Why Contemplate The Cross?

The other day I watched a video of a guy playing a kazookeylele and singing "The Final Countdown" loudly and off-key. (A kazookeylele combines a keyboard, a ukelele, and a kazoo.) I laughed hard and showed it to my wife, who could not understand why I found something so annoying to be so funny. So I sent a link of the video to my son, figuring that since he gets half his DNA from me (a fact he may regret but cannot deny), he would laugh too.

But when I talked to him on the phone he said that he watched the kazookeyleleist right after seeing Team USA member Paul George get his leg gruesomely broken in an exhibition basketball game. The video of that injury was so disturbing that he wasn't in a frame of mind to chortle over some mindless buffoonery. Bad timing, I guess.

I told my son that I had not seen the Paul George injury. I can't watch those things. To this day I've never seen the famous Joe Theismann or Kevin Ware bone-breaks. Whenever a sportscast shows a player twisting his ankle, I look away. Call me a wimp, and I'll agree with you. Mine is a sensitive nature. Though the main reason I've never seen The Passion Of The Christ is because I object to actors portraying Jesus, it is also true that my spirit erupts with profoundest discomfort whenever I see someone getting beaten. The book Unbroken is one of the best I've read in a while, but I won't see the movie version. I can't imagine sitting there watching poor Louie Zamperini get tortured in a Japanese POW camp for an hour or more.

Christians are sometimes accused of morbidity because of our weird obsession with the agonizing death that Jesus suffered on the cross. Why focus on that? Why are we so into pain?

Well, I'm not into pain. My cowardice and extreme sensitivity, though embarrassing to me, serve to deflect suspicion that I might be guilty of sadism or masochism. That can't be it. I'm no voyeur. I cannot bear the thought of experiencing, inflicting, or even observing great physical distress. I'd rather watch a kazookeyleleist any day.

So why think about Jesus on the cross? Two reasons occur to me. The first is the obvious one, that contemplating the cross of Christ reminds me of the wrath of God toward sin and of his love for me, the sinner. On the cross, God took upon God the brutality, ugliness, corruption and outrage of the whole writhing mass of humanity at its most foul. Evil - including my evil - met its match at the cross of Jesus, and was swallowed up in his love.

There is another reason too, and it is kind of related to my son's inability to laugh right after watching Paul George get hurt. Certain scenes temper our spirits and deepen us, and it is good for us to allow those things to affect us that way lest we spend our whole lives splashing about in a shallow pool of fluff and nonsense. I don't think that regular contemplation of the cross of Christ will - or should - diminish our joy or impair our ability to indulge in occasional giddy romps of clowning around. In fact, it has always seemed to me that devout Christians laugh more than anyone else I know.

But contemplating the cross does make it a bit harder to sin. Try being a real jerk to somebody right after, in your mind's eye, spending some time at the foot of the cross of the suffering Lord Jesus. It's like giggling at comedy after watching a brutal injury - you can't do it.

I like to quote a professor of mine who interviewed evangelical scholars and administrators Kenneth Kantzer and Carl F. H. Henry shortly before they died. He asked them how they had kept themselves from becoming proud because of their prominent roles in scholarly evangelical witness and influence in the latter half of the 20th century. By what means of grace had God preserved in them the spirit of charity, humility and good will? They sputtered in their embarrassment, till at last Henry answered, "How can anyone be arrogant at the foot of the cross?"

C. S. Lewis On The Conditionality Of Love

In The Horse and His Boy, King Peter asks his sister, Queen Susan, if she plans to marry her boyfriend, Prince Rabadash. She answers, "No, brother, not for all the jewels in Tashbaan." Now that she has gotten to know Rabadash better, she sees that he is a bad person. Peter replies, "Truly, sister, I should have loved you the less if you had taken him." Peter could not figure out why she had ever liked him in the first place.

Most evangelicals today find morally repugnant any sentence that begins with the words, "I should have loved you the less if...". They would regard Peter as a terrible man for letting his love for his sister rise or fall in response to her moral performance. But Peter does not apologize for saying it, and Susan is not offended by it, and C. S. Lewis, who wrote the dialogue, clearly regards the sentiment as valid. All three believe that Peter would not have sinned by loving his sister less if she had knowingly married a bad man. (What might have motivated her to marry that villain? His money and good looks? For shame.) Peter rejoiced to see his sister choosing wisely, and that enabled him to love her more than he could have had she succumbed to baser motivations of wealth and appearance. The degree of his love was frankly conditional. It was set, at least in part, to the gauge of her moral behavior.

