the fountain. Come back to grace.

Christ did not die to offer you a ladder—He came to raise you from the grave. He’s not waiting for you to initiate; He came while you were dead in sin. He’s not asking you to finish what He started; He said from the cross, “It is finished.”

You don’t have to be God. You don’t have to produce what only the Spirit can give. You don’t have to believe perfectly, repent completely, or persevere flawlessly. Christ has done all that you could not. And the Father is not looking for your worthiness—He’s looking for Christ’s. And if you are in Him, then He will hold you to the end.

So cast off the delusion of divine autonomy. Let go of the lie that salvation rests on you. You were not made to author your own redemption. You were made to worship the One who already has.

He is enough.

And He is yours.

Justin Reed

- Brushwood Press