What the Gospel Does
This message explores the fundamental distinction between what the gospel is (the story of Jesus) and what effects it produces. Understanding what something is must precede understanding what it can do, applying this principle to show how the gospel story forms the foundation for its transformative effects. The message culminates by revealing the kingdom of God as the central hub through which all gospel effects flow, illuminating how the gospel narrative is more comprehensive and interconnected than many Christians initially realize.
Transcript:
All right. Drew and I were talking this morning, and I don’t know if we even need walls to keep the sound in right now. Not that our band doesn’t always sound amazing—you always do—but there’s something about having the walls and the resonance that was just incredible this morning. So thank you, worship team.
In 1960, Datsun Corporation produced a cutting-edge vehicle: the 1960 Datsun Bluebird station wagon. Now, you wouldn’t think I’d care much about that, being born 20 years later in 1981. But I have a funny memory about a 1960 Datsun Bluebird station wagon.
It was 1999, back when I thought I was still going to be a rock star. This story gets weird, so bear with me. I was at one of my family’s mines out in the middle of the desert, and there it was—abandoned—a 1960 Datsun Bluebird station wagon. I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like it got great gas mileage, and gas at the time was just under a dollar a gallon—hard to imagine now.
I had just learned to drive and knew almost nothing about cars, but I opened it up. It was gutted. Rats had eaten everything—the wiring, the interior—completely destroyed. The tires were so shredded, they were practically non-existent. It was an absolute mess. But I fell in love with that car.
In my head, I could see it. I could fit all my gear inside and still get 40 miles to the gallon. It seemed brilliant. I popped the hood, and everything was still there—the engine, the transmission, the drivetrain. It even had seats, though they would’ve needed to be wrapped in blankets or something.
I went into the house at the mine and asked, “What’s going on with that car out there?” My Uncle Monty said, “Oh, that’s your Uncle Bob’s car. He parked it there about 22 years ago.” It turns out it hadn’t even broken down. They had carpooled to the mine, and Uncle Bob just left the car there and never came back for it. It had been in perfect running order when he parked it.
They told me, “You can have it if you want, but it hasn’t been registered in over 20 years.” So, I made a phone call at the phone booth—you know, for those of you who remember what those are—and found out the DMV didn’t even have a record of the car’s existence anymore.
But that was good news—it meant I wouldn’t have to pay back fees to register it. So I started formulating a plan to get this car home. I was four hours away, with an hour of that being dirt roads. And then, how would I even get this thing running?
As I kept thinking about it, one thing became painfully clear: there’s a difference between what something is and what something can do. Let me say that again—there’s a difference between what something is and what it can do.
As we begin this exploration of the gospel over the next eight weeks, I want that to shape your thinking. If you’re a follower of Jesus, at some point, someone told you what the gospel can do. But I’d wager that there are parts of the gospel you might still be missing. You were likely told more about what the gospel can do than about what the gospel actually is.
Reflecting on that 1960 Datsun Bluebird, I realized: what something is must always come first. It has to come before what it can do.
Let me give you an example. Would you agree with me that Jesus died for the forgiveness of sins? Yeah, of course. That’s true. Now, let’s break that down: Jesus died—that’s what it is. That’s the story; that’s the event. The forgiveness of sins—that’s what it does. That’s the effect.
And here’s the problem: it’s hard to fully understand what something does if you don’t first know what it is. It’s like going to a swap meet, picking something up, and asking, “What does this do?” You’re starting with the wrong question. First, you have to ask, “What is this?” Only then can you understand what it might do.
It works in that order.
That car in the desert was basically a pile of metal. It couldn’t drive. Realistically, it probably couldn’t be repaired enough to drive—not by me at 19 years old, anyway.
There’s a technical way to explain this: substance precedes effects. The essence or nature of a thing comes before what it can do.
