“The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Perhaps you’ve encountered this famous line penned by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Hopkins aimed all of his poetry at helping people see that we live in a world drenched in divine delights — a world that everywhere reveals the glory of God. That is a wonderful reality, but for the child of God, the wonder goes even deeper.

For the Christian, the glory revealed in the world is not the glory of some generic deity; it is the goodness of our happy Father. “The earth is full of the lovingkindness of the Lord” (Psalm 33:5 NASB). And so, the pleasures we experience in the world are paternal pleasures. The beauty of the world is our Father’s smile in stuff. And, wonder of wonders, our Father delights in our delight in his gifts. Like a happy dad on Christmas morning, the Father of lights lavishes on us all things richly to enjoy so that we might be happy in the Giver of all good things (James 1:17). Who then could resist reveling in the pleasures of God?

We do — daily! Like fussy children, aren’t we often too greedy or self-focused or distracted to enjoy our Father in his gifts? Consider yourself for a moment. Did you enjoy the sunrise this morning? I’m not just asking if you saw it. No, did you marvel as the sun vaulted the horizon? Did you delight in the fanfare of light and color? Or maybe you’re not the “outdoors type.” In that case, did you find pleasure in a cup of coffee? Or the comfort of a good pair of socks? Or the smile of your child? Did you really attend to any of our Father’s gifts?

As you can see, there is a reason C.S. Lewis called enjoying God the difficult discipline of hedonism. Joy is hard work, but eternally worthwhile. In Letters to Malcolm, Lewis writes, “We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito” (101). And pleasures are his footprints, reminding us that he is here. “Pleasures are shafts of the glory as it strikes our sensibilities” (121).

So, if Lewis is right, if we can nowhere evade the presence of God, then how do we so often — consciously or unconsciously — evade the pleasures of God? How are we so easily distracted from enjoying our Father’s gifts? Lewis gives three reasons well worth pondering.

Greed

Lewis starts with low-hanging fruit: greed. Why? Because greed corrupts the pleasures of God by seizing them in degrees, times, or manners outside of God’s design. We are all prone to wander into those wonderless sins.

Greed is a scaly beast. It stashes and hoards and sleeps on treasure. Greed is always hungry, always demanding more. Lewis calls this the demand of Encore. That fatal word encore knows no boundaries. It recognizes no proper times or rhythms. It always overeats. It loves to say “just one more.”

Unfortunately, almost all of our consumer society aims to allow us to demand encore in a voice that cannot be gainsaid. And the dragon fusses — and fusses loudly — if the demand is denied. Yet Lewis doubts that God ever fulfills this desire for encore. “How should the Infinite repeat Himself? All space and time are too little for Him to utter Himself in them once” (35). Ironically, the demand for encore is too easily pleased! God wants to give more than we desire to get. How many present pleasures do we render rotten by demanding again and again what God once gave?

But greed does not always announce itself in fire and destruction. Perhaps the sneakiest form of greed comes when we use God’s gifts without enjoying them for what they are, giving no heed to what Lewis called “the quiddity” of things (Surprised by Joy, 244). When we indulge this form of greed, we force honey to school us about wisdom without ever actually tasting the honey-ness of honey (Proverbs 24:13–14). We order birds to soothe our anxiety without ever delighting in bird-ish beauty (Luke 12:24). We close the sun into the classroom of theology without ever basking in his sunny glory or his Eric-Liddell-like delight (Psalm 19:5). We should delight that things are before we seek to use them. As Chesterton once said, we must take fierce pleasure in things being themselves. Here there be pleasures the dragon never knows.

“God is eternally, graciously, stunningly generous with his pleasures.”

God is eternally, graciously, stunningly generous with his pleasures. The daily sunrise says so. And as Thomas Traherne — who was one of Lewis’s great inspirations — points out in his book Centuries, we are not yet nearly as happy as he means us to be. What an antidote to sticky fingers, the itch for encore, and the pragmatic misuse of God’s good gifts!

Self-Focus

According to Lewis, the wrong kind of attention also distracts us from the pleasures of God. He explains that this kind of attention subjectifies pleasures. It turns from the sunrise (the object) to try to see what’s happening in me (the subject).

We’ve all had the experience of turning inward to grasp a feeling only to have it slip through our fingers. I suspect this dynamic is often at the root when Christians struggle with assurance. A saint looks inward to find evidence of faith and discovers faded footprints in the sand because his gaze has left the object of faith. He has ceased to attend to Christ.

Pleasures, just like faith, are object dependent. When you stop looking at the sunrise to ask, Am I really enjoying it? you lose the whole pith and pleasure of the sunrise. Thus, self-focus, the wrong kind of attention, can gut the pleasures of God. This scoliosis of the soul can be traced right back to the garden, which led the ancients to call man homo incurvatus in se — man bent in on himself. So, how do we become unbent?

Ultimately, only the Spirit of God can rip our attention off self and rivet it on God. But Traherne provides a way to act that miracle: lose your “self” in wonder. “When you enter into [God’s world],” Traherne writes, “it is an illimited field of Variety and Beauty: where you may lose yourself in the multitude of Wonders and Delights. But it is a happy loss to lose oneself in admiration . . . and to find God in exchange for oneself, which we then do when we see Him in His gifts, and adore His glory” (9). Childlike wonder crowds out selfishness and makes room for divine pleasures to enchant us to God.

Familiarity

Finally, Lewis warns that inattention is the greatest enemy to the pleasures of God because, over time, we fail to see what we see. Like an old bungee cord, our senses become slack — our vision veiled by familiarity. What we once enjoyed with assiduous attentiveness soon fades to the background like art on a hallway wall. Traherne warns us, “The most beautiful object being always present, grows common and despised. . . . Were we to see it only once, that first appearance would amaze us. But being daily seen, we observe it not” (65). In our fallen state, the current of human sensibility ever drifts toward this negligence.

Let me try to prove this. Have you walked past a tree today? Did you see it? If you’re like me, you didn’t even notice. But what a fantastic work of the triune imagination. This star-powered wood-tower becomes a pillar of Eden in summer, a heaven-high flower in fall, a snow-robed statue in winter, and a living signpost of hope in spring. Just imagine a world without trees! Yet we observe them not.

Just here, the poets are so helpful because, as Samuel Taylor Coleridge explains, poetry aims to “give the charm of novelty to things of every day . . . by awakening the mind’s attention to the lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us, an inexhaustible treasure” (Biographia Literaria, 208). Poetry — perhaps preeminently — arrests our attention and helps us savor the pleasures of God.

The Psalms do this so well. These inspired poets awaken us to men that bear fruit like trees (Psalm 1:3), to the sun that runs across the sky like a giddy bridegroom (Psalm 19:5), to the moon and sundry stars that hold court at night (Psalm 136:9), to wind heaped up in heavenly storehouses (Psalm 135:7), and, of course, to the sea, that fathomless playground of Leviathan (Psalm 104:26). In this theatre of glory, we shall never starve for want of wonders. If we had but Spirit-opened eyes, we would out-awe the angels. “The real labor,” according to Lewis, “is to remember, to attend. In fact, to come awake. Still more, to remain awake” (Letters to Malcolm, 101).

The pleasures of God are good — in the full, fat, dripping sense of the word — but they require work. Joy is indeed a difficult discipline. Greed, self-centeredness, and the relentless pull of inattention constantly creep in and cut us off from divine delights. Therefore, Traherne exhorts us, “Apply yourself vigorously to the enjoyment of [God’s world]” (63).

I used to think of myself as a patient man. Then I got married. Then I had a child. Then another one. And another one. Through those precious gifts, God has exposed me to me. I’ve seen just how thin my “vast patience” can run.

Recently, I lost it with my eldest son. He needed discipline, and received wrath instead. I felt the red-hot fringes of my patience. I yelled a sinful yell. Afterward, I needed to kneel down eye to eye, humble myself, and ask my son for forgiveness — and I did. And he forgave me.

As I felt my bloodstream cool, I considered my anger — offended by his lack of respect, inconvenienced by his disobedience, hurt by his defiance, and then seeking some form of vengeance. My raised voice tried to avenge my bruised ego. Even though I love my two sons more than any other boy on earth, and would gladly die for their sake, I was still somehow tempted to fight back, to take up arms and go to war.

As I explored that impulse, I wondered how much more intense it must be for those who’ve actually been injured — the betrayed spouse, the abandoned friend, the slandered church member, the persecuted coworker, the abused child. What flames must course through their veins? How easy must it feel to want to hurt like they’ve been hurt, to make the other person pay for what they’ve done? Have you ever tasted a warm and bitter thirst for vengeance?

Vengeance Is Not Mine

As the apostle Paul unfolds what an authentically Christian community will look like for the church in Rome, he weaves in several vital one-another realities: “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor” (Romans 12:10). Contribute to one another’s needs and welcome one another (verse 13). “Live in harmony with one another” (verse 16). Then he says,

Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. (Romans 12:17)

Followers of Jesus don’t retaliate. When we receive evil — real, shameful, painful evil — we don’t compensate the offender with another offense, but instead with surprising grace and mercy, with a warm meal and a cold drink (Romans 12:20). We respond to our wounds in ways that even the God-hating world can admire (“what is honorable in the sight of all”).

