The
Passion Of The Christ: Outreach For Antichrist
A Biography of
Rolfe Barnard
Compiled from his own personal recollections
and taped sermons, especially "Saved from Infidelity" and
"Watching Men Die," Barnard's Sermon Notes, and from
correspondence with his daughter, Mrs. R. C. Moser, of
Clemmons, North Carolina I well recall when Rolfe
Barnard first came to my hometown, Ashland, Kentucky. It was
the spring of 1950. I was a teenage boy and attended, along
with my mother, younger sister and brother, a large Baptist
Church. It was one of the most influential churches in Eastern
Kentucky with a membership of about 1,000. Some way, I do not
recall how, they scheduled Rolfe Barnard to come and
speak. In those days evangelistic services were
conducted annually, sometimes more often. They were known as
"revival meetings." Some of the most prominent evangelists in
America came to our church. Evangelistic services were
extravaganzas: there was almost a "show biz" atmosphere. They
featured fancy musicians, former boxers, convicts and
entertainers as speakers, and all kinds of gimmicks and
goodies for the youth. Aeroplane rides were offered for those
who brought enough people to church and there were rewards for
those who induced others to walk down the church aisles after
the sermons. It was the big boom and everyone seemed to enjoy
it.
I do not recall there
being much permanent good effect of these "revivals." After
all the excitement died down, people usually went about their
sinful ways of living as before.Like all the guest-evangelists
who came, the picture of Barnard was placed on posters and
nailed all over town. Beneath his picture was an interesting
slogan. It said, "The evangelist who is different." Exactly
what was different about him the posters did not say. The man
looked to be in his late forties. The only thing noticeably
different about his appearance was that he came across as
somewhat sombre–there was a slighly menacing look on his face.
Normally, evangelists had broad smiles and shining faces
advertising the jolly good fellows they were. After a
few sermons in the church, folk knew just how different Rolfe
Barnard was from the evangelists who had visited the church
before. There was none of the flashy demeanor, but a grave and
dignified bearing like one who had been sent on a mission. One
soon got the impression that he was not there to whip up
religious excitement, but to deliver a message from
God.
The message was as
startling as it was different. It centered around the
character of God, a God about whom most had never heard
before. The deity most were acquainted with was a nice sort of
fellow who did his best to save people, but was often
frustrated in the attempt. Many times I have heard preachers
say, "God has done all He can for you, now it is up to you." I
used to listen with astonishment to this statement, for I
wondered why I should seek help from a being who could not
help me. Barnard, on the other hand, preached a God Who was
sovereign and omnipotent, One Who dispensed His mercy
according to His own discretion. He preached that sinners were
not to come to God with the idea of helping Him out of His
dilemma, but they were to come as guilty sinners, suing for
mercy. He exalted the holiness of God and the strictness of
His Law. This, you can be sure, was different. Rumors
began to spread all over town that a Calvinist had come to
Ashland. Some reacted with amazement, some with confusion,
others with down-right anger. But a small group rejoiced and
said, "We have been wanting to hear this for years." My
father, who believed in the doctrines of grace, started
attending the services and announced to all of us that there
was one at the church preaching the theology in which he
believed.
The pastor, after much heart-searching and
Bible study, came to believe in the doctrines of grace as a
result of this meeting, and invited Barnard back in the summer
of 1951 to hold a tent meeting in a large park downtown. In
the intervening months a division developed over the so-called
"five points" of Calvinism with the majority becoming more
hostile. The pastor was a very talented and gracious man with
a winsome personality, and he tried to woo as many as possible
to the "new" view, but most stiffened and gave him
trouble. The church had a very active youth group,
including a choir. I was a member of this choir and also sang
in a quartet with others about my age. I had been baptized at
the age of 12, but was utterly without any vital relationship
with God in my life. There was in fact a terrible, aching void
in my heart which I could not understand. Still, I did not
even want to consider that I was not a Christian. The
two-week meeting in the park was a memorable event. The crowds
were fairly large, considering the type of preaching which was
sounding out. Barnard boldly preached the Gospel as he
understood it, often denouncing the superficiality of modern
religion. We were all fascinated with his style, though he
seemed awfully stern and rough. Plain truths of the Word of
God were set forth, even the harshest, in their naked reality.
One of his favorite texts was "God will have mercy upon whom
He will have mercy," Romans 9:15.