Christians in former times understood this principle, and, as best as I have been able to determine, never challenged it. The better the person, the more you can love him. Christians likewise understood that the better person you are yourself, the more you are able to love someone else. In 1649, Richard Lovelace, explaining to his girlfriend Lucasta why he had to leave her to go fight in battle, wrote, "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more." That is a profound insight into the nature of love and its degrees. Because Lovelace loved honor more than he loved Lucasta, he was able to love her more than he could have had he been a coward. Righteous behavior increases love in all directions.

Lamentably, leading voices in evangelicalism over the past 30 years have labored to sever this intuitive and long-cherished connection between goodness and love. They have taken rhetorical sledgehammers to the mortar that binds the increase of love to the increase of moral excellence. They have been so successful in dismantling this conditional aspect of love that they have rendered the words of wise King Peter repulsive to the modern Christian ear. This is a bad thing.

Peter is not the only victim. So also is Sarah Smith, the holiest character apart from Aslan that C. S. Lewis ever dreamed up. In The Great Divorce, Sarah is dead on earth but wonderfully alive in heaven, where she meets with her newly arrived husband Frank. Frank is a damned soul and a selfish jerk who is only visiting Paradise so he can rebuke it. He hides behind a false front, a Tragedian actor, who does the talking for him. As Frank resists Sarah's invitation to leave pretense behind and begin an ascent to the higher mountains of heaven, he becomes smaller and smaller until he disappears completely into his spokesman. Sarah then says to this facade:

"Where is Frank? And who are you, Sir? I never knew you. Perhaps you had better leave me. Or stay, if you prefer. If it would help you and if it were possible I would go down with you into Hell: but you cannot bring Hell into me."

The Tragedian responds, "You do not love me."

She answers, "I cannot love a lie. I cannot love the thing which is not. I am in Love, and out of it I will not go."

Sarah's love is conditional. She can only love Frank if he truly is, and he cannot be unless he repents. When he has so identified with corruption as to be subsumed into it then there will be no real person left to love. But if he fulfills the condition of repentance then he will become more solid and more lovable. If he disappears into evil, then her love also, of necessity, will disappear. Neither God nor his saints can love evil.

The notion of becoming more lovable is a constant theme in Lewis. In The Problem of Pain Lewis writes that God's love "must, in the nature of things, be impeded and repelled by certain stains in our present character, and because He already loves us He must labor to make us more lovable." God, in love, works to expunge from us the things that keep him from loving us even more. Good pet owners do this to their dogs. Lewis writes that a man "interferes with the dog and makes it more lovable than it was in mere nature. In its state of nature it has a smell, and habits, which frustrate man's love: he washes it, house-trains it, teaches it not to steal, and is so enabled to love it completely." Because the dog is "so nearly lovable...it is worth his while to make it fully lovable." So stand we in relation to God.

Regrettably, the current rhetorical climate in evangelicalism renders it nearly impossible to make this point. Week after week in pulpit after pulpit we are told, "God loves you unconditionally. Nothing you can do can make him love you any more or less than he does now." I have witnessed the indoctrination of this profoundly unbiblical teaching firsthand, and have almost despaired of getting Christians to read their Bibles and believe what it actually says - repeatedly! - about the love of God. (For detailed Scriptural documentation, please see the August 30, 2012 post, "God's Conditional Love".) The depth of the problem might be illustrated by a book we're reading at the church I attend. Amazingly, in a book co-authored by a C. S. Lewis scholar(!), there is a barrage of affirmations that God's love is unconditional, including this doozy: "The good news is that [God] loves us, and His love is not conditioned on our behavior. It is not increased by our performance nor diminished by our failures."

Oh well - what can you do? God is not dead, but sometimes I fear that sound theology is.