“Believing in hell breeds healthier, more Christian relationships.”

How could a betrayed spouse, an abandoned friend, an abused child possibly respond like that? Paul goes on to tell us two verses later: “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord’” (Romans 12:19). Cravings for personal vengeance dry up and wither when held up before the fires of final judgment, when we remember that God will repay every evil against us.

The Relationally Practical Doctrine of Hell

When Paul writes of God, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” he’s reading from Deuteronomy 32, from the great song Moses sang to the people before he died. Why would Paul turn here when speaking to believers who’ve been sinned against? Because the new people of God, the church, still finds refuge, justice, and hope in the holy and unyielding wrath of God. Moses sings first of God’s righteous fury against the sins of Israel:

A fire is kindled by my anger,     and it burns to the depths of Sheol,devours the earth and its increase,     and sets on fire the foundations of the mountains.And I will heap disasters upon them;     I will spend my arrows on them;they shall be wasted with hunger,     and devoured by plague     and poisonous pestilence. (Deuteronomy 32:22–24)

But just before he might wipe out his chosen people for their defiance, he turns his wrath instead against the enemies of Israel, “lest their adversaries should misunderstand, lest they should say, ‘Our hand is triumphant, it was not the Lord who did all this’” (Deuteronomy 32:27). So, he says of those enemies,

“Vengeance is mine, and recompense,     for the time when their foot shall slip;for the day of their calamity is at hand,     and their doom comes swiftly.”For the Lord will vindicate his people     and have compassion on his servants. (Deuteronomy 32:35–36)

And why will God pour out such wrath against Israel’s enemies? Because the enemies of God’s people have made themselves enemies of God himself. Notice how their adversaries have now become my adversaries by the end of the song.

I kill and I make alive;     I wound and I heal;     and there is none that can deliver out of my hand. . . .I will take vengeance on my adversaries     and will repay those who hate me.I will make my arrows drunk with blood,     and my sword shall devour flesh. (Deuteronomy 32:39–42)

This isn’t only the God of the Old Testament. This is the God of the Old and New Testaments. The God who wrote the law and the God who wrote the gospel. The Beginning and the End. The God who shows us wondrous mercy in Christ will rain horrible wrath on all who reject and oppose him — a fire devouring the earth, a devastating famine, a poisonous plague, a sword soaked in blood.

Every unforgiven sinner will suffer that awful storm. And every unforgiven sin against you will face the same fate. This is how a betrayed spouse, an abandoned friend, an abused child can suffer harm and not retaliate. They know they will be vindicated and made whole again. Believing in hell, then, really does breed healthier, more Christian relationships.

The Cross as Vengeance

Not all sins against us will be repaid with hell, though. Because our own sins, in Christ, won’t be repaid with hell. God will punish every sin against you, either in conscious, eternal torment or in the crushing of his precious Son. John Piper says,

God will lift from you the suicidal load of vengeance and carry it to one of two places. He will carry it to the cross if the person repents, or he will carry it to hell where they will be forever. And you can’t improve upon either of those. If they’re in hell, you don’t need to add to their punishment. If their load was borne and forgiven and paid at the cross, you would dishonor the Lord if you didn’t share in the forgiveness. (“How to Battle Bitterness”)

Christ bore the horrors of Deuteronomy 32 — a fire devouring the earth, a sword soaked in blood, a crown of piercing thorns, a back ravaged by scourging, a cross of shame and agony — for all who would believe in him, even those who have hurt you. Would you try and improve on the vengeance of the cross? Do the sufferings of the sinless Christ seem somehow insufficient when it’s you who have been wronged? Christian, remember that God’s wrath once burned against you, his plague crept toward you, his sword stood high above you — and then Jesus bore that hell for you.

This resistance in us to entrust our injustices to God is why Paul goes after pride in the same verses: “Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil” (Romans 12:16–17). Why are we reluctant to relinquish justice over the sins against us? Why do we assume we’d be a better judge than God? Because of a coddling and corrupting pride. Because we gladly overestimate our own sense of wisdom and righteousness in these painful situations, and because we grossly underestimate our need for God’s forgiveness, understanding, and justice.

If the sins against us were left in our courtrooms, before our broken and impartial benches, they’d be woefully mishandled. But thanks be to God that he himself judges every last case, that each and every wrong will be repaid with flawless justice. He doesn’t overlook a single offense or lighten a single sentence. He will either nail the sin to the cross, or he will consume it in hell. Can you bear to believe that? Can you surrender your secret cravings to retaliate, the bitternesses you quietly sip and refill?

So Far as It Depends on You

One last thread deserves attention in Romans 12. When it comes to the sins people commit against us, Paul isn’t content with a merely defensive strategy (“leave it to the wrath of God”), but encourages the forgiven and soon-to-be vindicated to actively and persistently pursue peace — if possible, even with their offenders.

Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God. (Romans 12:16–19)

You can see how the two thick and colorful threads weave themselves together in this distinctly Christian love: let God enact your vengeance and do all you can to make peace. Don’t settle for a cold, distant truce when it comes to these offenses, but fight for the warmth of harmony.

And not only within the church, but strive to “live peaceably with all,” the apostle says. That means even the unbelievers — the neighbors, the coworkers, the friends, the parents, the children — who sin against you. The perfect justice of God — in hell and on the cross — makes this kind of miraculous peace relationally possible. We can hold out meaningful, heartfelt peace even to those who despise, harass, persecute, and harm us.

Very often, our enemies will not receive it (that’s why Paul says “so far as it depends on you”), but if they do, it just might be the day they, like you, are rescued from wrath and step into joy-filled peace with God.

Last year was a season of losses for me. It started in the spring when I was hospitalized 21 days for double pneumonia. The lung infection was bad enough, but the extended stay in bed left my right arm thick with lymphedema. Some of it was related to my long-ago therapy for cancer, but this was different. After my lungs cleared, I was sent home, but with a bulkier arm that was hard to lift.

Then in late summer, I developed a second respiratory infection, much worse than the first. During another lengthy hospital stay, I noticed more problems with my right arm. The doctors, however, stayed focused on the more life-threatening issue with my lungs. When the infection cleared and I was ready to go home, it was obvious my arm had suffered more damage. The already minuscule muscles I had used to feed myself were gone. Even with my hand splint, I could not lift the spoon to my mouth.

Decades ago, after suffering quadriplegia in the wake of my accident, doctors warned me that my partially paralyzed muscles would atrophy, and I knew that my “good” arm and my fragile lungs would eventually deteriorate. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be, losing the capacity to breathe well and losing my independence at mealtimes. Like I said, it was a tough year.

My flesh is wasting away, and who would blame me if I complained? Certainly not the world — it’s natural for them to expect an old lady in a wheelchair to grumble over her losses. But followers of Jesus Christ should expect more from me. Much more.

Why Do You Quarrel with God?

The Bible first addresses complaining in the book of Exodus. Things start off well enough after the Lord performs a great miracle at the Red Sea. At first, everyone’s ecstatic about walking through a sea parted on either side like glass skyscrapers. With their hearts bursting with joy, the entire fifteenth chapter is one long praise song:

I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously;     the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea.The Lord is my strength and my song,     and he has become my salvation;this is my God, and I will praise him,     my father’s God, and I will exalt him. (Exodus 15:1–2)

A few verses later, though, their song fizzles. Only 72 hours of traveling in the desert without finding water, they grumble and demand of Moses, “What shall we drink?” (Exodus 15:24).

How ironic that they should complain about water! Didn’t they recall that God had just parted a whole sea of it? Their memory was jogged when God made bitter desert water good enough for them to drink. Yet only a couple of campsites later, they put up another stink about water. This time Moses replies, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” (Exodus 17:2).

Moses sharply rebukes them for disputing with the God who has just wondrously rescued them out of slavery. So, “he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the quarreling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the Lord by saying, ‘Is the Lord among us or not?’” (Exodus 17:7).

Do Not Harden Your Hearts

Nowadays, who among us would dare quarrel with God like that? Yet we do, every time we bellyache, quibble over some inequity, or whine about God’s timing or lack of provision. Even when we mutter (thinking it’s barely audible), all of our bemoaning is an assault against one Person: Jesus, the great I Am, who spilled a red sea of blood to wondrously rescue us out of slavery. When things don’t go our way and we grumble about it, we are inasmuch stamping our foot, crossing our arms, and demanding, “Lord, are you among us or not!”

Psalm 95:7–10 is a repeat of the Exodus debacle, except this time it’s not Moses speaking; it is Yahweh himself. And he has a message for us:

Do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness, when your fathers put me to the test and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work. . . . They are a people who go astray in their heart, and they have not known my ways. (Psalm 95:8–10)

When God’s people make a habit of complaining, they’ve gone astray and abandoned God’s ways.

“If this is what Jesus endured to rescue me, I refuse to dignify any sin that impaled him to that cursed tree.”

“Wait a minute,” some might say. “Cut us some slack — we’re just letting off a little steam.” If complaining were only a slip of the tongue, I might understand — especially if that person were an immature believer. But when a Christian’s default setting is to grumble, it develops into a character trait — a complaining spirit. A rebellious spirit. Some Christians may not see themselves as stiff-necked rebels when they squawk if it rains on their picnic, but Scripture speaks of a complaining spirit far differently.

