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Scot McKnight

You probably know that I am from Illinois in the United States, and so I want to introduce you to an Illinoisan expression. When we wonder in Illinois if something is credible and real, practicable and true, we ask “But will it play in Peoria?” If it plays in Peoria, an ordinary blue-collar community in Illinois, it will play everywhere. My claim today is that the proposal being made today about the gospel is the sort of thing that will play in Peoria. My two claims are these: As evangelicals, and even more broadly, we have misdefined the gospel. And second, the church—both the universal and the local—is the gospel. Both of these, of course, need nuances, and I shall proceed now to make my case for both.

The Gospel

An irony in the contemporary (American, at least) evangelical scene is that there’s a genuine battle for the gospel. It’s the one thing we ought to have figured out by now but it’s one of the elements of our faith that genuinely is being debated today. In broad strokes I think I can say there are two poles to this discussion in the US. On the left pole one finds people like Peter Gomes, the well-known preacher at Harvard’s Memorial Church, or Brian McLaren’s The Secret Message of Jesus which was then clarified sociopolitically in Everything Must Change.1 Keeping to a broad brush, the left pole is to one degree or another a social justice or liberation theology gospel, and in this framework the gospel means more or less justice. Justice, I fear, means what the French handed on to moderns: freedom, fellowship, and equality, and tied into them a sense of human rights. I banked on each of these in our trip from Chicago to Perth, and I value these elements of a Western sense of justice, and each of them in some ways flows directly from what the Bible says about justice, but the earliest Christian rock band, Peter, Paul, and Jesus, would simply not recognize this sense of justice as what they meant by “gospel.” These forms of justice may well be good for society today, but they simply aren’t what the word “gospel” means. The essence of liberalism is to colonize the Bible, theology, and the gospel into culture. This left pole is guilty of colonizing the gospel into Western values.

If the left understands the gospel as justice, the right considers it as justification. From John Piper, who asked if Jesus preached Paul’s gospel—and by that wondered if Jesus preached justification by faith alone, to Greg Gilbert’s new book What is the Gospel?, this group of pastors and theologians believe the gospel is justification by faith, and by this they mean justification as understood in the Reformation. Without a hint of reductionism, the essence of this gospel is double imputation and the necessity for the sinner to dig deeply into his or her own dark heart to see the glory of this truth in order truly to be saved or to have comprehended the gospel.2 Still, Gilbert’s book perfectly meshes with the standard understanding of the gospel that one hears in most forms of evangelism, from John Stott and Billy Graham, to Nicky Gumbel: God is creator, God is loving but holy, humans are made in God’s image but are sinners under God’s wrath, Jesus came to die so that wrath can be averted, and all one must do is to believe that message—faith alone—and so attain salvation to spend eternity with God. Gilbert’s approach is more nuanced, but he has four points: God (and love is minimized in his sketch), man as sinner, Christ, and faith. Yes, each of these elements is true and can be found in the Bible but Jesus, Peter, and Paul would not recognize that gospel as their gospel. In other words, I’m unconvinced either of these gospels will play in the Peoria of the New Testament. I am convinced they do play in modern Peorias because both are forms of colonizing the gospel to the agendas of our own culture. Those are strong claims and they will be supported in what follows.

Before I sketch how Jesus and the apostles understood the gospel, I want to make three brief points. The first is that many of us, and I include myself, came to Christ when someone preached that gospel as the gospel. So, whatever I have to say in what follows does not diminish that this gospel has worked, works, and will probably continue to work. Second, this word “works” deserves attention. The correlation of those who respond to that four- or five-step gospel and those who follow Christ as disciples is not high. David Kinnamon, who is now President of the Barna Research organization, showed me some numbers once wherein it was clear that about 90 percent of children who grow up in evangelical homes “make a decision for Christ” but only about 20 percent can be said to be “following Christ” when they are in their thirties. The research doesn’t show this, but does anyone doubt that the gospel those 90 percent heard was more or less the gospel we sketched above? The third point now will begin to scrape the chalkboard: the four-point approach in the standard evangelical gospel is our doctrine of salvation arranged into a compelling, convicting, guilt-producing, rhetorical bundle. What drives this gospel, though, has begun to change in the last decade or so, with a marked decline in the idea that God is the kind of judge who will send someone to suffer consciously in hell for all eternity if they don’t respond to the offer of the good news. What many of us grew up with then was a rhetorically effective bundling of the doctrine of salvation shaped to precipitate decisions that would relieve our deepest angst about God and our eternal state, and what drove that bundle was the threat of judgment and hell. Jesus, then, was sent to give us a chance to escape the wrath of God.

