An Unexpected Parallel

Seeking Truth, Not Triumph

Please allow me to explain myself for a minute.

I spend my days seeking truth and understanding. I watch, read, and listen to many people’s opinions. For lack of a better phrase, I encounter a lot of “know-it-alls"—and by that I mean, folks who fixate on one aspect of the Bible or another and remain unmovable in their position.

I don’t see myself that way. I am fluid in my positions, willing to correct my thoughts when confronted with truth. The Bible is a massive work with many aspects of the same issues discussed in a variety of ways. The bottom line for me, personally, is simple: be a good friend to God, and a good friend to His people. That’s it. All of it.

How I show that friendship is many and varied—from the Sacraments and a vibrant prayer life, to fellowship, praise and worship, and service with others. It’s not about proving I’m right. It’s about staying close to the One who is right. Always.

But… I do enjoy exploring what the Bible says about different subjects—and today, I came across something really interesting I’d like to share with you.

As a practicing and devout Catholic, who frankly enjoys the pomp and circumstance of the whole thing, I hear a lot of criticism from my Christian brothers and sisters about just that. Many deny the efficacy of the sacraments, detest the incense, statues, and sacred images. Some still seem to carry the spirit of the iconoclasts—those who once destroyed sacred objects that didn’t belong to them in an effort to "purify" the Catholic Church of all its beauty, symbolism, and sacramental richness.

Another common dispute is the necessity of apostolic succession—and whether or not ordained priests are even necessary for worship. That’s why this particular passage from Scripture really struck me today.

Jude Sounds the Alarm

I was reading Jude. He starts off saying that he wanted to write about our shared salvation, but instead had to address an urgent issue—because certain bad actors had slipped into the community, twisting the grace of our God into a license for sexual immorality, and even denying Jesus Christ, our only Sovereign and Lord.

Jude doesn’t mince words when describing those who twist grace and reject rightful authority:

“These people are grumblers and faultfinders; they follow their own evil desires; they boast about themselves and flatter others for their own advantage.”
(Jude 1:16)

It’s not just a rebuke of bad theology—it’s a warning about a spirit of rebellion. These individuals are not described as humble reformers seeking the good of the Body—they are described as loud, self-promoting, divisive. And it’s hard not to see that same spirit reflected in the early Reformers.

Grumblers and Groundbreakers

Yes, the Church had serious issues. Reform was needed. But instead of humbly working within the Body of Christ, appealing to legitimate channels, or trusting God to purify His Church in due time, the Reformers—particularly Luther—chose open defiance. His language was often vile, his tone combative, and his actions incited others to follow him—not necessarily toward holiness, but toward division. Beautiful truth, misapplied.

And unlike Moses, who acted only when commanded by God and spoke on God’s behalf, Luther never once claimed that God told him to act. There were no visions, no revelations, no divine commissions. His movement wasn’t birthed in prayer, but in personal outrage—driven by power, flesh, and personal conviction, not divine commission.

Even his entry into religious life didn’t begin with divine calling—it began with fear. Caught in a thunderstorm, Luther cried out to Saint Anna, promising that if she saved his life, he’d become a monk. That one terrified vow set everything in motion. But the same man who bargained with a saint would later reject the saints, the sacraments, the priesthood, and the papacy.

In other words:
There was no burning bush.
No mountaintop.
No divine voice saying, “Go and split my Church in two.”
Just a man—angry and convinced—who pulled others into his outrage and walked away from the altar.

And as if Jude saw it coming, he continues:

“Woe to them! They have taken the way of Cain; they have rushed for profit into Balaam’s error; they have been destroyed in Korah’s rebellion.”
(Jude 1:11)

Ah yes—Korah’s rebellion.

Korah was a Levite who didn’t like Moses and Aaron “exalting themselves” above the people and instructing them on the proper way to worship. Korah insisted that the whole nation was holy and that everyone should be free to worship however they saw fit. They didn’t need Aaron. They didn’t need a stinkin’ priest.

So he organized a rebellion.

Moses, in an act of humility, didn’t strike back. He simply said: “Bring your censers tomorrow, and we’ll stand before the Lord. Let Him decide.”

It’s a fascinating story. I encourage you to read it in full (Numbers 16). But here’s the short version:
God opened the earth and swallowed the ringleaders—Korah, Dathan, and Abiram—along with their families and all of their possessions. Then He closed the ground right back up, with them inside of it.
Despite Moses’ heartfelt pleas for mercy, God followed up on that action by sending fire from heaven to consume the 250 others who had followed them in rebellion.