Trembling over Our Grumbling

Whenever a group of Christians tour Joni and Friends and stop by my office, I like to spend some time and explain to them the reason behind my smile in this wheelchair. After introductions and a few comments, I’ll pick out someone to reach for the Bible on my shelf and flip to the book of Jude (I have the page marked). Then I’ll ask, “Read the fifteenth verse, please.”

Adjusting her glasses, the reader will say,

Behold, the Lord comes with ten thousands of his holy ones, to execute judgment on all and to convict all the ungodly of all their deeds of ungodliness that they have committed in such an ungodly way, and of all the harsh things that ungodly sinners have spoken against him. (Jude 14–15)

“Who are these ungodly people?” I’ll ask. “Pedophiles? Mass murderers? Drug dealers in schoolyards?” A few will nod. I then turn to the one with the Bible and ask her to read the next verse: “These are grumblers, malcontents, following their own sinful desires” (Jude 16).

I close the little lesson, explaining how we tend to think of sin on a sliding scale. We place on one side gross wickedness like barstool swearing and Satan worship, and on the other nitpicking (complaints that appear respectable). We think we are not as ungodly as those evil reprobates who take part in orgies and follow the horoscope. We’re not ungodly at all; we’re merely spewing off about things now and then.

Jude’s scathing judgment, however, proves that God does not split hairs when it comes to sin, especially the sin of complaining. So, he does what we’d consider scandalous: he places grumblers at the top of a sordid list of apostates, connivers, and loud-mouthed boasters “for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever” (Jude 13).

It should make us tremble.

My Life Is Not My Own

After those two times in the hospital, I began rigorous home therapy for my damaged lungs. Twice a day, I must wear a tight vest that violently vibrates my chest for fifteen minutes as I inhale steroids through a nebulizer. “How long do I have to keep this up?” I asked my pulmonologist.

“Indefinitely,” he replied, “if you want to live.”

I was numb. That first week I tried to ignore the whole routine, the terrible jackhammering of the vest-machine, as well as the pungent vapors from the nebulizer. I viewed the routine as an unpleasant detour, an inconvenient interruption until I could get back on the main road of life. Ah, but this is your life, I heard the Spirit whisper.

Did I have a right to complain? Actually, I possess no real rights. I laid them all at the foot of the cross, agreeing with 1 Corinthians 6:19–20: “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” The Son of God was ripped to shreds, and then hung up to drain like a bloodied piece of meat on a hook. And if this is what Jesus endured to rescue me, I refuse to dignify any sin that impaled him to that cursed tree.

I will not coddle anything that helped drive the nails deeper. I relinquished my right to complain so that I might glorify Almighty God through my hardships. Anything less shrinks my soul.

Woes of a Complaining Spirit

A complaining spirit abuses the kindness of Christ, for God “raised us up with [Christ] . . . so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6–7). God will one day raise us up to showcase the riches and kindness of his grace through us. I dare not diminish that glorious moment with a negative tongue. A grumbling spirit would only prove from heaven that I viewed his kindness as sorely lacking to me on earth.

A complaining spirit reveals a warped understanding of God’s ways with suffering. Through the years, Christ has used my quadriplegia to wrench my heart off of this world and affix it to his own. Jesus has captured my heart, totally ruining me for worldly delights (thus lessening any tendency to complain). My satisfaction is not bound to earthly things; I have been set free to pursue the joys of eternity (2 Corinthians 4:18). Complaining lessens the eternal reward my suffering might have gained. It shrinks my heavenly inheritance.

A complaining spirit weakens our confidence in God’s promises. Psalm 106:24–25 says, “Then they despised the pleasant land, having no faith in his promise. They murmured in their tents, and did not obey the voice of the Lord.” The Christian who wallows in complaining is tempted to believe that God might leave him, that God isn’t always helpful in times of trouble, or that divine grace is lacking for every need. He’s increasingly suspicious whether God’s word is always trustworthy. He feels that suffering is not worth what little eternal benefit it earns (Hebrews 13:5; Psalm 46:1; 2 Corinthians 12:9; Psalm 62:8; 2 Corinthians 4:17).

Chest-percussion therapy at home was a kick in the right direction. Without wasting another week, I decided to use that time to memorize Scripture. My husband opened the white three-ring binder containing passages I’ve either memorized or am in the process of learning by heart. He placed the binder on my bed where I could see it, and while the nebulizer hissed, and the vest rattled my chest, I memorized a batch of Scriptures. Ephesians 1 and part of chapter 2 have become an inoculation against any thought of murmuring, as has the Nicene Creed and Psalms 84, 92, and 121.

I’m sure you’d agree that suffering naturally contains the seeds of complaining. But when cultivated by the Spirit of God, suffering “yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11).

Grumbling Is a Contagious Disease

Every morning a girlfriend or two arrives at our home to start the coffee and give me a bed bath, do toileting routines, get me dressed, and sit me up in my wheelchair. Sometimes I can hear them in the kitchen getting things ready, and I think, Lord, I’m in enormous pain, and I have no strength for this day, let alone for these dear helpers. I have no smile for them. But you do! So, please let me borrow your smile.

By the time they open the bedroom door with a fresh cup of coffee, my attitude has been cast for the day. I have God’s smiling grace. I am ready to serve them as they serve me. Ephesians 4:16 says we are one with other believers, and we are expected to act like it: “From [Christ] the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.” My work in the body is to build others up, facing my problems with them in mind.

If I were to growl about my pain and paralysis, it would diminish the spiritual walk of these girls. It would sow negative seeds of discord, releasing them to complain about their own headaches and hardships. This exact thing happened in Numbers 14:36–37: “The men whom Moses sent to spy out the land . . . returned and made all the congregation grumble against him by bringing up a bad report about the land.”

I cannot provide a better service to the people around me, including the girls who help me in the morning, than to not complain.

Will We Expect More of Us?

Whatever happened to my arm and the problem with feeding myself? Well, it never got better, but I don’t want any complaint to dare shrink my soul, dishonor my Lord, diminish my inheritance, or impact others negatively.

So, every Friday evening, my neighbor Kristen comes to our house around mealtime to cut up my food and lift it to my mouth so that I can enjoy dinner while my husband enjoys his. But to make sure I don’t allow myself a centimeter of self-pity, I’ll always take a moment to bless her hands: “Lord, shine your favor on Kristen, who is serving you tonight by serving me” (Colossians 3:23–24). The blessing probably helps me as much as it does her.

Do I sound like a saint on a pedestal? Hardly. For I should not be the exception. After all, Titus 2:7 was written for all of us: “Show yourself in all respects to be a model of good works.” And there’s nothing good about a complaining spirit. Yes, followers of Jesus Christ should expect more from one another. Much more.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. If you’re reading the Navigators Bible Reading Plan with us in 2024, we read Psalm 22 together two weeks ago and then talked about the challenges it poses to understanding the cross of Christ. That was in APJ 2015.

Today we’re back in the Psalms, reading Psalm 31 together and then Psalm 32 tomorrow. Both psalms — Psalm 31 and 32 — carry the same internal dynamic that Sarah, a listener to the podcast, points out and is trying to figure out. Here’s what she wrote: “Pastor John, hello to you, and thank you and Tony both for this podcast.” You’re most welcome, Sarah! “As I read through the Psalms, I get an amazing picture of the emotional life of faith. I am thankful for such a vivid picture of what it means to be a believer and the spectrum of emotions that we feel, and how the psalmist shows us how to process these emotions.

“But then I come to places in the Psalms that are more jarring and foreign to me, namely, about the physical pain and physical release of sin and forgiveness. Obviously we must be careful not to equate all physical suffering with the direct guilt for one specific sin. But perhaps we need to be careful not to write off specific sins in our physical pains. This comes up specifically in Psalm 31:9–10 and Psalm 32:1–5.

“Can you explain these texts and talk about the physical consequences of our guilt, and the physical health and release that can come with forgiveness? I never hear solid Bible teachers, preachers, or theologians — or even Christian health gurus — connect hidden sin, the torment of guilt, and the release of forgiveness to our physical well-being. To what extent can we make this connection? And how have you seen this spiritual-physical link in your own ministry?”

I don’t have any doubt that Sarah is right, that we should take the Psalms seriously when they picture physical ailments as sometimes owing to unconfessed sin. Now, one of the reasons I say sometimes is because in John 9 Jesus’s disciples saw a blind man and asked, “‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ Jesus answered, ‘It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him’” (John 9:2–3).

“We should take the Psalms seriously when they picture physical ailments as sometimes owing to unconfessed sin.”

So, I infer from that passage that we must be really careful not to assume that any given sickness or disability is owing to a particular sin — Sarah said that, and I just wanted to underline it — even though we know that all sickness and all disability is owing to the existence of sin in general. God subjected the world to futility, the whole world, all of our bodies and all the world (Romans 8:20). We all live in a fallen and disordered world. And all of us — no exceptions, all of us — suffer and die because of that fallen, disordered, condemned world, even when we have not done a specific sin to bring down on us a specific sickness.