Again, I do not question any of the four points or anything I’ve said about salvation in the previous comments. I believe in God’s judgment, and I believe that Jesus saves us, and I believe that God loves us. But, and here’s the scraping part, this is not what Jesus, or Peter, or Paul meant when they used the word “gospel.” What, then, did they mean?

Leg One: 1 Corinthians 15

To answer this question, we have to ask how we are to answer this question. In good Protestant fashion we have to go to the Bible, and that means we are in search of a text that defines gospel, and happily we’ve got one: 1 Corinthians 15. But when we go to 1 Corinthians 15, something in the text immediately jumps up at us and says “Surprise, surprise!” Why? Because the one text that defines gospel in the entire New Testament tells us that the gospel is neither “justice” nor “justification.” Instead, it tells us that the gospel announces the resolution to a story. To be sure, that story saves, effecting both justification and justice, but what drives the gospel according to 1 Corinthians is neither the injustice of this world that needs to be set aright, nor our sins—Adamic and personal—that need to be forgiven. And neither does it suggest that the problem the gospel resolves is God’s wrath. What drives the justice gospel is social systems gone awry and what drives the justification gospel is personal rebellion leading to guilt, but what drives the apostolic gospel of 1 Corinthians 15 is something else.

I will make seven observations about the apostolic gospel, and I will then suggest that this fresh perspective on the gospel throws piercing light on church praxis and mission in our world today. Rerun: what played in the original Peoria of the New Testament will play as well in modern and postmodern Peorias. But it will require that we make some adjustments in our minds and praxis.

First, a historical claim: before there was a New Testament, before the apostles wrote letters, before the Gospels were written, there was the gospel. When it comes to the Christian faith, in the beginning was the gospel. The gospel created the church, and the Gospels. The gospel created the Epistles, and the gospel created the New Testament, and the canon.

Second, there is dispute about which verses of this text are the gospel. Some say only verses three to five refer to the gospel while others see it extending from verse three through to verse eight. But in light of what we will see of the gospel elsewhere in the New Testament, and all the way to the Nicene Creed, we might do ourselves the favor of thinking that Paul, though he can chase a few tangents here and there, never left the gospel and that it extends from verse three through to verse twenty-eight.

Third, the gospel of 1 Corinthians 15 is not Paul’s gospel as if he were the first to articulate it. The gospel of 1 Corinthians 15, made clear in Paul’s own words in verses 1–3, is the one and only apostolic gospel that was passed on in oral form from the very beginning by all apostolic Christians. This is not Paul’s gospel; this is the apostolic gospel and therefore Paul’s gospel.

Fourth, the gospel is defined by events in Jesus’s life. In crisp formulae we find four rapidly narrated events in verses 3–5: he died, he was buried, he was raised, and he appeared. If we continue to verse 28, we need to add that he was exalted, and he will reign, and he will return, and he will hand over to the Father. Instead of four spiritual laws, we get four (or more) events in the life of Jesus. I cannot emphasize this contrast enough. The gospel of evangelicalism is an abstracted system of salvation and even transaction; the gospel of the apostles was a story about Jesus. I’m not saying this to be cute or provocative; I’m saying this because it’s what 1 Corinthians 15 says.

Fifth, the word “gospel” means to “announce” or to “declare,” and what is declared according to 1 Corinthians 15 is that Israel’s story has come to its fitting completion in the story of Jesus. “To gospel,” then, was to announce that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah and the destined goal of the story of Israel. This is made clear in verses 3–5 in the words “according to the Scriptures” but it is found in the constant resonances of verses 3–28 to the Old Testament narrative. What drives this story is neither injustice nor the need for personal salvation but the need for a king for Israel. Jesus is that king.