Think about it—a car has a lot of the same parts as a helicopter, an airplane, or even a boat. Some of those parts, like the engine, could theoretically be interchangeable. But just because they share parts doesn’t mean they do the same thing. If I hand you the keys to my helicopter instead of my car, you wouldn’t be thrilled—because you don’t know how to fly a helicopter any better than I do.
Substance matters. What something is changes what it does.
For example, people who eat gluten-free know this. The substance of the food matters—it changes the effects.
There’s also a practical way to look at this. The story itself affects the implications of the story. For the artists, authors, and filmmakers here, you know this well: change a couple of details in the story, and you’ve completely changed its message. It’s called twisting the narrative.
We see this happening a lot today, especially with all the live-action remakes of Disney movies. You go and watch one, and while it might look like the same story, it has a different message.
Take, for example, the new Barbie movie—I didn’t see it, but the buzz makes it clear. People are comparing it to the older Barbie movies, and it’s obvious there’s an entirely different agenda in the new one, almost the opposite of what everyone complained about in the old movies. If you’ve seen them, you’ll know what I’m talking about.
The point is, you can twist the narrative, and when you do, you change the message.
So, as we jump into this series, I want you to take a moment and reflect: how have you thought about the gospel? Have you been more focused on what it can do, or on what it actually is?
Don’t look ahead at your slides or anything like that. Right now, think in your own mind: What is the gospel? Maybe take a moment to formulate it in your head. Or, if you’re taking notes and have one of our note sheets, write it down. I believe it’s one of the questions on there.
Go ahead and take a moment if you need to, but we’re going to start by asking this foundational question: What is a gospel?
Before we can understand the gospel, we need to know what a gospel even is. It’s one of those churchy words, isn’t it? Think about it—outside of Christian circles, how often do you use the word gospel?
For me, I could only think of one time I’ve ever heard the word gospel used outside of church. It’s not very common anymore, but it used to show up in fan communities. You know, when people are really into something like a movie trilogy—Star Wars or Harry Potter, for instance—and they start geeking out about the details. They’ll debate things like, “If this happened in the story, then this other thing would happen,” and they dive into the world of fan theories and even write fan fiction.
If someone said something that didn’t fit the official story, people would jump in and say, “No, no, no. You can’t say that. This is gospel.” They weren’t talking about Jesus; they meant that certain aspects of the story were essential and couldn’t be changed. Nowadays, people use the term canon for that same idea, but the concept is similar.
What’s interesting is that even in its secular usage, the word gospel meant an unchangeable story—an essential story.
If you look at the word gospel in English and trace its etymology, it comes from two Old English words: good and spell. Now, spell didn’t mean casting magical spells like we think today. Back then, spell simply meant story. So, gospel meant good story.
And here’s another layer to it: if you study etymology, you’ll find there’s not much difference between the words good and God. In fact, it’s hard to even say, “This is a good sandwich,” unless you’re acknowledging, in some way, that God made that sandwich—or at least provided the means for it. Everything good comes from God. So, in a deeper sense, the word good means something God-given.
That means the word gospel, even in English, literally means God’s story.
Now, English is a relatively modern language, so let’s go back further. In the Greek, the word for gospel is euangelion (pronounced yoo-ahn-GHEL-ee-on). This word appears in the New Testament and is translated in two ways: sometimes as gospel—God’s story—and other times as good news.
What’s fascinating is that there isn’t much difference between the two. Good news and God’s story are closely tied together, aren’t they?
If you’re trying to picture the word euangelion in your mind, it’s spelled E-U-A-N-G-E-L-I-O-N. I think I may have put this on a slide so you can see it visually.
Maybe I’m wrong, but doesn’t the word angel stand out right in the middle of euangelion? Spanish speakers in the room, you can hear it too: euangelion—you hear angel in there.
The word angel is Greek, and it simply means messenger. It’s not exclusively used for God’s messengers or angels. In the broader Greek language, it refers to any messenger. A king’s messenger, for example, could be called an angel. If someone sent a message, they sent their angel—their messenger—to deliver it. So, embedded in euangelion, you see the idea of a message—a very specific message of good news.
