The Common Man’s Gospel: Why God Never Needed a Degree to Speak Truth.

A message to Believers….

Before pulpits were polished. Before seminaries held accreditation. Before theologians delivered lectures with the cadence of a TED Talk and the prestige of letters behind their names—there was a voice on a shore. Calling out to fishermen, tax collectors, zealots, and nobodies. Men with dirt under their nails and grit in their hearts. The call wasn’t filtered through institutions or doctrine committees. It was simple. It was powerful. “Follow Me.”

This deep dive is a return to that shoreline. A return to the raw, undiluted truth that the Kingdom of God is built on the shoulders of the unlikely. The uncredentialed. The common. It is a declaration against modern gatekeeping of divine wisdom, and a reminder that the Bible was not written by men with seminary degrees—it was written by men with scars, struggle, and surrender. We are here to break down the professions of the original twelve disciples, but more than that, we are here to expose a pattern: that God chooses the foolish to shame the wise, the low to upend the high, and the common to carry the sacred.

Simon Peter was a fisherman—gritty, impulsive, and loud-mouthed. He owned a boat and worked the Sea of Galilee in what was likely a family business. In Matthew 4:18, Jesus finds him casting a net. A mundane moment that Heaven interrupted. Peter’s brashness was his flaw and his strength. He was rough around the edges, but deeply sincere. The man who would deny Christ would also be the first to proclaim Him as the Messiah, and the first to preach after Pentecost. His past didn’t disqualify him. It was the reason he was chosen.

Andrew, Peter’s brother, was also a fisherman. But what sets Andrew apart is that he was already spiritually seeking—he had been a disciple of John the Baptist (John 1:35-40). He was the bridge between movements, the one who brought others to Christ rather than push himself forward. It was Andrew who brought Peter to Jesus. It was Andrew who saw the boy with the loaves and fish. His profession might have been fishing, but his gift was connection.

James and John, sons of Zebedee, were also fishermen. But they weren’t scraping by—they had hired servants (Mark 1:20), which suggests some degree of success. Still, when Jesus called, they walked away from financial security without hesitation. James would become the first apostle martyred. John would become the last apostle living—the one who wrote of love and apocalypse. Together, they were called the Sons of Thunder. Loud, passionate, ready to call fire from Heaven. And Jesus didn’t stifle that passion—He redirected it.

Philip’s profession is never specified, but he came from Bethsaida, the same town as Peter and Andrew. Likely, he was of similar background—a tradesman or fisherman. He was one of the first called by Jesus (John 1:43-45), and he immediately brought Nathanael. Philip was inquisitive and sincere. He asked Jesus, “Show us the Father” (John 14:8), not out of rebellion but out of longing. Some would dismiss such questions as a lack of faith. Jesus saw it as a doorway to deeper truth.

Bartholomew, also known as Nathanael, is introduced in John 1:46 with skepticism: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” That one line speaks volumes. He was likely a student of Scripture, maybe even a scribe himself. He had opinions. Prejudices. But he also had integrity. Jesus called him an Israelite “in whom there is no deceit.” Honest doubt doesn’t disqualify—it often proves the presence of an honest heart.

Matthew was a tax collector. The most despised of occupations for a Jew in Roman territory. Seen as a traitor, extorting from his own people to fund their oppressors. Yet Jesus walked right up to his booth and said, “Follow Me” (Matthew 9:9). And Matthew got up. No hesitation. No theological debate. Just obedience. The one who once collected taxes now wrote the Gospel most focused on fulfilling Jewish prophecy. His profession became his platform.

Thomas’s profession is never listed, but his mind is on full display. He is remembered as the doubter. The one who needed proof. But when he saw the risen Christ, he didn’t just believe—he made one of the most profound declarations of faith: “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28). He shows us that faith born from wrestling is often deeper than faith born from repetition.

James the son of Alphaeus, often called James the Less, remains largely a mystery. Possibly younger or smaller than James the son of Zebedee, he doesn’t make headlines. But that’s the point. The Kingdom isn’t built only by those in the spotlight. Sometimes the most faithful are the ones whose names history forgets but Heaven honors.