Listen, this is important. If you choose to become proud, petulant, cowardly, lazy, impure, greedy, unkind, selfish, covetous, undisciplined or dishonest, God will not love you exactly the same as he always has. That is a lie of the devil, and I beg you to oppose it as firmly as our Lord opposed Peter's satanic resistance to his march to the cross. So what if you heard it from your pastor, whom you know to be a good man, and so what if it made you feel really good inside when you heard it. Error is error no matter how captivating it sounds and no matter how worthy is the man who spouts it. C. S. Lewis taught the right thing about God's love - though he did little more than express ordinary biblical truth and the consensus of 19 centuries of Christian tradition. It is in our day that Christian teaching about God's love has gone off the rails. Here is the truth: God so loves us that he longs to remove every impediment that keeps him from loving us more. If you rebel against his will and become morally corrupt, then, though you comfort yourself all day long with the devil's lie, "God loves me just the same as ever!", that will not make it true. Be warned. There exist real-life Frank Smiths who, defying God and loving only themselves, render themselves unlovable.

But it does not have to be that way. Be encouraged: there are also Sarah Smiths, who, holy as they are and holier than you or I will ever be, still have not fully plumbed the depths of the love of God. There remains yet more of it before them - more of it before you and me, and every step of obedience will draw us deeper into it and swell our hearts in joyous celebration of the fact that God's love, great as it was, has grown greater still.

A Christian Welcome To M. Ward's "Chinese Translation"

You are in for a treat if you go to YouTube now and listen to the song Chinese Translation by M. Ward. Spoiler alert: below I talk about how the song turns out. If you have not heard it, it would be better to listen to it first and let its cleverness hit you fresh.

A young man goes searching for answers and winds up at the top of a tall, tall mountain where an old, old man will respond to three questions. He asks the wise man,

What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?
How can a man like me remain in the light?
If life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?

The old man answers:

See I once was a young fool like you, afraid to do the things that I knew I had to do. So I played an escapade just like you. I played an escapade just like you.

He explains that he too had once sailed a wild, wild sea and climbed a tall, tall mountain where he found an old, old man and asked the same three questions. And that old man proceeded to give the same answer he was giving now. When he was a young fool...

One perceives that the same quest had been going on since there were wild seas for young men to sail on and tall mountains for old men to meditate on.

The beauty of the song is that it actually contains an answer, it actually shows the way forward to the bewildered and heartsick youth. The answer is in the old man's prologue to his tale. He explains that what spawned his quest was the fact that he was afraid to do the things that he knew he had to do. Rather than doing his duty, he "played an escapade". That is, he went on a wild and foolish adventure that was - truth be told - nothing more than an escape from the moral obligations that stared him in the face. (The word escapade comes from the word "escape".)

When you flee duty, you'll try to justify your flight as "a search for answers" or a lofty quest to "discover yourself and your purpose." But that is just a cruel joke you're playing on yourself. Small wonder you wind up confused and heartbroken. Instead, do the things that you know you are supposed to do - even if they are troublesome and inconvenient or require the kind of courage that you just don't feel you have. Do what you ought. Repent of your sin. Embrace goodness. Do the simple thing that is right in front of you that you have been putting off. In so doing, you will find that you have already arrived at the goal of the quest you thought you needed to go on. The questions that you had will either be answered or will lose their relevance. Joy and wisdom lie in the path of the one who simply puts down one obedient foot after another.

I myself know very well what to do with the pieces of a broken heart. My own heart has been mashed to bits more than once - more than twice, now that I think about it. I am the last person in the world to say that I have succeeded in re-assembling those broken bits through the shockingly simple expedient of doing the things that I knew I had to do. But I know that is where the answer lies. It is all of a piece with what my Lord Jesus Christ taught when he said, "Anyone who chooses to do the will of God will find out whether my teaching comes from God or whether I speak on my own" (John 7:17). Jesus affirmed that the choice to do God's will would precede the assurance that his own teachings were anything more than the platitudes of an itinerant Jewish carpenter. Do good, and you will know.

A Message To Atheist Friends

Assume that those of you who are atheists are right and there is no God. Let me further assume that you have led a relatively comfortable life. By "relatively" I mean compared to the world population through the history of human existence. You live in America or some other prosperous nation, you have not known famine or plague, you do not experience daily chronic pain, your family was not wiped out in a disaster, you have not spent years in slavery or in prison for a crime you did not commit. The society you call home is closer to Lake Wobegone where "the men are handsome, the women are strong, and the children are above average" than it is to hellholes in the Congo where the men die violently, the women are raped, and the children have AIDS.