Shortly after the
meetings started, there began to be a breaking up. Many,
mostly adults, began to go forward after the messages and
state publicly that they were lost and wanted prayer. These,
and others who sat trembling in the audience, were under
"conviction of sin." The amazing thing is that most of them
were church members. I remember one night the piano stopped
playing during the invitation and the pianist went to the
front seat and sat down sobbing. We all knew she meant that
she wanted to be saved. Prominent church leaders such as
deacons, Sunday School teachers, and youth workers began to
acknowledge that they had been false professors or deceived
about their state before God. Our male quartet was singing
each night under the big tent, and as it turned out later, not
one of us was converted at that time. One night Don, one of
the members of the quartet, went to the front where the pastor
and evangelist were standing and asked for prayer. It was
announced that he was lost and needed Christ.
It was at this point
that I became involved in the picture. God was about to set me
straight.
At that time I had the notion that anyone who had
any religious feelings such as "seeking after God" was a true
Christian. I misunderstood the text in Romans which says that
there is none that seeketh after God (Romans 3:11). At any
rate, it rankled me somewhat that my friend had been disturbed
by the evangelist. At this very time my own soul was torn
asunder because I had no real assurance of salvation, but I
had a reputation of being a young theologian who believed in
Calvinistic doctrine. I thought this would be a good time for
me to show my skill in counselling and to help my friend who
was in trouble.I went to the front of the tent where Barnard
and the pastor were talking to Don. Butting in like the
immature, upstart youth I was, I said to him, "Don, you do not
need to worry. You are seeking God. The lost man does not seek
God. Therefore you have the life of God in you, you are
saved," or words to that effect. Never, till the day I die,
will I forget what Rolfe Barnard said to me. Looking straight
at me with his piercing eyes, he said, "Young man, a believer
is not seeking Christ, he has found Christ!"
Ten pointed arrows piercing my body, or a
jolt of electricity would not have shaken me more than those
words. Barnard had not only corrected a false notion which
would have led Don astray, but also he put his finger on a raw
nerve in my own life. With this statement, through the work of
the Holy Spirit in my heart, he stripped aside the shroud of
pseudo-religion in which I had been hiding, and left me
standing exposed to my true condition. I did not know Christ!
I was angry. As my parents drove home, I said little, but
within I was seething as I resisted the prickings of the Holy
Spirit on my conscience. Was this abrasive preacher right? Was
it true that seeking is not enough, one must actually find
Christ? If so, I knew I was lost, a fact I did not want to
face. That night, I told my mother that I wanted her to pray
for me, because I thought I might not be saved. I expected her
to have some words of comfort, for after all I was a good boy,
supposedly, one of the model young men in the church. She had
no soothing balm for me, but only said, "Son, I'll pray for
you."
What went on in the next 24 hours would take
many pages to tell, but briefly I will say that I spent the
most miserable night of my life that night wrestling with the
condition of my soul. The next morning, somewhat humbled, I
told the pastor and the evangelist (there were morning
services) that I was lost. I recall well the pastor's words.
He said, "John, this is not surprising, since most of our best
young people are coming to realize that they have never had a
real experience of grace." There were no words of counsel
given me except these, "God saves sinners." This is all that
was said to me about how to get relief. This seemed like a
brush-off, but I went away. Before the day was over, God used
the words of the song, "Jesus Paid It All," to bring peace to
my heart. Through this song, Christ and His substitutionary
work came before my mind. The Holy Spirit seemed to be telling
me that it was for me that Jesus had died, and that all my
sins were put away forever. That night I joyfully confessed
Christ to the crowd and later was baptized, along with twenty
or so others who were converted in the tent meeting.
I have given this firsthand account of
Barnard's ministry in one city because it illustrates in a
capsule way the leading elements of his evangelistic
preaching. What happened in the church in Ashland is a sample
of what occurred in dozens of places throughout America and
parts of Canada. While different churches and communities
responded differently to Barnard's preaching, there were many
instances, in the 1950's and 1960's, especially where churches
were claimed for truth, and many sinners were converted.
