Psalm 1 emphasized God’s word. Psalm 2 points to the Word made flesh, the Messiah. Whereas the first psalm spoke of personal flourishing, the second psalm speaks of geopolitics — the Kingdom of God and, more importantly, the King himself. He is so far above the nations, so unthreatened by the raging and scheming of human powermongers, that he laughs. He knows the end of every story, and neither he nor his people come out as losers in any of them. In fact, all the futility of human devices ultimately serves his purposes.

At the center of this Kingdom is the Son who reigns. He has been placed on the holy mountain, the spiritual apex of creation, to administer God’s justice and inherit the nations as his own. All he has to do is ask.

The earliest readers likely read this psalm in light of their current king. Over time, messianic interpretations developed and then were seen in an entirely new light by New Testament writers. But the unfolding layers of meaning add to the beauty of Scripture. As early Christians understood from this psalm, the raging, rebelling kingdoms of earth will be subdued and brought into the realm of God’s Kingdom.2

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This psalm invites us to take refuge in the Son, the ultimate King of creation. But the New Testament invites us to do something more. We have been adopted into the royal family and have become co-heirs with this King.3 We are destined to rule and reign with him.4 We stand to inherit all that he inherits — that is, everything.5 No wonder those who take refuge in him are blessed.

Re-Envision Your Inheritance

Many Christians have filled their vision with “lost cause” theology — a view that the church will continue to decline until its King returns to rescue it. But according to this psalm and Scripture as a whole, we are losing no battles, regardless of appearances. We were created, redeemed, and restored to have visions of victory.

If our King is invited to ask for the nations and we are blessed to inherit all that he inherits, we can ask for them too — that he would draw them all into his glorious reign. Only with such bold, faith-filled requests can we fulfill our God-given mission in this world.

The night before his crucifixion, Jesus astonished his disciples by washing their feet.1

It was a deeply symbolic act — he took off his normal attire and put on the clothing of a servant, then when he was done, stood up and changed back into his regular clothes. In one gesture, he demonstrated the trajectory of the divine descent and exaltation — his putting away the privileges of deity to become a man and live as a servant, even to the point of death, and being raised above all other names.2

On the surface, this is a beautiful demonstration of serving one another. Jesus even said so directly:

You also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.3

But there’s something else going on beneath the surface. He ends this portion of his teaching on serving with a statement about sending and receiving:

Most assuredly, I say to you, he who receives whomever I send receives Me; and he who receives Me receives Him who sent Me.4

Those who have received Jesus have received the Father; and those who receive the ones Jesus has sent have received Jesus himself, and therefore have received the Father too.

That’s a lot of sending and receiving in a short space, and with huge implications. Washing each other’s feet, whether literally or figuratively, is an act of service, but it’s also the core message in the Father’s and Jesus’ act of sending. Those who embrace the calling to serve are also embracing the calling to go.

If there were any doubt about that, Jesus summarizes it well in a brief statement after his resurrection:

As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.5

And he sends them out to “do as I have done to you” — i.e., serve, wash feet, love humbly and purely.

Clean, Beautiful, Blessed Feet

It’s fascinating, then, that a passage about serving and sending is centered on cleaning feet, and that one of the Bible’s best-known prophecies about sending and going declares those feet to be beautiful:

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Jesus is eternal. We are not — at least not in the sense of having neither beginning nor end. But we have been given eternal life, and we’ve been sent by the Eternal One on a mission with eternal consequences.

That may seem like an obvious statement — most Christians would readily agree with it and, in fact, have already embraced it — but think of what that means. We who are finite creatures who have not existed for all of eternity have been entrusted with a life that transcends time and space and a mission that brings others into that same life.

There are lots of implications of that, but here are two:

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When Jesus appeared to his disciples in the room where they were hiding, he first calmed their fears (“Peace be with you”), then commissioned them to go into the world just as the Father had sent him, and then empowered them by breathing his Spirit into them1 — a foretaste of the day of Pentecost that would come a few weeks later, and also a profound reenactment of the creation of the first man in Eden.

What better way to signal to them that they were entering into a new creation and being restored to humanity’s original design in the image of God? This was more than a symbolic gesture. It was a statement that believers in Jesus would walk in his power, with a first taste of it included on the spot.

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For most of my adulthood, many leaders in the church have sensed a ripeness or fullness in our time for coming awakenings and the evangelization of the world. Much prayer and strategizing have been devoted to that vision; many efforts have been made to advance the kingdom in every part of the world; and much has been written to encourage, inspire, and call believers to step up their praying, giving, and going to see the task accomplished.

As a reader of this site, you know by now that I like to present not only current teachings and exhortations related to global missions but also views from the recent (and sometimes distant) past. Here’s one I came across in a book written in the late 1990s. The author, David Shibley, was sensing this “fullness of time” (as many were), and the fullness is even greater now. Here’s an excerpt on prioritizing our vision and prayers toward fulfilling the Great Commission:1

I stood on Brighton beach and drank in the crisp sea breeze as it washed across my face. It was summer 1992. As I looked out toward the European continent, I thought back to a very different time but the same place.