This word, euangelion, was also used in a military context. Imagine a king sending his army out to battle. If the army wins, a young runner—a messenger—would observe the outcome of the battle. His job wasn’t to fight but to run back to the palace, sometimes over a day’s journey, and deliver the message.
If the battle was going well—if victory had been achieved—he would bring back good news. That was the euangelion, the gospel. And the messenger himself was called the evangelist, or euangelistes. The evangelist is the one who delivers the good news, proclaiming that victory has come.
Now, there’s a story in Matthew that ties into this idea. In Matthew 26, Jesus is dining at the house of a Pharisee. A woman comes in with an alabaster jar of perfume—likely worth thousands of dollars by today’s standards. She breaks the jar and pours the perfume over Jesus’ head.
The disciples get upset. They say it’s wasteful. But in verses 12 and 13, Jesus says this: “By pouring this perfume on my body, she has prepared me for burial. Truly, I tell you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her” (Matthew 26:12-13).
What gospel? Jesus is talking about his death. And this woman becomes part of that story. By anointing his body for burial, she’s immortalized in the gospel. Her story is woven into his story.
The gospel, in its essence, is the story of Jesus. It’s the euangelion. Yes, Jesus died for the forgiveness of sins, but that’s just part of the story. And I’d ask you—do you know why Jesus had to die for sins to be forgiven?
There was a time when the stories of the Bible were generally known by everyone.
There was a time when almost everyone you talked to knew the basic stories of the Bible. You could walk up to someone at the park and say, “Hey, can I tell you a story about Jesus?” And they’d respond, “Oh, I know that story. My grandma used to tell me,” or, “I heard it in Sunday school.” Even people who weren’t Christians or didn’t read the Bible grew up in a culture so saturated with Christianity that they still knew these stories.
But imagine stepping outside what you know and believe for a moment. Imagine telling someone, “Did you know Jesus died for your sins?” Let’s assume, for a second, they even know what sin means. What if they ask, “Why did he have to die for that?”
Do you know how to answer that question?
There are a million theological answers. Some of you probably thought of one immediately, rooted in your theological learning. And that’s great—thinking about God and understanding the theology behind Jesus’ death is important. But for many people, those answers are philosophical: they focus on what Jesus’ death might have accomplished rather than telling the story of why.
If you know the story of the Bible from beginning to end, you can answer that question through a narrative. You don’t need lofty theological arguments. You can start at the very beginning, when sin first entered the world, and explain how the first death for the covering of sin took place. You can follow the thread through the nation of Israel, the sacrificial system, and how it compared to the pagan sacrifices of other nations, all the way to the culmination in Jesus’ own death.
The story itself answers the question: from the very beginning of humankind, death was necessary to cover sin. That’s the gospel—the God story, the euangelion.
So, when we say “a gospel,” we’re saying it’s a story. But I also want to explore this question: What isn’t the gospel?
If the gospel is the story, properly speaking, then what isn’t the gospel are the effects of the gospel. And this distinction is crucial because we often conflate the two.
For example, when I thought about my 1960 Datsun Bluebird, I became obsessed with the effect of owning it—being able to drive it. I didn’t care enough about what the car really was. But you can’t reverse that process. You can’t start with the effect.
Let me explain it this way: imagine telling someone who has a broken family, “You can be a part of God’s family.” That might be a powerful, effective way to help them see who Jesus is. For someone whose earthly family has let them down, hearing about God’s family could be incredibly healing.
But here’s the thing: that statement—“You can be a part of God’s family”—presumes an understanding of what God’s family is. If that person asks, “What does it mean to be a part of God’s family?” and you don’t have an answer, then you haven’t actually preached the gospel.
The what of God’s family is essential knowledge that must be communicated before you can invite someone to be a part of it. It’s like a kid who runs away from home and shows up at a friend’s house, saying, “I want to be a part of your family now.”
