John MacArthur: The Spiritual Father I Never Knew

As many well know by this point, John MacArthur passed on to glory this week on July 14, 2025. In the few days since his passing, there has been a flurry of online activity giving John accolades for the many years of faithful service to his King. Some of the most precious to me have been those “untold stories,” the kind that I believe many in the Kingdom hold today simply because we weren’t those under his direct pastoral care. Yet this is not even so strange to consider, given MacArthur’s reach and the advent of our internet age.

Many others share a similar sentiment to me, where they had no clue who this man was—yet nonetheless, came to benefit from him in an intimate way and develop a dear friendship with one who loved Christ, and loved them. This is part and parcel to why I even wanted to write this blog post today. I will not pretend as if I’ve known MacArthur in any intimate way. I have dear friends at Grace Community Church (and those who have trained there) who share far more depth and breadth, even on a personal level, than I ever have. However, I wish to say at the onset: this man is the spiritual father I never knew, and who never knew me.

It wasn’t until 21 that I became a Christian. In my hubris, I saw my late father come to faith—and because I wished to “stick it to the man,” I began to read the Scriptures with the sole purpose of disproving his newfound faith. Yet, something was different with dad. The angry man I knew so well growing up had changed—not entirely—but nonetheless. He had new desires; he became gentler; he apologized, for the first handful of times in all of my life. Something was radically different—and yet rather than see this as the work of the Lord, I foolishly began my own crusade to mock him all the more at this time.

I had long entered the world of full-on rebellion. I was a womanizing, alcoholic, drug-using, drug-dealing, atheistic fool—who wished to do more harm than good. To make a long story short: my father offered me a job (when all I had was dealing), and rather reluctantly, I took it. Day after day, he and I would argue over the content of the Christian faith, yet day after day, I would ride in with him to work over the hour-long drive, and on the way there and back, we would listen to men like Alistair Begg, Chuck Swindoll, and you guessed it—John MacArthur.

It was not long into our hour-long car rides that I became rather quiet. Instead of arguing, I began to listen—not to my dad—but to John MacArthur. And yet, my dad held no offense at this. It was John who helped him see his own need for Christ just a year or two prior, and my father held enough wisdom to know that I needed to hear the words of another at that point. I began to read the Scriptures voraciously at this time—not with any intent to learn, but to disprove the Christian faith. In my own mind, I felt I might be one of the next “four horsemen” of the new-atheist movement that would come to develop after men like Dawkins and Hitchens inevitably succumbed to death as we all do.

Yet my sights were set on one thing: to essentially be a thorn in the side of my own father, and invariably, any other Christian that happened to cross my path. In fact, I delighted to trip up Christians with non-sequiturs and any other logical fallacies I could muster—yet John, despite him never meeting me, wouldn’t quite let me get away with the cheap shots.

From recordings of sermons to his own local congregation long ago—he called me to carpet, and challenged me to look at the text. He challenged my presuppositions, and never failed to address the red-herrings I inevitably brought forward. In full candor, though he never knew it, the Spirit had long beforehand, tailor-fit these recordings to address my every foolish objection, and indeed they did.

Feeling like most do when they are challenged by the Light, I doubled-down. I scurried. I hid. Yet I knew all the while that it was my sin that was being clearly revealed before my very own eyes. Despite all of the ways that I tried to excuse it away, day by day, I had my own father, John MacArthur, Allistair Begg, Chuck Swindoll, and most importantly—the Scriptures—to show me that I had no true leg to stand on.

In short, I was the chief of sinners—and I knew it. Yet I still loved my sin. I still loved my “intellect.” I still fell, hook, line, and sinker, for the wiles of Satan. The worst part about it: I knew it. The Bible simply wouldn’t let me excuse any of it away, and this is particularly why I, and many others, give thanks for the life of a man like John MacArthur. Despite all of the ways I could continue to argue, I was the gnat raising his fist at the sun, as if to think I could blot out its significance and light.

John MacArthur never considered himself a special man; in fact, he would be the first to tell you he was simply a faithful servant of the Word, and nothing beyond it. He was just one of many others who have gone before him, and he too stood on the shoulders of giants. Yet this is why I respected him.

