John F. MacArthur, In Memoriam
A personal reflection on the life of a giant
I first encountered John MacArthur after my sophomore year of college in 2006. This is right at the beginning of a somewhat nebulous movement that came to be known as the “Young, Restless, and Reformed” (YRR). I hated that name then and still don’t like it nearly two decades later. MacArthur had been a prominent Bible teacher for decades already, but the major change that took place was that his material became available on the internet, especially in the form of podcasts. He had been on Christian radio all over the country for a very long time already, but at 20-years-old, I wasn’t sitting around tuning in and waiting for Grace to You to come on (I reserved that for Rush Limbaugh).
What attracted me to MacArthur and others, like R.C. Sproul and John Piper, at the time was that it was obvious these men took the Bible very seriously. What seemed to be universally common among YRR types at the time was that we had all grown up in evangelical megachurch environments (even if you were from a small town like me where the “megachurch” had only a few hundred people). Learning the Bible or theology was an afterthought. The only thing that was important was getting the basics of the gospel. You learned just enough to make a profession of faith and anything beyond that was extra credit. Youth group, church camp, and later campus ministry that I was involved in (Campus Crusade) never made knowing God’s Word much of a priority at all. What was important was attracting people by entertaining them and “gettin’ them saved.”
Being able to download episodes of Grace to You on iTunes back in 2006 was a breath of fresh air. Hearing someone who actually knew the Bible well, could explain things about it that I didn’t understand, and truly took it seriously as the very words of God was exactly what so many of us had been desperately looking for and to that point had never encountered it.
It seems so long ago now, but remembering just how antinomian the evangelical environment I had been in still shocks me. I remember being taught in Campus Crusade that there were two “kinds” of Christians. Ones who were saved, but “hadn’t made Jesus Lord of their life”—what they called “Carnal Christians”—and those who had made Christ Lord of their life—what they called “Spirit-filled Christians.” I was still a theological neophyte at the time, yet this never sat right with me. It didn’t make any logical sense. If you could still enjoy sinning in the same way you had before professing faith in Christ, yet still not go to hell, why would anyone choose to stop doing so?
At some point around this time, I picked up MacArthur’s book, The Gospel According to Jesus. I don’t remember all the details of this book and cannot comment on what I would agree or disagree with today, but what I remember is just how incisive a rebuke it was to the kind of antinomian stew I and everyone else had been marinating in. It had answered a question that had plagued me. “If you really believe in Jesus, you will want to do the things He commands you to do.” I never felt a tinge of legalism at all. I never felt like this answer to that question forced me to act like I was earning my own salvation. To me, it was simply, I believe in Jesus. I believe His Word is true. I believe the things He commands are good. I believe the sins I commit I should repent of. Because I believe in Jesus, I should want to do the things He says to do.
Even though I was aware of the antinomianism implicit in my evangelical environment, I had not anticipated just how controversial such a thing was. The entire evangelical model of ministry was based around not really ever talking about sin except in the most general terms, and getting people to make a fairly empty profession of faith in Christ that had absolutely no duties or obligations attached. Saying “hey, we should talk about sin and repentance more” was a challenge to their entire way of doing things. It should come as no surprise that my Campus Crusade leaders told me to stop listening to and reading John MacArthur. Naturally, I did the opposite.
Some time in the Fall of 2007, I visited Grace Community Church and heard who the people there affectionately called “Pastor John” preach. My friends from the Southern California Campus Crusade who went with me were not nearly as enamored with his preaching as I was. I was impressed by their orchestra and how seriously they took worship. I met him very briefly at the Desiring God conference that same fall, though I don’t have any remarkable experience to recount. He was characteristically polite and kind, but beyond that I don’t remember it.
As time went on, I became more and more interested in the Reformed tradition espoused by R.C. Sproul. I began attending a PCA church with a covenant renewal liturgy, and I eventually found my way to Moscow, ID and the CREC. I hadn’t listened to anything by him for years as I delved deeper into my particular niche in the Reformed world. But I never stopped admiring the man, particularly his courage. I would see clips of him from time to time going on Larry King Live or other cable news shows. At this time, the debates over gay “marriage” and homosexuality were beginning to reach their peak. The temptation for evangelical leaders at the time (and even more so today) was to appeal to those who were pro-homosexual. Many a prominent figure would appear on such shows and flail. They would say things like “well, homosexuality is not ideal for human flourishing,” and that would be the extent of their critique. Or they would come close to outright endorsing homosexuality. Not so with Pastor MacArthur. He would go on and boldly present basic biblical truth, not caring for a second what outraged histrionics it would provoke. I admired him greatly for this courage when he had every incentive to soften the message of the Bible.
That boldness never disappeared as he aged. In 2020, during the Wuhanflu, he and his church took the bold stand to fight the Governor of California and remain open. The criticism he faced, particularly from those within the conservative, Reformed evangelical world, was withering. We all discovered you find out what people are really made of in moments like this. And he passed the test that so many others pitifully failed. He stayed the course and ultimately won.
As my own theological path diverged from the time when I consumed a substantial amount of his material in my early 20s, I found myself in more and more disagreement with his exegetical framework. Hearing “we lose down here” confidently proclaimed was like nails on a chalkboard. But in reflecting on the man’s life and impact that he had, despite such a pessimistic eschatology, he did so much for the kingdom of God to win down here in spite of it. I am thankful for his life, for his courage, and for his faithfulness to the Lord Jesus Christ.
I remember him saying (probably to his close friend R.C. Sproul) something like “I am sure there are things in my theology that are wrong, and if I knew what they were, I would change them! But I won’t know until I am in glory.” Now, unlike the rest of us here, he finally has attained the perfectly correct theology, one that we can hope to share with him one day.
But today, we can be thankful to stand on the shoulders of a giant that has gone before us.