According to the
GLORIOUS GOSPEL
1 Tim. 1:11, “According to the glorious gospel of the blessed God.”
The gospel was the theme of Paul’s preaching. The word gospel means good news. The system of propositions, and threats, and ultimatums that often passes for the gospel is not really gospel—it is not good news. But, Paul preached the gospel; he preached good news for sinners. He preached the good news of salvation by the shed blood and imputed righteousness of Jesus Christ.
Paul preached the everlasting love, and the unbounded power, of an Almighty Savior. He represented the God, who “doeth according to his will in the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth, and none can stay his hand, or say unto him, What doest thou? (Dan. 4:35)”
Paul is careful to say that, not only did he preach the gospel, he preached the glorious gospel. More than that, it is the glorious gospel of the blessed God. Do you get the idea, that he added phrase upon phrase, expression upon expression, to emphasize that this is not just any message—it is the glorious gospel of the blessed God. Do you get the idea that Paul was excited about his subject.
The first time we read about Paul he is a young man. Now, at this point, he has a lifetime of preaching behind him; he is coming to the end of his way. It is in his next letter to Timothy that he says, “I am now ready to be offered and the time of my departure is at hand.” He believed he had finished his work, and he expected to be dead before long. But none of that dampened his zeal. He was still excited about the gospel— the glorious gospel. There was as much passion in his message as there had ever been.
When I hear somebody preach, I like to think he is excited about his subject. I like to think there is nothing he had rather be doing, and nothing he had rather talk about, than to talk about his Lord
I recall once, several years ago, I was headed home from work one evening, and I passed a church with a big sign in front announcing that they were having a revival. I knew the evangelist; I had known him before either one of us started preaching, and that goes back a long way. I was through for the day, and I decided to go in and hear what he had to say, and perhaps, renew an old acquaintance. When I got inside, I discovered the evangelist was not the person I expected, but since I was inside and expecting to hear preaching, I decided to stay.
The preacher started out with the usual apple-polishing that visiting evangelists usually do, bragging on the pastor, just in case he might get an invitation to come back next year. He talked about what a devoted, dedicated, self-sacrificing man their pastor was, and how he was going to such great lengths to see after the needs of the congregation.
He assured them there were, no doubt, any number of places the pastor would rather be, and any number of things he would rather be doing than to be there with them that night. But as he went on and on convincing the people of what great sacrifices their pastor was making on their behalf, I could not help but wonder—if the pastor wanted so much to be somewhere else, and if he wanted so much to be doing something else—would he not probably be about as well off if he was somewhere else?
For all the bragging the evangelist did on the pastor’s behalf, I thought he wound up making the man look more like hired help than he looked like a kind and loving pastor.
A preacher might put forth ever so much time and effort into preaching, and preparing to preach, but it is not going to be much benefit to him, nor anybody else, if his heart is not in it. He may learn his lesson well enough to fool the people for awhile, but it will not take long until they catch on. And from that point on he will deliver his dry, dusty recitations to a restless and impatient crowd.
There is no reason any sermon should be dull and uninteresting. The gospel of salvation by the sovereign grace of God is the most exciting news that has ever occupied the minds of men.
The prophet Habakkuk tells us that God is “of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look upon iniquity,” Hab. 1:13.
But this all-wise, all-powerful, God, who is so holy and so righteous that he cannot so much as look upon sin—with any sense of approval, that is—and yet he has devised a way to save hell-deserving sinners. And he does that without violating his own righteous law. I tell you, that is exciting news to me.
Why should we not shout it from the housetops? The God of Glory saves hell-deserving sinners.
It has been just over fifty-seven years since I first encountered the doctrine of God’s sovereign grace. I had been preaching for about six years for some other people. I was entirely sincere in what I preached, and I thought I had been preaching salvation by grace. And then I attended a special meeting at the Chattanooga Church.
It was at that meeting I first came face to face with the doctrines of grace, and it turned my world upside down.
I belonged to a church, which was part of a group that broke away from the main body of Primitive Baptists about forty years before. They went off immediately into Arminianism. They were probably Arminian before they left. By the time I came along, they had totally left our doctrine, but they were still proud of the Primitive Baptist name.
O. D. Young, a member of the Chattanooga Church came to work for the company where I worked, and we each discovered that the other claimed the Primitive Baptist name. I had never heard of any Primitive Baptist churches other than the eight churches in our little association. So far as I knew, those eight churches were all the Primitive Baptists there were, and I was intrigued to learn there were more than I knew about. He invited me to a special meeting at the Chattanooga Church and I was anxious to go.
