All right, folks! This one’s a bit of a doozy. So buckle your theological seatbelt, secure all emotionally fragile passengers, and keep your arms and doctrinal sensitivities inside the ride at all times. And yes, I am convinced that everything you read in this one needs to be said.

I Quote Doug Wilson!

This, it seems, is one of the great black marks on my pastoral record. If only I had known sooner, I could have avoided this whole fiasco, kept my head down and been a good healthy church member. Fortunately, it was never meant to be, and God had other plans to lead me into the pastorate too young for my own comfort. And now, I’ve hit such a disqualifier, I’m told. A ministry-limiting, trajectory-wrecking, reputation-breaking catastrophe. A theological cancer diagnosis,

“You quote Doug Wilson?”

Yes. Yes, I do. With gusto. If you don’t know what that word means, that right there is a reason to read more of Wilson’s material. But alas, it is true. With ink-stained fingers and a highlighter in hand, I quote Mr. Douglas Wilson like a Puritan quotes Paul, like there’s actual gold under those Idaho paragraphs, and I brought a shovel. Talk about living dangerously.

Quoting Wilson, I’m told, is worse than quoting Beelzebub. “Why, oh why,” they moan, “would you tie your ministry to such a controversial figure? Don’t you know you could go further without that baggage? He’s divisive. He’s problematic. He says things… bluntly.” And by the time they’re done quoting all those particularly distinctive qualities, I forget if they’re talking about Doug or Jesus.

I’m glad these winsome folk didn’t live in Jesus’ time. I mean, imagine the committee meetings. “Rabbi, could we dial back the ‘whitewashed tombs’ bit? And maybe clarify that the whole ‘eating my flesh’ thing was metaphorical?” Honestly, we don’t have to imagine, we just have to open our Bibles and read the Pharisees. That same spirit that winced at Christ’s clarity is alive and well today, and it runs some of our favourite book review blogs and podcasts.

“But he’s too blunt!” Ah, bluntness! The unforgivable sin of the twenty-first-century pulpit. If only Doug would speak in subtle ambiguity, with careful nuance and well crafted riddles, he could be the chaplain of the evangelical elite. Instead, the world has to live with the Moscow Mood – as if a tone can be put on trial. Somehow people tend to forget that the “mood” of a baby born in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, that would spread through all the regions for the next thirty three years would have given modern evangelicals the shivers.

Doug Wilson talks like a man who knows what time it is. And that alone offends the ones who are still waiting for permission to speak in public. So yes, I quote him. Because in an age where most preachers are waiting for the cultural tide to recede before they build anything meaningful, Wilson is already knee-deep in concrete with a blueprint in one hand and a trowel in the other.

But here’s my honest question, if the Moscow Mood isn’t quite your cup of tea, what on earth does that have to do with me quoting them? Since when did personal vibes become the standard for theological discernment? Who handed modern evangelicals the badge and clipboard that lets them patrol Christendom like tone police? “Excuse me, sir, that quote had a little too much spice. Please step out of the pulpit and keep your hands where we can see them.”

Seriously, when did we start letting someone’s sentiment become the doctrinal thermostat for what a pastor is allowed to read, reference, or respect? I didn’t realise that my bookshelf needed to pass a vibe check from the Gospel Coalition’s comment section. And that, right there, is the real point of this article. I’m not writing because I’m personally bothered by the squeamish reactions of tone-sensitive saints. I’m not losing sleep over who clutched their pearls when I quoted Doug Wilson in a sermon. Frankly, I don’t care.

But I do care about what happens when emotionally driven preferences start masquerading as spiritual authority. I care when personal discomfort gets weaponised to sabotage faithful preaching. I care when otherwise bold pastors shrink back, not because they’ve been convinced, but because they’ve been emotionally blackmailed.

This article isn’t about defending one man’s mood, it’s about exposing the deeper problem of fragile feelings hijacking the church’s backbone.