Thaddaeus, also known as Jude son of James, speaks only once in Scripture: he asks Jesus, “Why do You intend to show Yourself to us and not to the world?” (John 14:22). A deep question. A theological question. Proof that even the quieter disciples were thinking deeply. Tradition holds that he wrote the book of Jude—a firebrand letter of warning and exhortation.

Simon the Zealot had perhaps the most radical background. Zealots were political revolutionaries, nationalists ready to overthrow Rome by violence if necessary. Yet Jesus didn’t change his label. He changed his allegiance. Simon went from wanting to overthrow Caesar to proclaiming the Kingdom of Christ. From terrorism to testimony.

And then there’s Judas Iscariot. The treasurer. The betrayer. The one who had proximity but not intimacy. His profession wasn’t evil—but his heart was never truly surrendered. He reminds us that being close to Christ in geography means nothing without being close to Him in spirit.

What do all these men have in common? They weren’t qualified by education. They weren’t chosen from seminaries. They were not vetted by the religious elite. They were chosen by Jesus. Chosen not for their perfection, but for their availability. Their willingness to leave everything and follow.

But now, the shoreline has changed. Today’s disciples scroll and stream. They gather their theology from Instagram reels and Twitter threads. And many of those leading the charge are “social media scholars” — modern-day scribes with ring lights and wireless mics. They are followed, adored, and often monetized. Their words are clipped into content, their opinions validated by algorithmic applause.

Let’s be fair. Some of them are sincere. People like Wes Huff are well-read, well-spoken, (a total stud) and historically trained. He teaches with clarity, and by all appearances, he is a blessing to the body. But—and this is vital—he is not a preacher. He is a teacher. And that matters.

Preachers proclaim. Teachers explain. One delivers fire. The other lays bricks. Both are necessary. But neither is the final authority. Not even the best scholar holds the copyright on Truth. Wes Huff, or anyone like him, can say something theologically rich—but if it contradicts Scripture, then Scripture wins. Every time.

Because the Bible is not subject to man’s opinion. And biblical truth is not validated by online popularity. Even the most insightful influencer can be wrong. Even the most credentialed can be corrected. The Bereans were praised not because they had degrees, but because they “examined the Scriptures daily to see if what Paul said was true” (Acts 17:11). Think about that—they “fact checked” Paul.

The real tragedy is when everyday believers are made to feel that unless they’ve earned a theological degree, they can’t truly speak about the Word of God. That unless they can parse Greek or cite councils, they must remain silent. But that’s not the Spirit of God. That’s the spirit of elitism. That’s the modern Sanhedrin.

And here’s the truth: when the Bible is the source, everyone is the scholar. Every believer has the right—and responsibility—to study their Word, understand its context, translate its truth, and share its message. Not to prove a point, but to reveal a Person.

So this deep dive exists for one reason: to empower. To remind you that the same Spirit who inspired the apostles dwells in you. That you can learn Greek. That you can study context. That you can understand who wrote what, when, and why. That you can rightly divide the Word of Truth and speak it boldly.

You don’t need a pulpit to preach. You don’t need a platform to teach. You don’t need permission from man to proclaim what God has placed in your spirit.

Because the early church wasn’t built on institutions. It was built on intimacy. It wasn’t founded by scholars. It was founded by servants. It wasn’t validated by letters after their names—but by the fire in their bones.

So whether you’re in a church or on a job site, in a classroom or at a kitchen table, remember: you are part of that legacy. The legacy of fishermen turned preachers/teachers, tax collectors turned authors, and doubters turned firebrands.

In a world of influencers, be an instrument. In a world of soundbites, speak substance. In a world of gatekeepers, throw the gate open.

Because the truth of God was never meant to be filtered through institutions. It was meant to be revealed by the Spirit, lived through obedience, and proclaimed by the least of these.

And if He chose them… He can absolutely use you.