[The following post is part of a series addressing common questions about how Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection relate to each other in Scripture.]
Question 5: With all the preaching and writing about the atonement that we see in evangelicalism, isn’t there a danger that the resurrection will get lost?
I don’t think there is,
if teaching on the cross is handled responsibly. Once again, the cross and the resurrection are two aspects of a unified whole (see for instance 1 Corinthians 15:3-4), and they should never be fundamentally separated. One without the other is meaningless. Attempts to subordinate one to the other are wrongheaded.
This does not mean, however, that we can’t speak at length about one without mentioning the other—an impulse that is well-meaning but often unnecessary. We hear and read a great deal about various facets of Christ’s atoning death for good reason: Scripture reflects extensively upon the death of Jesus in ways that don’t directly apply to the resurrection. Howard Marshall makes a similar observation about Paul’s treatment of the gospel: “The central event in the gospel is the death and resurrection of Jesus. These two actions belong closely together (Rom 4:25; 8:34; 1 Cor 15:3–5; 2 Cor 5:15; Phil 3:10; 1 Thess 4:14), but the weight lies on the former” [
New Testament Theology (IVP, 2004), 436].
This is in no way to create a hierarchy among the redemptive acts that make up the gospel. It is simply to recognize Paul’s priority of expounding the implications of Jesus’ sin-bearing death for the spiritual health and nurture of the churches to which he wrote.
Take “propitiation,” for example. By definition, it was in his death that Christ endured God’s wrath in our place. The same is true for “redemption”: the ransom price for our redemption was the giving of Christ’s life. This is clear in texts like Mark 10:45, where Jesus says that he came to “give his life as a ransom for many,” and Ephesians 1:7, where we’re told that we have “redemption through his blood.”
And on the face of it, Christ’s death is itself a sacrifice, fulfilling massive structures of Old Testament teaching and practice (the Passover lamb, the sacrificial system, etc.). Without detailed study of the atonement, vast swaths of Old Testament revelation, which molded the thinking of New Testament writers, remain in the shadows.
In this context it bears repeating: in no way do I want to minimize the resurrection, or to neglect its truth or implications for our lives. Indeed, at least one biblical metaphor for the atonement, Christ’s conquest in Colossians 2, richly illuminates it and has perhaps been neglected in some segments of evangelicalism. But I think Scripture itself leads us to place an emphasis on the cross, exploring as it does the significance of Christ’s death with great depth and richness, and at length. It is our privilege and responsibility as teachers of God’s Word to do the same.
There’s another point that I find missing in such objections about cross-centered language, writing, and preaching. It’s instructive that the one ordinance instituted by our Lord to be observed repeatedly among the gathered people of God is designed primarily to picture and call to mind his death for us. In the Lord’s Supper, we partake of bread, symbolizing Christ’s broken body, and we drink from a cup, symbolizing his shed blood. And in doing so we “proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26).
Of course, the resurrection and exaltation of Christ are also in view in the Lord’s Supper, for we partake in anticipation of his return, when we will feast with Christ in the messianic banquet (Matthew 26:29; Revelation 19:9). But the primary focus of the Supper is Christ’s atoning death and the benefits that accrue to those who share in it by faith. If Christ calls his church regularly to celebrate such a “cross-centered” sacrament, are we wrong to give consistent attention to the cross in our preaching and teaching and praise?
[The following post is part of a series addressing common questions about how Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection relate to each other in Scripture.]
Question 4: In the book of Acts there seems to be a greater emphasis on Christ’s resurrection than the cross. Shouldn’t we follow the early church’s example and emphasize the resurrection over the cross?
Interpreters of the book of Acts have long recognized the centrality of the resurrection—or better, the exaltation of Christ through his resurrection and ascension—in Luke’s presentation. (So much so, in fact, that some scholars have questioned whether Luke even has a theology of atonement!)
While it’s true that the resurrection is prominent in Acts, those texts must be understood within the larger framework of the book. Luke’s primary focus in Acts is the progress and triumph of the gospel. Within this scheme, we see the apostles time and again in evangelistic and apologetic situations. When one is proclaiming the message of a crucified messiah—particularly within a few years of his death—the resurrection (and, in Luke’s writings, the ascension) becomes the fundamental apologetic point for supporting the claims of Jesus. Here, then, we find a central focus of the theology of the book of Acts: it is through the exaltation of Jesus that God confirms his status as Lord and savior. Far from marginalizing the cross, this focus authenticates its reality.