If you go to a friend’s house, that might work out fine. Maybe you know their family and like them. But you wouldn’t just show up at a stranger’s house—you don’t know what their family might be like. They could be worse than your own! You see what I’m saying? You have to know what the family is before you can want to be a part of it.
It’s the same with God’s family. You can tell someone all day long, “You can be a part of God’s family.” But if you can’t explain what God’s family is—what it’s really like—then it’s not helpful. The effects are the result of what Jesus did, but they are not the gospel itself.
Here’s an example: let’s go back to Jesus’ death on the cross. The story of Jesus’ death—that’s the gospel. The account of his humiliation, his journey to the cross, the things he said, and the exchanges he had with Herod and Pilate—that’s the gospel. The effect of his death, however, is the atonement: the forgiveness of sins, the making right of our unrighteousness.
Another example comes from Transfiguration Sunday. The story of Jesus’ glorification—that’s the gospel. And let’s be honest, it’s one of the strangest stories in the Bible. Jesus is on a mountain, glowing, with Moses and Elijah standing there. You’re left asking, “What is happening here?” But later, when he’s resurrected in his glorious body, we start to see some answers to those questions.
That story—Jesus’ glorification—is the gospel. The effect of his glorification is the promise that he will glorify us as well.
You might tell someone, “I know life is hard, and I know you’re feeling weak and out of control. But for Jesus’ followers, there’s a promise called glorification—that one day we’ll be perfected. We won’t be weak anymore. We won’t be limited in the same way. We’ll stand strong under Christ and accomplish what we were made to do.”
But here’s the thing: who cares? Who is Jesus to even make that promise if he himself didn’t first receive glory? The story always has to come first.
Sometimes we get tied up in theological statements. Let’s say you’re talking to someone who knows they’ve been making bad decisions. You might say, “Did you know God wants to forgive your sins? Can I talk to you about that?” That’s a theological claim—and it’s fine to make theological claims—as long as you also give them the gospel.
The problem is, when you start with a lofty theological statement like, “God wants to forgive human sins,” you’ll often get a response with other lofty questions or theological challenges. You’re likely to face questions that are hard to answer.
There are good answers in the Bible to tough questions, but they don’t always satisfy everyone. Questions like, “Why does God allow pain in the world if he’s a good God?” Or, “Who is this God who wants to forgive sins when he can’t even fix the pain in the world? How’s he going to fix me?”
And if you start with lofty theological statements, those kinds of questions are likely to come right back at you. Often, we don’t know how to answer them, and that’s okay. But it highlights a key point: leading with theological ideas is much harder than telling a story.
Here’s the good news: everyone loves a good story. I’d encourage you to start by telling the story of Jesus. That’s what we’re going to focus on over the next seven weeks after this. We’re going to explore the story of Jesus from several different angles, giving you ways to tell it. These different angles will help you communicate the gospel effectively, depending on the unique circumstances or situations people are in.
So, remember this: the gospel is not the effects of the gospel. The gospel is not answers to theological questions. And the gospel is also not just an appeal to believe.
Let me ask: has anyone here taken an evangelism training class before? A few of you? Well, for those who haven’t—or even for those who have—we’re going to have one in the future. I think we have it planned for January or February. Talena can confirm that—I wasn’t just making it up on the spot. But it’s coming, and it will be based on the principles we’re talking about here.
A lot of evangelism trainings teach tools like The Four Spiritual Laws. Has anyone heard of that? No? How about The Romans Road? Okay, a few more hands. Now, as Southern Baptists, we also have a method called The ABCs of Salvation: Admit your need, Believe in Jesus, and Call out to him.
In these trainings, you’re often taught how to walk someone through the process of becoming a Christian using these frameworks. And, to be fair, Admit your need is a helpful concept—it’s a human-centric idea that focuses on sinfulness, weakness, or finitude. On some level, it’s an essential doctrine that connects to Jesus’ story, so I can appreciate that.