I don’t like bullies

Now, let me make something very clear. I don’t agree with Doug Wilson on everything. Not even close. I’m a continuationist. I believe the Spirit still imparts spiritual gifts. I’ve winced at some of Doug’s serrated-edge rhetoric more than once. I’ve watched him swing the polemical sword when I would’ve recommended a scalpel. In short, I may have a few bones to pick myself.

But that’s not the issue.

My problem isn’t with disagreement. My problem is with the selective outrage and Pharisaical hypocrisy that defines modern evangelicalism’s rules of engagement. The ones who clutch their pearls and excommunicate a quote because it came from That Man in Moscow, while they simultaneously celebrate dead theologians who believed in purgatory, drowned Anabaptists, or wrote about women like they were slightly annoying livestock

This modern evangelical “sin of association” game is absurd. It’s bad theology in a virtue-signaling rain coat. It’s cowardice dressed up like discernment. And it needs some good old-fashioned bulldozing. Quoting someone is not endorsing everything they’ve ever said, done, or accidentally liked on Twitter. It’s not a pinky promise to align your entire ministry with their brand. It’s simply this – he was right on that point, and I’m not ashamed to say so. Full stop.

But the real danger isn’t even the sin of association, it’s the fear that fuels it. The sin of association is the new leprosy. Quote Wilson, and you’re not just wrong, you’re unclean. It doesn’t matter what he said, or how true it was. The only thing that matters is who said it. And suddenly, your entire ministry is suspect. Your motives are impugned. You become the theological black sheep, the guy the elders talk about “keeping an eye on” during staff meetings. For some, the pressure is subtle. A quiet word from a senior pastor who thinks it’s “unwise.” A donor who pulls support with a “heavy heart.” For others, it’s more direct – if you quote him, you’re done. Uninvited. Unpublishable. Unclean.

The pressure can come from a million places – from the pews, from the pulpit, from publishing boards and conference gatekeepers, from insecure colleagues and overly-sensitive committees. And so, many fold. Not because they disagree with Doug’s point, but because they’re afraid of losing the perks of fitting in. Let’s be honest. Some pastors are being held hostage by the pew. By emotionally fragile Christians whose personal discomfort has been baptised as spiritual discernment. And instead of leading their flocks, some shepherds have become sheepish interns, nervously navigating the minefield of public approval.

This, by the way, is exactly what Joe Rigney means when he talks about emotional sabotage. We are not loving people well when we allow their emotions to dictate the terms of truth. When we cave to manipulation cloaked in piety, we’re not being pastoral, we’re being played. And the devil loves a soft-spined shepherd.

So no, I won’t avoid quoting Doug Wilson just to maintain some thin veneer of evangelical peace. Because that kind of peace is built on silence, not truth. It’s negotiated in the court of public opinion, not the throne room of God. And it’s more concerned with optics than orthodoxy. And if you think quoting someone is more dangerous than ignoring the truth they’re proclaiming, then maybe it’s not the quote that’s the problem.

Maybe it’s your fear.

This brings me to the heart of the matter. I dislike bullies. Spiritual tyrants, crowd-pulling manipulators, or social media inquisitors with a theology degree and a superiority complex, they all get the same response from me – no thanks. And this whole ‘sin by association’ charade smells like bullying to me.

These fine folks quote Augustine like he never thought about purgatory, quote Luther like he didn’t toss a few verbal grenades at the Jews, quote Calvin like Servetus just tripped and happened to fall into a bonfire, and quote C.S. Lewis because all they’ve read is Narnia.

It’s the inconsistency that gets me. Dead guys are allowed their sins because they can’t sin anymore. Which means that Doug’s crime isn’t that he’s wrong, it’s that he’s alive, still typing, still preaching, still refusing to issue a blanket apology to Big Eva for being insufficiently nice.

Let me state it as plainly as I can – I refuse to be a snowflake in this world of evangellyfishes.