This very point is made by Mark Seifrid: “In focusing on Jesus’ resurrection and exaltation Luke provides an apology for the claims of the gospel, supporting rather than diminishing the understanding of Jesus’ death as a vicarious atonement” [
Dictionary of the Later New Testament and Its Developments (IVP, 1997), 272].
Therefore, an emphasis on the resurrection is precisely what we’d expect to find in such contexts, and it is in keeping with Luke’s overall purpose in writing his two-volume work: to provide assurance to his readers that the foundation of their faith is secure (Luke 1:1-4).
[The following post is part of a series addressing common questions about how Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection relate to each other in Scripture.]
Question 3: It’s through union with Christ’s resurrection that we have been raised to walk in new spiritual life. If we talk about the cross so much, won’t we end up focusing only on sin and ignoring this important aspect of the Christian life? Doesn’t a focus on the resurrection lead us to a more holy, victorious Christian life?
Texts that speak of our union with Christ are precious and should be proclaimed and cherished. The Holy Spirit transforms the believer, providing power for godly living. Absolutely. But as in so many areas of biblical teaching, we must always beware of disjunctive thinking—of separating things that should be kept together.
For example, it is not only the resurrection that provides tremendous hope and motivation for a transformed life; the cross is meant to function this way as well.
It seems that for Paul, one of the primary motivations for living a holy life is that Christ died for his sins: “For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised” (2 Corinthians 5:14-15).
We see a similar connection in Galatians 2:20, which falls amid Paul’s argument concerning justification by faith. The indwelling of Christ in the believer’s life is real and true—and Paul will stress this elsewhere, such as Galatians 5:16 and following. But his primary point in Galatians 2:20 seems to be that his new life is lived by faith, based solidly on the truth of justification as a result of Christ’s death for him. For the believer, then, both the cross and the resurrection fuel our motivation for godly living—and it’s best that they do so together.
We should also recognize that the danger of isolating one set of truths from another cuts both ways. To be sure, the new birth, our union with Christ, and the gift of the Spirit decisively transform our lives. But our present existence is not simply one of unbridled glory and triumph. We still battle the flesh, and we do so in a fallen world that awaits Christ’s return before all is set right again.
And so, while we can know “the power of his resurrection,” at the same time we are to “share in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” (Philippians 3:10). We rejoice that we’ve been “born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1 Peter 1:3), even as we trust God in the jaws of suffering, knowing that “Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps” (1 Peter 2:21). The Savior himself told his disciples that following him involved a life of cruciform self-denial (Mark 8:34-35; 9:35; 10:42-45).
To isolate either the cross or the resurrection in the Christian life is to distort and impoverish it. The cross and resurrection together shape the contours of our lives as disciples of Jesus.
[The following post is part of a series addressing common questions about how Christ’s crucifixion and Christ’s resurrection relate to each other in Scripture.]
Question 1: Sovereign Grace churches and leaders often use the phrase “cross-centered.” Doesn’t this phrase lead to an overemphasis on the cross and a neglect of the resurrection?
Phrases are no substitute for systematic theology, and I don’t think any of us would want our doctrine diluted down to a single adjective. However, this particular phrase reflects a common New Testament pattern in which “the cross” functions as shorthand for all the various facets of Christ’s atoning work—life, death, resurrection, and ascension.
Paul in particular often speaks this way as he describes what it is that informs and animates his life and ministry: “But far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Galatians 6:14), and “I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2). In 1 Corinthians 1:17, the cross and the gospel are virtually equated. That’s why theologians for centuries have referred to Christ’s “cross-work” in speaking of the whole complex of his redemptive acts. So the use of the phrase “cross-centered” is neither biblically inconsistent nor historically innovative.
I suppose one could deal with “the cross” in such a way as to neglect the resurrection, but I suspect that in doing so one would be preaching a different kind of cross—for the cross and the resurrection are inextricable. The absence of one either drains or distorts the meaning of the other. In our circles, I think the use of this phrase is simply an attempt to keep the gospel central in our thinking and preaching, and hopefully our living as well.