Here’s something she didn’t mention that I think we need to put in as a careful qualification. Nor does the fact that Christ bore all our sins, absorbed all the wrath of God against us, and purchased our perfect, eternal healing forever — no disease, no tears, no crying, no pain — nor does any of that mean that God does not send sickness and hardship into our lives to discipline us as his children and to sanctify us. That’s not wrath. Jesus bore wrath — condemnation, judgment. That’s behind us. We don’t have that anymore. This is a fatherly discipline, a physician-like therapy. Remember Paul’s thorn in the flesh given to keep him from being conceited (2 Corinthians 12:7). And remember the painful discipline of Hebrews 12:3–11.

Now, with all of that in mind, nevertheless, we should not hesitate with Sarah to find true Christian experience in the Psalms that tell us physical miseries are sometimes owing to unconfessed sin. I see this in the Psalms, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes, in my own experience. I’ll mention that at the end, but let me stay with the word for a minute.

Disciplined for Sin

Psalm 31:9–10 — which you referred to, Tony — says,

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;     my eye is wasted from grief;     my soul and my body also.For my life is spent with sorrow,     and my years with sighing;my strength fails because of my iniquity,     and my bones waste away.

So, he traces his failing strength and his wasting bones back to his iniquity. Now, here’s a little catch in making the point that I want to make. He might be thinking of the totality of his life’s hardships and the general fallenness of his nature, because he says, “My years [are spent] with sighing,” not just a week, not just a day or a month. I’m going to be careful and not base my case on this particular example, though it might be so. It might be that he’s referring to a specific, limited sickness owing to specific sin. And there are clues to that in the context because of the parallel between bones wasting away, which turns up again over in Psalm 32. So, I just want to be careful.

There’s no doubt in my mind that we are dealing with a specific, unconfessed sin and its physical consequences in Psalm 32. So, looking back over his change of heart and his forgiveness, here’s what he says: “Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed” — he’s just super happy at what has happened in his life — “is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit” (Psalm 32:1–2).

And now comes, in the psalm, his memory of that season when he had not confessed his sin. So, he goes on: “For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer” (Psalm 32:3–4).

And then he recalls his confession, his forgiveness, and his healing. He says, “I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,’ and you forgave the iniquity of my sin” (Psalm 32:5).

Clinging to Mercy

We see a similar situation in Psalm 107. Sarah didn’t refer to this one, but it has been as useful to me in pastoral counseling as any other text in this regard — of people who feel like they’ve sinned themselves out of God’s possible blessing. So, Psalm 107:17–21 says,

Some were fools through their sinful ways,     and because of their iniquities suffered affliction;they loathed any kind of food,     and they drew near to the gates of death.Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,     and he delivered them from their distress.He sent out his word and healed them,     and delivered them from their destruction.Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,     for his wondrous works to the children of man!

Here’s one more text that I call “gutsy guilt” — or it’s the text that I have based this term “gutsy guilt” on. A truly godly person has sinned. They are sitting under the disciplinary darkness and misery that God has sent. But this godly person will not let go of the mercy of God — or we would say, today, on this side of the cross, he will not let go of the blood-bought justification that we have in Christ. And I’m thinking of Micah 7:8–9:

Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness [that’s where he is right now], the Lord will be a light to me. I will bear the indignation of the Lord because I have sinned against him, until he pleads my cause and executes judgment for me [not against me, but for me]. He will bring me out to the light; I shall look upon his vindication.

“Let none of us continue in sin, hiding it from others and refusing to confess it to God and forsake it.”

So, in view of those texts, very practically, I would say let none of us continue in sin, hiding it from others and refusing to confess it to God and forsake it. If we are truly the children of God, and we do that — that is, we fail to confess our sins — we should expect that such a season of falsehood and hypocrisy will bring down God’s disciplinary rod upon us. If he loves us, we should expect that discipline.

Gift of Misery

Now, I had a very good friend whom I caught in grievous sin. I was the one who saw it. And when I urged him — I mean, this was a serious marriage-destroying, ministry-destroying, life-destroying sin — to confess to those he sinned against, he denied it was true. He did this for about six weeks, and I watched his deceit and growing misery and physical deterioration.

And then, one night, he called me quite late and said, “We have to meet.” I called a few others, and we met. And we sat there, and as we sat there, he quoted Psalm 32:3–4: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.”

So, the misery — his misery of those six weeks — was a gift. The misery and the physical pain was a gift. It saved his marriage. So, as Hebrews 12:11 says, “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.”

Weeks ago, I discovered how little I really believed in hell. I am not sure how else to explain it. I realized it while at a children’s play area, watching my three little ones run, jump, and waddle about.

Seated on the other side of the play place sat a young Latino man lost on his phone. He had several kids, several tattoos, and no wedding ring. How he dressed and how he carried himself reminded me of the men I grew up with, the young man I was at his age. Having read my Bible and having grown up in the area, I assumed he did not know the Lord. More likely than not, he had never heard the true gospel. More likely than not, he didn’t want to.

In that moment, I imagined myself walking over to share Christ with him, only to have him dismiss me as some corny, churchy, preachy-type (as I might have done at his age). And there we would sit — me wishing I never walked over; he wishing the same.

Instead of getting up, though, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. And that is when it hit me: I do not really believe in hell right now. How could I? My compassion blew away at a mere inconvenience. Jesus’s doctrine of eternal, conscious torment was no real thing to me. Nor was the eternal blessedness of heaven. Missionaries have crossed oceans, left families, brought their coffins with them to foreign lands; yet there I sat, retreating at the mere thought of rejection. What kind of faith was this?

The scary part, I realize, was that in that same moment, I could have started writing an article about hell, preached an impromptu sermon, debated an atheist on its necessity. Yet, reciting Bible verses wasn’t what was required — believing them was. Across from me sat an immortal soul, and yet there I just sat, unwilling to travel even a few short steps to enter an awkward conversation that could have led him to eternal life.

I wish I could report that I stood up and began preaching. I wish I could tell you that I walked over to that young man and prayerfully spoke words of life to his soul. But I didn’t. To my shame, I suppressed the stirring, indulged unbelief, and heartlessly packed up my kids and left that man just where he sat. Lord, have mercy upon us both.

Bright Red Letters

How would our lives look differently, yours and mine, if we believed that hell is for real? How many trivialities, how many unworthy anxieties, how many small concerns and tiny pursuits would be lit aflame? How many selfish insecurities, how many dull and shallow days, how many unworthy entertainments and lukewarm seasons and cowardly inactivity would simply shatter by believing what Jesus himself told us about the judgment to come?

Our Christlikeness can be rather selective at times, can’t it? Who believed in or spoke of hell more than Jesus? Who else knew with utter certainty what fierce artillery aimed every day at the wicked? All the apostle’s teaching is Christ’s teaching, but what did Jesus himself say about hell? What were his reddest letters? See if your soul can sip even a small sample from just the first Gospel:

“If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.” (Matthew 5:29–30; Matthew 18:8–9)

“The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will gather out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all law-breakers, and throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. . . . So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” (Matthew 13:41–42, 49–50)

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’ . . . And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” (Matthew 25:41, 46)

Outer darkness. A fiery furnace. Destruction of both body and soul (Matthew 10:28). Eternal punishment. Inarticulate wailing. Teeth grinding. “Many” travel there (Matthew 7:13). Jesus’s sermons often fell like napalm, because he loved the souls of men.

“How would our lives look differently, yours and mine, if we believed that hell is for real?”

Jesus gives us shocking glimpses of judgment in scalding and scarlet letters. Scripture contains many more. We need them to rouse us to love, forgiveness, purity, patience, and to God himself. Will we nod at them, close the book, and leave it upon the dresser? Will these words not send us to the nations, to ambush sin, to walk across a playground? Did Christ leave us here to wave at unbelievers as they sprint past us off the cliff? Is this love for God and love for neighbor?

Friendless Depths

We can daringly tell Christ’s message about hell because that message is about much more than hell. It is about a God who took on flesh to drink down the wrath his people deserved.

Knowing the full horrors of hell, oh, manly and heroic he, came to us, became us, stepped in front of us, to save us. He did not experience hell proper — hell begins after the resurrection and the final judgment. But he did face that wrath which makes the lake of fire, we might say with due reverence, into a fiery puddle. The wicked in hell never approach the full weight, never near the full price, never exhaust the divine quiver of the arrows their sins deserve. But to ransom even one soul, the God-man paid the full debt, suffered the full torment, empties a cup of eternal woe. In other words, where the wicked shall suffer incompletely (though still horribly) forever, he plunged to the very bottom of that great lake of wrath to rescue us.

See him, O saint, diving, down, down, down, through to soul-blistering depths, further and further, deeper and deeper, agonizing, alone.

With hand outstretched for the bottom, “he poured out his soul to death” (Isaiah 53:12). Through friendless deeps and misery unmeasured, see this Son of Sorrows swim boldly along the bottom — omnipotent wrath crushing him. See him feel upon the seabed, ah, one lost pearl. A little further, the second. Further still, a third. As the pressure increases beyond bearing, he cries, “I thirst!” yet presses on, though heaven’s troops would stand at his beck and call. He will have his prize, his people. One by one, under heat and wrath-shattering contemplation, he reaches out, Christian, for you, holds you, claims you as his own. Angels are stunned into silence. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he cries (Matthew 27:46). After six excruciating hours, he collects his last pearl and shouts victoriously, “It is finished” (John 19:30).

