Coming to Judge Gary DeMar: A Confessional Response to a Heretical Eschatology

In his recent article, “Coming to Judge the Living and the Dead: The Creeds, History, and Biblical Language,”¹ Gary DeMar attempts to respond to concerns I raised regarding the eschatological implications of hyper-preterism (aka full-preterism) and its incompatibility with the historic creeds of the Christian Church. DeMar claims to uphold the authority of Scripture over tradition, defends his reading of biblical “judgment language” as fulfilled in A.D. 70, and suggests that the Nicene and Apostles’ Creeds simply reflect historical events already accomplished—including Christ’s coming “to judge the living and the dead.”

DeMar claims that I represent an approach that treats the Reformed confessions with “seeming infallibility” and relies on a “who’s who” of theological voices to support every “jot and tittle” of those documents. This is a fundamental mischaracterization of both my method and of confessional Reformed theology.

From the outset, I have clearly affirmed the Westminster Confession of Faith’s teaching on the supreme authority of Scripture. God’s Word alone is the final and infallible rule of faith and life. All subordinate standards—whether creeds, confessions, or the writings of theologians—must be tested against Scripture. However, the Reformed tradition has never understood sola Scriptura to mean that individuals may dismiss or revise the Church’s doctrinal standards based on personal interpretation. The very Confession that upholds Scripture’s supremacy also affirms the legitimacy and necessity of ecclesial judgment. Documents like the Westminster Standards are not arbitrary or merely human opinions; they are the fruit of careful exegesis, Spirit-guided deliberation, and centuries of theological reflection within the visible Church.

This is where DeMar’s cherry-picking of the Westminster Confession becomes especially problematic. Like many who wish to wear the Reformed label without submitting to its boundaries, he highlights key statements such as WCF 1.4, 1.9, and 1.10 to affirm the authority of Scripture—but he does so in isolation, as if the Confession says nothing more. What goes entirely unacknowledged is that the same document also affirms the real, though subordinate, authority of church synods and councils.

The Confession holds together two essential truths: the supremacy of Scripture and the Church’s ministerial duty to define doctrine in accordance with it. To affirm the first while discarding the second is not confessional fidelity—it’s selective appropriation designed to protect DeMar’s autonomy. This inconsistency becomes especially clear when men like DeMar appeal to Chapter 31, Paragraph 4 (which rightly notes the fallibility of church councils), but conveniently ignore the paragraphs that come before it—paragraphs that affirm the Church’s binding role in doctrinal matters when its judgments are grounded in Scripture. [emphasis mine]

For the better government, and farther edification of the church, there ought to be such assemblies as are commonly called Synods or Councils.

II. As magistrates may lawfully call a synod of ministers, and other fit persons, to consult and advise with about matters of religion; so if magistrates be open enemies to the church, the ministers of Christ, of themselves, by virtue of their office, or they, with other fit persons upon delegation from their churches, may meet together in such assemblies.

III. It belongeth to synods and councils ministerially to determine controversies of faith, and cases of conscience; to set down rules and directions for the better ordering of the public worship of God, and government of his church; to receive complaints in cases of mal-administration, and authoritatively to determine the same: which decrees and determinations, if consonant to the word of God, are to be received with reverence and submission, not only for their agreement with the word, but also for the power whereby they are made, as being an ordinance of God, appointed thereunto in his word.²

This is why I referenced the long line of eminent theologians—Calvin, Turretin, Owen, Hodge, Dabney, and many others. The point was never to elevate their writings to the level of Scripture or suggest that they are above critique. Rather, it was to highlight the remarkable consistency and theological clarity that has characterized the Church’s eschatological teaching over centuries. These men, operating in different eras, cultures, and ecclesiastical contexts, arrived at the same essential doctrines concerning Christ’s return, the resurrection of the body, and the final judgment. And crucially, they did so not as private theologians detached from the Church, but as ministers and scholars deeply embedded within the Church’s life, confessional standards, and submission to Scripture.