February 11, 2010 by Jeff Purswell
Categories: Leadership | Preaching
Here’s an interesting thought experiment: how would one of our theological forebears—a sixteenth-century Reformer, say, or an eighteenth-century evangelist in the Great Awakening—assess modern evangelicalism? Let’s remove the inevitable confusion that sheer historical distance would create; how would we fare theologically? pastorally?
Although it’s impossible to know which facet of the contemporary church would look strangest to our hypothetical historical observer, let me nominate one for consideration: the modern paradigm of “pastor as leader.” Tracing its exact roots is difficult, but we can generally surmise that modern business theory, mediated through the church growth movement, is the source of this paradigm—a paradigm that would be unintelligible to our time-travelling friend.
It’s true, of course, that in a very real sense a pastor (along with his fellow elders) is the leader of his congregation. Scripture envisions elders who “rule well” (1 Timothy 5:17) and calls them to “exercise oversight” (1 Peter 5:2) and to employ diligently the gift of leadership (Romans 12:8). And so pastoral ministry inherently involves certain leadership functions: inspiring the church with a biblical vision, administrating the work of the church, training leaders who can help lead the work, creating structures that capture and embody the application of the truth that is taught from the pulpit. Pastors not only teach the truth, but also come alongside their flock to help people apply truth to their lives.
We deviate from Scriptural precept and historical example, however, when a pastor’s role as “leader” displaces his primary role as a teacher—a shepherd who feeds God’s people with the truth of his Word. The relentless call to pastors in the New Testament is to the ministry of the Word, from the apostles’ retirement from mercy ministry (Acts 6:1–4) to Paul’s dying words to Timothy (2 Timothy 4:2).
I doubt anyone reading this would reject the content of the previous paragraph. My concern is rather with a false dichotomy that I fear is all too common: a dichotomy in the pastor’s mind between “teaching” and “leadership.” In the pulpit or behind the podium, we’re “teaching;” anywhere else, we’re “leading.” My modest goal in this post is to destroy this dichotomy. There is no more powerful or fundamental expression of a pastor’s leadership than the preaching of the Word. At its core, that’s what biblical leadership is: setting forth for our people a biblical vision of God and his purposes, and then calling them to give their lives to it and live in light of it (and outside the pulpit, modeling for them what it looks like). Every time we preach, we’re making room for God to lead his people, allowing his Word to set direction, to impart encouragement, to provide comfort, and to instill faith. Much more is happening on a Sunday morning than the mere transfer of information. This is our key leadership moment.
When we think about “leading” our churches, we can spend hours with our teams strategizing and brainstorming initiatives and structures, identifying emphases, and planning special meetings—all important functions. But we can spend hours doing all this and leave the Sunday preaching diet entirely out of the equation—when it should be central to whatever direction you’re providing the church in a particular season.
No form of leadership a pastor provides is more decisive than his proclamation of Scripture. Preaching both defines the priorities for your church and fuels the implementation of those priorities in the church. We must never sever the connection in our minds between leadership—providing direction for the church—and your preaching plan. It’s that preaching plan, and its execution, that provide the most powerful and biblically rooted leadership. And I’m not just speaking about the “leadership opportunity” on any given Sunday. The preaching diet over a period of time will be the most formative, shaping influence on a church.
If all this is true, what then? If you’re a senior pastor, then nothing you do this week is more important than, nor should it supplant, your prayerful preparation for the preaching of God’s Word. If you serve on a pastoral team with a specialized sphere of ministry, you should be thinking about how the Sunday preaching can be applied in the life of the church in your sphere. If you’re a member of a church, there is no more important moment for you than when you sit under the teaching of God’s Word, hearing his voice, and receiving direction for your life as a part of your church.
I believe that if we were to more consistently think and respond in such ways, we’d look a lot more familiar to any surprise visitor from the pages of church history.
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Jeff Purswell serves as the Dean of the Sovereign Grace Pastors College and a pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.
‘Tis the season for New Year’s resolutions—for examination, for new beginnings, for fresh resolve, for (at least momentarily) facing things we’re dissatisfied with and want changed. Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? So much of what captures our culture’s collective imagination at the annual turning of the calendar is the hope of change. Few things animate our imaginations like the prospects of a better future.