Visiting Chattanooga Church was different from anything I had ever experienced. There were people there from Georgia and Alabama. They had driven all the way to Chattanooga for that meeting. That just blew my mind. Now, Chattanooga is on the Georgia line, and Alabama is not that far away, but I did not think about that at the time. When you have never been anywhere, and never done anything, Georgia and Alabama are a world away.
Those people had passed any number of churches to get to that particular meeting. They could have stopped at any one of those churches, but they had the idea they would find something at that church, which they could not find at any of those churches they passed. They were sure there was something special about that church, and something special about what they would hear when they got there. I had never met anybody with quite that kind of attachment to a church.
And they had an attitude toward their preachers, and toward their message, that I was not used to. The visiting preachers were Elders M. P. White and Holland Crumbly. They have both been dead for a long time now, but I am sure that some of you remember them. Those men preached with a kind of self assurance, a kind of conviction, that could not fail to convince you they were completely convinced of what they were saying.
I had become used to the expression, “There is room to differ.” Those preachers preached as if—on the fundamentals— there was no room to differ.
Those of you who remember Brother Crumbly remember how he could be preaching with power, with tears streaming down his cheeks; he would pause for a moment, and pound the bookboard, and say, “Boys, this is hit.” I was so in the dark I had no idea what hit was, I but I had no doubt that he knew.”
Those two men were not orators in any way that would satisfy a homiletics professor, but they had a kind of down-to-earth, from-the-heart, delivery that was more profound than anything they could have learned in a homiletics classroom. They were profound in a way that cannot be taught in the classroom.
We Primitive Baptists have a lot to say about what the gospel will not do, and we have it right. The preached gospel will not make children of God—it was never intended for that purpose. It will not teach anybody how to gain heaven nor escape hell. But for the heaven-born soul—the gospel preached in power will turn your entire world upside down.
It is like the barley bread in the Midianite soldier’s dream. That barley bread, that gospel bread, came tumbling through the camp of the Midianite army, and it struck a tent that it lay along. The glorious gospel I heard that day struck my Arminian tent, and I was never able to put it back up again.
I could not entirely put my finger on what was so different, but the preaching I heard that day was like nothing I had ever heard before. The message was different to what I was used to, and I did not understand what I had heard until it was explained to me. O. D. Young invited me to go by his house and visit for awhile after the meeting, and he explained what I had been listening to.
His explanation about the way people are saved was different from anything I had ever heard, and I could not agree—but I could not reject it out of hand.
As moved as I was by the preaching, I still had trouble with the explanation, and I went home, determined to find all the texts I needed to drive that doctrine from the field. One by one, I went to all those texts I had used to teach the Arminian doctrine— and one by one they failed me. I found texts that almost said what I needed for them to say, but almost was not good enough. If I was going to prove my case, I had to find verses that said, in no uncertain terms that our eternal destiny is in our own hands.
I earned my livelihood in direct sales—because I did not know how to do anything else. That required me to spend a lot of time traveling from one call to another, and it gave me a lot of time to think. One day I was on my service route, and I was rehearsing the subject in my mind.
I said, “That man told me that Christ died for the elect; I know better than that; Christ died for the sins of the whole world.” After fifty-seven years, I believe I could still take you to within fifty feet of the place. Just down the road, I said, “I know that man cannot be right; Christ died for every believer.”
No sooner had I said those two words, every believer, than it was as if somebody doused me with ice water, and something said, “That is not the way you said it a moment ago. A moment ago you said Christ died for the whole world; now you say he died for every believer; not everybody is a believer.”
At that moment the first glimmer of light began to shine, and nothing has been the same since. I went back to my Bible and started to look for passages which taught what O. D. Young had told me. I could never find verses which said exactly what I had preached before. But now I began to find verse after verse which said exactly what O. D. Young had told me.
Salvation really is by grace—plus nothing and minus nothing. Jesus Christ is the one and only Savior, and he does not need any help.
It was several weeks before I could sort things out well enough to preach what I was beginning to learn, but the first time I ventured to do it, I preached for almost two hours before I could find relief. Surprising to say, nobody walked out.
I was totally sincere in the Arminianism I had preached before, and I enjoyed the effort. I would not dare question the sincerity of the vast majority of those who are still involved in that system. But while I enjoyed that effort, it could not compare with the joy of discovering the truth of salvation by sovereign grace.