Rolfe Pickens Barnard was born on August 4,
1904, to James and Julia Barnard in Gunterville, Alabama. He
often stated that his father and mother gave him to God to be
a preacher while he was still in his mother's womb. He grew up
in a Godly home and was taken to a Southern Baptist Church and
Sunday School during his youth. Like so many children, he made
a decision to be baptized and join the church when very young,
but without being truly converted. When he was eleven years
old, a missionary visited the church in the little town where
he lived and asked all who were willing to go to come forward.
Soon Rolfe was walking down the aisle and made this
commitment. He seemed to sense from that time that God's will
for him was the Christian ministry.
In a remarkable sermon entitled "Saved From
Infidelity," Barnard explains how he struggled with the
seemingly inevitable course to which he was destined:
preaching the Gospel. He was evidently a precocious youth for
he entered Hardin Simmons University in Abilene, Texas, at the
age of 15, to study for a legal career. While in college, he
sought peace with God for his troubled conscience, but
whenever he thought of God he thought of preaching, and this
he had rejected. He was willing to do anything but that. He
evaded the issue by long hours of weeping and praying. He
"rededicated himself to God," in fact, he did "everything he
knew to do." But the storm within continued to rage. Rolfe was
in a terrible agitated state. Then his rebellion reached
a point where he said, "God, keep Your hand off me!" His heart
hardened, and he turned to infidelity. This, as he said, gave
him an "alibi" or "hiding place," and enabled him to sleep.
His determination to avoid the ministry led him to abandon the
evangelical faith (outwardly, at least). He became an
outspoken infidel on the college campus, and his bold
disposition and intellectual acumen made him a natural leader
of the unbelievers. An infidel club was organized and he was
its president. Rolfe Barnard had declared all-out war on
God!
On Friday nights, 300 young rebels gathered
to poke fun at the Bible, and dare God to do anything about
it. Leading them in their blasphemy was a tall, angular youth
who had been dedicated to God as a minister from his mother's
womb. When this young man was leading the skeptics he was
haughty and presumptuous, but at night, when alone, the God of
his parents loomed large before him, and the gathering clouds
of His wrath frightened him. Remarkably, he would curse God
during the day and pray to Him at night. These are his own
words, "I say to you, and this is the truth, before I could
sleep at night I'd get down on my knees and say to God, 'If
You'll not kill me tonight, I'll surrender to you tomorrow.' "
Rolfe Barnard became, literally, one of the most miserable men
walking the face of the earth. He was a hard and bitter young
man, determined never to serve God or even darken the doors of
God's House.
On graduating from law school, he was
offered a junior partnership in an outstanding Texas law firm,
but instead he decided to move to the Panhandle area of Texas
to teach in a school. He did not explain this move. In Texas,
at that time, one had to be a church member in order to teach
in a school, so he joined the church the first Sunday after
moving to town. Although he was now a church member, he
never attended. In fact, he remained a confirmed infidel. "For
years," he said, "I blasphemed everything high and low, but
they kept me on the church roll." When he moved from one place
to another, he moved his letter of membership, but never
participated in church activities. Then a remarkable thing
happened. A church elected him to teach a men's class, shortly
after he had joined, and he felt that to keep his reputation
he should accept. The incredible situation existed of
Rolfe Barnard moving into a new community and being elected to
teach a men's Bible class while he was shaking his very fist
in the face of God. This type of situation is perhaps more
common than one might suspect, especially in some parts of
America where membership in a church is essential to social
status, and in some cases one's occupation depends upon it. As
a Bible teacher, Barnard was a big success. The people were
impressed with his knowledge of the Bible and ability to
communicate. After he became an evangelist, he described
himself during those days as a "hypocrite" and
"devil."
Then the event
occurred which forced Barnard's hand, as it were, in the great
issue between him and God: whether he would surrender to
preach. The pastor of the church resigned, and Sunday after
Sunday the people simply went home. Given the battle in his
heart he had been fighting for so many years, this created a
dilemma in Barnard's mind too great for him to bear. One
Sunday he went home to his boarding-house, entered the
bathroom and locked the door. There, as he later said, "The
battle was fought out." God won. Rolfe Barnard got up off his
knees and went directly across town to the home of the Sunday
School superintendent who was asleep in a rocking chair
waiting for dinner. The young Sunday School teacher walked
over to the Superintendent and woke him. "Brother Mills," he
said, "I've come to tell you, the Lord has saved me and I want
to preach next Sunday." I will let Barnard relate the
conversation between him and the layman in his own
words.