Sixth, this story about Jesus saves. Or better, Jesus saves, but the Jesus who saves is the Jesus of this story of Israel. He’s the Savior of Israel. But the defining word for Jesus in the gospel is that he is Messiah and Lord. As Messiah and as Lord he is Savior. Once a young man wrote me an e-mail and asked this question: what does Jesus being Messiah have to do with the gospel? We’ve got a problem if we are asking that question. We’re so far from the original Peoria we don’t even know where it is! The reason the e-mailer asked that question was because he understood the gospel not as justice but as personal salvation from God’s wrath and his personal sin, and Jesus being a Jewish Messiah had so little to do with it, he was having trouble making sense of the only narrative that the Bible tells. But, still and without any reduction, this story saves. In verse 3, Paul says Jesus “died for our sins.” There is no explicit atonement theory here because for the apostles the effect of the gospel was salvation, however it happened.

Seventh, the gospel is a complete story of Jesus. It has been said, and it deserves to be said often, that for most Christians, and here I blanket the entire church—Orthodoxy, Catholicism, and Protestantism—the only event in the life of Jesus of significance was his death. They have a Good Friday gospel. But the gospel of the apostles included his life as well as his death and his burial, and his resurrection and his exaltation. It’s a complete life that has to be told if we wish to announce the gospel.

Before I push on, a tangent for you to think about. I grew up reading the Bible through a salvation hermeneutic that went something like this: Creation, Fall, Redemption, and Consummation, sometimes abbreviated C-F-R-C. One year while teaching the whole Bible to a group of first year college students it dawned on me, that no one in the Bible revealed that he or she read the Bible like that until Romans 5 and 1 Corinthians 15. Furthermore, if we are bound to restrict the gospel to verses 3–5 or 3–8, then we will have to admit that the C-F-R-C narrative is not the gospel but a salvation story. But, as I said earlier, it is wiser to extend the gospel to verse 28, and if we do that, there is at least the reality of the C-F-R-C in the apostolic gospel statement. But there the focus is not so much on the death of Christ but the resurrection of Christ.

Let me now summarize: we have seen that in the one and only place where the term is actually defined the gospel refers to the narration of the entire story of Jesus as the completion of the story of Israel and that this narrative story of Jesus saves us from our sins. To “gospel,” then, means to tell this story of Jesus as the saving story. I believe we’ve got the saving part down pat, and we’ve ignored the story almost entirely.

Leg Two: The Sermons in Acts

But it is the story that is precisely what two other major elements of the New Testament understanding of the gospel tell us as well. If the first leg in our stool is the apostolic definition of the gospel in 1 Corinthians, the second element is the apostolic gospel sermons in Acts. There are in fact seven of them, unless you count Stephen’s speech, in which case there are eight. I don’t, but that’s because it ends with finger pointing instead of a call to conversion.

Sit down some day and read Acts 2, 3, 4, 10–11, 13, 14, and 17. Then read them all over again carefully with this question: If these two apostles, Peter and Paul, are gospelling in these passages, what was their gospel? What was the gospel of their gospelling sermons? I hope you conclude what I concluded a few years back, and I hope you don’t do what I did. I was writing books on the gospel and atonement, one of which was popular, called Embracing Grace, and one for a more pastoral context, A Community Called Atonement. When I was working on those books, I was convinced that the gospel was the message of salvation, and in that work I happened quite often onto the sermons in Acts and kept saying to myself: but these apostolic sermons don’t do what I’m doing. I didn’t think the apostles were wrong, but they didn’t fit how I was describing a salvation and atonement theory. Because I didn’t think that I might be wrong, I ignored Acts. But for a lecture on the book of Acts I was to give at the University of Stellenbosch, I decided to work on the gospel in the book of Acts, and I have to confess it was one of the rare academic experiences where everything fell into place, not unlike the way Chesterton described his conversion. Formerly I couldn’t quite figure out what to make of the apostolic gospel sermons in Acts, but I thought I had salvation more or less figured out. But in working on that lecture for South Africa, it suddenly dawned on me that what I was calling “gospel” was not what Peter and Paul would have called gospel. Instead, the word “gospel” refers to something else.