Humans aren’t where they’re supposed to be. All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, right? That’s a truth we all recognize. It starts off strong. But with approaches like the ABCs of Salvation, it jumps immediately from acknowledging our sin to, “Now believe in Jesus.”
And the problem, as I’ve seen this method presented over and over again, is that it rarely engages the actual story of Jesus. Sure, Jesus’ death might sneak in there somewhere, but the assumption is that Jesus is going to fix our needs if we believe in him—without ever tying that to the story of who Jesus is or what he’s done.
So, what happens? You’re left with two options.
You ask, “Well, how does Jesus meet my needs?” or, “What needs does he promise to meet?” And if you don’t get a satisfying answer, you’re left with more questions than faith.
You assume that Jesus will fulfill any need or desire you have, and without the story to ground you, your understanding of Jesus can go completely off the rails.
Without the story of Jesus, asking someone to believe in him doesn’t make much sense. You can’t just go to someone on the street, at the gas station, or in the grocery line and say, “Hey, did you know you’re a sinner?” And even if they respond, “Yeah, I know,” you can’t just follow up with, “Great! Would you like to believe in Jesus?”
It’s too thin. It lacks the depth of the gospel.
Then, the ABCs tell us to “call out to him.” But here’s the issue: even if someone thinks, “Maybe Jesus could solve this problem I’m having,” and they agree to pray a prayer or make some kind of decision, you’ve still not actually presented the story of the gospel. It’s superficial.
You guys know I’m pretty cynical when it comes to altar calls. The idea of “Come forward to receive Jesus” doesn’t resonate with me. I don’t believe you can hear the gospel once and fully believe it. It’s too big for that. We don’t approach anything else in life that way—faith takes time. It takes hearing and learning the stories of Jesus for the Word of God to grow in you, leading you to a place of understanding and belief.
Understanding will always precede faith.
Aaron Wilson, a writer for Lifeway Research Group—which, mind you, is a Southern Baptist entity—wrote something about the ABCs of Salvation that I think is really insightful. I want to share it with you.
He said this: “An important distinction—in its simplest form, the ABCs of Salvation is not the gospel. Rather, the acts of admitting, believing, and confessing, and you might add repenting, are all biblical responses to the gospel.”
He adds, “The distinction is important. As essential as it is for kids to learn how to glorify God in responding to the gospel, they cannot do so unless they first rightly hear the message that prompts a response.”
Do you see what he’s saying? These are effects—they are responses to the gospel, not the gospel itself.
Even the people who came up with the ABCs of Salvation didn’t intend it to be the primary means of leading someone to Christ. The gospel is so much bigger than that. It has to start with the story—the story that drives the effects of the gospel.
So, with all that said, let’s ask the question: What is the gospel?
The short answer is: It’s Jesus’ story. Remember, the gospel means God’s story—and Jesus’ story is at the center of it.
Now, some people have said that the entire Bible is the gospel. And I actually kind of like that answer. In a sense, the whole Bible is Jesus’ story.
Think about it this way: the Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—are four accounts of what Jesus did and said during his time on earth. They tell the story of Jesus, plain and simple. With the exception of John, there’s very little analysis in the Gospels. They don’t pause to explain the theological implications of Jesus’ actions. For example, when Jesus dies on the cross, nobody in the Gospels explicitly talks about atonement or justification in that moment. It’s just the story of what happened.
Then, you move to the book of Acts. You get a little bit of Jesus at the beginning, but then he ascends to the right hand of the Father, and the focus shifts to what the Holy Spirit is doing through the church. It’s still God’s story—what he’s doing now through his people.
In the book of Revelation, Jesus reappears. He recounts some things that happened during the church era and tells us what’s going to happen in the end when he returns to judge and establish his kingdom.
The rest of the New Testament—the letters written by Paul, John, Peter, and others—serve to analyze and unpack the story of Jesus. These letters explore who Jesus is and what his life, death, and resurrection mean.
If we were to categorize it, we might say the Gospels, Acts, and Revelation contain the gospel itself—the story. And the rest of the New Testament letters are about the gospel’s effects. They’re reflections on the story of Jesus and its implications for our lives.