Their collective testimony represents more than individual brilliance—it reflects the Church’s historical, confessional voice, shaped by the Holy Spirit working through the ordinary means of ecclesiastical teaching, worship, and oversight. That witness is not infallible, but it is not incidental either. It carries serious theological weight precisely because it has been tested, refined, and affirmed through generations of biblical engagement and pastoral application.

DeMar, however, casually dismisses this unified doctrinal tradition. He accuses me of appealing to theological celebrity while failing to recognize that his own method relies solely on private interpretation. In doing so, he flips the argument on its head. My appeal to the Church’s collective voice is an expression of confessional accountability and historical humility. His appeal is an assertion of interpretive autonomy—one that detaches Scripture from the Church and doctrine from confession.

Ironically, this places DeMar not in the stream of the Reformation, but in the camp of those the Reformers opposed. The Reformers did not reject the Church’s doctrinal authority; they rejected its abuse under Rome. They upheld the supremacy of Scripture, yes—but within the bounds of confessional order and ecclesial continuity. They didn’t seek to dismantle the Church’s role as the pillar and buttress of the truth (1 Tim. 3:15); they sought to restore it under the lordship of Christ and the rule of Scripture. DeMar, by contrast, adopts the very individualism that marked the Radical Reformation—the idea that each man, armed with a few proof texts and freed from the wisdom of the Church, can redefine doctrine on his own terms.

The result is not greater biblical fidelity. It is theological fragmentation. It’s the spirit of solo Scriptura, not sola Scriptura. And in the case of hyper-preterism, it leads to a complete dismantling of the Church’s hope—a hope that has been confessed, preached, and guarded by faithful Christians for nearly two millennia. To abandon that hope on the basis of private innovation is not a return to biblical Christianity. It’s a departure from it.

This mindset is perfectly illustrated in DeMar’s own words:

If there is an issue with the meaning of something found in a creed or confession it is necessary to evaluate it by an appeal to Scripture. The creeds stated correctly what Scripture says, but I contend that they got the timing wrong as do those who interpret the creeds today.

This statement reveals the heart of the problem. At first glance, it sounds reasonable—even biblical. Of course, everything must be tested by Scripture. But look closely at what DeMar is actually saying: the creeds are only correct if they align with his interpretation of Scripture. And if they don't, he reserves the right to revise their meaning or discard their conclusions. Where is the Church in this? Where is the role of those whom God has gifted and ordained as shepherds and teachers for the building up of the body of Christ (Eph. 4:11–14)? What place does the communion of saints, the collective wisdom of centuries, or the Spirit-guided confession of the visible Church have in such a model?

DeMar’s method cuts Scripture off from the Church and doctrine off from confession. It allows him to affirm creedal language while evacuating it of its meaning—a theological sleight of hand that presents itself as faithful while unravelling the very orthodoxy it claims to uphold. It's not a return to biblical authority; it’s a quiet dismissal of ecclesial accountability. It is, in effect, a private veto over the public confession of the Church. And that’s not just interpretive autonomy—that’s ecclesiological anarchy.

But the danger of DeMar’s position is not merely ecclesiological—it is also theological and doctrinally absurd. He claims that the creeds are correct in their content but mistaken in their timing. Yet in eschatology, timing is not a detachable element. The statement that Christ “will come again with glory to judge the living and the dead” is not vague language about divine activity; it is a deliberate declaration of a future, visible, bodily return of the incarnate Christ at the climax of redemptive history. To separate the content of that confession from its timing is to dismantle the confession itself.

If Christ already returned in A.D. 70 in fulfillment of that phrase, then the Church has not merely been off by a few years—it has publicly confessed a false eschatology for nearly two millennia. But the problem goes deeper than chronology. DeMar’s view not only revises the Church’s timeline; it strips the second coming of its incarnational significance. In his system, Christ’s return is reduced to a spiritual (redefined), non-physical, covenantal judgment event. But Scripture does not present Christ’s second coming as an abstract theological shift—it presents it as the bodily return of the glorified God-man. If Jesus does not return in the flesh—in the same glorified humanity in which He was raised and ascended—then the incarnation is no longer the climactic union of heaven and earth. It becomes a passing phase in redemptive history, useful for a time but ultimately cast aside. In its place, we are left with a Gnostic fantasy: a spiritualized Christ who floats back in ghost-like form, detached from the very body that was born of Mary, crucified under Pontius Pilate, and raised on the third day. This is not the gospel of the New Testament—it’s the stuff of second-century heresy. A disembodied return severs the redemption of humanity from the humanity of Christ. It’s not just a doctrinal shift—it’s a denial of the incarnate Redeemer who remains fully God and fully man, even now, and forever.