For all eternity, Jesus alone reached the bottom of God’s righteous hatred toward sin. He alone absorbed the full wrath of his Father crushing him as “he became sin for us, who knew no sin” (see 2 Corinthians 5:21). No sinner in all of eternity shall submerge the depths he did. None besides the Lion of the tribe of Judah could so conquer. Sinners eternally sip at a challis they cannot hope — or bear — to finish. He did.

Cruel Kindness

Christian reader, do you really believe this?

If we all did, would our cities not be filled with a knowledge of Christ? When we refused to avoid eye contact with those in our everyday lives, as I did that day, how might our local parks, laundromats, coffee shops, restaurants, and sporting events fill with the name above all names?

You and I need to learn a little more gospel impoliteness: to learn to speak when unasked, to go when uninvited, and to tell that name — that only name given under heaven — by which men must be saved. Let Spurgeon’s arrows sink to the heart.

We are so gentle and quiet, we do not use strong language about other people’s opinions; but let men go to hell out of charity to them. We are not at all fanatical, and for all we do to disturb him, the old manslayer has a very comfortable time of it. We would not wish to save any sinner who does not particularly wish to be saved. We shall be pleased to say a word to them in a mild way, but we do not speak with tears streaming down our cheeks, groaning and agonizing with God for them; neither would we thrust our opinions upon them, though we know they are being lost for want of knowledge of Christ crucified. (Words of Counsel for Christian Workers, 32–33)

Humanly speaking, I was willing to let that man go to hell out of a dark sort of charity to him (and a dark sort of charity to me). He probably didn’t want to hear of Christ (as many don’t). He might have rejected it (which many do). But such cowardly calculations are not mine or yours to make. And the historic and biblical doctrine of eternal, conscious, just torment of the wicked should have consumed that cold, fleshly indifference known in plainer tongues as cowardice or hatred.

What would happen in our cities if every Christian (and every church) really believed in the horrors of hell and, with it, the desperate need of every soul for Jesus Christ?

ABSTRACT: Faithful discipleship means following Jesus and submitting to his authority in every area of life, including how we treat the Bible. Jesus appealed to the authority of Scripture in the face of temptation and opposition. He used it in teaching his disciples. And importantly, he looked to Scripture to explain who he was, the message he preached, and the works he accomplished. Faithful reading of Scripture follows in Jesus’s steps by submitting to the authority of the Bible that both anticipates and explains him.

For our ongoing series of feature articles for pastors and Christian leaders, we asked Mark D. Thompson (DPhil, University of Oxford), principal of Moore Theological College in Sydney, Australia, to explain how Jesus treated Scripture and how his approach shapes the task of Christian theology.

What does it mean to be a Christian disciple? Putting it as simply as possible, being a disciple means following Jesus Christ. Christian disciples want to follow their Lord in everything, to be shaped by his teaching and his example in the way they think, feel, and behave. We want him at the center of our perspective on the world, his mission as the priority of our life, his glory our chief concern in every endeavor. That is as true for the Christian theologian as for any other disciple.

Christian theology can helpfully start at any number of places. Its fundamental ground lies in the triune God himself. Theology has long been defined as “words about God and all things in relation to God.” Yet because what we know about God is made known by God — spoken through the prophets and apostles, and given to us in the more permanent form of Scripture — all true theology arises from and is tested by the Bible. So, we could start the discussion of any theological topic with a reflection upon the person of the triune God or upon what the Bible tells us about that specific topic.

But what makes theology specifically Christian theology is the critical place accorded to Jesus Christ, the incarnate Son of God and Savior of the world. He is the one in whom the revelation of the triune God finds its proper focus (John 1:18; Hebrews 1:1–3; 2 Corinthians 1:20), he is the one who enables us to come before the God who made us without fear (Ephesians 3:11–12), and he is the one who both endorsed the Old Testament (Luke 24:44) and commissioned the apostolic program that produced the New Testament (Matthew 28:19–20). Prior attention to what Jesus taught is how the Christian theologian demonstrates faithful discipleship.

Jesus’s View of Scripture

With that understanding of theology in mind, when we think about the nature and function of the Bible — “the enduring authority of the Christian Scriptures” (as one impressive tome puts it) — keeping Jesus at the center of our thinking is not optional.1

The record we have of his life and teaching in the Gospels comes from eyewitnesses, either directly in the case of Matthew and John or indirectly in the case of Mark (who, early testimony confirms, recorded the recollections of Peter) and Luke (the companion of Paul who collected statements from a vast number of eyewitnesses and wove them into a coherent narrative). Studies of the phenomenon of eyewitness testimony point out not only that the Gospels were “written within the living memory of the events they recount,” but that even the differences of perspective and detail confirm rather than undermine their veracity.2 The Gospels are the recollections of multiple eyewitnesses of what Jesus said and did, and thus they reveal what Jesus thought about the authority of Scripture.3

What, then, are we told about Jesus’s attitude toward the Scriptures he inherited (our Old Testament) and those by means of which his apostles would fulfill his commission to take the gospel to the ends of the earth until the end of the age (the New Testament)?

Authority of the Old Testament

Most basically, Jesus understood the words of the Old Testament to bear the authority of God, an authority that surpasses that of any other person, institution, or body of writing. This is clear from his appeal to Old Testament texts when tempted by the devil in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1–11), when challenged by the Pharisees and Sadducees (Matthew 19:1–9; 22:15–46), and when teaching his disciples (Mark 9:13; 14:21, 27). At each point, the Scriptures he quotes are enough to settle the matter. They are definitive in the sense that they are what God has to say on the matter.

Rejecting Temptation

The temptation in the wilderness is an interesting case in point. There are clear parallels here to the temptation faced by Adam and Eve in the garden (Genesis 3:1–6). The tactic employed by Satan in the garden of Eden is one he has continued to employ throughout human history. He casts doubt first on the clarity of God’s word (“Did God actually say . . . ?”), then on the truthfulness of God’s word (“You will not surely die”), and then finally on the character of God and the motives behind his word (“God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God”).

Jesus enters the wilderness to be tempted immediately after his baptism by John in the Jordan. There he had heard the voice from heaven say, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17).

It should be no surprise, then, that the first temptation Jesus encounters is to doubt the word of God and seek to prove his identity on some other terms: “If you are the Son of God . . .” (Matthew 4:6). Jesus responds by appealing to Deuteronomy 8:3: “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4).

With the second temptation, Satan assaults the truthfulness of God’s promise in Psalm 91, to which Jesus answers with Deuteronomy 6:16: “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test” (Matthew 4:7).

The third temptation, to fall down and worship the devil, is an assault upon God himself and is met with Deuteronomy 6:13: “You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve” (Matthew 4:10). At each point, Jesus’s confidence in the word of God and its authority is on display.

Refuting Opponents

In his exchanges with the Pharisees, Jesus often cites Scripture with the words “it is written” (Mark 7:6; John 6:45; 8:17) or “have you not read?” (Matthew 12:3, 5; 19:4; 22:31; Mark 12:10). Jesus expects the words that God had given his people through the prophets to be sufficient to settle the matter. He tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus to make precisely that point (Luke 16:19–31). It is of no use to search for confirmations in the miraculous, as hard hearts will always find ways to explain the evidence away, as they did when the tomb was empty after Jesus’s resurrection (Matthew 28:13). “If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead” (Luke 16:31).

The “have you not read” question has an edge to it. Jesus expects them not only to have read but to have understood, believed, and obeyed what they read. This question carries with it the assumption that the meaning of Scripture is accessible. In the words of the Protestant Reformers, Scripture is clear. Of course, that doesn’t mean that every single part of the Old Testament is simple or easy. It doesn’t mean that any individual text can be plucked out of its context and, without reference to the rest of the Old Testament, immediately make sense. Nevertheless, it is accessible. Comparing one part of Scripture with another, the harder parts with the easier, sheds light over time.

Seeing Jesus’s life and ministry as the fulfillment of the promises made in the Old Testament puts the last and most important piece in place (which is what the Ethiopian eunuch found in Acts 8:26–38). But the point that Jesus is making is that what we have been given is enough — enough for the Israelites who had only the words from Sinai (Deuteronomy 29:29); enough for those who only had the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings (our Old Testament, Luke 24:44); and enough for those who have all that and its fulfillment in the gospel and in the ministry of Jesus’s specially commissioned messengers, the apostles (2 Timothy 3:16–17).

Jesus as Old Testament Fulfillment

It is especially important that Jesus locates himself, his identity, and his mission against the backdrop of the history and promises of the Old Testament. At the very beginning of his ministry, when he attends the synagogue at Nazareth, he reads Isaiah’s prophecy of the one anointed by God in Isaiah 61 and then says, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21).

