Greg Gilbert

The following quote comes from an unnamed Christian artist, asked to define the gospel:

[M]y instinct is to say that it’s Jesus coming, living, dying, and being resurrected and his inaugurating the already and the not yet of all things being restored to himself . . . and that happening by way of himself . . . the being made right of all things . . . that process both beginning and being a reality in the lives and hearts of believers and yet a day coming when it will be more fully realized. But the good news, the gospel, the speaking of the good news, I would say is the news of his kingdom coming, the inaugurating of his kingdom coming . . . that’s my instinct.

—quoted by Greg Gilbert in What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 16–17.

* I don’t know if the ellipses represent omitted text, or just a postmodern avoidance of anything as absolute as a period or even a semicolon . . . well, whatever . . .

I agree with that statement, as far as it goes. It contains a lot of truth that the church has, at least in my experience, neglected. Of course, there is a lot missing from it as well, and the missing content is everything that makes the gospel immediately vital to sinners. That makes it a really bad definition of the gospel.

Setting all that — i.e., the content — aside for the time being, there is one thing about that statement causes it to fail horribly, and would even if all essential points of the gospel were present. Can you see it?

I’ll update this post with the answer later tonight.

The answer is indeed the “my instinct” nonsense. My instinct tells me nothing pertaining to propositional truths. As I become more knowledgeable in the Word, and more conformed to the image of Christ (sanctified), understanding the truth will come to seem instinctive to some degree, but knowledge of the truth — and therefore my ability to answer questions like “what is the gospel?” — will always come straight from Scripture.

I think what troubles me most about the “my instinct” answer is not only the implication that there is some extrabiblical way of knowing, but even more, the insinuation that the truth is not to be found in definite terms in the Bible. It leaves us with the picture of a man groping for clues to a mystery, and lacking any clues, is left to make his best guess. If that is the case, what assurance can we have? And what kind of evangelical witness can we have? Imagine:

Philippian Jailer: Sirs, what must I do to be saved?
Paul & Silas: Well, we’re not sure, but our instincts tell us . . .

Not quite a 1 Peter 3:15 moment, is it?

For a better answer than this to the question “what is the gospel?” Greg Gilbert turns first to Romans 1–4, and finds a systematic presentation of the gospel. He summarizes it as follows:

[H]aving looked at Paul’s argument in Romans 1–4, we can see that at the heart of his proclamation of the gospel are the answers to four crucial questions:

1. Who made us, and to whom are we accountable?
2. What is our problem? In other words, are we in trouble, and why?
3. What is God’s solution tor that problem? How has he acted to same us from it?
4. How do I—myself, right here, right now—how do I come to be included in that salvation? What makes this good news for me and not just for someone else?

We might summarize these four major points like this: God, man, Christ, and response.
   Of course Paul goes on to unfold a universe of other promises God has made to those who are saved in Christ, and many of those promises may very appropriately be identified as part of the good news of Christianity, the gospel of Jesus Christ. But it’s crucial that we understand, right from the outset, that all those grand promises depend on and flow from this, the heart and fountainhead of the Christian good news. Those promises come only to these who are forgiven of sin through faith in the crucified and risen Christ. That is why Paul, when he presents the heart of the gospel, starts here—with these four crucial truths.

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 27–31.

Greg Gilbert paints a picture of God that most of us would mock. We’ve seen this god in the Christian bookstore, and we’ve seen him in our churches. We recognize this view of God as part of “what is wrong with the church today,” and are glad that we know better. But stop and think; examine yourselves. In our lives, in our attitudes and practices, do we not seem to be followers — if such a god can be followed — of the god represented below?

Let me introduce you to god. (Note the lowercase g.)
   You might want to lower your voice a little before we go in. he might be sleeping now. He’s old, you know, and doesn’t much understand or like this “newfangled” modern world. His golden days—the ones he talks about when you really get him going—were a long time ago, before most of us were even born. That was back when people cared what he thought about things, and considered him pretty important to their lives.
   Of course that’s changed now, though, and god—poor fellow—just never adjusted very well. Life’s moved on and passed him by. Now, he spends most of his time just hanging in the garden out back. I go there sometimes to see him, and there we tarry, walking and talking softly and tenderly among the roses. . . .
   Anyway, a lot of people still like him, it seems—or at least he manages to keep his poll numbers pretty high. And you’d be surprised how many people even drop by to visit and ask for things every once in a while. But of course that’s alright with him. He’s here to help.
   Thank goodness, all the crankiness you read about sometimes in his old books—you know, having the earth swallow people up, raining fire down on cities, that sort of thing—all that seems to have faded with his old age. Now he’s just a good-natured, low-maintenance friend who’s really easy to talk to—especially since he almost never talks back, and when he does, it’s usually to tell me through some slightly weird “sign” that what I want to do regardless is alright by him. That really is the best kind of friend, isn’t it?
   You know the best thing about him, though? He doesn’t judge me. Ever, for anything. Oh sure, I know that deep down he wants me to be better—more loving, less selfish, and all that—but he’s realistic. He knows I’m human and nobody’s perfect. And I’m totally sure he’s fine with that. Besides, forgiving people is his job. It’s what he does. After all, he’s love, right? And I like to think of love as “never judging, always forgiving”. That’s the god I know. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.
   Alright, hold on a second. . . .Okay, we can go in now. And don’t worry, we don’t have to stay for long. Really. He’s grateful for any time he can get.

