Living Out the Gospel (Defining Church #4)

Have you ever met a family where a parent — for some reason it usually seems to be the dad — looks at their kid and says, “Remember, you’re a Canfield“?

The high schooler is heading out on a Friday night and Dad just says, “Hey. Remember you’re a Canfield.” Or the four-year-old is sobbing because big brother took a toy, and Mom comes over: “Hey, it’s okay. You’re fine. You’re strong. You’re a Canfield.”

I first encountered that idea around middle school, and I thought it was tremendous. I decided that someday I’d get married, have kids, and deliver that five-second pep talk.

Then I actually had children. I got my child in front of me, prepared to say it — and realized in that instant it does not work with my last name. My kid would either burst out laughing or roll their eyes. “Daddy, I’m not a bird. I’m a person.”

Dreams crushed. Apparently only dads with normal surnames get to use this one.

Why Parents Say It

But here’s my real question: why do parents give that five-second pep talk at all? Why “you’re a Johnson,” “you’re a Jones,” “you’re a Smith”?

Because there’s an implicit understanding that if you bear the name, certain expectations come with it about how you’ll live.

The kid is going through something hard: “Remember, you’re a Smith — which means we persevere.” The kid is hemming and hawing, clearly not telling the whole truth: “Remember, you’re a Jones. We tell the truth.” The siblings are tearing into each other: “Remember, you guys are Browns. You’re kind.”

Bear the name, and you’re expected to be a certain kind of person.

When someone puts their faith in Jesus, the Scriptures teach they move from being separated from God to being adopted by God. They take on the name of God, the name of Christ. They join the family. And because they now bear that name, there are certain expectations for how they’ll live.

We see it in Acts 2.

Where the Series Has Taken Us

Let me recap where this series has gone.

Three weeks ago in Acts 2 we saw that the church is not a building — it’s the people. But not just any collection of people. Gather a group to watch a ball game and that isn’t a church. What Acts 2 shows us is the people who have put their faith in Jesus: the redeemed people of God.

Two weeks ago we saw that those redeemed people didn’t simply form a social club and play cards. Jesus had given them a mission. And what struck me is that the mission existed long before the church did. God didn’t merely hand a mission to his church — God created the church to accomplish his mission.

Last week we saw that because Jesus started the church and gave it its mission, he is therefore the head of it. Not pastors like me. Not an elder team or a staff. Jesus is the true leader, so anything and everything done within the church is first and foremost for him and for his glory.

But we can’t stop there. There’s one more critical thing in Acts 2 we need to understand: if you bear the name of Christ, if you claim to follow him, there’s a certain way you’re called to live. The way we phrase it in our definition is that we are to live out the implications of the gospel.

Paul’s Letter to a Friend

You hear this in 1 Timothy 3:14–15. Paul writes that he hopes to come soon, but he’s writing these things in case he’s delayed, so that Timothy will know how one ought to behave in the household of God, which is the church of the living God, a pillar and buttress of the truth.

Some backstory: in Acts 16, Paul is on a missionary journey in a city called Lystra, where everyone is speaking highly of a young man named Timothy. Paul wants to meet him, does, is genuinely impressed, and invites him to come along. Timothy begins traveling with Paul, helping him plant churches.

These two did ministry together for years. And after Paul spent three years in Ephesus, he realized he needed to move on to plant more churches. But Ephesus had become a critically important city and a critically important church — he wasn’t going to leave it with just anyone. So he left it with Timothy.

You can imagine how strong that friendship was, and how much they missed each other after separating. That’s the warmth behind the opening line: I hope to come to you soon. I’d love to see you. There are things I want to tell you in person. But just in case I’m delayed, here’s a letter.

And what does he most want Timothy to know? It’s right there in verse 15: how one ought to behave in the household of God. And in case Timothy isn’t clear what “the household of God” means, Paul clarifies — the church of the living God.

When you put your faith in Jesus, you join the family of God. You join his household. And with that comes an expectation of how you behave.

This wasn’t a one-off for Paul. It was a recurring theme. He tells the Thessalonians to walk in a manner worthy of God. He tells the Colossians that just as they received Christ Jesus the Lord, so they should walk in him. And in Ephesians 4:1, which we heard last week, he urges them to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which they were called.

The Church That Grew Overnight

He says it over and over because it’s exactly what we watch happen in Acts 2.