This is why Paul calls Him the “firstfruits” of those who have fallen asleep (1 Cor. 15:20). The resurrection is not simply a metaphor for new spiritual life or a symbol of covenantal transition. It is the bodily, Spirit-empowered transformation of the very flesh that dies—just as a seed is sown perishable and raised imperishable (1 Cor. 15:42–44). To spiritualize³ the resurrection, as DeMar does, is not a harmless re-interpretation—it is a doctrinal mutation. It replaces the hope of resurrection with disembodied survival. It severs the continuity between Christ’s glorified body and the believer’s future glorification. And the implications are far-reaching: it confuses our understanding of sanctification, distorts our vision of glorification, and undermines the full scope of salvation itself.

What, then, is left for the believer to hope in? If there is no resurrection of the body, no return of the incarnate Christ, no final judgment or consummation of history—then what exactly are we waiting for? What has the Church been confessing each Lord’s Day? What have faithful pastors preached through the centuries? If DeMar is right, then the Church has not simply made a mistake—it has fundamentally misunderstood the gospel it has proclaimed and the Redeemer it has awaited.

Where does that leave the people of God? What happens to the Church’s unity, her liturgy, her preaching, her pastoral care? Where, in DeMar’s framework, is the voice of the Church? Where are the ministers ordained by Christ to teach, guard, and hand down sound doctrine? What becomes of the Church’s historic witness—her creeds, her catechisms, her confessions—if their most basic eschatological affirmations are dismissed as errors?

This is not just a creative reading of a few verses. It is the quiet dismantling of the Church’s public confession, carried out under the banner of biblical fidelity. But true fidelity to Scripture has never been at odds with the historic witness of the Church—especially when that witness has stood united across continents, centuries, and confessions. To reject it is not to advance beyond the Church—it is to walk away from her. And in doing so, to walk away from the very hope that Scripture and the Church have always declared: Christ will come again in glory, in the flesh, to judge the living and the dead—and to raise us with Him in glory on the last day.

1. https://americanvision.org/posts/coming-to-judge-the-living-and-the-dead/

2. Westminster Assembly. 1851. The Westminster Confession of Faith: Edinburgh Edition. Philadelphia: William S. Young.

3. Gary DeMar’s use of the phrase “spiritual body” reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of Paul’s teaching in 1 Corinthians 15. In DeMar’s framework, the “spiritual body” refers to a non-physical, post-mortem existence that believers receive immediately at death. But this stands in direct opposition to Paul’s argument. When Paul speaks of the resurrection body, he explicitly says that what is sown is what is raised (1 Cor. 15:42–44). Using the analogy of a seed, Paul emphasizes continuity: the same body that is laid in the ground is the body that is raised, though glorified and transformed. The “natural body” refers to our current, perishable, fallen condition, while the “spiritual body” is the future, imperishable, glorified body, raised and empowered by the Holy Spirit. Paul is not contrasting physical with non-physical, but fallen with redeemed, mortal with immortal.

DeMar’s reinterpretation severs that continuity. By redefining resurrection as a purely spiritual event, he denies the bodily resurrection of the flesh and replaces it with an entirely different concept. The result is not simply a shift in timing—it is a shift in substance. It undermines the believer’s union with Christ in His bodily resurrection, empties the biblical promise of the redemption of our bodies (Rom. 8:23), and redefines the “hope of glory” as a present “spiritual” state rather than a future embodied reality. Paul’s whole point is that the body that dies is the body that will rise—glorified, yes, but still a true, physical body. DeMar’s theology discards this truth in favor of a gnosticized, over-realized eschatology that ultimately reshapes the gospel itself.