His favorite form of self-description, “the Son of Man,” evokes the scene in Daniel 7 where “one like a son of man” is given the authority to execute the judgments of God. Though he does not use the title “Son of David” for himself, he responds positively to those who do, and he himself makes use of Psalm 110, which refers to the Davidic King (Matthew 22:42–45). When he is identified as the promised King coming to Jerusalem, and the Pharisees insist he rebuke those who do so, he answers, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out” (Luke 19:40).

He contrasts the hard-heartedness of the religious leaders with the responses to the wisdom of Solomon (Matthew 12:42) and the preaching of Jonah (Matthew 12:41), and he says, “Something greater than Jonah is here. . . . Something greater than Solomon is here.”

As the time of his crucifixion approaches, he speaks more frequently of the prophecies concerning the suffering of the Messiah (Luke 9:22; 17:25; cf. 24:26–27), and at the Last Supper he uses the language of the “blood of the covenant” (Matthew 26:28; Exodus 24:8), and the “new covenant” (Luke 22:20; Jeremiah 31:31), to describe what is unfolding on the night of his arrest. He knows that, as the suffering servant, he will be “numbered with the transgressors” (Luke 22:37; Isaiah 53:12).

In sum, Jesus clearly understood himself in Old Testament categories and as the fulfillment of various strands of prophetic promise in the Old Testament.

Jesus’s Exegetical Method

Jesus understood the deep structures of the Old Testament: its covenant framework (Luke 22:20), its dynamic of promise and fulfillment (Matthew 26:54, 56), and its focus on the descendants of Abraham in a way that includes outsiders like the widow of Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian (Luke 4:25–27). In the Sermon on the Mount, he exposes the real intent of the Law: not mere outward observance, but a changed heart and a deep personal faithfulness that demonstrates a righteousness exceeding that of the scribes and Pharisees (Matthew 5:17–48).

Intriguingly, in a debate with the Sadducees over the resurrection, Jesus appeals to the account of Moses’s encounter with God at the bush that did not burn up. There God told the great prophet of the Old Testament, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Exodus 3:6, 15). At first glance, Exodus 3 says nothing about the resurrection of the dead (and, to be fair, Jesus doesn’t say it does). Yet if you believe what God says in Exodus 3, then you cannot avoid the conclusion that life continues beyond the grave, and the dead are indeed raised. The Sadducees’ denial of the resurrection is entirely wrong if you take those words of Scripture seriously. Jesus here identifies what later theologians would describe as a “good and necessary consequence” of the teaching of Exodus 3. He demonstrates the same principle by his reflection on Psalm 110 in Mark 12: “David himself calls him Lord. So how is he his son?” (Mark 12:37).

There is nothing superficial about Jesus’s appeal to Scripture, which is a constant feature of his ministry. The word of God (and he refers to it as such in Matthew 15:6) gave him his understanding of himself and his mission, and directed all that he did during his earthly ministry. He was confident in its authority and reliability, even to the smallest details. He might not have written a treatise on the doctrine of Scripture or even delivered a sermon devoted to unfolding each of its characteristics. Neither did he use the terms we so often associate with the doctrine, such as inspiration, inerrancy, perspicuity, sufficiency, efficacy, and the like. Nevertheless, the way he spoke of and used Scripture confirms he believed in all these things.

Authority of the New Testament

All of this raises the question of the New Testament. Since it did not exist during the time of Jesus’s earthly ministry, there was no New Testament text with which he might interact. However, the critical thing about the New Testament is its connection to the ministry of the apostles, those called and set apart by Jesus to be the foundational messengers of the gospel.

Jesus entrusted his words to the apostles. He commissioned them in a unique way. Revelation 21 signals their significance in the great vision of the New Jerusalem: just as the gates of the New Jerusalem are inscribed with the twelve tribes of the sons of Israel, so the twelve great foundations of the city contain “the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb” (Revelation 21:12–14).

In the upper room, on the night he is arrested, Jesus promises his disciples the Spirit of truth, who will “teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you” (John 14:26), “guide you into all the truth,” (John 16:13), and “take what is mine and declare it to you” (John 16:14). Having been given all authority in heaven and on earth, Jesus commissions them to “go . . . and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:19–20).

The apostolic authority of the apostles — including Paul, as “one untimely born” (1 Corinthians 15:8) — lies behind the New Testament. They were Christ’s ambassadors (2 Corinthians 5:20). They had a unique place in God’s purposes arising from their commissioning by the risen Jesus. While all subsequent faithful Christian ministry takes up their message and follows their example, they maintain that special role. Jesus gave them his words (John 17:14) and even prayed for those who would believe because of the words they would share (John 17:20). Thus, Jesus’s attitude toward this apostolic ministry shapes and guides ours toward the New Testament.

Seeing What Jesus Saw

The Christian faith is a personal trust in a living Lord. It means delighting in God and all that he has done in creating us and redeeming us. It means following his Son, given so that the terrifying problem of our sin might be dealt with from the inside, thoroughly and forever. There remains something deeply personal about genuine Christian discipleship. Jesus is not known from a distance.

Tragically, some have attempted to set this personal relationship of trust and love over against confident yet humble obedience to the teaching of Scripture. “We follow Jesus, not the Bible,” one man foolishly wrote.4 Yet that is a false choice that would have made no sense at all to Jesus himself. If we are going to take Jesus seriously, we must take the Bible seriously, because he did! Conversely, if we do not take the Bible seriously — expecting our thinking to be changed, shaped, and directed by its teaching — then in the end we are not taking Jesus seriously. Jesus and the Bible are not somehow competitors for the mantle of truth. The one who said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 14:6) also said to his Father, “I have given them your word. . . . Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (John 17:14, 17).

What did Jesus see in the Scriptures? He saw the written word of God given for the rich benefit of his people and the glory of his own name. He saw a word that challenges facile religiosity and invites us into the joy of faithful living in fellowship with the God who created all things with just a word. He saw a word that is worth trusting because, though what was written was originally written by human beings, it came into existence only through the work of the Holy Spirit. These are truly the words of Moses or David or Jeremiah, actively and creatively involved in their utterance — but these are finally the words of God to us.

So, Christian theologians, like all other disciples of the Lord Jesus, find in him the example that challenges and directs all that they do. Keeping Jesus at the center of our doctrine of Scripture prevents us from pitting his authority against that of the biblical text. It also keeps us from unsettling the proper balance between biblical theology and historical theology, even in the interest of a retrieval of “the great theological tradition,” as God’s words are always more important than the words of those who speak about God.

Finally, it reminds us that our engagement with Scripture is personal and relational, not merely theoretical and abstract, though it does involve the applications of our minds. We cannot rightly speak about God from a distance or (as a friend of mine used to say) “as if he has just stepped out of the room for a minute.”

In following Jesus, we find that we stand in the place indicated by the prophet Isaiah: “This is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word” (Isaiah 66:2).

I’ve recently had some conversations with younger Christian friends who have been reeling from experiences and observations of confounding evil. And as a man more than double the age of the friends I have in mind, I can vouch that comprehending what appears to be senseless evil doesn’t get easier the longer you live.

Perhaps that sounds discouraging, especially since I remember as a younger Christian hoping that I’d have greater wisdom in my golden years. After all, isn’t sagacity part of “the splendor of . . . gray hair” (Proverbs 20:29)?

I hope this is true of me to some extent. But as I grow older, I’m discovering that the greater part of wisdom isn’t accumulating a greater knowledge of good and evil so much as learning how to deal more faithfully with my deficit of such knowledge. So, if I have any wisdom worth imparting to Christians struggling with incomprehensible evil, it lies in cultivating the spiritual discipline of handing back the fruit.

Problem of Evil

Theologians and philosophers call it “the problem of evil” — how horrific evil and suffering can exist in a world created and providentially governed by an almighty, all-good, all-knowing God. But calling evil a “problem” hardly begins to describe our existential experiences of it in this fallen world.

An apparently buoyant friend unexpectedly takes his life. Every member of a missionary family on home assignment is killed in a car accident. A beloved young child dies of cancer. A trusted pastor’s adultery is suddenly exposed. A spouse who vowed lifelong faithfulness demands a divorce. Sexual abuse leaves a young girl soiled with shame and psychological damage for decades. Palestinian terrorists rape and murder more than 1,500 unsuspecting noncombatant Israeli citizens. The Israeli military then wipes out more than 15,000 noncombatant Palestinians. An oceanic earthquake near Sumatra, Indonesia, produces tsunamis that sweep away over two hundred thousand souls. Such traumatic suffering, tragedies, and sins almost never make sense to us. And the closer we are to the destruction, the more chaotic and senseless it often appears.

In such experiences and observations, we glimpse the real nature of evil. And it’s almost always worse than we could have imagined. The evil events themselves, and God’s good providence in choosing not to prevent them (especially when we know he has chosen to prevent others), exceed the bounds of our rational capacities, leaving us with anguished, perplexing questions only God can answer. And most of the time, he doesn’t — not specifically. God rarely reveals his specific purposes for allowing specific tragedies and their resulting wreckage.

We find that we simply aren’t able to bear the weight of the knowledge of good and evil. It exceeds our strength to comprehend on both sides: we cannot comprehend the full breadth and length and height and depth of the goodness of what is good (though we rarely perceive this a “problem”) or of the evilness of what is evil. And mercifully, God does not ask us to bear it. He asks us to trust him with it. He asks us to hand him back the fruit.