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 37–38.

Yesterday, we were introduced to the god of popular imagination. Today, we’ll see the hypocrisy of those who profess belief in such a god.

   Scripture proclaims over and over again that our God is a God of perfect justice and unassailable righteousness. Psalm 11:7 says,

The Lord is righteous;
he loves righteous deeds.

Psalm 33:5 declares, “He love righteousness and justice.” And two psalms go so far as to proclaim, “Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne” (Pss. 89:14; 97:2)! Do you see what those verses are saying? God’s rule over the universe, his sovereign lordship over creation, is founded upon his remaining forever perfectly righteous and just.
   That’s why the idea of God as an unscrupulous janitor is so unsatisfying. It makes God out to be unjust and unrighteous. It makes him a god who simply hides sin—or even hides from sin—rather than confronting and destroying it. It makes him a moral coward.
   And who wants a god like that? It’s always interesting to watch what happens when people who insist that God would never judge them come face to face with undeniable evil. Confronted with some truly horrific evil, then they want a god of justice—and they want him now. They want god to overlook their own sin, but not the terrorist’s. “Forgive me,” they say, “but don’t you dare forgive him!” You see, nobody wants a god who declines to deal with evil. They just want a god who declines to deal with their evil.
   Scripture tells us, however, that because he is perfectly just and righteous, God will deal decisively with all evil. Habakkuk 1:13 says,

Your eyes are too pure to look upon evil;
you cannot tolerate wrong. (NIV)

To do so would be to renounce the very foundation of his throne. Even more, it would be to renounce his very Self, and that God will not do.
    Most people have no problem at all thinking of God as loving and compassionate. We Christians have done a bang-up job convincing the world that God loves them. But if we’re going to understand just how glorious and life-giving the gospel to Jesus Christ is, we have to understand that this loving and compassionate God is also holy and righteous, and that he is also holy and righteous, and that he is determined never to overlook, ignore, or tolerate sin.
   Including our own.

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 44–45.

You likely have heard it said, possibly by some very hip-looking dude, that “Christianity is not a religion, but a relationship.” It’s a very attractive notion. Religion sounds formal and cold, while relationship sounds warm and personal. It’s all in how you understand the words, I suppose. James speaks of “pure and undefiled religion.” True religion, that which is pure and undefiled, is good. False religion is pure evil. Likewise, relationship can be good, but we all know of bad relationships. Many relationships are as destructive as an airliner colliding with a skyscraper. Furthermore, as we will see, there are different kinds of good relationships. So let’s do away with the religion vs. relationship language, shall we?

Christianity is a religion; it’s a religion of relationship. The major failing (I think) of those who preach religion vs. relationship is, as Greg Gilbert writes, reducing sin to broken relationship. That confusion reflects a misunderstanding of the nature of the Christian relationship with God.

Relationship is an important category in the Bible. Human beings were made to live in fellowship with God. What we must remember, however, is that it was a specific kind of relationship in which they were to live—not the relationship between two equals, where law, judgment, and punishment are out of view, but the relationship between a King and his subjects.
   Many Christians talk about sin as if it were merely a relational tiff between God and man, and what is needed is for us simply to apologize and accept God’s forgiveness. That image of sin as lovers’ quarrel, though, distorts the relationship in which we stand to God. In communicates that there is no broken law, no violated justice, no righteous wrath, no holy judgment— and therefore, ultimately, no need for a substitute to bear that judgment either.
   The Bible’s teaching is that sin is indeed a breaking of relationship with God, but that broken relationship consists in a rejection of his kingly majesty. It’s not just adultery (though it is that); it is also rebellion. Not just betrayal, but also treason. If we reduce sin to a mere breaking of relationship, rather than understanding it as the traitorous rebellion of a beloved subject against his good and righteous King, we will never understand why the death of God’s Son was required to address it.

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 51.

Hell ain’t a bad place to be . . .

So sang screamed AC/DC. Of course, what they were describing was not the hell of the Bible. Perhaps, in their perverted view of life, what they were describing was not so bad. But we know better, don’t we? We know that hell is a bad place to be — or at least, we should. Yet, to hear some Christians talk — including some who will incur a stricter judgment — hell might not be so bad.

The Bible describes hell in pretty vivid terms. Yet it is becoming more popular to describe hell as nothing more than separation from God. Imagine the following conversation:

Father: Son, I’m warning you that if you continue in the way you are going, there will be serious consequences. One thing will lead to another, and you may eventually end up in prison.

Son: What do you mean, “prison”? What’s “prison”?

Father: Prison is a terrible place. You don’t want to go there. “Prison” means you’ll be separated from me. Is that not a terrifying thought? Oh, my son . . . !

