What the Gospel Is Not
In order to be introduced to the Gospel, you don’t have to start with the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture. Not with your view of creation, not your church affiliation, not even Calvinism and the wonderful doctrines of grace! These are aspects that flow from the Gospel, but they aren’t the Gospel itself. They’re not the center.
How the New Testament Talks About the Gospel
Let me back up. The New Testament talks about the Gospel in two ways. Sometimes, it refers to the entire message—from beginning to end—like Paul does in Romans, where the whole letter unfolds the Gospel in its full scope. Other times, it speaks of the Gospel more narrowly, like in 1 Corinthians 15, where Paul focuses on Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection as of first importance.
The Gospel Is Christ
So what is the Gospel?
Ultimately, the Gospel is Christ.
I know that might sound cliché, or even vague—but it’s not. Because when we say the Gospel is Christ, we’re saying that He is our hope. We may not fully grasp how He is our hope. But when Christ is presented to us, and the Spirit awakens us to His beauty and grace, we respond in love. And it’s that love—stirred by His love for us (1 Jn. 4:19)—that draws us in.
In the most simple terms, when we finally come to Him and fall at His feet and say: “Save me—you’re the only one who can,” we are responding to the Gospel. Why? Because He is our Good News (which is the meaning of the word “Gospel.”)
So, you see? At its most theological doctrinal etymological base, when I say, “Can I introduce you to the the Gospel?” it’s another way of saying, “Let me introduce you to Christ.” “Who do you say that I am?” (Matt. 16:15) really is the most important question that has ever been asked or ever could be.
We’re not first introduced to a theological proposition—we’re introduced to a person. Yes, the cross matters. The resurrection matters. Doctrine matters. But the Gospel begins not as a puzzle to solve, but as a person to behold and trust.
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A Man on the Street
I don’t want to stir up controversy (as if I haven’t already!), but I think this emphasis on Christ Himself is central.
Back when I was with the evangelism team at Dallas Theological Seminary, we used to go downtown on weekends to talk to people about Jesus. I trained other students, how to present the Gospel.
One night, we met a homeless man in his fifties. He looked like he’d lived a hard life. One of our students began talking with him—just sharing about Jesus. The man listened quietly. Then he said something I’ll never forget:
“I’ve done a lot of bad things. I’ve burned every bridge I’ve ever had. But if I have any hope at all, it’s Jesus.”
I asked, “Do you think He will save you?”
He said timidly, “I hope; I ask Him every day.”
I responded, “Why would He save you?”
He said with even more trepidation and hesitancy, “Because He loves me?”
Afterward, I asked the group, “Do you think that guy was saved?” Nearly everybody said no. I asked why. They said, “Because he didn’t know why he was saved or how he was saved, even if he got it right that Christ was the only one who could and he had asked Christ to forgive him.”
And they were right in a sense. He didn’t mention the resurrection. He didn’t articulate substitutionary atonement or justification by faith alone. And he certainly didn’t mention election. But something has to be said for what he did say. There’s a Person he didn’t fully know—and yet he knew enough to cry out to Him. Actually, there were two people he knew: himself and Jesus. He knew he needed mercy, and he had been introduced to the one Person who could give it.
Afterward, someone may have filled him with bad theology. They may have told him all the things he had to do to make sure Christ would save him. They may have burdened him with fear, threatening that if he committed certain sins, he would lose everything. But still, at the root of it, he knew Christ. And he knew who he was in Christ’s presence.
What Must One Know?
Now, I don’t like being forced into corners. But if my back were against the wall and someone asked, “What is the bare minimum a person has to know to be saved?”—I would say this: “The bare minimum to know is Him. Not just to know of Him, but to know Him.
That shows two things:
You know who you are and you know who He is.
You need mercy, and He’s the only one who can give it. If you are of the persuasion that you don’t think you need Him, you don’t know Him. When Isaiah came before the presence of God, he came completely undone, recognizing immediately who God was and, as a consequence, who he was before God (Isa. 6:5).
Everything Else Revolves Around Him
Again, every part of the Gospel matters. Obviously, I believe this. I have devoted my life to it. The truths, the doctrines, the history—they’re all among the most important things a human can know. But they only make sense because they revolve around a person.
As many of you know, I often picture the Gospel like a concentric circle. At the very center is the person of Jesus Christ. Around Him are the events that make His mercy possible—His cross, His resurrection, His incarnation. Then come the doctrines that interpret those events—atonement, justification, and reconciliation. Finally, you have the applications—how we live in light of this Gospel.
Now, I don’t want it to sound like what Christ did is somehow separate from who He is to us. His work is what makes our hope objectively secure. And knowledge of His work is what makes our hope subjectively known and assured. It’s what makes the Gospel possible—what makes our trust in Him valid toward salvation.
The Tax Collector’s Cry
Think of the man in Jesus’ parable who went up to the temple to pray. The Pharisee stood tall and said, “God, I thank you that I am not like other men.” But the tax collector stood at a distance, beat his chest, and cried out, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner” (Luke 18:9–14).
And what happened?
That man went home justified.
Not because he was given a list of theological propositions. Not because he immediately went to church. Not even because he was assured of his salvation—he probably wasn’t. I imagine he came back to the same place the next day and said the same thing. But he turned to the right source. He knew his own bankruptcy, and he responded to that source in humility. That was enough.
Get Your Own!
This one is mine
Starting at the Center
If you start at the center, the Spirit builds outward.
That homeless man on the street may not have known much. But he knew enough. And I believe that He knew Christ. I wish we had had more time to help him understand what the Christ he knew did for him and how secure he was. But he had to get on a bus.
I say all this not to encourage a stripped-down Gospel message, but to elevate Christ as the central reality. We must present both the person and the work of Jesus—the One who loves us, who gave Himself for us, and who draws us by love into trust and obedience.
The Center of Everything
I say all this because I want you to see how much Christ is the center of everything we are and everything we believe. Everything else emanates from Him.
So when I say the Gospel is a person, I mean it quite literally.
The Gospel is, as Karl Barth used to say, a living encounter with a person—Jesus Christ. I used to have a very bad allergic reaction to this proposition (Ha! Irony, huh, Barth?). But I think I’m coming to understand it.
To know the Gospel is to know and love Him.
So, I guess the question is, Who is Christ to you?