There is surely a biblical warrant for such impulses. Following Christ involves a constant process of self examination, of “putting off the old self” and “putting on the new self.” And obedience to the imperatives of Scripture inherently involves a Spirit-born resolve. Much of Paul’s prayer life was apparently taken up with requests that God “fulfill every resolve for good” in the lives of those he served (2 Thessalonians 1:11).
As I reflected upon the new year and my own hopes for change, my annual exercise was interrupted by a stark reminder of the difference between myself and God: I change, but God does not. “All flesh is grass,” Isaiah proclaimed, barely sprouting up before it withers and dies, but “I the LORD do not change” (Malachi 3:6). Regardless of my resolutions for the new year, it is only “the purpose of the LORD that will stand” (Proverbs 19:21). I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but “the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:6-8).
For a pastor all too aware of his own sin and deficiencies (though surely underestimating the extent of both), this news was beyond good—it was transforming, and it was bracing. I then emerged from my study and entered the classroom to teach homiletics to a group of future pastors; I did so with a treasured conviction newly strengthened.
Let me ask a question I asked those men concerning the preaching of God’s Word: “What do you believe about how God works in his church and in the world?” Not, mind you, “What do you believe about Scripture’s truthfulness, or sufficiency, or inerrancy…?”—all important attributes of Scripture which it certainly claims for itself. But one can produce orthodox formulations of all of these and still lack confidence in the power of God’s Word to convert hearts, to change lives, and to build the church.
So at the outset of this new year, here’s an invitation to pastors charged with preaching and teaching God’s Word. We may be in the process of evaluating our ministries, identifying areas that need change, seeking to learn and change and grow, and so we should. But let there be one area—one cluster of convictions—that does not change. Let’s not waver in our conviction that God brings about his sovereign purposes through his Word. As in creation and throughout salvation-history, so it is now in the church and in the world: God’s Word is uniquely his creating, preserving, governing, saving, and sanctifying instrument—as Calvin put it, it is his scepter by which he rules creation and his people.
Let’s not waver in our conviction that the preached Word is living and active. It’s not merely information to interest the mind or spiritual principles to apply to life: God’s Word personally addresses us, illuminating eyes and eliciting faith and transforming hearts, affections, and perspectives.
Let’s not waver in our conviction that the pastor’s peculiar call is to bring God’s Word to bear upon his people. Amidst all the responsibilities and duties that clamor for the pastor’s attention, none transcends the call to teach God’s Word. If you are a pastor, your governing priority, whatever your specific responsibilities are, is an unflagging, ever-strengthening, ever-growing devotion to the teaching of God’s Word, be it in the pulpit, the Bible class, the training seminar, or the counseling room.
There’s much I’d love to see change in my life this year. However, my primary resolve at the outset of 2010 is to bind myself to the unchanging—to the immutable purposes of our God whose has pledged his power to his unfailing Word.
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Jeff Purswell serves as the Dean of the Sovereign Grace Pastors College and a pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.
The other day I saw a sign that captured my attention—and deeply concerned me. It said—
“Don’t go to church. Be the church.”
Now, despite the element of truth (God’s people
are the church), there are all kinds of things wrong with this statement. But behind the words is obviously someone’s disappointment (and possibly disillusionment) with organized Christianity. And although I’d guess that many Christians would reject this false choice, their attitude to Sunday gatherings of the church may reveal a similar apathy.
To fight such apathy, we all need a biblical perspective on what is taking place on Sunday—a perspective that can transform our attitude toward “going to church.” And it’s this perspective that the writer of Hebrews gives us when he describes the ongoing worship service we join when we gather to worship each Sunday.
Mount Sinai and Mount Zion
In Hebrews the writer presents a striking contrast between Mount Sinai and Mount Zion, between the experience of the people of God under the old covenant and their experience under the new covenant.
In verses 18–21 the writer recounts the gathering at Mount Sinai (as recorded in Exodus 19). After their deliverance from Egypt, God gathered his people and made a covenant with them. He constituted them as a nation, his very own people.
For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. For they could not endure the order that was given, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned.” Indeed, so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, “I tremble with fear.”