Hudson Taylor, still a teenager and only recently converted, surrendered his life to God for China on this windswept sandy beach. In the aftermath of that experience with God at Brighton, Taylor said, “I feel that I cannot go on living unless I do something for China.” Hudson Taylor sailed for China in 1853 and later founded the China inland mission.

The ramifications of that commitment at Brighton are still being felt in China today. In fact, Ruth Tucker asserts that “no other missionary in the 19th centuries since the apostle Paul has had a wider vision and has carried out a more systematized plan of evangelizing a broad geographical area than Hudson Taylor.”2

As the salt water sprayed my face, I prayed, “God, do it again.”

Shibley identifies two mentalities that are hindering global evangelization today: the Cain mentality (“Am I my brother’s keeper?”) and the Jonah mentality (not wanting God to be compassionate or gracious to certain groups of people). Yet God wants to pour out a “baptism of compassion” on his people to align us with his own heart for the world.

Do you remember that dramatic scene when Jesus stood outside the city of Jerusalem and wept over its impending destruction? Jesus was literally moved to tears because they did not know the time of their visitation (Luke 19:44).

This is God’s hour of visitation for global spiritual harvest. God has sovereignly ordained that this generation of believers have within its grasp what earlier generations of Christians could only dream of — closure on the Great Commission. We must be honorable stewards of this precious gift to the global visitation of God’s Spirit for harvest. . . .

God’s spirit is ever pointing in one direction — toward the preeminence of Jesus Christ. And he is ever pressing us toward one great goal — the fulfilling of the Great Commission. For the first time since the first history, the evangelization of the world is within our grasp. . . .

There will never be a better time to finish the job. We must hear and obey the Spirit’s injunction to put in the sickle and reap now, before night fall. Without sounding melodramatic, it could be argued that, if we fail, the church could plunge into a second ‘dark ages.’ When we look at the immensity of the task, our hearts cry, ‘Lord, who is sufficient for these things?’ Yet we remember that nothing, including the evangelization of the world, is too hard for God. . . .

God’s call to his people to intercede will not be in vain. He is not holding out the hope of revival without the prospect of its fulfillment. Global spiritual awakening is on the way! In fact, the waves are already lapping the shore.

Jesus’ ministry was disruptive. He called people out of their ordinary lives, defied their expectations, did miracles that stretched their understanding of reality, taught life-changing truths, challenged and transcended the status quo, and provoked responses that interrupted social patterns and alarmed religious and political authorities.

That’s a lot of disruption for someone who urged his followers to be peacemakers. But Jesus recognized that bringing peace into people’s lives — shalom in all its fullness — isn’t the same as keeping peace at all costs. He acknowledged the divisive nature of his mission:

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household.”1

In other words, the Prince of Peace would be an extremely polarizing figure — a prophecy that has proven true throughout history.

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Jesus once told a parable of a man who was beaten by robbers and left for dead. Two people presumably known for their piety passed the man by without helping, but a Samaritan — one of the undesirables, in the first-century Jewish mind — stopped to help at great cost to himself. Why? Because “he had compassion.”1

Virtually every Christian is familiar with this story, known as the parable of the good Samaritan, because it’s a great sermon illustration or Sunday school lesson on how to treat others.

It also happens to be a great picture of Jesus. Not that he was a Samaritan, of course, but because he was compassionate and willing to get his hands dirty meeting the needs of people who were desperately hurting.

That’s one of the biblical definitions of mercy. Mercy is expressed in material relief for practical problems — healing for the hurting, justice for the oppressed, freedom for the captives, food for the hungry, love for the unlovable, and always with an eye out for ways to meet the gaping needs of this broken world.

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The gospel accounts of Jesus’ birth, especially that of Luke, paint remarkable portraits of humility.

The young virgin who conceives the Son of God is unassuming and submissive to the divine will, even though she knows (and will find out even more later) that her submission will be enormously costly.

Her young husband chooses not to make a scene, preferring to sever their relationship discreetly, and then submits to divine direction in a dream, even though God’s will for his life certainly doesn’t fit the vision he had for it.

When their child is born, he is laid in a manger in a humble dwelling, with no special accommodations provided, even though he is the eternal King who left a glorious throne to come to earth.

The first people who are alerted to this amazing birth are shepherds — among the lowliest in their culture’s social strata — who come to visit him.

And when the couple goes to the temple to make the prescribed offerings after his birth, they bring a pair of turtledoves or pigeons — the offering designated for those who can’t afford a lamb.

There’s no hint of pretentiousness in this story, at least on the part of the leading characters. The Father sent his Son into the world in the humblest of circumstances.