What was that? Go ahead, read Acts 2, 3, 4, 10–11, 13, 14, and 173 and you will no doubt conclude what I concluded. The gospel of the apostles was not the “plan of salvation” or “how to get saved” or atonement theory or anything like what the “left” or the “right” said it was. Instead, those seven apostolic sermons had one and the same perception of the gospel: it is the announcement that the narrative of Israel’s story had come to completion in the story of Jesus as Israel’s Messiah and Lord. In other words, the sermons in the book of Acts take the gospel of 1 Corinthians 15 and make it sing and sting in real, live preaching. Seven sermons are hard to digest at once and they are also hard to synthesize into a few words, so I’ll just make a couple observations. But before I do that let me quote from the heart of Peter’s gospel sermon to Cornelius, who lived in Caesarea Maritima, the newly fashioned city built by Herod the Great. We were in Caesarea recently and it struck me as a really good place to explain the gospel to gentiles, which is just what Peter did.

Then Peter began to speak: “I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right. You know the message God sent to the people of Israel, announcing the good news of peace through Jesus Christ, who is Lord of all. You know what has happened throughout the province of Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John preached—how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power, and how he went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil, because God was with him.

“We are witnesses of everything he did in the country of the Jews and in Jerusalem. They killed him by hanging him on a cross, but God raised him from the dead on the third day and caused him to be seen. He was not seen by all the people, but by witnesses whom God had already chosen—by us who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one whom God appointed as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.” (Acts 10:34–43)

First, the gospel in Acts is driven by the story of Israel coming to completion in the story of Jesus, and in particular in the glories of his resurrection and exaltation. Observe as you read the texts in Acts how frequently the apostles Peter and Paul are using Old Testament texts. In the text I just quoted, Peter caps it off with this: “All the prophets testify about him” (10:43). Second, these apostolic gospel sermons declare the whole story about Jesus: life, death, burial, resurrection, and vindication. Third, they make claims about Jesus, calling him Messiah, Lord, Prince, Servant, Holy and Righteous One, the Author of Life, and the Prophet. Peter said in Acts 2:36, at the concluding point of his sermon, that “God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah.” It can be said, in other words, that gospelling is about hermeneutics: it’s about how to make sense of history in light of who Jesus is. My fourth point, which would take weeks to unpack, is that Paul’s gospelling involves adaptation to gentile contexts in such a way that the story of Israel is extended into new categories and new terms. In Acts 17 one needs to read the lines and between the lines when Paul is preaching on the Areopagus. What we discover here is that Paul keeps the story about Jesus and his resurrection, he anchors it in the story of Israel, and he points his fingers at his listeners to tell them they are accountable to God. Which leads to my fifth and final point: gospelling in the book of Acts leads to a summons to repent, to believe, and to be baptized. No gospelling is complete unless it calls people to turn from self-control to surrender to what God tells us in the story of Jesus.

To sum up again: what is the gospel in the gospelling sermons in Acts? Plain and simple, it is that the story of Israel is now fulfilled in the story of Jesus’s life, in his messianic ministry, his death, his burial, his resurrection, and his vindication by being exalted to the right hand of God. It’s the same gospel that we find in 1 Corinthians 15. This gospel is not driven by the need for personal salvation; it is not driven by an atonement theory; it is not even driven by the grace or love or holiness of God. Instead, it is driven from beginning to end by the story of Israel coming to completion in Jesus. “To gospel” is to announce that Jesus is the Messiah and Lord. That story, if this needs to be said, awakens people to their own life, to their own usurpation of God’s role in their life, and to their need to repent, confess, believe, and be baptized. But notice that the apostles did not manipulate their audience in order to manufacture decisions; instead, they were confident in the story of Jesus and they declared that gospel boldly.

