The Curse of Different Gospel

The evening air was thick with the scent of olive oil from the lamps that flickered against the whitewashed walls. Paul sat hunched over a rough wooden table, his weathered hands pressed flat against its surface as if drawing strength from its solidity. Across from him, Luke watched his friend’s face with the careful attention of both a physician and a chronicler, noting how the lamplight cast deep shadows beneath Paul’s eyes.

“You should rest, Paul,” Luke said softly, reaching for the piece of parchment that lay between them. “The letter can wait until morning.”

Paul’s hand shot out, catching Luke’s wrist with surprising strength. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse but determined. “This cannot wait. The Galatians… they’re being led astray, Luke. Led away from the true gospel.” He released his grip and ran his fingers through his graying hair, a gesture Luke had come to recognize as a sign of deep distress.

Luke settled back onto his wooden stool, accepting that sleep would not come soon this night. “Tell me what troubles you so deeply about their situation. I’ve never seen you write with such… intensity.”

Paul lifted the parchment, his eyes scanning the words he had just written. “‘But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed.’” He set the letter down with deliberate care. “And then I wrote it again, to ensure there could be no misunderstanding: ‘As we have said before, so now I say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed.’”

“Strong words,” Luke observed, studying his friend’s face. “Perhaps the strongest I’ve heard from you.”

“They need to be strong,” Paul replied, pushing himself up from the table to pace the small room. His sandals scraped against the stone floor as he moved, a rhythmic sound that punctuated his words. “You don’t understand, Luke. These people who have come to Galatia, these false teachers—they’re not just adding a few harmless traditions. They’re striking at the very heart of the gospel itself.”

Luke leaned forward, his medical training making him naturally inclined toward precise diagnosis. “How so?”

Paul stopped his pacing, turning to face his friend with an intensity that made the physician straighten. “They’re teaching that faith in Christ is not enough. That to be truly saved, these Gentile believers must first become Jews—be circumcised, follow all the ceremonial laws, adopt all the traditions of our fathers.”

“But surely,” Luke ventured carefully, “as a Pharisee yourself once, you can understand their perspective? The law has been our people’s way for generations.”

A short, harsh laugh escaped Paul’s lips. “Oh, I understand their perspective all too well. That’s precisely why I must be so forceful in opposing it. I was once its greatest champion, remember?” He resumed his pacing, but slower now, more thoughtful. “I persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it. I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my own age among my people, so extremely zealous was I for the traditions of my fathers.”

Luke watched as Paul’s hands moved expressively, sketching his thoughts in the air. “But then Christ revealed Himself to you on the Damascus road.”

“Yes,” Paul whispered, and for a moment he seemed to be looking at something far beyond the room’s plain walls. “And in that revelation, I understood that all my zealous adherence to the law, all my careful observation of traditions—it was worse than worthless if it led me to reject God’s true purpose. The law was meant to lead us to Christ, not replace Him.”

“And that’s why you wrote this warning twice?” Luke asked, gesturing to the parchment.

Paul returned to the table, sinking onto his stool with the weight of someone carrying a heavy burden. “I wrote it twice because I know how seductive this false teaching is. It appeals to human pride—the idea that we can somehow earn our salvation through our own efforts, our own adherence to rules and traditions.”

Luke picked up the parchment, reading the words aloud again. “‘Let him be accursed.’ Anathema. You’re calling down divine judgment on these false teachers.”

“Yes,” Paul said firmly. “Because they’re not just adding unnecessary burdens to these new believers—they’re actually preaching a different gospel entirely. And in doing so, they’re saying that Christ’s death was insufficient. That His sacrifice alone cannot save us.” His voice grew passionate, and Luke could hear in it echoes of the speeches he had heard Paul deliver in synagogues and marketplaces across the Empire. “Don’t you see? If righteousness could come through the law, then Christ died for no purpose!”

A comfortable silence fell between them as Luke considered these words. As a Gentile himself who had come to faith in Christ, he had a personal stake in this theological battle. Finally, he asked, “Do you think they’ll understand? The Galatians, I mean. Will they grasp why this matters so much?”

Paul reached for the parchment again, but this time his touch was gentle, almost caressing. “They must understand. That’s why I’m writing with such clarity, such force. This isn’t about my authority as an apostle—though I’ll defend that too, since it’s being challenged. This is about the very essence of the gospel: are we saved by faith in Christ alone, or must we add our own works to His finished work?”

“And if they don’t understand?” Luke pressed. “If they choose to follow these false teachers?”

Paul’s expression grew somber. “Then they will have fallen from grace—not because they’ve lost their salvation, but because they’ve abandoned the principle of grace itself in favor of law.” He shook his head slowly. “They’re like a man who has been given a priceless gift but insists on trying to pay for it, not realizing that in doing so, he invalidates the very nature of the gift.”