I give you a microphone, comfortable and correct atheist. What would you like to say to those who really suffer?

I ask because I have found some of you to be mean-spirited and cruel to people who experience soul-crushing sorrows that you have been spared and can only imagine. I know it is not your intention to be mean. On the contrary, you think you're compassionate. I do not assail your motive, nor accuse you of perverse and deliberate cruelty. I am merely accusing some of you of thoughtless and casual cruelty.

Case in point: the following comments from a former minister, presumably now an atheist, that were recently posted on the website "Humans of New York":

It doesn't make sense to believe in a God that dabbles in people's lives. If a plane crashes, and one person survives, everyone thanks God. They say: 'God had a purpose for that person. God saved her for a reason!' Do we not realize how cruel that is? Do we not realize how cruel it is to say that if God had a purpose for that person, he also had a purpose in killing everyone else on that plane? And a purpose in starving millions of children? A purpose in slavery and genocide? For every time you say that there's a purpose behind one person's success, you invalidate billions of people. You say there is a purpose to their suffering. And that's just cruel.

Is it? Is it cruel, as this man insists, to say, "there is a purpose to their suffering"?

There is a question I would like to ask him. "Sir, do you actually think it is kinder, instead, to say that there is no purpose to their suffering?" Think about it. I think you're the cruel one here. Telling a sufferer there is no purpose to his pain is like booting a cup of cold water out of the hands of man dying of thirst. Why deny him his only possible hope, his only source of comfort? Is your truth of hopeless despair so important to you that you cannot rest until those who are miserable embrace it as you do, and relinquish their grip on the only thing that might give them joy? Your proselytism for purposelessness does not merely kick a man when he's down - it stomps all over him until his ribs are crushed and he cannot breathe. Do you then walk away with a clean conscience, glad that you disabused the tortured soul of his stupid delusion that someday his life would make sense? Is that kind of you, or cruel?

A commenter piled on. She wrote,

Yesterday a 3 year old child was crushed by a security gate at a Rita's Water Ice here in Philadelphia. And in the comments on the news article, so many people said "its so sad, but it happened for a reason" and I'm like what possible reason could there be to crush a child's skull with a security gate while she was waiting in line to get some ice cream. Bullshit. That's what it is, bullshit.

This commenter and I probably share the good fortune of never having seen one of our children's skulls crushed before our eyes. It is a pain beyond our reckoning. We can only try - and fail - to imagine the devastation. But my question to this commenter is, "Why in the world do you want to compound the parents' misery now? Who gave you the right? Was your child mangled to death in an unspeakably gruesome accident? Did you suffer this loss? How dare you proselytize now and seek to shove your despairing misery down other people's throats! The parents who lost this child in all probability feel a grief that robs every waking moment of its potential for light and joy. And you choose this moment to chip in with your, 'And there was no purpose to it, by the way. Just random pain and grief. No hope. No redemption. The pain your child experienced in the moments before death and the fathomless grief you experience now have no point to them and never will. And any other view is just bullshit.'"

Wow. Thanks, atheist. You've been a tremendous help. If my son had died in this accident, I would find your contribution to be about as welcome as those "God-Hates-Fags" signs carried by sons of hell from Westboro Baptist "Church" at the funerals of military heroes. It seems that some hate-filled people - whether they hate gays or the idea of God - just do not know how to keep their big fat mouths shut.

I find something sinister in the eagerness with which certain atheists seek to dismantle the hope of those who have suffered immeasurably more than they. What could possibly motivate such passionate diatribes? One suspects an underlying current of, "Because I do not believe there is purpose behind suffering, I cannot bear to see others find purpose behind their suffering. No! They must abandon it. When they suffer, they must suffer hopelessly. Their pain must never know the mitigating balm of faith in a purpose that will render meaningful their miserable lives and miserable futures." Do such nihilists gain satisfaction from extinguishing others' hope? Have they really sunk that low?

It's enough to make you think there's a devil after all.