But what were the first books written? Likely Matthew, Mark, Galatians, and then Luke. But that’s a different discussion for another time.
Let’s go back to one of the most fascinating moments in the gospel story—when Jesus had risen from the dead, glorified, and he was walking on the road to Emmaus. He was walking with two of his disciples, but they didn’t recognize him because he had somehow hidden his identity from them.
As they walked, Jesus began asking them questions about himself—about the very events they had just experienced. He asked, essentially, “Didn’t this Jesus say he would rise from the dead?” But the disciples were disheartened. They’d seen him die, and now, on the third day, they hadn’t seen him alive. Disappointed and confused, they had decided to just go home.
So here they are, discouraged and heading home. The irony, of course, is that we, as the readers, know they’re walking and talking with Jesus, but they don’t realize it yet.
Finally, Jesus reveals himself to them. And in Luke 24:25-27, it says:
He said to them, "How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Wasn’t it necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted for them the things concerning himself in all the Scriptures.
Now, “the Scriptures” here refers to the Old Testament. When Jesus talks about Moses and the Prophets, he’s referring to the Torah—the first five books of the Old Testament—and all the prophetic writings.
So, imagine this moment: Jesus walks them through these stories and says, “That story about the Red Sea? That was me. The pillar of fire? That was me. The burning bush? That was me. When Yahweh spoke to Amos? That was me.” He’s connecting all the dots for them, showing that even in the Old Testament, it was always about him.
Everywhere God shows up face-to-face with human beings, it’s Jesus. He was there, enacting his story through his people all the way throughout the Old Testament.
Paul affirms this in Colossians 1:15-16:
"He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For everything was created by him, in heaven and on earth, the visible and the invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through him and for him."
Let’s pause on that phrase: “the image of the invisible God.” If Jesus is the image of the invisible God, then anytime you see God made visible in the Old Testament, who is it? It’s Christ. It’s Jesus.
Think about Genesis 1, where it says, “God spoke.” But speaking isn’t something invisible spirits do—speaking is something that humans do. When God speaks creation into being, that’s Jesus. Paul says everything was created by him, through him, and for him.
It’s all over the Old Testament and the New Testament. The whole Bible—every part of it—is the gospel because it’s all Jesus’ story. It’s all about him, and it’s all for him.
This is why, as we look at early Christian creeds, we see that they are concise statements summarizing what Christians believe. Some of the earliest creeds are so old that they actually appear in the Bible itself.
Take 1 Corinthians 15:3-8, for example:
"For I passed on to you as most important what I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve. Then he appeared to over five hundred brothers and sisters at one time; most of them are still alive, but some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one born at the wrong time, he also appeared to me."
Look at that! It’s all Jesus’ story: Christ died—Jesus’ story. He was buried—Jesus’ story. He was raised—Jesus’ story. He appeared to many—Jesus’ story.
This creed reminds us that the gospel is not just theological concepts—it’s the story of Jesus. It’s the story of what happened, who he is, and what he’s done.
The whole creed—this entire statement—is about what Jesus did. Take the Apostles’ Creed, for example. In the section about Jesus, it says:
"I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to hell. On the third day, he rose again from the dead. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. From there, he will come to judge the living and the dead."
Do you notice how every single statement is about what happened? It’s not theologizing. It’s not trying to explain soteriology or tackle free will versus predestination. It doesn’t address the complicated theological debates that often surround the gospel in our Western minds.
The Apostles’ Creed wasn’t worried about that. Their assumption was simple: if you know the story, the right doctrine and thinking will follow.
The early church fathers reflected this same approach. Let me share one example with you from The Epistle of Polycarp to the Philippians, chapter 7. Polycarp wrote:
"For whoever does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is antichrist."
In other words, your beliefs must align with what actually happened. He goes on to say:
"Whoever does not confess the testimony of the cross is of the devil."