Third Leg: The Gospels and the Gospel

One more point and then we’ll consider what it means for the church to be the gospel today. If we want to understand the gospel, we have to go to the apostolic definition, 1 Corinthians 15. And we have to go to the apostolic gospel sermons, for the apostles ought to know what the gospel is and how to preach it, and those are found in Acts. The third leg is almost cheeky in how it surprises us. Here it is, and I make this point by asking a question: Why do you think the Gospel writers and especially the early churches called the first four books of the New Testament the gospel? The answer is simple, and it virtually clinches our case: they called Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John “the gospel according to . . .” because the first four books of the New Testament are the gospel. They were not using the term “gospel” as a genre, as we do today. They were marking the substance and content of the first four books, and they called them the gospel.

The point needs emphasis. Again, when we say they are gospels we are not speaking of a kind of literature, a genre. Instead, we’re saying that they called Matthew “the gospel” because Matthew’s Gospel is the gospel. Why are they the gospel? Did they preach justification by faith? Penal substitution? Double imputation? A new kind of justice? A new kind of peace? Well, you can try hard as you want to show they did, but the honest soul knows that when he or she is done trying to wrestle the first four books into those terms that it could only be accomplished with force and coercion and twists and pleadings to make them say those things. I’m suggesting this is wrongheaded. If you equate gospel with justification by faith, as the right does, you will be disappointed with the Gospels, and that is one reason why some today avoid the Gospels when they preach and why some are wondering if they are preliminary to the gospel. In other words, though I’m putting cheeky words in their mouths, they are saying, “Poor Jesus, born on the wrong side of the cross, didn’t get to preach the full gospel.” What I’m saying is that some are driven to this because they have failed to ask basic questions and go to the basic texts. They failed to ask if it plays in the original Peoria. My friend, I’m appealing to you to reconsider the original gospel. The gospel is defined in 1 Corinthians 15, it is preached in the book of Acts, and it is detailed in the four Gospels.

So here is our conclusion: the Gospels are called the gospel (always singular, never plural) because they are preeminently the gospel. I quote an Australian, John Dickson, which ought to clinch my point: “All of the Scriptures point to the gospel, but only the Gospels recount the gospel in all its fullness. The Gospels and the gospel are one.”4 If Dickson is right, and our sketch above suggests he is, do you realize what this means for evangelism? What this means for the basic framework of theology?

We need not delay: if we are right on 1 Corinthians 15 and the gospel sermons in Acts, you can see why the Gospels are called The Gospel: because they, too, tell the story of Israel coming to completion in the complete story of Jesus as King and as the one who saves us from our sins. To make this point one other way: when asking if Jesus preached the gospel, it is customary to show how Jesus’s soteriology fits ours, or Paul’s soteriology. After wrangling with the texts long enough to show they fit, we stand up with a flag of victory and say, “See there, Jesus preached the gospel.” But this is mistaken if we are right about the gospel. Instead, we need to be asking this: “Do the Gospel writers, and does Jesus himself, make sense of life by showing that Jesus is himself the completion of Israel’s story?” We don’t ask first, “Does Jesus preach justification?” We ask first, “Does Jesus preach himself?” I could go on, my point has been made.

Church as Gospel

Our aim today is not just to argue this theological point about what the gospel was in the original Peoria, even if it is arguably the single-most important theological point that needs to be made. Instead, I want to tie the church to the gospel by saying the church is designed to be the gospel. This immediately connects us with the idea of the missio Dei,5 that is, the idea that the church does not have its own mission, but that its task is to join in God’s mission. Speaking of God’s mission invokes words like Israel, kingdom, and church as well, although we can’t resolve all these issues in this setting.6 Probing this discussion through the window of gospel will permit us to see enough to know our task.

I’m going to circle around now and say that the church is the gospel to the degree that it embodies the gospel of 1 Corinthians 15, the sermons in Acts and the Gospels themselves. That gospel is a story—a story about Israel coming to fulfillment in the story of Jesus. In essence, then, the gospel is about Jesus, and the church is to declare that story in word and in deed. The operative word for us is “embody.” But to embody that story, we have to learn the story, we will have to indwell the story, and only then can we embody the story in our world today. To each term we now turn.