The Gospel Is Something You Obey

Here is my second complaint against the often-repeated evangelical slogan, "The gospel isn't good advice, it's good news."

This slogan strikes me as a deliberate and misguided attempt to strip the gospel message of its imperative force and turn it into something merely indicative. I will first explain these grammatical terms.

The indicative mood is a statement of reality, as in the sentence, "The door is shut." This statement is either true or false, depending on whether the door is really shut. It is "news" - and as news, it is a report that can either be believed or disbelieved. If I say to you, "The door is shut," you can either believe me or disbelieve me.

The imperative mood is a command to do something, as in the sentence, "Shut the door." This statement, as it stands, is neither true nor false. Instead, it is a command that can either be obeyed or disobeyed. If I tell you, "Shut the door," you can either obey me or disobey me.

Now consider a combination of the two. Suppose I say, "Shut that door that is now open." Grammatically the sentence is still an imperative, a command to do something. But I buried an indicative in there too. The relative clause after the word "door" is indicative; I'm affirming that the door is now open, and that is a statement you can either believe or disbelieve.

Here is a question I would like all preachers of the gospel to consider (and answer correctly!): "Is gospel proclamation indicative, imperative, or a combination of both?"

In recent years, I have noticed that many capable and orthodox expositors of the Word have been eager to insist that the gospel is merely indicative, that it is news and only news. In this characterization, the gospel is not a matter of what you should do (imperative) but what has been done (indicative). What has been done is that God has appeased his own wrath and accomplished our salvation through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, the Second Person of the Complex God. Jesus bore our sins on the cross, died, and rose again on the third day. Now he reigns forever as King and Lord of all.

You will notice that there is not a single imperative in the above paragraph. It is 100% indicative. My question is, "If we proclaim the news in that paragraph, have we preached the gospel as the Bible understands the word "gospel"? Can you call it "gospel" if there is no command to submit, surrender, repent, obey?

I know that many colleagues in the ministry will answer with a resounding "Yes!" The gospel to them is purely what God has done and never something that he commands us to do. To be sure, there are still commandments out there - you ought to be faithful to your spouse, for example - but those are not part of the gospel. Behaving well and shunning evil are things you do in response to the purely indicative gospel of Jesus Christ.

Now I believe I have detected what I regard to be some rhetorical fudging when evangelical teachers of this persuasion gravitate to the word "respond" or the phrase "in response to". Remember that for them the gospel is news, mere news. It is like the sentence, "The door is shut." Now imagine the following interchange:

"The door is shut!"
"Ok, good, the door is shut. Got it."
"Well, don't you think that maybe you should respond to the news that the door is shut by getting up and doing something about it? Like, say, opening a window perhaps?"
"Very well. But why didn't you just tell me in the first place to open the window?"
"Because that's advice, and my message is not advice but news. Everyone else gives advice and commandments about what you have to do. Not me! I don't tell you what you must do but declare to you the news of what has been done. Here is the news of what's been done: 'The door is shut.' And now, maybe, you really ought to consider what would be an appropriate way to respond to that news and live your life in accordance with its truth. Because if you really believed that the door was shut, I'd expect to see a response."
"Like opening the window?"
"Exactly."
"Because if I don't I'll suffocate and die?"
"Right again."
"Ok, look, for clarity's sake, the next time you do this, could you just tell a guy to open the window? Maybe you could say something like, 'The door is shut, but the window is unlocked. Go open it, and you will breathe and live.'"
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you included a command regarding what the person has to do in order to live. I insist that my message is not about what people have to do, but what's been done. The door is shut and the window is unlocked. That's the message. And now, well, yeah, of course there really ought to be a response to that message that will just flow naturally out of gratitude and logic."
"You mean like obedience to a command?"
"STOP CALLING IT A COMMAND!"

And that is why I don't like the word "respond". It's much too weasely. It seems to be hiding the imperative that we all know is there but that some are reluctant to acknowledge. The phrase, "respond to the news" is safer for some preachers than the stark, "obey the order." But to those who insist on using the soft term "respond", I would like to ask, "Do you believe that people have to respond to the gospel?" If so, then obviously it's a lot more than news. You never have to respond to news. You only have to obey commands.

