Telling the Truth in a Post-Truth World: A Cry from the Watchtower

There is a madness loose in the land—a quiet, calculated rebellion cloaked in tolerance and masked as freedom. It whispers to every heart: “You may live as you please. Truth is whatever you make it. You owe nothing to your Creator.” And because judgment does not thunder down at once, the sinner grows bolder. They breathe another day, and mistake God’s patience for His permission. But this delay is not approval. It is mercy. And mercy misread becomes fuel for wrath. For the day is coming—that dreadful day of the Lord—when justice will no longer wait¹.

God’s law is not subject to revision. It is eternal. Immutable. As fixed as the stars and more binding than gravity. His natural law reigns with silent authority. Break it, and you break yourself. It will not flinch, it will not flex, and it will not flatter. Its judgment is often swift, and always sure. The conscience bears witness. The created order groans. And yet the world dares to say, “There are no consequences.”

Our generation is drenched in delusion. We are not drifting—we are drowning. The soul of the culture is sick. So sick, in fact, that evil now masquerades as virtue, and virtue is labeled violence. What was once unthinkable is now normalized, legalized, and evangelized. Children—image-bearers of God²—are taught to question their own biology, to sever the sacred design of male and female. And the womb, once a sanctuary of life, has become a slaughterhouse of convenience. We recoil at the word terrorism, but turn a blind eye to the mass execution of the unborn. This is not merely sin—it is institutionalized blasphemy³.

And what of the Church? Many pulpits, once thunderous with truth, now murmur soft half-truths that flatter sin and pacify consciences. The fear of God has been traded for the fear of man. Cultural conformity has replaced prophetic courage. The salt has lost its savor. And all the while, the world grows darker. As Pilate once did, we ask, “What is truth?”—but we do not wait for the Answer who stands before us⁴.

This is not just a cultural crisis. It is a spiritual war. It is a war on reality itself. As Garry Kasparov rightly warned, the goal of propaganda is not merely misinformation—it is the annihilation of truth⁵. The devil does not need to convince us that lies are true. He only needs to exhaust us until we stop fighting. And for many, he has succeeded.

The post-truth world thrives where group identity trumps divine identity. Sin, when corporately embraced, gains traction, momentum, and immunity from rebuke. The LGBTQ movement, the transgender revolution, and other distorted ideologies are no longer isolated rebellions. They are communal fortresses—self-reinforcing, legally protected, and culturally affirmed. The sinner is no longer alone. He is now celebrated. And that celebration deepens the chains.

Try to speak truth into this storm and you will be dismissed as unloving, outdated, or intolerant. “You haven’t lived my story,” they say. “Who are you to judge me?” But it is not we who judge—it is the Word of God that divides soul and spirit, bone and marrow⁶. And yet, the lie persists: that truth is oppressive and sin is liberty. This is not freedom—it is the bondage of Egypt all over again.

So what is left to do in this post-truth age? The answer is not despair. It is proclamation. It is worship. It is repentance. The Church must not echo the world—it must confront it. We do not stand on sand. We stand on the Rock of Ages. And though the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain, our King sits enthroned⁷.

Oh, Church of Christ, lift your eyes. Strengthen your trembling hands. Love truth. Speak it with tears in your eyes and fire in your bones. The days are evil. The time is short. And the world is starved not for affirmation, but for a Voice that thunders from Sinai and whispers from Calvary: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

Prayer

O Sovereign Lord, pierce our hearts with Your truth. Shake us from our slumber. Let Your Word be like fire in our bones, uncontainable and refining. We repent of fearing man more than You. We grieve our silence when we should have spoken. Send forth Your Spirit. Revive Your Church. Raise up voices in the wilderness who will not bow to Baal. Make us bold, humble, broken, and holy. May we not be ashamed of the gospel, for it is Your power unto salvation. In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.

Reflection & Journal Companion

1. In what ways have I grown silent or passive in the face of cultural lies?

2. Have I confused God’s mercy with indifference? What sins have I tolerated under the guise of love?

3. How might I speak truth today—not with arrogance, but with trembling reverence?

4. Am I willing to stand alone for Christ if necessary, trusting that He is enough?

Footnotes

1. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960), 3.24.12.

2. Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, vol. 2, God and Creation, trans. John Vriend, ed. John Bolt (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004), 564.

3. R.C. Sproul, Abortion: A Rational Look at an Emotional Issue (Lake Mary, FL: Reformation Trust, 2010), 89.

4. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), Book X.

5. Garry Kasparov, quoted in Douglas Murray, The Madness of Crowds: Gender, Race and Identity (London: Bloomsbury Continuum, 2019), 71.

6. Hebrews 4:12.

7. Psalm 2:1–6.