If you deny that Jesus died on the cross, Polycarp calls that demonic. He continues:
"And whoever prefers their own lusts to the oracles of the Lord and says there is neither a resurrection nor a judgment, he is the firstborn of Satan."
Denying the resurrection or the coming judgment is, in his words, satanic.
Notice what Polycarp is doing here: he isn’t diving into nuanced doctrine. He’s saying, you must believe the story of what Jesus did. If you don’t know that story, what do you even believe?
And that’s the question for us. As we reflect on the gospel—on the story of Jesus—I want you to think about this: what parts of the gospel might you have left out before hearing this message? Are there things you might have included instead?
There’s a question on your note sheet that asks this very thing: What parts of the gospel might you have missed or overlooked?
Now, I’ve done some reflecting of my own. Over the past week, I went through all of the early church creeds, the creeds in the New Testament, and the creedal statements of the church fathers. It took about four hours—and I’m sure I didn’t find them all! But I went through as many as I could, and here’s the list I came up with to answer the question: What is the gospel?
Jesus created all things for himself.
Humans sinned, showing disloyalty to their creator.
Jesus left his throne in heaven and became human when he was conceived in the Virgin Mary by the Holy Spirit.
Jesus was born as the rightful heir to David’s throne—the throne of God’s kingdom.
Jesus proved to be the rightful King of Israel through his sinless life and performance of signs.
Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist.
Jesus cleansed the temple.
Jesus appeared in glory on the Mount of Transfiguration.
Jesus was crucified because his people rejected his kingship.
Jesus died.
Jesus was buried in a tomb.
Jesus descended to Hades.
Jesus rose from the dead.
Jesus raised the glorified saints of the Old Covenant.
Jesus received a glorified body.
Jesus appeared to his disciples and many others as evidence of his resurrection.
Jesus ascended to heaven on the clouds.
Jesus sat down on the throne at the right hand of the Father.
Jesus received authority over all things in heaven and on earth.
Jesus will rule until all his enemies come under his rightful authority.
Jesus sent the Holy Spirit, the Helper, to the church.
Jesus will return to earth in the same way he ascended.
Jesus will resurrect the dead.
Everyone will be judged.
The wicked will be sent into the outer darkness.
The righteous will be glorified and enter the kingdom of God for eternity.
According to the early church, the testimony of the New Testament authors, the testimony of the scriptures, and the writings of the church fathers—that’s the gospel. That’s the story of Jesus.
Notice, there’s nothing in there about theological statements or appeals to believe. It’s simply the story of Jesus.
Now, let’s talk about the whole gospel as we close. You might be thinking what I thought when I first started to understand this: How is telling a story going to convince anyone of anything? But let me ask you to reflect on this:
How much has story—books, movies, TV, or even YouTube videos—shaped your thinking? How often have you watched a movie or read a book, and the story resonated with you so deeply that it sparked new ideas or even changed your perspective?
Stories are powerful.
And there’s one thread that runs through the entire story of scripture—a motif, if you will—that holds the gospel together. It’s the hub of the gospel.
Think back to my 1960 Datsun Bluebird station wagon. My mom’s big concern was that even if I could get the engine to turn over, the axles were probably seized after sitting in the desert for 22 years.
Here’s the interesting thing: a car engine can be used for all sorts of things—a car, a boat, a helicopter, an airplane, or even machinery in a shop. But no matter where the engine is, it needs to connect to something that drives motion. On a car, the engine connects to the drivetrain, which connects to the axle, and then the hub. The hub holds everything together and connects the axle to the wheels.
If we’re talking about the gospel, the hub—the thing that holds it all together—is the kingdom of God.
The kingdom of God is the primary thread that runs through the entire Bible.
From the very beginning, when Adam and Eve were given dominion in the garden, their command was to multiply and fill the earth with the glory of God. Their commission was to build God’s kingdom.