So if you’ve ever wondered where the first church split happened... it wasn’t Wittenberg. It was in the wilderness.

And God made His thoughts on the matter pretty clear.

What happened next is wild:

“Tell Eleazar son of Aaron, the priest, to remove the censers from the charred remains… for the censers are holy—the censers of the men who sinned at the cost of their lives. Hammer the censers into sheets to overlay the altar… to remind the Israelites that no one except a descendant of Aaron should come to burn incense before the Lord, or he would become like Korah and his followers.”
(Numbers 16:36–40)

Here’s what I see in this:

First of all, let’s talk about those censers for a minute.
Apparently, even inanimate objects—if presented to the Lord—can become holy. According to this scripture, God repurposed the censers of the rebellious men—not because they were originally sacred, but because they had now been consecrated by being brought before Him. Just like the vessels and objects in our churches become holy after being dedicated to the Lord, these censers had been offered—and God treated them accordingly. He told Eleazar to hammer the metal into a covering for the altar, using it as a visible boundary marker to reinforce priestly authority. It was a divine reminder that worship is not a free-for-all. God had appointed the sons of Aaron to offer incense, and He made it unmistakably clear: He said what He meant, and He meant what He said.

So... don’t rain fire down on me. I didn’t go looking for this today, and I’m not making it up—I’m just reporting what I found, but...

Let’s just call it what it looks like:

The story of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram?
It reads a lot like they were trying to launch a Reformation of the Jewish religion. Don’t you think?

Korah, a Levite, essentially said, “Hey Moses, who made you pope?”
He rallied the people, accused Moses and Aaron of lording their authority over others, and pushed the idea that “all God’s people are holy"—so why should any priesthood or divinely appointed leader get to call the shots?

Sound familiar?

Because it should. That same line of thinking echoes down the centuries and lands smack in the middle of the 16th century, with Martin Luther, Philip Melanchthon, and Johannes Bugenhagen—spiritual sons of Korah, if we’re being cheeky about it. They may not have opened a sinkhole in Wittenberg, but the earth definitely shook.

Korah said:
“All the congregation is holy, every one of them. We don’t need Moses or Aaron telling us how to worship.”
(Numbers 16:3, paraphrased)

The Reformers said:
“We are a royal priesthood, a holy nation. We don’t need any pope or priests standing between us and God.”
(1 Peter 2:9, Reformation rally cry)

Same logic. Different century.
One got swallowed by the earth. The other got a printing press.

Moses was the divinely appointed leader of Israel. When God had something to say, He spoke to Moses alone—and held him alone accountable. That, my friends, is a very papal job description.

And Aaron’s priesthood? That wasn’t a rotating volunteer schedule. It was a divinely mandated, hereditary line of priestly authority, which sounds a lot like apostolic succession to me—descended from the first priests Jesus Himself ordained: the apostles.

But Korah didn’t like the exclusivity of that system. He preferred the “everyone’s a priest” model.

Likewise, the Reformers took the phrase “royal priesthood” and used it to flatten the structure. Beautiful truth, misapplied. The “priesthood of believers” became a rallying cry to dismantle the actual priesthood—which Jesus had established, passed on through the laying on of hands, and carried forward through the bishops and popes all the way back to Peter.

Then came the Westminster Confession of Faith, just to be sure we didn’t miss the memo.

Not only did it reject the pope’s leadership, priesthood, and authority—it cranked the drama to eleven and declared the pope:

“that Antichrist, that man of sin, and son of perdition.”
(Chapter 25, Section 6)

Honestly? It sounds like Korah wrote the first draft, with Dathan editing and Abiram handling the footnotes.

And yet—God has allowed it to stand.

Why?

Because we’re in a time of grace. A time of divine mercy, where fire from heaven doesn’t fall every time someone redesigns ecclesiology or launches a new denomination.
God is patient.
He’s giving us time.

But let’s not confuse His patience with His approval.

From the beginning, God wanted unity, not division.
One Church.
One baptism.
One faith.
One shepherd.

So maybe, just maybe, it’s time to pause and say:
“Hmm.”
And then:
“Lord, have mercy.”
And maybe even:
“Lord, show us how to be one again.”

After all, I’m not claiming to have all the answers.

I’m just exploring.
And sometimes the Word of God connects dots that we didn’t even know were there.