Luke watched as Paul dipped his pen in ink again, preparing to continue the letter. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “future generations may face similar challenges. Different contexts, perhaps, but the same basic question: is Christ’s work sufficient?”

Paul paused, the pen hovering over the parchment. “That’s exactly why I’m being so clear, so emphatic. This letter isn’t just for the Galatians. It’s for anyone who might be tempted to add to or subtract from the gospel of grace.” He began to write again, his words flowing with renewed purpose. “The truth of the gospel must be preserved.”

As the night deepened around them, Luke continued to observe his friend, making mental notes for his own future writings. He watched as Paul poured out his heart onto the parchment, alternating between strong warnings and tender appeals, between theological arguments and personal reminiscences. The letter was taking shape as something more than just a response to a local crisis—it was becoming a timeless declaration of the sufficiency of Christ and the nature of true gospel freedom.

Several hours passed before Paul finally set down his pen. The oil in the lamps had burned low, and the first hints of dawn were beginning to lighten the eastern sky. Luke had remained awake, knowing he was witnessing something significant.

“You know,” Luke said as Paul stretched his cramped fingers, “some might say you’re being too harsh, too absolute in your condemnation of these teachers.”

Paul’s eyes met his, and in them Luke saw both steel and sorrow. “Sometimes love must be stern to be true. These teachers are not just mistaken—they’re dangerous. They’re leading people away from Christ while claiming to lead them to Him. That’s why I said it twice: let them be accursed. There can be no compromise when it comes to the gospel itself.”

Luke nodded slowly. “You’re fighting for their freedom, aren’t you? Not just their theological understanding, but their actual freedom in Christ.”

“Exactly,” Paul replied, a smile finally softening his features. “Christ has set us free from the burden of trying to earn our salvation. Why would anyone choose to return to slavery? That’s what I want them to understand.”

The morning light was growing stronger now, filtering through the small window and making the lamps unnecessary. Luke stood and began to extinguish them one by one. “What will you do if they reject your message?” he asked as he worked.

Paul carefully rolled up the parchment, his movements deliberate and precise. “I will pray. I will continue to preach the true gospel. And if necessary, I will write to them again.” He secured the letter with a cord, then held it up to the morning light. “But I believe these words will accomplish their purpose. The Spirit of God will use them to open eyes and hearts.”

Luke completed his task with the lamps and returned to the table. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “in years to come, others will face similar challenges. Different circumstances, perhaps, but the same basic temptation to add something to Christ’s finished work.”

Paul nodded gravely. “That’s why these words needed to be written with such force, such clarity. This letter isn’t just for the Galatians—it’s for anyone who might be tempted to compromise the gospel of grace.” He placed the rolled parchment carefully in the leather satchel that contained his other writing materials. “The truth must be preserved, Luke. No matter the cost.”

They sat together in the growing morning light, each lost in his own thoughts. Luke considered how he would record these events in his own writings, knowing that this letter to the Galatians would prove crucial in the ongoing story of the early church. Paul seemed to be looking beyond the present moment, perhaps already anticipating the next battle in the ongoing war for gospel truth.

Finally, Paul spoke again, his voice softer but no less conviction. “You know, Luke, when I wrote those words about an angel from heaven preaching a different gospel, I wasn’t speaking hypothetically. I’ve experienced the glory of divine revelation on the Damascus road. I’ve been caught up to the third heaven and heard things that cannot be expressed in human words. But even with all that, if I or an angel were to preach anything contrary to the gospel of Christ’s all-sufficient grace, we would be accursed.”

Luke leaned forward, intrigued. “You’re saying that even divine experiences must be tested against the truth of the gospel?”

“Exactly,” Paul replied with emphasis. “The gospel isn’t just one truth among many—it’s the fundamental truth upon which everything else stands or falls. That’s why I wrote the warning twice. That’s why I used such strong language. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. It was time for Paul to meet with other believers, to continue his work of strengthening the churches. As they prepared to leave, Luke gathered his own writing materials, knowing he would want to record these conversations for posterity.

“Luke,” Paul said as they reached the door, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you for staying with me through the night. Sometimes the burden of these letters feels overwhelming.”

Luke smiled, remembering the intensity of Paul’s writing, the passion in his voice as he dictated certain passages. “The burden may be heavy,” he replied, “but the message is clear: Christ alone. Grace alone. Faith alone.”

Paul’s grip on his shoulder tightened momentarily. “Yes, brother. And that’s a message worth guarding with all the strength God gives us.” He patted the satchel containing the letter. “Even if we have to say it twice.”

As they stepped out into the morning sunshine, both men knew they had participated in something significant. The letter to the Galatians would carry its message of grace and freedom far beyond the boundaries of that small region, speaking to believers across time and space who would face their own challenges to the purity of the gospel.

The words Paul had written with such care and conviction would continue to echo through the centuries: “But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed.” Written once for emphasis, repeated for certainty, these words would stand as a permanent reminder that the gospel of Christ’s grace brings no compromise and needs no supplement.