Noel K. Anderson    First Presbyterian Church of Upland

Habakkuk 2: 1-4  New Century Version

1 I will stand like a guard to watch

    and place myself at the tower.

I will wait to see what he will say to me;

    I will wait to learn how God will answer my complaint.

2 The Lord answered me:

“Write down the vision;

    write it clearly on clay tablets

    so whoever reads it can run to tell others.

3 It is not yet time for the message to come true,

    but that time is coming soon;

    the message will come true.

It may seem like a long time,

    but be patient and wait for it,

because it will surely come;

    it will not be delayed.

4 The evil nation is very proud of itself;

    it is not living as it should.

    But those who are right with God will live by faith. †

Romans 1: 16-17 New Century Version

16 I am not ashamed of the Good News, because it is the power God uses to save everyone who believes—to save the Jews first, and then to save non-Jews. 17 The Good News shows how God makes people right with himself—that it begins and ends with faith. As the Scripture says, “But those who are right with God will live by faith.” †

What is Gospel? [1]

Both Habakkuk and Paul’s letter to the Romans agree: The Good News shows how God makes people right with himself—that it begins and ends with faith. To say the righteous will live by faith means that those who want to be in a righteous relationship with God will do so by trusting in God alone, rather than in the things they do to secure God’s favor. 

This is good news because it is not on us to make God like us. 

The gospel is God’s good favor for us in spite of sin. God’s love is not conditional—it does not have to be earned or deserved—it is just a free gift. Jesus proves God’s love for us: that is the Gospel. It is good news that changes lives and changes the world. 

A dear friend of mine grew up in a theologically-conservative denomination. They were all intent on trying to please God but realizing that they tend to fail again and again. This is an Old Testament relationship with God—one that strives to secure God’s favor through good behavior.  It is the story of Israel to be working its way into God’s good graces and then falling over and over. It is not New Testament Christianity, and it bears little resemblance to the good news of Jesus Christ. 

My friend, a pastor, put it this way. It is as though God has his arm around our shoulder, but his face is turned away and he holds his nose—because of our sin. He loves us because, as God, he has to love us, but the overall message is that we are sinful garbage. It took my friend decades to work through this double bind of being loved but being unworthy of love. He spent years hating himself over his sins, which he could never quite rise above despite all his most excellent efforts.  He never felt saved or redeemed, just broken and unworthy. 

Where was the Gospel in that extremely devoted, highly-committed denomination? It was absent. God was not loving, but merely patronizing. 

My friend’s conversion came not during a revival or camp meeting (he’d been to all those—many times—and thrown himself down at the altar call more times than he could number), nor did it come through seminary and the Presbyterian Church.  It came from a New Testament idea—one that had been there all along but unheard, perhaps unpreached—the image of God standing face to face with him, with utter, total, incomprehensible love, saying, “YOU—you are my beloved child and I love you completely.”  That is Gospel. 

What is Gospel? [2]

A serious, young, German theologian—an accomplished pianist—who came to Union Seminary in New York to teach at the tender age of 21, encountered the heyday of liberal progressive theology, and felt only dismay and disappointment at the teaching. He said, “One may hear sermons in New York upon almost any subject; one only is never handled, … namely, the gospel of Jesus Christ, of the cross, of sin and forgiveness.… ” So he, with a new friend, attended instead the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, and there—all the lights went on for him.  He finally heard what he had hungered to hear: the good news of Jesus Christ. 

He was fascinated and charmed by America’s diversity but disturbed by our divisions—particularly the racial divisions of the church which contradicted our professed new life and liberty.  

In 1939 Bonhoeffer considered taking refuge in the United States but returned after only two weeks in New York City, writing to his sponsor, the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, that “I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people.” 

The next year, 1940, Bonhoeffer charged that “the German Church was silent when it should have cried out because the blood of the innocent was crying aloud to heaven. The Church is guilty of the deaths of the weakest and most defenseless brothers of Jesus Christ.” 

Martin Niemoller—another dissenting German pastor—is best remembered for his famous ”First they came for” proclamation:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out —

Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out —Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out —

Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.

Bonhoeffer worked to help Jewish Germans escape into Switzerland, and was later hanged for his role in opposing Adolf Hitler.  His faith—theology and application to his life—continues to inspire millions.  That is Gospel. 

What is Gospel? [3] 

At 11 years old, I had a place in the burgeoning Jesus Movement in Riverside, California. Though my family was active at Calvary Presbyterian Church, I began to hear about other things going on.  The brother of a friend talked about this small gathering of ex-hippies who wrote new songs and worshiped in new ways. I got on my Schwinn and checked it out. 

There were 20 to 30 people in the small fellowship hall of All Saints Episcopal Church near Riverside City College. Everyone seemed to be between 18 and 30 (maybe 40), and all looked a bit hippyish, or perhaps just hip circa 1972. Blue jeans, T-shirts, Army surplus coats, and lots of long hair—beards on the men. Two men with acoustic guitars led the singing. One of the men looked a lot like what I suspected Jesus looked like. Long hair, full beard, with a humble, Mexican peasants’ shirt. Everyone raised up their hands, and to look at their faces, you could only think that these people really, really, mean it. 