And the gospel is, in part, a command. I believe I can prove that from Scripture. Three New Testament texts refer to obedience to the gospel. They are below:

But they have not all obeyed the gospel. For Isaiah says, “Lord, who has believed what he has heard from us?”
(Romans 10:16)

...when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus.
(2 Thessalonians 1:7b-8)

For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?
(1 Peter 4:17)

There, in a nutshell, is why the gospel necessarily includes an imperative element. You cannot disobey an indicative, you can only disbelieve it. But an imperative - an order, a command - is something you can obey or disobey. An indicative is something you accept or deny, but an imperative is something you submit to or rebel against. In the Bible, the gospel is something you believe and obey, something you accept and submit to. The best way to persuade yourself of this is to do what I have done: get a Greek concordance and read, in context, every occurrence of euangelion (gospel) and euangelizomai (preach the gospel). The thesis that the gospel is news and only news will not survive this scrutiny. The gospel as the New Testament presents it is an imperative-indicative mix, as in the example sentence, "Shut that door that now is open." Gospel news is embedded in gospel imperative. In practical terms, it looks something like, "Bow the knee and surrender your life to the Son of God who died and rose again on your behalf."

When preachers say, "The gospel isn't good advice; it's good news," and, "all other religions give you advice about what to do, but Christianity gives you news about what has already been done", I'm afraid they're making a royal mess of the gospel. The word "advice" in that slogan seems to be an oddly dismissive way of referring to a sober command. Of course we don't "advise". But we do command in the name of the Lord. And if we have not done so, then we have not preached the gospel. The gospel is good news and it is good commandment. The gospel is something you believe and something you obey.

The Gospel's Hard Edge

"The gospel is not good advice - it's good news!"

It seems to me that the above slogan went viral in the evangelical world after Gospel Coalition co-founder Tim Keller expounded upon it at a conference in 2007. Keller referred to a sermon some decades ago where Martyn Lloyd-Jones explained, "Advice is counsel about something to do. It hasn’t happened yet, but you can do it. News is a report about something that has happened. You can’t do anything about it - it’s been done for you and all you can do is respond to it.” Keller went on to illustrate the point with the metaphor of the aftermath of a military victory. He said,

Here is a king and he goes into a battle against an invading army to defend his land. If the king defeats the invading army he sends back to the capital city messengers, very happy messengers. He sends back “good news-ers”. What they come back with is a report. They come back and they say, “It has been defeated! It’s all been done! Therefore respond with joy and conduct your lives in this peace which has been achieved for you.”

But if the invading army breaks through, the king sends back military advisers and says, “Swordsmen over here and marksmen over here and the horsemen over here. We’re going to have to fight for our lives.” Dr. Lloyd-Jones says that every other religion sends military advisers to people. Every other religion says, “You know, if you want your salvation, you’re going to have to fight for your life.” Every other religion is sending advice, saying, “Here are the rites, here are the rituals, and here are the laws and regulations. Earthen works over here, marksmen over here. Fight for your life.”

Not long after Keller gave his message, evangelical pulpits exploded with variations on the theme, "The gospel is not good advice - it's good news!" I heard it dozens of times. Typically the theme is developed this way: "The gospel is not about things you have to do but about what has been done. If you think about what you have to do you'll be motivated by fear rather than gratitude." Fear, then, is usually denounced as an unchristian provocation to goodness. As Keller explained, "one is a response of joy, and one is a response of fear. All other religions give advice, and they drive everything you’re doing on fear."

I find two problems with the Keller/Lloyd-Jones characterization of the gospel. Lord willing I will deal with the second in an upcoming essay.

The first involves a stunningly unreflective assumption about the audience to whom gospel proclamation is made. Note that in the illustration above the victorious king has sent "good news-ers" back to the capital city, that is, back to the side that will certainly win. Happy indeed are the messengers who report victory to the king's loyal subjects in Capital City. These joyful subjects can celebrate the good news and get to work, motivated not by fear of failure but by the assurance that the conflict will end in their favor, that long life will be theirs, and peace will reign. For this audience of gospel proclamation, the Keller/Lloyd-Jones rhetoric works very well.

But my question is, "Is all the world a Capital City filled with the King's loyal subjects?"