If I thought you had any interest at all in religious subjects, you could not get within speaking distance of me before I wanted to know, “Have you heard about election; have you heard about predestination?” To me, that was this morning’s headlines, and I could not wait to tell it.
To me it was exciting to know that God would save everybody he intended to save. It was exciting to know that if anybody wanted to be saved, it was evidence he was already saved. It was exciting to know that if somebody was saved, he would stay saved.
It was exciting to discover that the eternal salvation of sinners was in more powerful hands than mine. I had been taught that it was my job to help people to get born again—and that was a terrifying thought.
I first made a profession of faith just after my eleventh birthday, and I immediately began with my soul-saving effort. I was forever looking for somebody to witness to. As soon as I got old enough to get my own car, I had fresh opportunities. That was over sixty years ago, and at that time it was a lot safer to pick up hitchhikers. If I saw a hitchhiker, that was my opportunity. I was always going wherever he was going, if I had enough gas to get there and back. I would take him just about anywhere he wanted to go. Until I let him out, I had a captive audience. Nobody ever asked me to stop and let him out. After all, I was his free ride.
Why should I not seize every opportunity to witness? If that man standing on the side of the road might burn forever, if I did not talk to him, how could I even think about passing him up? Why should I not beg and plead with tears for him to get right with God?
There is no rest in that system. You can never know when you have worked hard enough, or witnessed often enough. You can never know if you have been as passionate, or as convincing as you should have been.
Matt. 23:4, “For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne.”
To imagine you are responsible for the eternal destiny of every person you meet, or might manage to meet, is too heavy a load for anybody to carry. And to learn that God can and does carry that load—and that he has never failed at anything he went about to do— was the most exciting news I had ever heard, and I could not wait to tell it.
That was almost a lifetime ago, but I am still excited to tell it. It has been more than sixty-three years since I made my first faltering effort to preach, and I realize I am rapidly coming to the end of my way, but I have never been more excited about the gospel message. There is no excuse for a hum-drum, matter-of-fact delivery of the good news of the gospel. This glorious gospel is the most exciting news the world has ever heard, and our telling of it ought to reflect that fact. Almost three thousand years ago, Isaiah said:
Isa. 40:1, Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God.
2. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and say unto her that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned; for she hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins..
The good news of the gospel is that the war is over—and God won—he won the war on behalf of his people.
I never will forget the day the Second World War ended. I was eight years old at the time. I was out in the backyard, doing whatever little eight year old boys do when they don’t have anything better to do.
My mother came running out the back door, more excited than I had ever seen her. She went in the back door of the house next door—without knocking— and a moment later she came back out, just as excited as she was when she went in. And she headed for the next house. She had heard on the radio that the war was over and she could not wait to tell it. For four long years our people had been fighting and dying on foreign battle fields, and now the war was over. The killing could stop now. No wonder she was excited to tell it.
She was every bit as excited as we ought to be in telling that the war for our eternal salvation is over—and God won.
A moment later, most everybody in the community, who had a car, was driving up and down the road, waving and honking their horns. Some folks were just sitting in their driveway honking away. America had been at war for four years, and after years of rationing, not everybody had gasoline to drive up and down the road.
The war was over, and America was excited.
For four long years, the entire world had been locked in a death struggle with Adolf Hitler and the Nazis in Europe, and with Hirohito and the Japanese Empire in Asia and the Pacific. Millions of people had died. Millions more were maimed for life. It was a war such as man had never seen before.
But devastating as that war was, it was just a neighborhood spat—compared to the war our Lord fought and won at Calvary.
The Second World War lasted four years. The war that was fought and won at Calvary had been going on for four thousand years. The Second World War had nations all over the world at war with each other. This war had mankind at war with his Maker. Adolf Hitler and Emperor Hirohito would have enslaved the entire world if they could have done it. Satan had already enslaved mankind ever since Adam rebelled against the Almighty.
Our Lord fought and won the victory, and set us free. We have every right to be excited.
John 8:36, If the Son, therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.
I was excited to discover the truth of salvation by sovereign grace. And I was excited to discover that God has an identifiable church in the world—a church that is separate and distinct from all others.
I loved the people I had been identified with; I still do. But there was always something that did not seem to fit. They had so many things I could not find any Bible authority for. I was fifteen years old when I made my first effort to preach, but I had taught Sunday School from time to time before that.