Look at verses 44–46. We studied these three weeks ago and saw the redeemed people doing at least three things.

They were giving to one another — verse 45 says they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all who had need. That’s generosity.

They were serving. It wasn’t only their money; they were actively distributing the proceeds themselves, spending their time and energy.

And taken as a whole, what we’re watching is love. The reason the church behaves this way is that this is what Christ had done for them.

Remember the setting. Earlier in Acts 2 there was that rushing sound like a mighty wind, and all the Jewish people gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost heard it and came running to find out what had happened. That gave Peter the opening to stand up and preach. And verse 41 tells us three thousand people believed.

Overnight the church went from a small country congregation to a megachurch. Three thousand people believed and were baptized — and now the church has to work out how it is called to live.

And what they land on is this: just as Jesus gave his life for us, we will give to others. Just as Jesus served us while he was on earth, we will serve one another. Just as Jesus displayed immense love by laying down his life, we will love one another.

If you put your faith in Jesus, it should change the way you think and the way you behave.

The Bad News: The World Already Knows This

Now some bad news. The world around you already knows this — even when we don’t.

Your coworkers. Your classmates. The moment they learn you’re a Christian, a list forms in their head of what you ought to do and not do. So if they catch you in a lie, or hear something ugly come out of your mouth, or notice how you looked at someone, or clock that you came back ten minutes late from lunch — they’ll let you know about your hypocrisy. They might mock your faith. And if they don’t do it to your face, they’ll do it behind your back.

And then, if you have the audacity to share your faith with them, why on earth would they want your Jesus? He doesn’t appear to have done much for you. They’re probably thinking, privately, that they’re a better person than you are.

That’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? Suddenly you feel like you have to do everything perfectly.

A Warning About That Train of Thought

Let me warn you: if you keep riding that train, it goes somewhere dangerous.

If you live believing you must do everything absolutely perfectly at all times, it leads straight to legalism. And legalism leads to judging one another — oh, you listen to that kind of music? You watched that movie? I thought you were a Christian.

It can lead you to a place where you genuinely fear God rather than love him — scared and anxious because you didn’t get everything right. Or it simply turns following Jesus into a burden with no joy in it, because look at all the things I have to do.

I hope you’ve heard this over and over if you’re part of this church family: God loves you. There is grace here. God does not look at you, see your sin, and recoil in disgust. God sees your sin and comes toward you. You see it in Jesus. It’s why he left heaven for earth — not merely to demonstrate a better way, but ultimately to die on a cross for our sins so we could be forgiven and then brought into that better way.

So I don’t want anyone reading this thinking, “Great, a message about how I need to be better.” It’s about Jesus.

But at the same time, we can’t fool ourselves into thinking, “It’s fine, God gives me grace, it doesn’t matter what I do.” If you claim to follow Jesus, you’re part of the household of God, and it ought to change how you behave.

Why We Feel the Pull

So there’s a real tension here. God, by his Holy Spirit, is pulling us toward a certain way of living. And something else is pulling us toward sin.

Why are we drawn that direction? I think it’s because that’s where we were born. The Scriptures teach that all have sinned and fall short of God’s standard. Every one of us was born into sin. It’s what we know. It’s what we’re comfortable with. In a sense, it feels good — and moving the other direction feels hard.

“Look — It’s Beautiful”

Years ago I heard a missionary describe his ministry in the Middle East. He and his wife married, moved overseas, and served for a number of years. They had a couple of children who grew up there.

Then his missionary activity was discovered. It was a closed country, and he was arrested and interrogated. He genuinely feared his life was over, or that he’d spend the rest of it in prison. Because he was an American, they eventually released him and expelled the family instead. They had a matter of hours. They left an enormous amount behind and were gone — with a warning that if he ever returned, they would kill him.

So suddenly he’s back in the United States asking God why. What is happening? What am I supposed to do now? He had been convinced he was called to those people.

While they were in America healing from the trauma, an opportunity opened in a neighboring country — one that wasn’t closed and would let them in. A large population of refugees from the original country had fled there, and someone was needed to minister among them.

It was perfect. They already spoke the language. They already understood the culture. They could arrive and begin immediately.

So they flew back to the region, and the landscape in this new country looked much like the one they’d left. He admitted he had never found it attractive — plain, boring, barren, brown. He’s from the American Midwest. He likes cornfields and rolling hills and forests, and driving out to Colorado to see mountains. This was not his preference.

