About Christoph Kotyk
“From the Dust, By the Blood, With a Pen.”

I am not a theologian by title, nor a prophet by birth. I am a man drawn from the dust, gripped by the Word, and ruined by the sight of Christ crucified—forever haunted by the beauty of His completed work.

I write as one who has sat in the ruins of manmade temples. I have chewed the dry husks of dispensational timelines and choked on the saccharine smoke of charismatic ecstasies. I have seen sheep starved on prophecy charts and devoured by wolves dressed as revivalists. And by God’s mercy alone, I was unshackled. By the blade of Scripture rightly divided, I was cut loose from the gnarled roots of futurism and fear.

My faith was not born in the glitter of megachurch lights but in the dim glow of the blood-stained page. My encounter with the living Christ did not come through dreams or tongues, but through a trembling confrontation with the inspired Word, preached plainly and powerfully from

1 Peter 2:17:
“Honor everyone, love the brotherhood, fear God, honor the king.”

And from that moment, I was no longer my own.

This project—Letters from the Dust and from the Blood—is my offering of obedience. It is a covenantal cry, a return to the ancient paths. Here, I aim to restore the Christ-centered lens through which all Scripture must be seen, and to proclaim without apology that the promises made to the fathers have already been fulfilled in the Son. Not “someday,” but at the end of that age—when the temple fell, and the kingdom remained.

Theology must burn before it teaches.

Thus, I write with ink and fire. Every article, study, and rebuke found here is forged from the furnace of covenant theology, hammered out with the tools of the Reformers, and sharpened on the grindstone of first-century fulfillment. I stand in the line of men like John Owen, Jonathan Edwards, John Gill, and Samuel Lee—unafraid to wield Scripture against the idols of our age.

I live with my family in the interior of British Columbia, tending a small homestead, raising chickens, turkeys and sheep in the shadow of the Shepherd, and stewarding this strange calling: to write as one crying out from both the ducts of this broken age and the blood-soaked soil beneath Calvary.

If this resonates with you—if you too have felt the rending of veil and temple, and heard the whisper of “It is finished” echo through time—I welcome your fellowship in this labor.

To Christ alone be glory.
To the Church alone be the Bride.
To the Scriptures alone be the sword.

Christoph Kotyk
Dust-born. Blood-bought. Pen-bound.