No. Not at all. Not in the least. In Philippians 3:18-19 the Apostle Paul writes, "For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things." These are not friends of the King who should have no fear because the forces of evil have suffered a crucial defeat and victory is assured. Though there will be victory, it is not for them. Having allied themselves with evil, their end is destruction.

Now a second question. "When you read the Bible and you see the gospel being proclaimed, who is being addressed - the King's subjects or the King's enemies?"

Both! The answer is both. And believe me, when the King's enemies are given the gospel, they are not told, "Rejoice! Don't be afraid! I don't want you to be motivated by fear or anything. It's all been done for you." The people whom Paul labels "enemies of the cross of Christ" are not given a gospel that Keller defines as "a message that it’s all been done for you, that it’s a historical event that’s happened, your salvation is accomplished for you." Instead, they are commanded, "Fear God. Surrender. Repent." Contrary to Keller, they are not comforted with the joyful message that their salvation is accomplished but rather terrified with the fearful threat that condemnation hangs over their damned heads. If that does not frighten you, then I do not believe you have understood the gospel.

The point is worth documenting with some actual New Testament usages of the words euangelion ("gospel") and euangelizomai ("gospelize", "preach the gospel").

Luke 3:18 says, "with many other exhortations he [John the Baptist] preached good news ('gospelized') to the people." Read the verses preceding and succeeding verse 18, and you will see what John's gospel involved. It included warnings about judgment and commandments about what his listeners needed to do. "You brood of vipers!" he cried. "Bear fruits in keeping with repentance" (verses 7-8). "Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire" (verse 9). When asked by people what they should do, he gave real answers. To those with means he said, "Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none" (verse 11). To tax collectors he said, "Collect no more than you are authorized to do" (verse 13). To soldiers he said, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages" (verse 14). The one thing he didn't say - as far as we know - was, "Rejoice, and don't be motivated by fear. All other religions of the world try to motivate you with fear. I'm here to tell you the good news that it's all been done for you - or, rather, soon everything will be done for you once Jesus dies on the cross." In all the sermons that the Bible records, both before and after the crucifixion of Jesus, the gospel is never preached that way.

I believe that the next verse, Luke 3:19, gives an example of what it may look like to "gospelize" an individual who deliberately chooses to hold God in contempt. It says that John reproved Herod for adultery and "all the evil things that Herod had done." Warning is also gospel.

Luke 2:10 contains an instructive use of "gospelize". There it looks like good news pure and simple. An angel appears to shepherds and announces the birth of Jesus, saying, "I bring you good tidings (euangelizomai) of great joy." The Savior was born. And that certainly was happy news for worthy shepherds, even as it was for Simeon and Anna later in the chapter (verses 25-38), and for "those with whom he [God] is pleased" (verse 14). They were promised peace.

But how did the exact same news sound in the ears of Herod the Great? It was a nightmare. He was troubled rather than joyful when he heard that a king had been born in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:3). His reign of terror was over. Like a crazed Saddam Hussein he ordered the slaughter of all the baby boys in the region in a vain attempt to eliminate his rival (verse 16). The point worth dwelling upon is that the same gospel proclamation was a blessing for some (Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, Simeon, Anna) and a curse for others (Herod the Great, Herod Antipas, Caiaphas, and the hopelessly corrupt religious establishment). It is precisely parallel to the "aroma-of-Christ" metaphor that the Apostle Paul develops in 2 Corinthians 2:15-16: "For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life." Our message is cherry blossoms to some and mustard gas to others.

Now consider the gospel-preaching angel in Revelation 14:6-7:

Then I saw another angel flying directly overhead, with an eternal gospel (euangelion) to proclaim to those who dwell on earth, to every nation and tribe and language and people. And he said with a loud voice, "Fear God and give him glory, because the hour of his judgment has come, and worship him who made heaven and earth, the sea and the springs of water."

Let it be noted how far this angel's gospel is from the one that says, "Don't be motivated by fear. I'm not here to give you advice about how to be right with God. All other religions do that. No, I'm telling you the joyful news that it's already all been done for you, your salvation has already been accomplished." This angel does not dismiss the fear of God but commands it! And in addition to commanding the fear of the Lord, he tells his audience two things they must do: give glory to God and worship him who made heaven and earth. If they do not do that, they will not be saved. Read the rest of Revelation 14 to see what happens to them.