"The Superintendent
said, 'Well, it's about time.' He sure let me down. I had
wanted him to say, 'Oh, isn't that wonderful!' Instead he
said, 'Well, it's about time.' I said, 'What do you mean?' He
said, 'Things have been going on. A couple of letters came to
Panhandle, Texas, post office. One of them was addressed to
the Superintendent of the Sunday School of the First Baptist
Church. The other was addressed to the Pastor–didn't know any
names. They were identical letters. Some old white-haired
woman from Abilene, Texas, said, 'My boy's coming to your town
to teach school. He's called to be a preacher. He's not even
saved. He's in an awful mess.' She said, 'If you could find it
in your heart, build a fire under him. Don't let him have a
moment's peace.' And he (the Superintendent) said, 'Boy, we've
been doing it. We knew you weren't saved, but we elected you
to teach a men's Bible class.
We've been meeting
once a week and asking, 'Lord, make the fire a little hotter.'
We've been waiting.' " The letter had come, of
course, from Rolfe's mother. The method the Texas Baptists
used to build a fire under Rolfe Barnard was a strange one,
and one we could easily criticize, but God moved in a
mysterious way and overruled the mistake of His people in
calling out His chosen servant and sending him on his
way. It was while he was still a school teacher that
Barnard moved to Borger, Texas, to do evangelistic work.
Borger was one of those boom Texas oil towns. Oil was
discovered one day on a man's ranch, and within six months,
tens of thousands of people had flooded into the community and
built a town. As in the famous gold rush of the 1850's, people
came there from everywhere to get rich quick. Various
types of businesses sprang up, but there was not one church in
town. Saloons, gambling halls and houses of ill-fame
flourished. Public women swarmed on the main street which was
two-and-a-half miles long. According to Barnard, uninterested
men had to walk at arm's length from the buildings in order to
avoid being grabbed.
The Baptist Association in that part of the
country bought an empty lot and commissioned Barnard to start
a church on it. He did not have a cent, so he went up and down
the streets collecting money to build a church structure. A
Baptist deacon rebuked him for this method, stating that he
was soliciting the devil's money. Barnard answered, "Satan
doesn't own anything. All is the Lord's." One of the
businesses he intended to solicit was the one operated by A.
P. Borger who "owned the town." When he got there he found
several deputy sheriffs waiting for him, along with a
photographer from the local newspaper. The sheriffs were
"dressed in ten-gallon hats and wearing two handguns." He was
informed that no money would be collected at that business
until they had been given a sample of his preaching. Barnard
immediately stepped upon a large beer keg and delivered a
message on "death." The essence of this message was that those
present were going to die physically, and if they remained
outside Christ, their souls would die eternally. The
photographer took Barnard's picture while he was preaching.
The next day the Texas newspapers showed the young minister
standing on the keg preaching to this unusual
audience.
Death was an appropriate subject, for death was
all around him.
A lethal gas from the
oil wells destroyed the lungs of many who worked them. In a
short time scores succumbed to "gas consumption" for which
there was then no cure. In a gripping message entitled,
"Watching Men Die," Barnard states that he preached at as many
as seven funerals in one day. The bodies of the dead were
usually taken back to their own hometowns for burial. He also
tells about several frightful death-bed scenes of people who
listened to him preach but rejected Christ. Such were
some of the circumstances of Barnard's ministry in Borger,
Texas. It was a frontier situation in every sense of the word.
He preached to rough, tough, hardened sinners. His converts
consisted of drunkards, gamblers, prostitutes, and money
sharks, as well as ordinary people. I believe that one can
understand better Barnard's "shoot from the hip" style from
the pulpit if the way he began his ministry is taken into
consideration. He made a good evangelist to rebels for he
himself had been a rebel before his conversion. On
October 25, 1927, Barnad married Hazel Hayes Hilliard at
Amarillo, Texas. In January of the next year he enrolled in
the Southwestern Baptist Seminary at Fort Worth, Texas. This
school was founded in 1905 by B.H. Carroll, who, like Barnard,
was a hardened infidel before his conversion. Dr. Carroll,
though he never attended Seminary himself, was a giant in
every respect. He was thoroughly orthodox, a brilliant
scholar, and a commanding preacher.
When Barnard went to Southwestern, it was
the period of the beginnings of the erosion of traditional
Southern Baptist theology. The emphasis, so conspicuous since,
on programs and fund-raising, and the downgrading of theology
was showing itself. On the faculty at the time was W.T.