I attended regularly, and though I was the only 11-year-old in the room, I started bringing my friends and they were welcomed. The songs were new, the comfortable environment was new, and the worship tapped into something I had longed for—to see these activist-looking types being kind and loving, and all of them professing to love Jesus.

The leader’s name was Greg Laurie and that small gathering became Harvest Christian Fellowship—what is now the 8th largest church in America. 

From there, I heard of other things going on in town, and I began attending something called “The Gathering Place.” The Gathering Place was a small, run down store front in downtown Riverside. Walking in, you’d see several tables of hand-crafted candles for sale. The proprietor looked like he was 70, though he may have been 30. He had long, thin, graying hair. He needed lots of dental work. He later explained to me and my friend that he had recovered from years of heroin addiction which had wrecked his teeth. 

From the lobby we entered a back room. There were colorful cotton India blankets pinned to the walls and a fish net draped from the ceiling. A worn, oriental rug covered the floor. Aside from me and my friend, about 8 or 9 adults showed up. Two of the women were reformed prostitutes, and another couple looked like they had just left the Episcopal church and mistakenly wandered in.   

The program was simple: we stood in a circle, held hands, and prayed for about 60-90 minutes. Everyone prayed, sometimes two or three people praying at the same time. Sometimes we just stood in silence, with soft mutterings of Thank you, Jesus.  I loved that place and went back several times. 

 I also worked a paper route in a questionable neighborhood. I was good at delivering but terrible at collecting. I hated collecting. It meant going house to house, getting money from subscribers and tearing off a little receipt ticket.  I hated collecting because I had some people who were poor and others who were just kind of scary. 

There was one man who terrified me. African American, about 6’5”, and he always seemed to wear black, including a black beret. I was convinced he was Black Panther and a guaranteed danger to a little capitalist like myself. 

One day when I was out collecting, he stepped out his front door. His dark sunglasses looked menacing. “Hey! Paperboy!” My blood ran cold. He sounded angry—what had I done to anger him? Did I forget his paper?  “Hey, paperboy—how much do I owe you?” I sheepishly said, “Um, uh, no…that’s okay.” “Come over here!” I immediately obeyed. “You’ve got to collect or you’ll never make your money!” I nodded. He looked at his receipt card and paid. “Don’t you forget to collect!” he said and walked off. But that wasn’t all. 

A week or so later, I returned to the Gathering Place to pray. I was by myself, and there was a group of 9 or 10 gathered. I was the only one under 25 or so.  From the light of day into that cavernous backroom, my eyes were still adjusting when I heard a big, booming voice: “Praise God! It’s my paperboy!”  It was him! He was there, and he was my friend. With a large, generous confidence, he said, “You’re gonna stand with me! Let’s worship God together!” 

For the next hour, I stood in the circle next to him, hanging on to his huge hand, hearing him pray, praise, and thank God for all things. And I prayed with him thanking God from the depths of my 12-year-old soul, that such things happen in Jesus’ name. That is Gospel.  

What is Gospel? 

Gospel is a good news story that is still being written. 

It is still alive because it lives in and through us—the Church. 

We are to be good news to a confused and suffering world. 

The Gospel is a story of redemption, so we must do what is redemptive.

It’s a story of love and grace, so we must seek to do what is loving and gracious.

It’s a story of pain and injustice overcome by the power of God, so we must trust in God’s power whenever we encounter pain, injustice, or unrighteousness. 

The Gospel blesses the broken sinner, proclaims a perfect love that transforms all things into God’s glory. 

How will you share the Gospel? How has it happened for you?  If you haven’t told your stories in a while you may have forgotten them.  We tell them to remind ourselves and keep our gratitude fresh as well as to proclaim God’s goodness. 

Do you have any stories at the ready? Are there episodes in your life where things went right almost unexpectedly?  Your family member was healed, the stressful situation over which you prayed your guts out dissolved and the sun broke through the clouds? The divine peace that came to you when you were not expecting it? The thing that just worked out?  

Don’t dare forget—with every one of those things, God whispers into the ears of our hearts: “Yeah, that was me.”  

In horrid financial stress, somehow we found a path to get through—“Yeah,” whispers the Lord, “That was me!”

The test came back benign. “Yeah, that was me.” 

That brother-in-law finally found help and is on his own feet. “Yeah, that was me!” 

You’ve got those stories—God loves you, God gets you, and God has been at work in your life—isn’t it time we tell those stories?  What are we waiting for? God is eager to use you and me today. We can tell of his goodness and share what has happened. Others need to hear it. We can share it at the dinner table, proclaim it on the field, or sing it from our lungs with all our strength.  What is that? That is the Gospel. †