I’ve never been particularly enamored with the celebrity mentality that often pervades the Evangelical world (a simple Google search will show you this). John wasn’t either. He didn’t consider himself an “Evangelical pope,” as many have tried to make of him (or accuse him of trying to be). He was a man who truly believed what he preached—not because he preached it, but for the fact that he believed it was faithful to the Word of God. In other words: God said it. He stood firm, as a lion in the pulpit, a sheep amongst those who would sheer him, and yet a faithful under-shepherd to those under his care.

He never wanted to be a mega-church pastor, but he wanted the Word of God to go forth and help as many as he could—not as a supplant to the faithful local church, but a supplement. In short, his aim was always simple: above all else, the Word of God (i.e., the Bible) is what you should love. You need to heed God’s voice through His Word. You need to reconcile with what God says, not what I say. You need to come to a point of reconciling with the Word, not me. You need to serve your local church, not me. You need to give to your church first, not ours.

It was clear, time and again, how often the precedent was set; the local church always took priority over whatever other ministry obligation was set before him. If you know the history of Grace Community Church, even minimally, this is undoubtedly true, and a far cry from many today who wish to build their own fiefdoms this side of heaven.

Any faithful under-shepherd worth his salt holds to this—yet it is not just the preaching and teaching of the Word that matters; the true under-shepherd is one who guides the Lord’s flock under his care. His focus is not merely the dissemination of facts and knowledge; it is the Christian faith lived out, as James would put it (among every other apostle of our Lord). In short, it is the same mindset of the Puritans, who didn’t focus solely upon the Word of God from the pulpit, but applied the Word of God in the pew. In other words, it is not that discipleship is disseminated solely from the pulpit on a Sunday morning, but it involves every single aspect of life.

J.C. Ryle famously said that the saddest road to hell comes through the pulpit and trickles down through the pews. The faithful man of God, however, will say the most joyful road to heaven flows from the mouth of God in the Scriptures, through the pulpit, trickles down through the pews, and manifests itself in the lives of believers as they follow Christ, serve one another, and participate in the Great Commission. In other words: the difference between the faithful pulpit and the non-faithful pulpit really comes down to one thing: what priority does the Word of God take, in the mind of the preacher—yet also in the minds of the sheep he is called to feed?

And like his beloved brother, R.C. Sproul, he finished the race without moral failure and bringing reproach upon the name of the Lord (unless, of course, you may be a ‘Roys Report’ [sic] aficionado). All that aside—it is a rare thing indeed to see a faithful man stand tall over years, without moral failure, and without compromise. It is a sad mark on the Evangelical church when I say this—but it is one we must all reconcile with. There are many other men who can and will carry that torch forward, but let us not be so naive as to think we should not pray the Lord will safeguard them in this time of utter moral bankruptcy.

There is far more that I could say, and far more that many others have said in the wake of John’s death. However, I, for one, cannot help but remain grateful for a man who remained a true servant of Christ and His Word. The Word was always the end-all-be-all, not in and of itself, but as a means of beholding the God who has given us His Word. What a wonderful privilege I count it to be, at least vaguely, a “spiritual son” to a man who didn’t know me from Adam.

In more ways than even I know, he served as a spiritual father to many across the globe, under the Lord’s providence, and he will continue to do so. This isn’t because he is something incredibly special in and of himself, but rather, it is due to the fact that he was a man who dearly loved the Lord, loved the Lord’s people, loved the truth, and loved the Scriptures. In the end, I know he would kindly oblige and in humbleness return the glory to the Lord. I was privileged to see this firsthand, when I saw him preach for the first time when visiting L.A. and learning about Grace’s Sunday School curriculum for children just a few years ago.

He would be the first to tell you this. It has never been about notoriety or ambition; it has always been about Christ and His Kingdom, and despite whatever differences you may hold with the man—I do earnestly hope that you will be one who thanks the Lord for a faithful servant, who taught many of us to love the Word, both incarnate and in-scripturated. Those of us who hated the Lord and His Word, were shown in a radically simple way what it means to love the Lord and love His Word.

For that reason alone, we give thanks, not to a man, but a servant, who learned early on from his Lord, that he is just one of many other slaves given the task to show the way of the Master.