Conners, whom Barnard often quoted with great respect and
appreciation. Conners was a mild Calvinist, and wrote several
books on doctrine. Barnard also studied under the famous
Southern Baptist Evangelist, L.R. Scarborough, a very
influential figure. Unquestionably, Barnard's ministry
was molded by his instruction at Southwestern. But this does
not account for the direction his preaching took, especially
in the 1950's and 1960's.
Upon graduating from
Seminary, Barnard pastored churches in Portales, New Mexico;
Denton, Texas, and Wetumka in Oklahoma. When the Second World
War broke out, he bacame a chaplain and served in this
capacity for two years. I do not believe that Barnard
was a Calvinist during the first years of his pastoral work
and evangelistic ministry. Judging from his sermon notes,
however, he was always thoroughly evangelical and Biblical in
his preaching. As far as his style is concerned, I think
anyone who heard him and knows about the personality and
ministry of C.G. Finney, an American evangelist of another
day, could not but see a considerable resemblance. He
often quoted Finney, and there are statements in his older
sermon notes which indicate that he held, at one time, to
Finney's view on man's will. But even so, Barnard, so far as I
can tell, never countenanced the "easy believe" type of
evangelism which has predominated in America in this
century.
Some of the so-called
"new methods" of Finney he employed in his revival preaching.
He usually gave a public invitation after his sermons, though
I'm not sure that this always pertained. He did this, however,
not as a means of salvation but as an opportunity for the
converted to openly profess faith in Christ. He was known at
times to single out specific individuals for notice from the
pulpit, particularly if they were opposing him. This was a
well-known tactic of Finney. One is reminded that, in
every age when God is bringing about a reformation of some
kind, he uses all types of individuals, including those who
seem, to some, tactless and blunt. When the tide of error and
compromise is flowing all one way, very outspoken and forceful
personalities arise to stand against the current. Such was
Savonarola, Martin Luther, and Spurgeon. Barnard was in this
tradition.
Like many before him,
such as Asahel Nettleton and A.W. Pink, Barnard believed that
submission to Christ was an essential element of conversion.
There were no words too scornful for him to use in denouncing
the view that one can become a Christian by accepting the
finished work of Christ while living in rebellion against Him.
Throughout his ministry he was one of the few American
evangelists who taught that sanctification is an essential
part of being a believer. The "Carnal Christian" theory has
prevailed to a tremendous extent in the U.S.A. in this
century. This has led to some professing believers living
lives in open sin and disobedience. That error was anathema to
Rolfe Barnard. In this sense, he always belonged to the
Puritan school on conversion.
In 1946, he moved to
Winston-Salem, North Carolina, to teach at Piedmont Bible
College. Although he was then, and always remained, a Southern
Baptist, his tenure at this school brought him into close
fellowship and association with some of the leaders of the
independent, fundamentalist movement in America, such as Dr.
John R. Rice. Dr. Rice wields immense influence among
fundamentalists in America, and is an outspoken opponent of
modernism and liberalism. During the late forties, Barnard
combined evangelistic meetings, such as city-wide crusades,
with Bible conferences. At one of these conferences at
Greenville, Mississippi, he preached from the sixth chapter of
John and in his message he revealed that he had come to a
Calvinist view on election. Present at the conference were Dr.
Rice and other personalities in the fundamentalist
camp.
There were some in
the audience who were, or came to be, sympathetic with his
exposition, but most were vehemently opposed to it. This
conference became a sort of pivotal point in his life, because
his preaching of the doctrine of special grace produced a
"parting of the way." From then on, Rolfe Barnard was censored
in the wide fundamentalist circles in which he had been
moving. "Hyper-Calvinism" was the label then fixed upon him,
and upon those who believe that election is gratuitous and not
a reward for foreseen faith. In vain have many explained to
fundamentalist leaders that there is a difference between
Calvinism and hyper-Calvinism. This unfair charge has become
simply another part of the reproach of Christ for believers in
sovereign grace.