Whence This Unbearable Weight?

Some mysteries are great mercies for finite creatures not to know. Great, great mercies.

The fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil contained a secret — one that God said should remain a mystery. God warned the man and woman that it would be better for them not to eat it. It would be the death of them if they did. He wanted them to trust him with the mystery of this knowledge and his administration of it (Genesis 2:17).

However, the ancient serpent told them this fruit would not kill them but would open their eyes to the heights and depths and lengths and breadths of God’s knowledge, making them wise like God (Genesis 3:4–5). Our ancestral parents believed him, and so they ate. Then the eyes of both were indeed opened to good and evil in ways they had not yet known — ways they were not at all equipped to deal with. And we, their descendants, have been languishing under this knowledge ever since.

Mercy Forfeited

As a result of that first sin, God subjected the world to futility (Romans 8:20), and the evil one was granted governing power (1 John 5:19). Sin infected us profoundly. Not only were our eyes opened to more knowledge than we have the capacity to comprehend, but we also became very susceptible to evil deception.

Our indwelling sin nature has also distorted our ability to comprehend and appreciate good. That’s one reason we need “strength to comprehend . . . the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge” (Ephesians 3:18–19). And it’s why we must pursue through intentional prayer “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). It’s why we need “the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation” to enlighten “the eyes of [our] hearts . . . that [we] may know what is the hope to which he has called [us]” (Ephesians 1:17–18). The goodness of God would stretch far beyond our imagination even if we were sinless, but it does so all the more in our fallenness (1 Corinthians 2:9).

We forfeited a great mercy when we believed we could be wise like God — when we opened the Pandora’s box of the mystery of the knowledge of good and evil.

Case Study in Inexplicable Evil

Mystery refers to what exists beyond the edges of our perception (things we can’t see) or comprehension (things we can’t grasp). Some things are mysteries because we are unaware of them until God chooses to reveal them to us. Other mysteries we might be aware of, but they exceed our ability to comprehend, at least in this age.

This is one of the great revelations contained in the book of Job. God inspired this great piece of ancient literature to illustrate how we experience these mysteries and how the restoring of our souls begins as we hand God back the fruit. The purposes behind Job’s tragedies were mysterious to him and his friends because of what they could not see and could not know.

Job’s friends thought they had sufficient grasp on the knowledge of good and evil to diagnose Job’s suffering. They were wrong (Job 42:7). And in the end, God does not explain his providential purposes to Job, but challenges Job’s assumption that he could comprehend the wisdom of God. When Job understands this, he responds by putting his hand over his mouth and saying,

I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. . . . Therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes. (Job 42:3, 6)

Job handed the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil back to God — things too wonderful for him to comprehend.

Mercy Regained

The point of Job’s story is not that God hates when his people cry out with anguished bewilderment over their incomprehensible suffering and tragedies. Indeed, God the Son, when he became flesh and dwelt among us, cried out in the depth of his agony, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). Rather, God’s message in Job — a message woven throughout the Bible — is “trust me.” God has merciful reasons for whatever he does not grant his children to see or know. Our freedom — not from the pain evil causes us, but from the unbearable weight of our inability to comprehend it — comes not from God giving us the ability to comprehend evil, but from our giving back to God our demand for the wisdom he alone can bear.

That’s the crucial dimension of the gospel we glimpse in the book of Job. In fact, it’s one helpful way to understand what the gospel is about. God has designed the gospel and the Christian life to require us to hand back, and keep handing back, the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Approaching the throne of grace, regaining the mercy that leads to life, requires us to surrender back to God the desire for God’s wisdom — wisdom that was never meant to be ours.

Hand Back the Fruit

When the realities of good and evil exceed our limited perceptions, overwhelm our limited comprehension, and threaten to override our psychological and emotional circuitry, there is a reason for this. We may be fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), but we are also fearfully finite. There are things too wonderful for us to know. The peace that surpasses our understanding (Philippians 4:7), which we need so much, is available to us if we are willing to trust in the Lord with all our heart and not lean on our own understanding (Proverbs 3:5).

In the face of devastating tragedy, we find that we simply aren’t suited to bear the weight of the knowledge of good and evil. And mercifully, God does not ask us to bear it. He asks us to trust him with it. He asks us to hand him back the fruit.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. You send us the questions on your mind, and longtime author and pastor John Piper opens his Bible and finds answers for those questions. And speaking of the big questions in life, there’s one major question facing every college student, and that’s the question of major. What direction to go in life, what field to pursue, what college, what vocation — all of those things.

Many high school and college students seek to make that decision simply based on money. But for Christians, the money decision is a secondary one, leading to today’s question from a young woman named Kerri. “Pastor John and Tony, thank you for the Ask Pastor John podcast. I have listened to every episode. And most of those episodes while walking my dog, to the point that my dog gets super excited every time she hears the intro jingle! My question for you, Dr. Piper, is this. When deciding on a college major, how much should future income factor into the decision? What other general guidelines and factors should be considered by a young Christian wanting to not waste his or her life in the vocation he or she chooses?”

I have a very personal stake in this kind of question because I do serve as the chancellor and as a professor at Bethlehem College & Seminary here in Minneapolis. We have a college of a very particular kind, and I feel that sense of responsibility to help parents and help young people decide if this school is possibly the kind that they would benefit from by attending.

What I’m going to say doesn’t relate only to our school but to education and vocation in general, in the hope of helping young people or even older people, as we’ll see — I think people are making midlife changes about education and vocation all the time — decide what kind of education and vocation to pursue. So, let me start with five observations that put this question in a certain context.

Five Observations About Education

First, most of the world does not have access to the kind of education assumed in the question about choosing a major. Most of the world moves from family to a rudimentary, basic education of reading and writing and math (if that), and then into some kind of apprenticeship, or simply into the family occupation. Higher education, as we know it in America, is simply not an option most places in the world.

Second, even in developed countries like America where higher education exists, only about 62 percent of high school graduates go to college. That’s a lot of millions who don’t. There are all kinds of paths into useful vocational life through trade schools, technical schools, or on-the-job learning. So, I don’t assume in answering this question that everyone should go to college.

Third, for those who do go to college, the choices are very many. There are huge universities with hundreds of majors. At the University of Minnesota, a mile from where I’m standing right now, there are 150 majors in eleven colleges, many of them tailored precisely for specific kinds of vocations. And then there are smaller — like two thousand or three thousand — liberal-arts colleges, which offer a blend of general education and vocational specialization. And there are a handful of colleges like ours: very small, with a focus on more classical education with a view to building a kind of person whose maturity and character and habits of mind and heart fit them for a life of wisdom and wonder — we like to say — and fruitfulness for Christ in any vocation.

Fourth, we should always remember that a decision at age seventeen about college or major or vocation does not mean you will have the same job for a lifetime. The average American changes careers three to seven times in a lifetime. Many people in midlife decide to go back to school. This is one reason we put such an emphasis at Bethlehem College on the kind of habits of mind and heart that will bear fruit in all vocations, because students may think they know what they’re going to do five years from now, but they don’t know what they’re going to do twenty years from now. But they will be a kind of person twenty years from now, and we would like to help that be the right kind of person.

Fifth, there is no sure connection between choosing a major and earning a certain level of income over a lifetime. Some specialized majors do open doors to higher-income professions. That’s true — like medicine, say. But far, far more influential, in general, in a person’s success and income are character traits: initiative, discipline, self-control, ambition, creativity, relational wisdom, vision, analytical skills, problem-solving insight, integrity, faithfulness, steadfastness. Give me a person like that; they will do something with their lives, and they’ll probably be well paid for it too. Some of those traits come from our genes, our parents’ genes, but some are learned and refined with good teachers and life experience.

Besides thinking about income, Jesus says, “Seek the kingdom first, and all these things will be added to you” (see Matthew 6:33) — the practical necessities of life. So, I would say don’t think income. Don’t make it ever a deciding factor in choosing a major or a vocation. Make it way down the list of your priorities when making those choices.

Five Guidelines for Choosing a Major

So, with those five observations setting the stage, here are my guidelines for those who are choosing a vocation or a college or a major, who don’t want to waste their lives but make them count for the glory of God.

1. Aim at God’s glory.

Let’s start right there with the glory of God. The Bible says, “Whatever you do,” — choosing a school, choosing a major, choosing a vocation — “do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). Or, “Do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Colossians 3:17). One way to turn this guideline into a question would be this: When you consider a major or a possible vocation, do you get excited about the ways you could glorify God or make much of Jesus in this major or in this vocation? Or do you have to bracket that whole question because it bothers you; it just gets in the way? That’s not a good sign.

2. Pursue personal holiness.

Since the Bible is clear in 1 Thessalonians 4:3 that “this is the will of God, your sanctification” — your holiness, your godliness, your moral rectitude — do you have hesitations that this major or this vocation might compromise or hinder your sanctification, or do you get excited about how this path might advance your own holiness, your pursuit of godliness?