I always enjoyed the Sunday School, and I liked to be called on to teach, but it really bothered me that I could not find anything in the Bible about how to set up a Sunday School, or any record that the first churches had them.
It was about that time that churches in our area started to have Training Unions. They went by a variety of names: B.T.U., and B.Y.P.U. and the like. They never could get the same traction as the Sunday School did. The older members objected that the Training Union was a man-made operation. They objected that they could not find any record of the first churches having Training Unions.
I had the same questions about Sunday Schools and Vacation Bible Schools, but when most of the preachers are old enough to be your grand-daddy, it is not a good idea to object too much.
I remember once, that one of the older preachers objected to some comment I had made. He corrected me, and addressed me as Sonny-boy. He was as fine a man as I ever knew, and I am sure he meant no harm. He did not mean for it to be such a put-down, but after more than sixty years, those words still sting. I tried to be cautious in my objections. More often than not, I failed.
I recall, at one point, the thought entered my mind that I wanted to start a church, with nothing in it that I could not find authority for in the Bible. That idea lasted about as long as it took to say the words. First, I knew enough about myself to know that I do not have what it takes to start a church. Besides, the very thought had a strange ring to it. The Lord has never commanded us to start a church. It is our place to look for and find his church. We may start a local assembly of his church, but it is still part of his church.
“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness,” (Matt. 6:33).
We are commanded to find his church, not start a church of our own.
It is exciting to know that, after two thousand years, God still has a church in the world, and he has promised that church will continue to be here throughout all ages.
“Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end, Amen,” (Eph. 3:21).
“Upon this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it,” (Matt. 16:18).
“In the days of those kings shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand forever,” (Dan. 2:44).
The Bible teaches in clear terms that the Lord’s church will stand forever. God always wins. It was exciting to me to learn that God will always have an identifiable church in the world—and I was convinced I had found it.
One of the most powerful movements in America today is a new religion called Dispensationalism. That is a fairly new form of Judaism, which manages to pass itself off as Christian. They use the same Bible as Christians. They quote many of the same proof texts as Christians, and they make some of the same arguments. But you don’t have to listen for very long until you discover it is actually the flip side of Messianic Judaism. Those two were founded, for the most part, by the same people. They are the same thing, except that one is packaged for Jews, and the other is directed at Christians.
One of the most fundamental doctrines of Dispensationalism is that the Lord did not want a church in the first place. They insist the church was an afterthought. They tell us he really wanted an economic, political, and military kingdom—with a Jewish bureaucracy—ruling the world from Jerusalem. They go on to tell us that he set up a Gentile church after he failed to get the assistance of the Jews in establishing the kingdom he wanted.
They are sure that Daniel was wrong. They insist the church will not stand forever—it will not last throughout all ages. They tell us the church will apostatize at the last, and the Lord will return to his first love, the Jewish people. They are sure that when the Lord comes again, he will do what he really wanted to do the first time. They are sure he will set up a kingdom, with himself as the head operating with the assistance of that Jewish bureaucracy.
In just over a hundred years, with their almost unlimited source of (Zionist) financing, they have taken over most of religious publishing, and virtually all of religious broadcasting. But it is exciting to me to know they are wrong. It is exciting to know that God still has a church in the world; he always will have a church; and there will be humble children of God enjoying the benefits of that church when he comes again in the clouds of glory.
It is exciting to me to hear the Lord say:
“Fear not, little flock, it is your Father’s good will to give you [not a Jewish bureaucracy] the kingdom,” Luke 12:32.
It is exciting to me to know that I am not long for this world. I am not in any hurry to go, but I do look forward to that day. I am a lot like a little boy I read about a long time ago. The pastor asked everybody to raise their hand if they wanted to go to heaven. Everybody raised their hands except that one little boy. The pastor asked him, “Son, do you meant you don’t want to go to heaven when you die?” The little boy said, “I am sorry, I thought you were getting up a load for tonight.”
Well, I am not anxious to go today, but I do look forward to the trip. I will turn eighty this year, and that fact is on my mind a lot lately. It means that I am nearer the day when I will see my Lord than I have ever been before.
I love my wife and children more than I will ever be able to tell, and I am not anxious to leave them behind. My children all provide for themselves better than I ever could, but I still like to think I am their refuge of last resort. If they are in need, I like to think I am here to provide them a place under my roof and a place at my table. I do not like to think of that day when I will not be here for them.