Following the Greenville conference, word
went out in fundamentalist circles that Rolfe Barnard had
departed from the faith. He was ostracized, like the
untouchables of India, by his former friends. Invitations for
city-wide crusades stopped. His ministry continued, but mainly
in small churches. He became a controversial figure. But he
was endowed with a valuable quality which kept him on his
course: complete lack of the fear of man. He was one of those
rare souls who was willing to stand for the truth, even if
alone. God crowned his labors with revival blessings in
many places in the fifties and sixties, the meetings in
Ashland being one example. He preached all over the South,
Mid-west, and Canada, and there are thousands today who can
testify that God used him in bringing them to salvation. Quite
a number of preachers were converted to a belief in the
sovereignty of God. Many unusual things happened during
his evangelistic meetings and anecdotes could easily fill a
volume.
Barnard was endowed with a powerful set of
lungs and a good voice of medium range. He was an excellent
singer, and often sang special songs in his evangelistic
meetings, accompanied by his wife, Hazel. Occasionally, he
violated all rules of elocution by shrieking at the top of his
voice during a sentence. He did this not by an interjection of
some kind but during a sentence. For example, he might say,
"The purpose of the cross is the glory of God." On "glory" he
might say "glooooo" at the top of his vocal capacity. He did
this when his emotions reached a high pitch and he felt very,
very strongly about something. Needless to say, such outbursts
were earsplitting, and did devastating things to gauges on
electronic recording equipment. No one, I suppose, could
possibly recommend this as a method, generally speaking, but I
can say that this peculiar individualistic trait did have a
startling and awakening effect upon an audience. As a rule, it
was very difficult for people to sleep when Barnard was
preaching!
I heard Barnard preach many times. There
were occasions when his sermons were ordinary and
unimpressive. But in the right context, he was one of the most
powerful preachers I have ever heard. In the midst of an
awakening, when the powers of heaven and hell were visibly in
conflict, he had a peculiar unction that cannot possibly be
described. Like Finney, whose style he followed, and Nettleton
whose theology he accepted, he could hold an audience
spellbound at such times. Rolfe Barnard's gifts were not
primarily pastoral. He seemed ill-fitted for a settled type of
ministry. He once said, "Some like to live within the sound of
a chapel or church bell. I want to run a rescue station within
a yard of Hell." He was not a builder; he was a
trailblazer. He was not a Timothy, charged to take care of the
house of God—he was a John the Baptist crying in the
wilderness. He emphasized greatly the Lordship of Christ and
repentance. One of his few printed messages was entitled,
"John the
Baptist Comes to
Town." It is a characteristic sermon, and I count it one of my
personal treasures.
Although Barnard was
often misunderstood, and disliked by many, he was a man, I
believe, who had an uncommon love for the souls of men,
especially sinners. His messages, many of which are available
on tape, demonstrate plainly that he had a fervent desire that
lost people submit to the claims of Christ. In some of them,
Calvinist though he was, he literally begs them to lay down
their arms of rebellion, "stack arms" he would sometimes say,
and receive God's forgiveness through repentance! Out of the
pulpit Barnard was, as a rule, withdrawing yet friendly. In
relaxed, social circles, he had a way of badgering his
friends, but in a way that was always taken good-naturedly. I
recall one occasion when I became the object of his teasing.
In 1963, I, along with several other people, was visiting his
home in North Carolina. I had just married, and was making
plans to go to the Philippine Islands as a missionary. While
at his house I wrote a letter to my new bride. When Barnard
discovered it, he said, "John, I understand you want to be a
missionary. Before you leave my house I feel I ought to do
something to help you. I want to pay for your letter to your
wife." With this remark, he handed me a postage stamp! Thus
did Barnard support my missionary deputation! This, of course,
brought a round of hearty laughter.
While preaching in Prairieville, Louisiana,
he had a heart attack, and died on January 21, 1969. His
funeral was conducted by Pastor Henry Mahan in a funeral home
in Winston-Salem. I can think of no more fitting climax to
this article than the words of Pastor Mahan: His message of
sovereign mercy was an awakening message. It was impossible to
remain neutral when Barnard preached. Like the Apostle Paul,
when Barnard preached, there was either a riot or a revival.
As he said so many times, "When the true Gospel of Grace is
preached, the believers will be glad, the rebels will get mad,
and the pharisees will be confused." His message was truly the
Gospel of God's glory. He clearly defined the "good news" as a
work God does for the sinner, not something the sinner does
for God. He declared how God can be just and justify the
ungodly through the righteousness of Christ Jesus, our
Lord.
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