Now look at the gathering at Mount Zion described in verses 22–24:
But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
What a contrast.
At Mount Sinai everything served to emphasize the chasm between God and these people. At Mount Zion everything encourages us to come boldly into God’s presence. There, at Mount Sinai, the scene itself is frightening—fire, darkness, gloom. Here, at Mount Zion, is a gleaming city, the New Jerusalem, the place where God dwells with his covenant people.
At Mount Sinai the sounds are frightening—whirlwind, trumpet blast, unutterable words. At Mount Zion is the sound of exuberant and celebratory praise.
At Mount Sinai was a solemn gathering filled with fear. Here at Mount Zion is a joyful assembly of those whose names are forever written in the Lamb’s book of life.
There at Mount Sinai was a picture of the unapproachability of God’s holy presence. But here at Mount Zion is a picture of full access into the presence of God through the mediator Jesus Christ.
Now think about your church. Think about the people with whom you serve, live, and worship. Have you fully grasped just what your local church is and what it’s doing on a Sunday morning? Your local church is one authentic, visible manifestation of the entire people of God for all time. It is a part of the heavenly throng that even now is worshiping before the throne of God. And we get to be part of that!
Think about this gathering, which includes—
Angels. We are worshiping with creatures before whom we would be tempted to fall down in terror and worship, if we could see them.
The spirits of the righteous-made-perfect. Here are the heroes from Hebrews 11—Abraham, Moses, Samuel, and David—mighty men of God, mighty prophets who trusted God, so endued with power that they stopped lion’s mouths and put foreign armies to flight. We are worshiping with them.
Faithful saints. These men and women endured torture and refused deliverance if it meant compromise. They chose a stoning pit or a chopping block before they would deny Jesus. And if they survived, they joyfully embraced poverty, deprivation, and persecution. They feared God and they feared sinning more than they feared man—all so that they might receive something better. And when we worship, we join them before the throne of God, who remains “a consuming fire” (v. 29).
We come to Jesus. He is there, our mediator, whose sprinkled blood cleanses us from sin. His blood “speaks a better word than the blood of Abel” (v. 24). Abel’s blood cried out for judgment, but Jesus’s blood cries out for mercy.
Sunday Morning
So back to your home church this upcoming Sunday. When you enter and the music begins, what are you more aware of? Is it the song set? the musicians? the mix? Does the worship band wow you? Does the routine bore you?
Or do you perceive something beyond all this?
Your church is one authentic manifestation of the entire people of God that right now is worshiping before the throne of God. That is the reality of new covenant worship. And when we begin to wrap our minds around that, there springs to mind a thousand reasons to rejoice, to praise, and to sing; and to renounce flippancy, self-display, selfishness, superficiality, sloppiness, and thoughtlessness.
Before the God who is a consuming fire, we don’t shuffle in casually. We don’t demand our artistic preferences. We don’t merely gather with our friends. We don’t merely sing together. As the people of God, we enter into the very presence of God. Encountering God in this way is the very nature of the church. By definition, to be the church is to gather in God’s presence and to worship God together. And when we begin singing, we join the glorious worship that takes place unceasingly before the throne of God.
This is true regardless of how we feel, who leads worship, what songs we sing, or how we think worship went. There is something incredible happening on Sunday morning!
Be the church and go to church. Something eternal is going on in there. Don’t miss it.
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Jeff Purswell serves as the Dean of the Sovereign Grace Pastors College and a pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.
I am no musician. I play no part in a choir or a musical team. I do love words, and as a sidebar to my job I get to participate in editing worship song lyrics. But there you reach the limits of my musical gifting.
Even so, my friend Bob Kauflin recently invited me to speak at the WorshipGod09 conference and to address an audience populated by faithful servants engaged in leading worship, singing, and serving musically in diverse ways. These are gifted people and we benefit from their example, leadership, and service each Sunday in our local churches.
But as much as I appreciate what they do, I told them the following: What you do each Sunday is important, but it’s not most important.
Musical worship is inspiring, informative, and a wonderful privilege, but there is nothing more central to Christian worship than the preaching of God’s Word. Notice I did not say preaching is a great and necessary follow-up to worship, or that preaching is an optional extra in worship. Preaching is central to worship each Sunday.