3. Consider your gifts.

Do your intellectual, emotional, and physical abilities — call them God’s gifts that define much of who we are — fit this major or vocation? The biblical analogy here is the body with many members or parts. One person is a hand, another is an ear, another is a nose. We are all so different by God’s design, and we should not try to be what we aren’t, and we should try to know the unique way that God has made us to be and then ask, “Does that fit with this major or this vocation?” I don’t think God made round holes for square bolts. He wants there to be a fitness.

4. Ponder your desires.

Very closely connected with those gifts is the question of your recurrent desires. Now, I don’t mean flash-in-the-pan desires right after a conference or something, but ever-returning desires. They just crop up over the years. They seem to be circling back because there’s something in me that makes me this way. I am assuming that these desires are growing in the heart that has a passion for holiness and for the glory of God.

Now, I know not all desires are good guidance, but many of them are. The psalmist prays that God would incline our hearts for guidance (Psalm 119:36; 141:4). In other words, “Give me desires, God. Incline my heart for the discovery of your ways.” So, as you submit your entire life to the glory of God, what desires keep growing up in that soil? What kind of activity do you feel at home in? My mind, my emotions, my body have come home.

5. Pay attention to needs.

Let the needs of the world have their proper effect on shaping your education and vocation. Of course, the needs of the world are spiritually and materially immeasurable. You can’t be led by all of them. So, here are two ways to put that last question in order to make it livable, I think:

What needs of the world are you moved by over and over again? How has God wired you to respond to the needs of the world? What kind of good do you repeatedly feel drawn to do for others? That’s one question.
What connections do you see between your gifts, your at-homeness, and the needs of the world?

Bible, Fellowship, Prayer

So, those are my five guidelines for choosing a major, choosing a vocation, or thinking about the future of your life and how to spend your time so as not to waste it. And as you ponder them, do it in this way: Be saturated continually with the Bible. Be embedded in a healthy church that counsels you, surrounds you, helps you recognize who you are and know what your gifts are. And finally, be continually in prayer. God won’t let you waste your life if you seek him like this.

What is Look at the Book?

You look at a Bible text on the screen. You listen to John Piper. You watch his pen “draw out” meaning. You see for yourself whether the meaning is really there. And (we pray!) all that God is for you in Christ explodes with faith, and joy, and love.

A few years ago, I was discussing open-air preaching with a veteran pastor in Missouri. He told me, “Thirty years ago, you’d maybe see five or six open-air preachers in the whole country. Today there are at least twenty in every city.”

The renewed interest in open-air preaching is not just happening in charismatic circles, either. It is taking place in pockets typically considered more reserved and evangelistically challenged. Confessional Presbyterians and Baptists now have men across America and the UK who regularly preach in the open air. Reformation Heritage Books even published a book about Reformed open-air preaching (with a foreword by Joel Beeke).

But questions remain for many: Is it effective in the twenty-first century? Is there biblical warrant for this type of ministry? What should a person do who is interested in open-air preaching? I would like to give some brief answers to these questions.

Open-Air Preaching Today?

When people ask whether open-air preaching is effective in today’s context, I find it helpful to consider what the Bible says about humans. Are people in the twenty-first century really that different from the people in Jeremiah’s or Paul’s day? The Bible answers with a resounding no.

People in ancient times felt the same natural aversion to the gospel as the people in our own day do — hence why Jeremiah was thrown into a well and why Paul was stoned and beaten with rods. Since the fall of Adam, man is born in sin, which means we have a nature hostile to God until we are “born from above” (John 3:3 NET). This is why the Bible says, “No one understands; no one seeks for God” (Romans 3:11). Thus, for man to be saved, God has commissioned us to go and seek them (Matthew 28:18–20).

But what methods do we use to seek such people? Many give their answers: seeker-friendly church services, Easter-egg drops, free lunches, feel-good sermons, car-wash outreaches, and so on. While some of these efforts can bear fruit, Scripture gives us a simpler way: share the gospel with them. Expose them to the message of Christ. “Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17). “How are they to hear without someone preaching?” (Romans 10:14). “The gospel . . . is the power of God for salvation” (Romans 1:16).

Enter open-air preaching. Although many other ways to evangelize exist, open-air preaching is especially useful in the rush of a busy marketplace, on the hustle of a college campus, outside a sporting event, or at a local abortion clinic. Moreover, open-air preaching was a preferred method of Jonah, Jeremiah, the apostle Paul, and many others. They went to the people and preached God’s word. It is really that simple. Even Jesus went into the boat or up on the mountainside to preach the good news. Open-air preaching is a form of evangelism that communicates the gospel to a crowd of people at once.

Preachers Beyond Church Walls

Aside from the many examples we have of open-air preaching in the Bible, church history also lends its testimony. Charles Spurgeon points out, “It would be very easy to prove revivals of religion have usually been accompanied, if not caused, by a considerable amount of preaching out of doors” (Lectures to My Students, 275). Michael Green notes that the first two centuries of the church witnessed a plethora of open-air preaching, including that of Irenaeus and Cyprian at the local marketplaces (Evangelism in the Early Church, 304).

In the Middle Ages, Bernard of Clairvaux, Arnold of Brescia, and even Francis of Assisi were open-air preachers. In the Reformation days, John Wycliffe, John Knox, several English Puritans, William Farel, and others could be seen preaching in the open air. George Whitefield, John Wesley, Charles Spurgeon, Robert Murray M’Cheyne, and John Bunyan also add to the list. In recent decades, Paul Washer, Leonard Ravenhill, and Westminster Theological Seminary professor Cornelius Van Til have regularly preached in the open air.

Through the centuries, God has used open-air preaching to bring the gospel to the lost. When done correctly, such preaching heralds the gospel to all who have ears to hear.

Who Should Street Preach?

Just as preaching the gospel is different from sharing the gospel, so preaching in the open air is different from evangelizing in private. As with church office, there is a public dimension to the work that makes it wise for an open-air preacher to be approved and sent out by his church. This process will look different for each person and church, but open-air preachers do well to be under some kind of accountability and oversight.

At the same time, churches might consider actively examining and preparing men to preach in public. Oftentimes, such a ministry will be new to churches, so the aspiring open-air preacher should exercise patience and understanding when broaching the topic with his leaders. At the same time, church leaders should be willing to evaluate biblical data and church history to see the justification for such a ministry. Ideally, the two sides will work together to decide how to best approach open-air preaching in their context, eagerly training men for it.

Also, since there is a difference between public preaching and privately sharing the gospel, only men are called to preach in the open air (1 Timothy 2:12). Churches would be wise to evaluate such men according to the qualifications of an elder (as laid out in 1 Timothy 3:1–7 and Titus 1:6–9), even if the preacher is not an elder. These passages describe a mature follower of Christ, and the open-air preacher will need such maturity to maintain a good witness when exposed to intense spiritual warfare, obscenities, lewdness, and theological challenges.

Preacher’s Training Ground

Open-air preaching is especially ideal for men who are training for the ministry. Formal preaching opportunities may be difficult to come by, but there is always a nearby college campus, street corner, abortion clinic, or sports event. Open-air preaching will help train the budding minister to crucify his flesh and reason with the lost in his community. It will help him learn to preach extemporaneously. It will remind him of how impossible it is to save people dead in their trespasses and sins. And thus, it will teach him our great need for God to move in the hearts of our hearers.

Assuming you have the backing of your church, the next step is to identify a good place to preach. Then go do it. Bring your Bible, some gospel tracts, and an amplification device (if permitted). As far as what to preach, the answer is the same as in pulpit ministry: text-driven, even expository, and directed toward an evangelistic call to repentance and faith in Jesus Christ. It should certainly be Christ-centered.

Before you preach, however, you will want to spend ample time in prayer. We need a demeanor sweetened by the Holy Spirit. The society we live in is hostile to the gospel, so expect rejection and scoffing. Responding to your enemies in a humble, patient manner is critical, and we cannot accomplish this without the softening influence of the Holy Spirit. As with any ministry, you will grow more comfortable with open-air preaching the more you do it. The butterflies will grow more faint. Responding to hecklers will become easier.

What About Fruit?

Will you see conversions? Will you see fruit? Yes and no. Every time you preach the gospel in the open air, you are leading people to Christ; whether God saves them or not is up to him. That said, testimonies abound of people being converted, strengthened, and convicted by open-air preaching. I’ll end with two examples.

In 2021, I was preaching weekly at a college in east Texas. A young man would come out and heckle me every time, shouting blasphemies and causing quite a stir among the student body. After eight straight weeks of this, I noticed the tone of his mocking began to change. His questions were becoming more sincere. Eventually, he came up and asked me for a Bible. Instead of mocking and challenging, he would now quietly listen. By the end of the semester, he had called upon the name of the Lord and was baptized. Recently he married a godly Christian woman and continues to walk with Jesus.

Another time, I received an email from a young man in Glasgow, Scotland. He said I probably would not remember him, but he had been heckling us when we were open-air preaching on Buchanan Street two years prior. He wrote to tell me that what we had been preaching had stuck with him ever since, and he recently started going to church and reading his Bible.

We live in trying times. Spiritually, things can seem bleak, depending on where we are looking. But God still has sheep who will hear his voice and be saved through the preaching of the gospel, including in the open air. Our job is to preach Christ, the name above all names, knowing that God is glorified when we do, regardless of whether we see conversions.