Moments like this do more than stir debate. They reveal what we love, what we fear, and what we trust. If the reaction to a clear testimony of repentance and faith is scorn, then the issue is not merely cultural drift or poor judgment. It is that we do not believe the gospel as much as we think we do.

If someone argues that a former promiscuous woman is “damaged goods” and questions whether a Christian young man should marry her, remember Rahab.

She was a Canaanite prostitute but became a mother in the lineage of Jesus. God redeemed her, cleansed her, and Salmon married her.
—Tom Buck, X post (@TomBuck)

We say we believe in redemption. We preach it, defend it, and build our theology around it. Yet moments like this expose something harder to admit. When redemption shows up with a past we can’t ignore, many of us hesitate, and some recoil.

What unfolded in the Reformed world was not merely a disagreement about wisdom in marriage. It was a revealing moment, a test of whether we actually believe that God takes sinners with real, visible histories and makes them new, or whether we quietly assume some pasts never fully go away.

My friend, Pastor Tom Buck, offered a simple reminder. In the middle of a heated discussion about whether a woman with a promiscuous past should be considered for marriage, he pointed to Rahab. He did not dismiss wisdom. He did not flatten discernment. He simply said, remember her.

Rahab was not a hypothetical. She was a Canaanite prostitute, an outsider to the covenant people, and a participant in a culture marked by open rebellion against God. Yet when judgment came, she believed. She cast herself on the mercy of God, and He did not leave her there. He brought her in, cleansed her, and gave her a place among His people. In time, she was woven into the lineage of Christ Himself.

That should have settled the tone of the conversation. It did not.

Another friend of mine, Trevor Sheatz, responded, not with abstraction, but with testimony. He told the story of his own marriage. His wife had a past marked by promiscuity. Then the Lord saved her. Not superficially. Not temporarily. Her life changed in ways that were deep and sustained.

He described a woman committed to the Church, devoted to prayer, serious about holiness, and grieved over her past sin. Their relationship was marked by patience, restraint, and obedience. Years into marriage, he spoke of her as a faithful wife, a godly mother, and a blessing to his life.

That should have been received as evidence of the grace of God at work in real time.

Instead, the response revealed something deeper.

The language that followed was not careful or measured. It wasn’t thoughtful. It was contempt. The woman was reduced to her past and labeled accordingly. Trevor was mocked for his choice. What was presented as a testimony of redemption became, in the eyes of many, something to ridicule.

At that point, it became clear that we were no longer dealing with a disagreement over wisdom. The tone had shifted.

It’s worth noting that my friend Chris Hohnholz offered a thoughtful and measured response to the situation. He walked through the categories that matter—personal preference, biblical wisdom, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit—and did so in a way that brought clarity to a heated discussion. His piece is helpful, and it should be read carefully.

Chris handled the explanation well. What I want to do here is something different.

What unfolded here revealed instincts. It revealed assumptions. It revealed a posture toward sin and grace that deserves more than a passing comment. It demands examination.

Perhaps it’s the culture that X creates. The one shaped by quick analysis, punchy commentary, and, at times, thoughtless criticism. Everything moves fast. Everyone has an angle. Few people slow down long enough to actually think.

But there is always room for careful, thorough responses. That wasn’t the problem here.

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