Let me illustrate this point through a few great worship services in your Bible.
Think of Mount Sinai where God rescues and gathers his people specifically. He says, “Let my people go so that they may worship me.” So in that gathering to worship, what is the climax? It is the giving of the Law.
A few books later, in Deuteronomy, the people are gathered beside the Jordan. Their wanderings are finally at an end. They are on the cusp of the Promised Land, and Moses renews the covenant with the next generation. What is at the heart, what is the substance of this gathering? It is the reiteration of the Law of Moses, and we read page after page of preaching, explanation, application, and exposition.
When Joshua brings the people finally into the land, he gathers them together (Joshua 8). What was the climax of that gathering? Was it the singing? No. He read the Law to the “assembly.” (The Hebrew term is regularly translated in the Greek as “church”—the church is the assembly, the gathering of the people of God.) Joshua read the Law to the gathered assembly. And he read it all: “there was not a word of all that Moses commanded that Joshua did not read before all the assembly of Israel, and the women, and the little ones, and the sojourners who lived among them” (Joshua 8:35). Let’s not miss a thing. Let’s not miss a word. Let’s not miss a stroke.
After the return from exile, Nehemiah gathers the people into a great assembly. What do they do? Ezra reads the Law and then explains it—he exposits it to give the sense of message.
And we could go on through the Bible…
Throughout salvation history, all the way into the new covenant, God’s Word is at the center of worship. The early church devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, and every church was nourished on God’s Word, all the way down to the last chapter of the last book that Paul wrote, where he tells Timothy to preach the Word “in season and out of season” (2 Timothy 4:2).
Why? Why so much preaching? Why all this talking? Because the primary way we encounter God in worship is through the preaching of the Word of God.
Think about it this way. Normally, in what we call “worship,” we spend significant time—perhaps the whole time—addressing God, singing to him, praising him, extolling him, praying to him. Wonderful! But in preaching we are no longer addressing God; he is addressing us. Nothing is more important than this moment. And this is why the most important worship leader in your church is your pastor.
That really gets to the heart of preaching. The Bible is not simply a book that we talk about. When God’s Word is faithfully preached, God is addressing us. God is speaking. We hear not merely a man’s voice. We hear the voice of God.
And when God addresses us, what is the appropriate response? We respond with glad and reverent hearts, with voices that proclaim his praise, and with lives that increasingly reflect his character.
God addresses us with a saving Word. We respond to him with faith, praise, and obedience. That is the rhythm of worship.
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Jeff Purswell serves as the Dean of the Sovereign Grace Pastors College and a pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.
I was having a wide-ranging conversation with a friend the other day when we wandered onto the topic of the gospel. I casually observed how frequently the word
gospel was freighted with elements that belong more precisely to the realm of discipleship or ethics—e.g., what we do
in response to the gospel, or how we live
in light of the gospel.
My friend responded with puzzlement: “Aren’t those things part of the gospel? Didn’t Jesus say in the Great Commission, ‘teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you’?”
A lively and edifying conversation ensued in which we found ourselves largely in agreement, but also in which a crucial issue surfaced: what precisely
is the gospel?
Perhaps it’s foolish to tackle such a question in a medium that militates against nuance and formulaic clarity. No doubt my comments will be parsed and found wanting by many who discern neglect of this or that biblical theme or emphasis—ah, well, such are the joys of blogging. It is, however, a question that lies at the very heart of our faith, and therefore at the heart of pastoral ministry.
So what does the New Testament present as the gospel?
A good place to begin is Mark’s gospel. At the outset of the book, the author immediately alerts us to the significance of what will follow: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1). Syntactically, this heading flows directly into the remainder of the prologue (Isaiah’s prophecy, John the Baptist, and Jesus’s baptism/temptations)—indicating that these introductory events are the “beginning of the gospel,” while the balance of Mark’s narrative presents the
rest of the gospel.
What’s the point? For Mark, the gospel is the story about Jesus—the good news of all that Jesus did in his life and ministry and death and resurrection.