But his children had been born in the Middle East and spent every formative year there. As the taxi carried them from the airport, they pressed against the windows, looked out at that same landscape, and said:

“Look — it’s beautiful.”

Because it was home.

God Doesn’t Have a Difference of Opinion About Sin

Most of us were born into our sin. It’s natural. It’s normal. And to some of us, it genuinely looks beautiful.

But God doesn’t look at our sin and see something merely plain, barren, and brown. This isn’t a difference of aesthetic opinion. God knows that living in that land means death. It is bad for us. And he loves us far too much to leave us there — so he came through Christ to call us out of it and into a lush land of life.

Or to put it more biblically: we are born with a sin nature, and through the gospel God is removing that nature and moving us toward becoming like Christ.

That’s why God doesn’t look at our sin and recoil. He comes to rescue us, to begin changing our very nature, so that over time we’re less and less drawn to what’s killing us. He’s slowly transforming us.

He’s slow cooking us rather than microwaving us.

So yes, there is a genuine call about how we ought to live — but there is also patience. There is grace. There is room to grow. Because so often the things we assume are pleasant and fun and harmless are quietly eating us from the inside, and God loves you far too much to let you stay there. He doesn’t shrug and call it a matter of taste. He says: I love you. I died for that sin. Let me bring you out.

And as he brings us out, he gives us a new name — and carrying that name comes with a different expectation.

Which Text Do I Even Use?

My children once gave me a page-a-day calendar of cartoons aimed at pastors — a great deal of cheesy church humor. One of them showed a pastor at his desk praying, and the caption underneath was his prayer: Dear God, thank you so much for the sermon illustration. Now would you please give me a biblical text to go with it?

My problem this week was the reverse. It wasn’t finding a text. It was choosing which one.

We see this lived out in Acts 2, but we also see it in nearly every one of the epistles. Pick any letter written by Paul or Peter or John, and for most of them the pattern holds: the first half is about the gospel — here’s what it is, here’s what Jesus did, it’s all about him — and therefore the second half is: so here is how you should now live.

Over and over, throughout the Scriptures.

So rather than pick one and work through it, we decided to let you hear several — three different passages read aloud, each drawn from the back half of a letter, each answering the same question: if you bear the name of Christ, here is how you are now called to live.

Three Passages

I’ll tell you honestly: I hope this overwhelms you. But I don’t want it to overwhelm you in a way that leaves you burdened, thinking there’s no possible way you could do all of this. I hope you’re overwhelmed by the realization that this is what God wants for you — because when you begin to live this way, you slowly find freedom. You find joy. You begin to live like Jesus lived and love like Jesus loved. These words exist to launch you out to be a blessing in the world.

Romans 12 calls us to love that is genuine — to hate what is evil and cling to what is good, to outdo one another in showing honor, to stay fervent in spirit and constant in prayer, to contribute to the needs of the saints and pursue hospitality. To bless those who persecute us rather than curse them. To rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. To live in harmony, refuse haughtiness, associate with the lowly, and never be wise in our own estimation. To repay no one evil for evil, and as far as it depends on us, to live at peace with everyone — leaving vengeance to God, feeding an enemy who is hungry, and overcoming evil with good.

Colossians 3 tells us that if we’ve been raised with Christ, we should seek the things above where Christ is seated, setting our minds there rather than on earthly things — because we have died and our life is hidden with Christ in God. It calls us to put to death what is earthly in us: sexual immorality, impurity, evil desire, and the covetousness that amounts to idolatry. To put away anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk. To stop lying to one another, having put off the old self and put on the new self that is being renewed in the image of its Creator — where the old dividing lines between peoples no longer hold, because Christ is all and in all. And then to put on compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience; to bear with one another and forgive as the Lord forgave us; and above all to put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

Ephesians 4 urges us to walk in a manner worthy of our calling, with humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another in love and eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit. It insists we no longer walk as those alienated from the life of God, hardened and given over to impurity — because that is not the way we learned Christ. We’re to put off the old self, corrupted by deceitful desires, be renewed in the spirit of our minds, and put on the new self created after the likeness of God. Practically, that means speaking truth with our neighbor because we’re members of one another; being angry without sinning and not letting the sun go down on that anger; the thief laboring honestly so he has something to share with anyone in need; letting no corrupting talk come out of our mouths but only what builds up and gives grace. It means putting away bitterness, wrath, clamor, and slander, and being kind and tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave us — walking in love as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us.