There. I said it.

I refuse to be the sort of man who needs theological trigger warnings before cracking open a book. I refuse to build a ministry on the backs of emotional support footnotes. I refuse to check if my sermon quote has been pre-approved by the Council of Acceptable Reformed Soundbites.

Do you really want pastors who are scared to quote someone who might be controversial? Or do you want shepherds who can wield the double-edged sword.

Of course. Here’s a new section that fits naturally into the article—warm, gracious, and mature toward your true brothers in ministry, while drawing a sharp contrast with the others who need to hear what you’re saying:

Thank God for Real Brothers

Now, let me take a breath and say this with gratitude. I’m thankful, deeply thankful, for the mature pastor friends I have who don’t see eye to eye with me on Doug Wilson. They’re not fans of the Moscow style, they’ve got their reservations, and yet, not once, have they questioned my character, ministry, or sanity just because I quoted him.

These are men who know what true fellowship is. They’re secure enough in their own convictions to not feel threatened by mine. They understand the difference between brotherly disagreement and denominational defenestration. They’ve given me the right hand of fellowship, even when I’ve had a Doug quote in my left hand. And for that, I’m genuinely grateful. That’s maturity. That’s courage. That’s what the church needs more of.

But unfortunately, not everyone operates that way.

This article isn’t for those mature brothers. This isn’t for the men who’ve chosen unity over uniformity. This isn’t for those who’ve shown me Christlike generosity even when we part ways over a footnote. If that’s you, God bless you. I wish we could clone you.

No, this article is for the others, the ones who’ve quietly (or not-so-quietly) decided that quoting Wilson is a sign of theological corruption, a red flag flapping in the wind. This is for the leaders who tighten their grip on relationships or resources when they sense a little too much Moscow in the margins. This is for the discernment bloggers who only break silence to sniff out guilt by association.

You know who you are. You should be ashamed of yourself.

This article is aimed at those who confuse cautious gatekeeping with spiritual leadership, and need to be reminded that fear is not a fruit of the Spirit.

The Gospel Is Not a PR Campaign

We’ve confused the gospel with a brand strategy. Ministry has been repackaged like it’s a marketing campaign, where boldness is bad for business and might trigger a PR crisis. Truth must be polished, pre-approved, and carefully tested with a control group before being released to the public. But the gospel isn’t a product launch, and Jesus isn’t a sanitised Disney anti-hero with a misunderstood backstory. He’s a King. And His truth doesn’t need rebranding. It needs declaring.

The gospel is a rock. A scandal. A stumbling block. The truth divides, and always has. Not because it’s cruel, but because people love their lies. And when a man tells the truth loudly and clearly enough for the pews in the back to hear, well, someone is always going to throw a fit.

Doug Wilson has told the truth, sometimes in unvarnished and inconvenient ways. He’s ruffled feathers, poked sacred cows with a stick, and dared to believe that the Bible actually means what it says. And for that, I respect him.

Not because he’s perfect. Not because he’s above critique. But because in a world where most Christian leaders are busy auditioning for cultural approval, Doug keeps reminding us that Christ is King now, not later. That the church is a city on a hill, not a tent in a valley. That the mission is conquest, not retreat. And that we are to raise our sons and daughters in the hope that they will own the future, not survive its collapse.

In a World of Froth, Be a Brick

Look, I’m not here to win the respectability politics of the evangelicals. I’m not applying for membership at the Hall of Winsome Christianity. I’m trying to build something that lasts longer than the average Christian news cycle. I’m trying to teach men to think like soldiers, women to live like queens, children to sing like warriors, and churches to plant like gardeners with postmillennial seed.

And if that offends the sensibilities of people who only quote names with a verified checkmark and an obituary, so be it.

I quote Doug Wilson, and I hope you do too. Not because I agree with him on every point, but because I’m not scared of men who fight. I’m tired of men who won’t.