We see a similar idea in the early preaching of the church. When Peter is summoned to Cornelius’s home and discovers that God is behind this miraculous chain of events, his presentation of the gospel (“proclaiming the good news of peace”—Acts 10:36b) is an outline of Jesus’s ministry, beginning with John the Baptist on through to his resurrection and commissioning of the apostles to proclaim forgiveness through his name (Acts 10:36-41; cf. 2:22-24; 3:13-15). As far back as C.H. Dodd, commentators have viewed this as a summary of apostolic preaching and noted its basic agreement with the structure of Mark’s gospel. Once again, the gospel is the news of what God was doing through Jesus in his life, death, and resurrection.
Paul uses the term
gospel more than any other NT writer. Of course, one of the most familiar renditions of “gospel” in the NT is Paul’s summary statement in 1 Corinthians 15:1ff: “Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you...For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures…” Again, the gospel consists of
what Jesus did to save us. Paul’s presentation is more narrow, focusing on the pinnacle of Christ’s work—his substitutionary death and resurrection—but that focus is also embedded into the very structures of the canonical gospels themselves, which reserve far more space for, and place the greatest emphasis on, the death and resurrection of Jesus.
So what is the gospel?
Although this brief survey is far from complete, it consistently reveals that the gospel is
good news concerning Jesus and what he did to accomplish salvation for sinners.
In other words, the gospel is
objective. It tells us what God has done to save his people. It consists of concrete, historical events, rooted in Old Testament promises, types, and institutions that were fulfilled in Jesus. It promises that all who trust in Christ and his work will receive forgiveness and life. Of course, this isn’t merely a catalogue of events of only historical interest; all of this has massive implications for our lives. But we must not confuse the gospel message itself with the outworking of those implications.
So, for example, although the gospel calls me to respond to what Jesus has done, strictly speaking it doesn’t
include my response—repentance is
not the gospel. Although the gospel introduces me to a life lived in glad obedience to God, strictly speaking it doesn’t include that life of obedience. Our existence as Christians involves unspeakable privileges, significant responsibilities, and untold promise. But those things themselves are
not the gospel.
Why is all this important? It’s important because the very nature of the gospel is at stake—and there is no higher priority for the pastor than to guard the gospel from neglect, distortion, or redefinition (1 Timothy 6:20; 2 Timothy 1:14).
If the gospel message expands to include “discipleship in the kingdom,” then the objective nature of Christ’s work is minimized. When the gospel is redefined as a call to a social or political movement, Christ’s work is replaced with ours. When the gospel includes my response, then the ground of my assurance lies in me rather than in Christ. Indeed, anytime we shift the definition of the gospel from God’s objective accomplishment to our subjective appropriation, the rock-solid foundation of our faith is misplaced—and the glory of God in the gospel is obscured.
Of course, we can be clear on the gospel message and make other mistakes. We can neglect the
entailments of the gospel (a life of self-denial and obedience to Christ). We can focus
only on spiritual salvation to the exclusion of any concern for the material or physical well-being of others. We can so focus on a heavenly home that we neglect our responsibilities of loving others in a fallen world, and that our ultimate future lies in a “new heavens and new earth” that have been fully renewed by God’s power.
None of these mistakes, however, minimizes the importance of holding fast to the gospel of our salvation. For it is through the power of the gospel that we are transformed to live new lives by the power of the Spirit. It is through the gospel that we are freed from selfishness to give our lives in service of others. Sure, the scope of Christ’s redemption is the whole cosmos (Colossians 1:20), but at the
center of his redemptive concern are rebellious image-bearers whom he is ransoming to be his children. But all of these entailments, implications, and promises are founded upon the rock-solid, unchanging accomplishment of God through the gospel of his Son. It is this message that is God’s power to save sinners, to comfort the grieving, to motivate the listless, to encourage the downhearted, to assure the guilt-stricken.
This message never changes; this message is always true; and so our hope is always secure.
And it precisely when those erstwhile rebels grasp God’s accomplishment in the gospel—the greatest display of “the breadth and length and height and depth of Christ’s love”—that they will be “filled with all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:17-19) and marvel with wonder at the gospel’s display of God’s glorious grace.
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Jeff Purswell serves as the Dean of the Sovereign Grace Pastors College and a pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, MD.