Unless I misunderstand my own feelings, I love my wife more than I love life itself, and I do not like the thought of leaving her behind. I enjoy being around to provide for her. I provide for her and she takes care of me. Those are the only reasons I recoil at the thought of dying.
As for the Old Baptists, they got along just fine before I came along, and I am sure they will do just fine after I am gone.
But, in spite of everything, it is still exciting to think that it will not be long until I see my Lord face to face. What a thought that is. What a prospect that is.
Death comes in a multitude of ways. Some are blessed to die quietly in their sleep. Some have a heart attack or a stroke and fall dead in their tracks. Others go through a long agonizing final illness before they die.
But, even if our dying is slow and painful, think of the outcome of it all. A few days, a few months, or a few years of suffering—and we are in the presence of our Lord. And, regardless of how long we may suffer, that is still just a moment, compared with an eternity with our Lord. God goes to great lengths to impress that fact on our minds.
“For what is your life; it is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little while, and then vanisheth away,” James 4:13.
And as for any suffering we may experience, Paul says,
“For our light affliction which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory,” 2 Cor. 4:17.
Regardless of how we may suffer in our final illness, Paul says it is a light affliction, and it is but for a moment, compared to that eternal weight of glory.
The story is told of the nurse who attended the atheist Voltaire in his final illness. After witnessing his terror in the face of death she is quoted as saying, “I hope never again to attend to a dying atheist.” How agonizing is the death of one who has nothing good to look forward to.
Another dying atheist is quoted as saying, “Draw the curtain; the farce is over.” But I would not dare close this little article on that sad note. The death of the saints is another matter altogether.
How many saints I have visited in their dying hours. How reassuring it has been to witness the calmness with which they waited for that moment when they would quit this world, and—instantly—be in the presence of the Lord. How reassured they were, how hopeful, how at peace they were with themselves, with their fellow man, and with their Lord. How content they were to leave this old world behind— knowing where they were going to be in just a few moments.
I recall one old brother whose kidneys had failed, and the poison was building up in this system. This was before dialysis became so common. When I asked him how he was doing, he was always doing fine. It was never a question of whether he was going to die or get better. He expected to die and then get better.
I recall another brother who was dying. He told me that his doctor was one of the most irreligious men he had ever met. He had no use for religion, and he had no use for religious people. But the good brother was so calm and at ease in the face of death that the doctor could not understand what was going on.
One day, when it was evident that death was near, I visited him and he told me his doctor had come to see him on Sunday. He had never worked on a Sunday before, but it appeared the brother might not last until Monday, and the doctor wanted to see him one last time.
He told me the doctor pulled up a chair, and said, “Tell me about your religion.” It did not appear that the doctor had any more real interest in religion than he ever did—but in his own carnal way he was mystified at what could give such peace of mind in the fact of imminent death.
We might go on and on talking about saints who have died with the most pleasant smile on their face. People whose expression indicated that at the moment of death they could see a beautiful sight nobody around them could see. We could talk about those who talked about the angels standing at the foot of their bed, or seeing departed loved ones who were standing all around them as they breathed their last.
David said, Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me,” Psa. 23:4.
Who could doubt that the Lord was there to welcome them at the very moment they died. He would be back for their bodies after awhile. But, he was there to welcome their spirit—the highest part of them—into heaven right then.
It is exciting to me to know that before long I am going to be in the company of all the saints who have lived from the very first day until now. It is exciting to me to think that one day I can sit down with the saints that have gone before, and talk about our experiences along the way.
All of my life I have heard people debate whether we will know each other over there. If I know somebody down here, why should I not know him over there? The other notion does not make any sense at all. I am dumb enough already; I would hate to think I will know less over there than I do now.
But think what it will be like—to be in the very presence of the Almighty. He created the very universe by the word of his power. He created every molecule and ever blade of grass. He created the sun, the moon, and the stars. And he created you and me. And very soon we are going to see his face and enjoy his company for all eternity.
On that day he is going to call these bodies out of the grave— without all the corruption that identifies us now. All that is vile about me, all that is disgusting about me, all that is repugnant about me, he is going to leave in the ground. And on that day, I expect to be like him for I shall see him as he is.
This old carnal nature of mine vexes me and harasses me all the time. My carnality is all over me (if you will pardon the expression) like stink on a skunk. I am aware of it; anybody who knows me is aware of it, and I can’t get rid of it. But on that day I will be free—free from my old carnal nature—free to serve my Lord, and worship him in a way I have never been able to down here. I tell you, that is exciting news to me.
THE END