Learn the Story

If we are to become truly “gospelized” people, we will have to become people of the Book, or people of the story, people who find the Bible’s story about Israel, Jesus, and the church to be their defining story. We live in a biblically available culture though not a biblically literate culture. You and I have the Bibles at our fingertips, whether in “hard copy” or on our computers and smartphones. The Bible is available, but we don’t know the Bible’s story or stories. To remedy this we are going to have to read the Bible for ourselves and draw others into that Bible; and we will have to stop preaching our favorite texts and start preaching the whole Bible, and a lectionary is a good place to start; and we might begin doing more reading from the Bible during our Sunday morning services, learning the art of the public reading of large chunks of Scripture.

I want to take Mary as an example of learning to read the Bible aright, which means a good place to start is at the low point of her life as recorded in Scripture, at Mark 3:21, 31–35:

Then Jesus entered a house, and again a crowd gathered, so that he and his disciples were not even able to eat. When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him, for they said, “He is out of his mind.” . . . Then Jesus’ mother and brothers arrived. Standing outside, they sent someone in to call him. A crowd was sitting around him, and they told him, “Your mother and brothers are outside looking for you.” “Who are my mother and my brothers?” he asked. Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.”

Mary hears of the good and unconventional deeds of Jesus down on the Sea of Galilee at Capernaum. She, along with her sons and daughters (Mark 6:3), comes to the conclusion that Jesus “is out of his mind.” Dick France, after sorting out the evidence, renders the scene in these words: “Jesus’ people back home [i.e., his family] have heard reports on the rowdy scenes in Capernaum, and decide that it is time to take Jesus in hand for his own sake and for the family’s reputation, on that assumption that, to use a modern idiom, he has ‘flipped.’”7 We, together with the second evangelist, know Mary has got her facts wrong. Yes, she’s probably worried Jesus could lose his life; yes, from what she knows, her son, who is born to be Messiah, is losing favor fast with those in power; but, no, this isn’t contrary to God’s will. But Mary doesn’t know that.

Why? Because she believed every word the angel told her: that her son was destined to occupy the throne of David forever. Why? Because the song she sang, the Magnificat, sings of an imminent victory of God over the Romans and the disestablishment of injustice and the establishment of justice and peace. Why? Because her relative priest, Zechariah, said what amounts to the same thing. Why? Because whatever Simeon meant by a sword, Mary knew that her son was designed by God to bring the consolation of Israel. Why? Because not long ago she had seen, down the hill in Cana, a miracle beyond miracles. At the heart of each of these why questions was an answer that involved her son, Jesus: he would be king, he would bring justice, he would kick out the Romans, he would bring consolation, and God’s power was upon him unlike anything Israel had ever seen. That was her story, and she was sticking to it. That’s why Jesus was out of his mind; he evidently wasn’t living out the same story.

But God had another story, and she had to learn it if she was to learn Israel’s story so that it led to her Son in the way God designed it. She had to go back and listen again to what Simeon meant when he said a sword would pierce her own heart; she had to go back in time to Jerusalem when after traveling an entire day, perhaps all the way to Scythopolis, a Roman city over which stood the tel on which Saul was brutally exhibited, she and Joseph realized Jesus wasn’t with them. So they retraced their steps, and having climbed up to the temple, they found the young messianic boy teaching the leaders of Israel. At that time, he taught Mary that he had to be about his Father’s business, and Mary began to ponder what kind of boy he might be. But she knew because she had heard the angel and had sung the song and seen the miracles. She also had to go back and think of how he first responded to the request for more wine. Instead of saying “Sure, mom, check the clay pots,” Jesus said, “Not now.” At that moment Mary surrendered to Jesus’s plans. There were, in other words, hints, but nothing was as clear as this silliness of attracting hookers and toll collectors, of hanging with fishermen and family members, and of exorcising demons and troubling the Pharisees.

Mary had to learn a different story, and eventually she did, but it may not have been until her son was publicly and humiliatingly crucified in Jerusalem, no doubt stark naked, with a mocking title over his head that Mary gained the chutzpah to believe. When did she learn? We don’t know, but by the time Jesus was raised and exalted, she had come to terms with the story more completely because she was with the followers of Jesus in Acts 1 and she was there at Pentecost, and she no doubt played a role in the early fellowship in Jerusalem, and it was no doubt in part from her that Luke was able to tell the stories of Luke 1–2 and that one of her other sons, James, was able to lead the church in Jerusalem.