How On Earth Do We Do Any of That?

So how do we possibly do all of that? We look to Christ.

Because everything we just heard describes things Christ himself has already done. We are not called to anything different from what he has done for us.

When we look at the cross and the empty tomb, we see him taking away our bitterness, our anger, our rage, our selfishness, our immorality — and calling us instead into love, joy, kindness, and gentleness.

It seems fitting that as we conclude this series on the church, we come to the communion table together as a church.

We practice what’s called open communion, which means you don’t have to be an official member here to participate. We do ask that you identify as a follower of Jesus — that you’re part of that household of God — because in communion we’re recognizing that Jesus’s death on the cross was on our behalf, taking the very story of what he has done and bringing it into ourselves.

As you hold the bread, look to the cross. That’s the body of Jesus, broken for you. He did it out of love.

And as you hold the cup, look to the cross again. The crucifixion of Jesus was beyond anything a film could depict. The penalty of sin was death, and Jesus absorbed the death every one of us owed. It was bloody. It was brutal. And he did it out of love — because he wanted to bring you out of that barren, dry, desolate valley of death and into the lush life of his grace and goodness.

Jesus, thank you. Thank you for who you are and for what you’ve done. Thank you for giving us your name. Help us now, as your followers, to live out that name — to live out our identity as sons and daughters of the Most High God. Because we are part of this household, make us your hands and feet to a hurting and dying world. May your kindness show through us. May your grace shape our words. May your very presence be part of our presence.

We don’t only take these elements in remembrance of you. We’re asking you to help us live our whole lives in remembrance of you — because we bear your name. Amen.

A Postscript: Praying for a Church Being Born

I want to close with something that happened before this message, because it puts flesh on everything we’ve said.

For three years our church has supported a church planter working to start a congregation on the north side of Minneapolis. He and his wife and their little girl moved into that neighborhood and spent years building relationships and earning trust while assembling a core team. Many of you receive their prayer emails. Some of you have traveled up to help. A few of us were there for their very first preview service.

Their official launch Sunday was the same day as this message — the day they opened the doors and welcomed the whole community.

In typical church-planter fashion, he sent out an email asking for prayer. But his prayer email was nothing like the one I would have written before we launched this church seven and a half years ago.

It opened by naming what that summer had cost his neighborhood. A twelve-year-old boy shot and killed on Wednesday. Someone firing into a barbershop the next day, killing one and injuring two. Three children — six, nine, and twelve years old — lost in a single summer. And that doesn’t count the ten-year-old critically injured by a bullet, or the children so frightened they can’t sleep at night.

“My God, my God,” he wrote, “we are living in a cemetery. But we’ve got too much at stake to commute to other neighborhoods for church. We have such a great opportunity to speak the good news of resurrection into this cemetery.”

He wrote about dreaming of a day when balloons mean birthday parties again instead of memorials. When more mothers and fathers gather their children for family devotionals rather than for funerals. And he said he isn’t dreaming alone — he has a growing church family dreaming with him, and a God known for bringing dead bones back to life.

His launch sermon was on Ephesians 1:7–10, where God is doing two enormous things in Christ: forgiving sins, and reconciling all things in heaven and on earth. All who come to Christ have guaranteed forgiveness. And someday, as one author put it, all the sad things will come untrue. Then there will be no more children killed. No more domestic abuse. No more financial exploitation. But until that day, the local church is called to be ambassadors of reconciliation pointing toward the world to come.

So we prayed. That on their launch Sunday the Spirit would move powerfully, and that they would rejoice not in attendance numbers nor be discouraged by them, but rejoice in knowing that Jesus died for the forgiveness of sins and has sent them into that neighborhood with a story of reconciliation the world desperately needs.

We prayed for the safety of that family, that core team, and that neighborhood. That the young men and women causing the violence would find Christ and have their lives radically changed. That God would thwart the enemy’s efforts and let the gospel crash into that community so that no more children are killed and no more children go to bed afraid — simply because God called a group of people into that neighborhood to love them the way Christ loved us.

And we asked that whatever God is doing there would trickle back here, so that the same kind of transformation happens in our own town.

That’s what it looks like to bear the name.