Fellow preachers, know your audience and take them into account when you tailor the gospel message to them. Do not say to enemies of the cross what must only be affirmed to loyal subjects of the King. To the penitent malefactor Jesus said, "Today you will be with me in paradise" - and that is the kind of joyous news we can share with all who humble themselves and who beg Jesus for mercy. But to those who are like the man on the other side of the cross, the one who dismissed Jesus with contempt, the gospel begins with sober words of warning like the dagger of a question that the crucified sinner dared to pose to his counterpart: "Don't you fear God?"

Is The Gospel Good News?

The news that came out of Normandy on June 6 1944 was widely celebrated. The allies had routed the Germans and taken the beaches, and in the next few days more than 300,000 American and British soldiers established themselves on French soil. Effectively this meant that World War II in Europe was over. It was just a matter of time. There were still battles to fight and casualties to suffer, but the final outcome of the war could not be in doubt. The allies would march through France and Belgium and the Netherlands, and in less than a year Hitler would be dead and Berlin taken and surrender achieved. So, even though there was plenty of suffering still ahead, victors could ring the bells on June 7 and celebrate glad tidings.

Because there are several points of correspondence between the news from Normandy and the gospel of Jesus Christ, preachers have long been fond of using this victory as a sermon illustration. We have good news. Jesus Christ, crucified on behalf of sinners, has defeated death and risen from the dead. Though suffering may still lie ahead of us, eternal life has been secured and in due time we will experience its fulfillment. In the meantime, we proclaim now the good news of liberty to those held captive. Jesus is risen and will reign forever! ("Normandy has been taken and the allies are victorious!").

It's a good illustration as long as you don't press it beyond appropriate points of contact. As a teacher of mine liked to say, be careful not to make a metaphor walk on all fours. For example, in this case, we certainly would not want to indulge the military aspect of the Normandy illustration in a way that would turn Christians into jihadists who advance against the enemy of other faith traditions and subdue them by force and violence. That is not the point at all. We're about love. Jesus commanded us to love our enemies.

There is however one perfectly valid extension of the Normandy metaphor that I've never heard a preacher make, and I'd like to make it here because it has so much to do with what the gospel means and how we proclaim it.

Was the news that the allies had taken the beaches at Normandy on June 6 good news for everybody?

No. It was good news for the Americans and the British, but bad news for the Germans. It was good news for Jews in concentration camps, but bad news for their guards. Good news for the French Resistance, bad news for French Vichy collaborators. Good news for Roosevelt and Churchill, bad news for Hitler. Good news for Representative Democracy, bad news for Nazi Fascism. And so on.

In other words, though the Normandy news was the same for everybody, it was good or bad depending on who you were. To call it "good" was to tip your hand and reveal that you considered yourself to be on the winning side. But not everyone was. Nazis and all those who cooperated with them were not dancing in the streets on June 7. If they were wise and well-informed, they were quaking in fear and desperate for a chance to change sides.

Part of the gospel of Jesus Christ is that it is possible to change sides. It is like the German pilot surrendering his Messerschmidt, being sworn in as an American citizen, and flying his new P-51 Mustang into battle. The Vichy mayor detaches his swastika and declares loyalty to the Resistance. The Nazi prison guard dons a striped uniform, slaps a Star of David on his chest and joins his starving Jewish brothers behind the barbed wire. Praise God, who permits and enables even his most fervent enemies to repent of their opposition to him and submit themselves in glad surrender to him and his way.

But let us not deceive ourselves into thinking - or deceive others by preaching - that the whole gospel is good news for everyone unconditionally. It is not good news for all people regardless of who they are or how they respond. According to the gospel, Jesus Christ is the eternal Son of God who is risen from the dead and who will reign forever. That is not good news for people who live their lives in defiance of his authority and who refuse to repent. Frankly they would be happier in the short run and better off in the long run if Jesus were a dead fraud.

Here is the news. Jesus Christ died for sinners and rose again from the dead. He reigns forever with absolute authority, and some day every knee will bow to him. What you do with that news will determine, for you, whether it is good or bad.