When the kingdom fell apart because of human sin, everything God has done since has been about putting it back together. The kingdom of God is the hub of the gospel. Everything we think about when we think about the gospel passes through that hub. It is the center of the gospel story.
Look at Luke 4:43-44:
"But he said to them, 'It is necessary for me to proclaim the good news (the gospel) about the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because I was sent for this purpose.' And he was preaching in the synagogues of Judea."
Notice that. Jesus himself refers to the gospel as the good news about the kingdom of God. This was his favorite way to speak about his story—through the lens of the kingdom of God.
Jesus came proclaiming that the kingdom of God had arrived in him. And even when he stayed in one town for a while, he reminded people, “I have to go to other towns because I need to proclaim the gospel—the good news—that the kingdom of God has come.”
The kingdom of God is central to the gospel. For Jesus, evangelism looked something like this: “You see how the kingdom of this world is falling apart around us? The kingdom of God has come in Christ.” That’s the gospel.
Look at Acts 20:24-25. This is the Apostle Paul speaking:
"But I consider my life of no value to myself; my purpose is to finish my course and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of God's grace. And now I know that none of you, among whom I went about preaching the kingdom, will ever see me again."
You might think, “Oh, for Paul, the gospel must have been about justification of sins.” But no—Paul explicitly says here that the gospel he preached was the kingdom.
The kingdom of God is a massive, central part of Jesus’ story. The early disciples knew it. The apostles knew it. And if the hub of a car connects the engine’s power to the ground, then the kingdom of God is the hub that transmits the power of the gospel of Jesus.
In every way we look at the gospel, we must look through the lens of the kingdom of God.
Amen?
Next week, and for the next five weeks, we’re going to talk about five effects of the gospel. But we’ll approach them through the hub of the kingdom of God. Here’s what we’ll explore:
Victory
Family
Forgiveness
Freedom
Transformation
These aren’t the only effects of the gospel, but they are some of the big ones we see in scripture. And we’ll examine them by asking: What was Jesus doing to bring about the kingdom of God?
How does the kingdom give us victory? How does it give us family? How does it bring forgiveness, freedom, and transformation?
That’s the name of this sermon series: The Gospel Is Bigger Than You Think.
I hope, right now, you’re sitting there thinking, Wow, the gospel really is bigger than I thought. Maybe you’re feeling a little overwhelmed. Maybe you’re wondering, How could I ever share the gospel? It already felt hard to share before, and now I need to know the whole story? How am I supposed to do this?
It’s a lot.
But here’s the good news: the very last week of this series is all about simplicity in spite of complexity. Don’t miss a week of this series. Don’t miss it, because when we get to the end, we’ll talk about how—once you’ve absorbed the fullness of the gospel—you can share it with others in its simplicity.
I believe that when we get to that final week, after exploring the depth and beauty of the gospel, you’ll have clarity on how to share it simply and effectively. You won’t feel lost or unsure. You won’t feel like you’re just saying, “Jesus died for your sins,” and leaving people confused. Instead, you’ll understand how to share the gospel in a way that connects with others and makes sense.
My prayer is that by the end of this series, you’ll want to share the gospel because you’ll know how. You’ll feel prepared, equipped, and excited to tell others the good news.
So, as we go through this series, I pray that it prepares you to believe the gospel fully and to call others to gospel obedience, just as you’ve been called.
Prayer:
Let me pray for you.
Lord, I pray this over not just today’s message but over the entire series to come. Fill us with a zeal to understand the fullness of all that you have done and the effects it has for us.
Equip and empower us—by your Word and by your Spirit—to share the gospel with both clarity and simplicity. Help us to grasp the great depth of your gospel, the incredible story you have lived out for us.
We have confidence in your story. We believe that you came, that you are preeminent, that you died and took our sins to Hades, and that you rose to new life. We believe you bring us with you into resurrection, into glory, and that you will bring us into eternity when you judge the living and the dead.
Lord, I pray that we would be able to share this confidence with others. Prepare our hearts and our minds to proclaim your gospel.
I pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