What was the story she had to learn? That God’s story is Jesus’s story. That making sense of Jesus’s story is the way to make sense of God’s story in this world. That her son, Jesus, was indeed the Messiah, but that he was a Messiah who would reign not by force or by coercion or by violence, but by suffering under the force, coercion, and violence of the political, military, and religious leadership of Jerusalem. But that God, her God, could raise her son back to life and exalt him above every other name, and that this story, the story of living faithfully, dying unjustly but redemptively, and being raised was the story that needed to be learned.

It’s told over and over in the pages of the Bible, beginning of course with Adam, and Abraham, and Joseph, and Moses, and David, and the prophets, who in their own ways anticipate the fulfillment of God’s story in the story of Jesus. But we can’t become gospelers until we learn this story the way Mary had to learn it. When we do, the gospel comes alive and we can expand beyond the reductive boundaries of the gospel that so many of us learned, and learn to embrace the kind of gospel Jesus and the apostles preached.

Indwell the Story

Learning the story is the first part. It is when we indwell the story that we, as the church, become the gospel by embodying it. I’d like to take Paul the apostle, and especially as seen in Galatians, to illustrate what I mean by “indwelling” the story.

We will assume the conversion story of Paul in Acts 9. What we find is that Paul’s encounter with Jesus, the resurrected, vindicated, and now speaking-to-Paul Jesus, was a one-of-a-kind explosive encounter and from that point on, Paul reframed Israel’s story as a story that was fulfilled in Jesus. Allow me, though, to retrace steps by saying that Paul’s conversion story is not the story of “how he got saved” so much as how he came to the conviction that Jesus was Messiah. Anyone who has studied the stories of Jews who convert to Jesus know that the conversion story is essentially one of exploring whether or not Jesus is Messiah.8 That, I am contending, is the archetypal gospel story and gospel response.

How then did Paul “indwell” this story? He not only had learned the story inside and out, as the many references to the Old Testament and his exegesis of the Old Testament reveal, but he had learned to indwell this story. I want to draw our attention to one text, Galatians 2:15–21, which can be read as the central theological text of the entire letter.

We who are Jews by birth and not sinful Gentiles know that a person is not justified by the works of the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ. So we, too, have put our faith in Christ Jesus that we may be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the law, because by the works of the law no one will be justified.

“But if, in seeking to be justified in Christ, we Jews find ourselves also among the sinners, doesn’t that mean that Christ promotes sin? Absolutely not! If I rebuild what I destroyed, then I really would be a lawbreaker.

“For through the law I died to the law so that I might live for God. I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!”

For our purposes the opening lines of verses 15–16 are nothing short of monumental. Here is Paul, a Jew, dragging Peter, also a Jew, into the same circle, and openly confesses that justification before God comes by faith and not by adherence to the Torah. However, one comprehends Judaism and Paul’s relationship to Judaism, and how one comprehends justification, whether it is exclusively a soteriological word or also an ecclesiological word, what matters here is that Paul indwells this story of Jesus as the saving story. I take the “we” and the “I” of this entire passage to be about the Jewish experience (and not the gentile experience).

The story of Israel has become, in the hands of Paul, the story of Jesus who saves both Jews and gentiles on the basis of faith. The Torah has served its purpose; the Torah that divided the Jew from the gentile has now lost its divisive power. Paul is indwelling this story of a Jew and gentile church, a free and slave church, and a male and female church, and this church’s unity is found 100 percent in Christ alone. (That’s another sola for our Protestant theology: unity in Christ alone.)

Furthermore, Paul personally indwells this story because he’s died with Christ on the cross; so much has the cross become central to Christ and his story that he has climbed Golgotha and died with Christ. Yet more, the life he now lives is a resurrection life; so much has the resurrection penetrated his theology that the very Christian life he now indwells is a resurrection life that taps into the resurrected life of Christ. Thus, “Christ lives in me.”

His entire life is now a Christ-life. That story has so impacted him that his life is now indwelt by Christ and he indwells Christ, and his life is the Christ-life lived out in the Roman Empire for the sake of Christ. Paul’s life is thoroughly gospelized: he has learned the story and he is indwelling the story.