October 8, 2009 by Jeff Purswell
Categories: Theology
A couple of months ago C.J. invited me to begin contributing posts to the Sovereign Grace blog, of which this is the first. Those who don’t know me will surely wonder why; those who do know me will no doubt grasp the irony, given my blustering tirades against the general blog phenomenon (which I’ll spare you, since including them here would be self-defeating). In any event, let me stress the privilege it is to share this space with C.J. and, as of next week, Dave Harvey, and provide a bit of background for future posts.
My main responsibility in Sovereign Grace is overseeing the
Pastors College, which is the primary mechanism by which we train pastors for ministry in our
family of churches. Many components go into this training. We teach our students Greek so that they might have access to the original text of the New Testament. We ground our students in the text of Scripture in both its specifics and scope. We endeavor to provide our students a solid theological framework for grasping God’s revelation in its various parts and proportions. We provide pastoral care and structures for personal growth to encourage and support our students’ progress in godliness and the process of sanctification. We teach ministry skills such as preaching and biblical counseling to help them bring God’s Word to bear upon the lives of the people they will one day serve. And we do all of this in the context of a particular local church—
Covenant Life Church—which provides the students both a church home and a functioning model for the material they are learning in the classroom.
Underlying these facets are certain core convictions we have concerning theological training—convictions derived from Scripture’s profile of a pastor and the local church which he’s called to serve.
For example, with the exception of the gift of teaching, the biblical requirements for eldership (e.g., 1 Timothy 3 & Titus 1) all speak to a pastor’s character; there’s nothing about personality types, educational levels, or social standing. Transcending all other considerations, a pastor is to be an illustration of the transforming effects of the gospel he proclaims, and an example of sound Christian living to those he serves. We therefore give much attention to, and invest resources toward, encouraging and cultivating progress in our students’ spiritual lives.
In our training, we never want to neglect the very characteristics that qualify a man for ministry in the first place.
The local church context also plays an important role in the Pastors College. Since we are training pastors called to “shepherd the flock of God,” we want to expose them to an actual “shepherding” context—a model of ministry where God’s people are being taught, cared for, and nourished. Therefore,
we never want the training of our students to be disconnected from the context for which they are being trained—the local church.
In addition to character and context, there’s the substance of our training. When asked to describe the nature of our training, I frequently use this description: we’re training men to do
theological ministry—ministry with a self-consciously theological rationale, where every methodology employed flows from and is informed by theological conviction and appropriate biblical warrant. Far from being innovative, this is simply a reflection of the radically Word-centered nature of the pastor’s call that pervades the New Testament. From the apostles’ disciplined devotion “to prayer and to the ministry of the word” (Acts 6:4) to Paul’s insistent pleas that Timothy devote himself to the proclamation of Scripture and its teaching (1 Timothy 4:6, 13, 16; 2 Timothy 1:13; 2:2, 15; 4:1-2, et al), God’s Word places a claim on both the content and methodology of pastoral ministry: Scripture and its teaching must be the standard and substance of the pastor’s ministry.
Now, that’s easier said than done, for at least two reasons.
First, perhaps more than ever before, pastors are vulnerable to competing visions for ministry, to measuring ministry “success” by business metrics rather than faithfulness to Scripture, to grasping for some heretofore undiscovered insight that will make the decisive difference in their church. Even for the most earnest pastor, the promise of immediate success is a powerful enticement to pragmatic measures.
Second, it’s a challenge because Scripture doesn’t speak specifically to every facet of church life and ministry. It requires an ever-deepening understanding of the Bible, a grasp of its details and overarching unity, a sensitivity to the “pattern” (2 Timothy 1:13) and proportionality of its truth. More than anything, it requires
a firm grasp of the gospel and its entailments for the Christian life individually, and for the church’s life corporately. Of course, faithful pastoral ministry will look different in different contexts, and no one will execute theological ministry perfectly. Our perception is never perfect, our motives unclouded, or our actions flawless. It is, however, something to which Scripture calls us to aspire.
Well, that’s a glimpse of what we’re endeavoring to instill into our students in the Pastors College, and that’s what I’ll be thinking out loud about in upcoming posts: theological and biblical reflection, particularly as it impinges upon the glorious work of pastoral ministry—proclaiming the gospel, expounding God’s truth, and caring for those for whom our Savior died. The thought of that privilege is staggering.