Ridiculous, isn’t it? No one would ever describe a prison sentence in such trivial terms. And who would think they were doing anyone any favors by whitewashing the truth about it? That anyone would do that is inconceivable and incomprehensible. Yet that is exactly what many are doing with hell.

   Sometimes people talk about this as if it is just the passive, quiet absence of God. But it’s more than that. It is God’s active judgment against sin, and the Bible says it will be terrifying. Look at how the book of Revelation describes what the end will be like on the day of right and good judgment. The seven angels will “pour out on the earth . . . the wrath of God,” and “all the tribes of the earth will wail on account of him” (Rev. 16:1; 1:7). They will call out to the mountains and the rocks, “fall on us and hide us from face of him who is seated on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of their wrath has come, and who can stand?” (Rev. 6:16-17). They will see Jesus, the King of kings and Lord of lords, and they will cower, for “he will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty” (Rev. 19:15).
   The Bible teaches that the final destiny for unrepentant, unbelieving sinners is a place of eternal, conscious torment called “hell”. Revelation describes it as “a lake of fire and sulfur,” and Jesus says it is a place of “unquenchable fire,” (Rev. 20:10; Mark 9:43).
   Given how the Bible talks about hell and warns us against it, I do not understand the impulse some Christians seem to have to explain it in a way that makes it sound more tolerable. When Revelation speaks of Jesus treading the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty, when Jesus himself warns of the “unquenchable fire . . . where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched” (Mark 9:43, 48), my incredulous question is, Why would any Christian have an interest in making it sound less horrific? Why on earth would we comfort sinners with the thought that maybe hell will not be so bad after all?

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 56–57.

As a teenager, I attended various Bible camps and retreats. At each of those events, it seems that there were always some young participants who didn’t quite fit the mold. They didn’t like rules, didn’t respect authority, or had some other fault that marked them as not spiritual like all the other “good” kids. Sometimes, it was undeniable that these were unbelieving kids who were there because their parents sent them, or some other less than ideal reason. There were many others, however, who were described by some in low tones with, “Yes, he’s a Christian, but he’s not living it [i.e., his faith].” I’m not sure exactly what was meant, but I’m assuming these were kids who had at some point been talked into asking Jesus into their hearts or some such nonsense*, but had not yet, or no longer were, surrendered to him as Lord. I was pretty young and ignorant at the time, but even as one who could have been described as “not a Christian, but faking it,” that seemed fishy to me. The gospel I had been taught in those same places hadn’t made allowance for that.

Years later, I learned that there was actually a theology that excluded lordship and repentance of sin from the gospel. Its proponents call it “Free Grace,” and teach that salvation is received simply by faith in Christ (with which we should agree), but that faith should not be expected to actually change anything. In other words, faith without works is not dead. Those who say otherwise are accused of teaching “Lordship Salvation,” of adding works to faith as a requirement for salvation. But, like two sides of a coin, faith and repentance are not separable. Greg Gilbert explains:

Jesus’ message to his listeners was, “Repent and believe the gospel” (Mark 1:15). If faith is turning to Jesus and relying on him for salvation, repentance is the flip side of that coin. It is turning away from sin, hating it, and resolving by God’s strength to forsake it, even as we turn to him in faith. So Peter told the on-looking crowd, “Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out” (Acts 3:19 NIV). And Paul tells everyone “that they should repent and turn to God” (Acts 26:20).
   Repentance is not just an optional plug in to the Christian life. It is absolutely crucial to it, marking out those who have been saved by God from those who have not.
   I have known many people who have said something like, “Yes, I’ve accepted Jesus as Savior, so I’m a Christian. But I’m just not ready to accept him as Lord yet. I have some things to work through.” In other words, they claimed that they could have faith in Jesus and be saved, and yet not repent of sin.
   If we understand repentance rightly, we’ll see that the idea that you can accept Jesus as Savior but not Lord is nonsense. For one thing, it just doesn’t do justice to what Scripture says about repentance and its connection with salvation. For example, Jesus warned, “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3). The apostles, when they heard Peter’s story about the conversion of Cornelius, praised God for granting to the Gentiles “repentance that leads to life” (Acts 11:18), and Paul speaks of “repentance that leads to salvation” in 2 Corinthians 7:10.
   Moreover, to have faith in Jesus is, at its core, to believe that he is who he really says he is—the crucified and risen King who had conquered death and sin, and who has the power to save. Now how could a person believe all that, trust in it, and rely on it, and yet at the same time say, “But I don’t acknowledge that you are King over me”? That doesn’t make any sense. Faith in Christ carries in itself a renunciation of that rival power that King Jesus conquered—sin. And where that renunciation of sin is not present, neither is genuine faith in the One who defeated it.
   It is as Jesus said in Matthew 6:24: “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.” To put one’s faith in King Jesus is to renounce his enemies.

—Greg Gilbert, What is the Gospel (Crossway, 2010), 79–80.

* Yes, I said “nonsense.” Go ahead, ask me why.