Embody the Story

Enough theory. What about today? How can we embody the gospel today? How can we make the story visible to our communities? I want to suggest that one word will tie this into a coherent whole for us, and that one word is witness. We are called to be witnesses.

But of what? That’s one of our problems. We are witnesses to so many things, perhaps too many things. Let me call attention to American Peoria for a minute. I’m sure that most people know about the Republicans and the Democrats, and you probably know that many evangelicals are Republicans, and if you listen to some—not all, mind you—you would think some evangelicals are witnesses to Republican politics. And we are witnesses also to, for many, a preferred lifestyle. We need to hear again the searching words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, not the least of which would be those found in Matthew 6:25–34, which probe us and say, “You are way too wealthy, you are holding on to too many things, and you are wearing fine clothing and jewelry, and you . . . you . . . you.” Power and money. All we need is sex and we’ve got the devilish trinity.

But I want to contend that the way we most embody the story is to witness to Jesus Christ:

But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. (Acts 1:8)

Beginning from John’s baptism to the time when Jesus was taken up from us. For one of these must become a witness with us of his resurrection. (Acts 1:22)

God has raised this Jesus to life, and we are all witnesses of the fact. (Acts 2:32)

You killed the author of life, but God raised him from the dead. We are witnesses of this. (Acts 3:15)

We are witnesses of these things, and so is the Holy Spirit, whom God has given to those who obey him. (Acts 5:32)

We are witnesses of everything he did in the country of the Jews and in Jerusalem. They killed him by hanging him on a cross. (Acts 10:39)

He was not seen by all the people, but by witnesses whom God had already chosen—by us who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. (Acts 10:41)

And for many days he was seen by those who had traveled with him from Galilee to Jerusalem. They are now his witnesses to our people. (Acts 13:31)

You will be his witness to all people of what you have seen and heard. (Acts 22:15)

Now get up and stand on your feet. I have appeared to you to appoint you as a servant and as a witness of what you have seen and will see of me. (Acts 26:16)

Of all these statements, the first and last are the most important to me: We are witnesses and we are called to be a witness “of what we have seen and will see” of Jesus. We embody the gospel when we convert churches from lifestyle organizations and from political powerhouses into places where people can hear about Jesus, find Jesus, and learn to live under him, with him, and behind him. We are witnesses when the entire church becomes enraptured with the story of Jesus and lets that story shape everything: everything we think, everything we say, and everything we do.

Do you want to embody the gospel? Tell people about Jesus. Point people to Jesus. Live Jesus. With others.

Bibliography

Dickson, John. The Best Kept Secret of Christian Mission: Promoting the Gospel with More than Our Lips. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013.

France, R. T. The Gospel of Mark. New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002.

Gilbert, Greg. What is the Gospel? Wheaton: Crossway, 2010.

Gomes, Peter J. The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus: What’s So Good about the Good News? New York: HarperOne, 2007.

Jenson, Matt, and David E. Wilhite. The Church: A Guide for the Perplexed. New York: T. & T. Clark/Continuum, 2010.

McKnight, Scot, and Hauna Ondrey. Finding Faith, Losing Faith. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008.

McLaren, Brian. Everything Must Change: When the World’s Biggest Problems and Jesus’ Good News Collide. Nashville: Nelson, 2007.

———. The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth That Could Change Everything. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006.

Piper, John. God is the Gospel: Meditations on God’s Love as the Gift of Himself. Wheaton: Crossway, 2005.

Wright, Christopher. The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006.

1. See Gomes, Scandalous Gospel; McLaren, Secret Message; Everything Must Change.

2. See Piper, God is the Gospel, and Gilbert, What is the Gospel?

3. More precisely: Acts 2:14–39; 3:12–26; 4:8–12; 10:34–43 with 11:4–18; 13:16–41; 14:15–17; 17:22–31. If we add Stephen’s speech, 7:2–53.

4. Dickson, Best Kept Secret, 140, emphasis added.

5. Jenson and Wilhite, Church, 153–91.

6. Wright, Mission of God.

7. France, Gospel of Mark, 167.

8. See McKnight and Ondrey, Finding Faith.