Brent Pollard
A young man recently walked away from the church. He was troubled—genuinely so—convinced that demons from his past involvement with the occult were hounding him. He came seeking baptism, and we believe he hoped the gift of the Holy Spirit would arm him with miraculous power to fight what he feared. When Scripture did not tell him what he wished to hear, he turned to YouTube “prophets” who did. He found individuals who offered “deliverance prayers” and validated every feeling he carried. In the end, it did not matter what God’s word said, because it did not match what he felt.
His story grieves us. But it also instructs us, for it lays bare a danger that threatens every soul in every generation: the temptation to enthrone experience over revelation.
The Question of “That Which Is Perfect”
This young man, like many sincere believers, points to 1 Corinthians 13.10 and argues that “the perfect” refers to the second coming of Christ—meaning miraculous gifts continue until He returns. It is not a novel interpretation; many good-hearted people hold it. But the text itself resists it. Paul chose a neuter Greek word, rendered “that” in English. Had he meant the Lord Jesus, he would have used the masculine—”He.” The members of the Godhead are never called “that.” This is not a trivial grammatical point. It is the Holy Spirit’s own precision, and we tamper with it at our peril.
What, then, is “that which is perfect”? It is the completed, fully revealed word of God—the faith once for all delivered to the saints (Jude 3). When the last apostolic pen was laid down, revelation was finished, and the scaffolding of miraculous gifts, having served its glorious purpose, was taken away.
Witnesses from the Ancient Church
We do not stand alone in this conviction. The testimony of early Christian writers confirms what Scripture teaches. John Chrysostom, writing in the fourth century, observed plainly that the miraculous gifts Paul described had ceased. Those baptized in his day, he noted, no longer spoke in the tongues of all nations as believers had in the first century. Augustine of Hippo agreed, writing that such miracles “were no longer permitted to continue in our time,” lest they become commonplace and lose their power to produce faith. Cyril of Alexandria taught that the miraculous gift of languages at Pentecost was a temporary sign intended for the Jews—kept for life by those who first received it, but not passed beyond their generation.
These men were not skeptics. They were devoted servants of Christ who recognized what the New Testament itself describes: miraculous gifts were conferred exclusively through the laying on of the apostles’ hands (Acts 8.14–17), and an apostle had to meet the requirements of Acts 1.21–22. Since no one alive today meets those requirements, the chain of miraculous conferral has been broken—not by human failure, but by divine design.
We might also note a striking practical detail. Paul, who possessed the gift of healing, left his fellow minister Trophimus sick at Miletus (2 Timothy 4.20) and advised Timothy to treat his stomach ailments with a little wine rather than a miracle (1 Timothy 5.23). Even the apostle did not wield miraculous power as a tool of personal convenience. The gifts served God’s purposes, not man’s preferences.
What, Then, Are These Experiences?
If the miraculous gifts have ceased, what are we to make of the experiences people report? What of the young man who felt delivered? What of those who speak in ecstatic utterances and weep with the certainty that God has touched them?
We need not question their sincerity to question the source. The human mind is a remarkable instrument. When people pray or worship with deep intensity, the brain can enter a focused state in which the speech-filtering centers quiet down, allowing sounds and syllables to flow without conscious direction. It feels powerful precisely because it is unforced. But unforced is not the same as supernatural.
These experiences are also learned. In communities where speaking in tongues is practiced, people observe it, absorb its patterns, and are taught—directly or by imitation—how to interpret inner stirrings as the Spirit’s movement. Over time, the brain begins responding on cue. If everyone around you treats something as real, your mind learns to experience it accordingly.
Moreover, these moments often bring genuine emotional relief—a sense of belonging, closeness to God, even catharsis. A sudden thought becomes “God spoke to me.” A warm sensation becomes “the Spirit moved.” Ecstatic syllables become “tongues.” The brain, emotions, and social environment conspire together to produce something that feels deeply true. But feeling deeply true and being true are not the same thing.
Truth Is Not a Feeling
Here we must plant our feet on the bedrock of Scripture. Jesus Himself defined the matter with crystalline clarity: “Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (John 17.17). Truth is not discovered through sensation. It is revealed through God’s word.
Scripture warns us repeatedly against trusting the heart’s verdict. Solomon writes, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Proverbs 14.12). Jeremiah is blunter still: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17.9). Sincerity, however passionate, does not guarantee truth. A man may be sincerely wrong, and his sincerity will not cushion the consequences.
Test Everything
God has never asked us to accept spiritual experiences without scrutiny. John commands, “Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4.1). Paul echoes, “Test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5.21). The question is never merely “Did something happen?” but always “Does this align with what God has revealed?”
Consider what biblical tongues actually were. At Pentecost, the apostles spoke recognizable human languages. Listeners understood them in their native tongues. The purpose was communication—the delivery of God’s message to real people in real words. That bears no resemblance to unintelligible sounds requiring no translation, only the interpretation of feelings.
And let us remember: God is not the author of confusion (1 Corinthians 14.33). Even when miraculous gifts operated in the first century, they were orderly, controlled, and intelligible. If an experience bypasses understanding entirely, that alone should give us pause.
The Spirit and the Word Are Never at Odds
The Holy Spirit does not operate independently from the word He revealed (John 16.13). He will not contradict what He has already spoken. If an experience cannot be verified by Scripture, it must not be attributed to the Spirit, no matter how vivid, how comforting, or how tearfully sincere the one who claims it.
God never asks us to choose between truth and experience. If something is truly from Him, it will stand in perfect agreement with His word. Where the two appear to conflict, it is not the word that must yield.
Let us, then, be a people who love truth more than feeling, who treasure revelation above sensation, and who test all things—not because we lack faith, but because we possess it. For the God who gave us His word did not give it so we might set it aside when something more exciting comes along. He gave it because it was enough. It has always been enough. And by His grace, it will carry us all the way home.
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