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Jesus was driven by compassion. We forget that sometimes — it’s easy to take emotions out of his ministry because we don’t want to perceive him as having the same fluctuating feelings we have — but his compassion is constant and immeasurable, and it motivated him to meet the needs of people who were hurting and helpless.

The gospel writers weren’t reluctant to point this out. Matthew writes five times that Jesus was “moved with compassion.”1 Mark says the same thing four times,2 and Luke states and/or implies a couple more.

Jesus’ compassion is expressed not only in his works but also in his parables. It’s the key word in his parable of the good Samaritan — the unexpected hero who saw a wounded, beaten man by the side of the road and “had compassion” on him.3

And it’s the father’s attitude toward a prodigal son who hardly deserved any compassion at all yet received his father’s love because “when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion.”4 If we had any doubt about the heartfelt, emotional nature of this compassion, the next verse clears it up. The father’s compassion — a picture of God’s — compelled him to lose all dignity and run toward his son, fall on his neck, and kiss him.

That’s what God’s compassion looks like. It runs toward prodigals and lavishes acceptance on them, even when they show only a hint of repentance that may or may not be self-serving.

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Over my years of service in various ministry organizations, I had the pleasure of learning about world missions from a variety of teachers with diverse perspectives. One of those voices was Avery Willis, a leader in global missions whom I’d come to know through MasterLife, his discipleship training course, then met on several occasions in the following years.

I remember Avery fondly — he died in 2010 — and share the following excerpt from his book The Biblical Basis of Missions with a recommendation that, these many years later, it’s still well worth reading for a basic background in biblical missions.1 The tagline for this Substack page is “Voices of renewal from across the Christian world,” and his is a voice I greatly appreciate for its role in my life. Here’s how he described his first experience of being filled with the Spirit:

While I was a freshman in college, the Holy Spirit created in my heart an overwhelming desire to bear witness to Christ. In the months that followed, his presence overcame my natural shyness and thrust me out several times each week onto the streets and into bars to witness. However, I was not successful in leading people to Christ. I memorized scriptures, studied soul winning books, and prayed. But something was missing.

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One day I received in the mail a booklet that told of the experiences of D.L. Moody, R.A. Torrey, Billy Sunday, Billy Graham, and others whose ministries had been transformed when they experienced the filling of the Holy Spirit.

I had a burning desire to be used of God, but I could not find anyone who could tell me how to be filled. Finally, a friend loaned me the book The Holy Spirit: Who He Is and What He Does by R.A. Torrey.

For the first time, I realized that the Holy Spirit is a person who possesses us, instead of a power or an influence that we possess. Torrey showed that the Holy Spirit, who lives within us, wants to fill us for service. By the next evening I had finished the book and was ready to follow its instructions on being filled with the Spirit. I confessed all my sins, presented myself fully to God, and asked in faith for the Holy Spirit to fill me. As I confessed my sins, I realized how much the Holy Spirit had loved me and had been grieved by my ignoring him. Then I presented my body, will, emotions, intellect, and spirit to be used by God in any way.

The most difficult part was accepting by faith the filling of the Holy Spirit without any outward sign or manifestation. I told God, “I will accept the fact that I am filled with the Spirit on the basis of faith in the word, no matter what happens when I witness.” There was no great emotional experience, but I had a deep awareness of the love of the Spirit.

The next morning when I went to class, the grass looked greener and the birds sang more sweetly. I was so aware of the Spirit’s presence that I wanted to move over on the sidewalk to let him walk beside me. That evening I witnessed to a boy on the street, and he accepted Christ as his Savior. Two nights later two teenagers accepted Christ. The following night a man professed faith in Christ, the night after that another man.

I remarked to a friend: “I don’t see how this can continue. Every night I go out to witness, someone accepts Christ.” That night no one did. I had to come back and ask forgiveness and be filled afresh because I had dared to think that I had won those people to Christ myself. God willingly refilled me with his Spirit when I was willing to confess my sins, present myself, and ask in faith. Once again people began to come to Christ.

In the years since that experience, the Holy Spirit has taught me the secret of being filled for each task of service. Thousands of times I have had to ask him to refill me when I have sinned, and he has done so. The filling of the Spirit energizes and empowers different gifts in different persons, but in every case the result brings glory to Christ and attracts others to him.2

“As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.”1

That brief but profound commissioning comes right after Jesus imparts his shalom to his disciples and right before he breathes on them in a reenactment of the creation of humanity in Eden, as if he’s inaugurating a new genesis in his people.

The first words of this mission are about forgiveness, with astonishing authority given to his people to speak God’s forgiveness over others. And it’s based entirely on his incarnation in human flesh. In the same way the Father sent him, that’s how he sends out those who love and follow him.

Let that sink in. How did the Father send Jesus? Sacrificially. Compassionately. Humbly, mercifully, disruptively, supernaturally, eternally . . . a model for ministry we can hardly grasp but are nevertheless called to live out.

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Imagine being one of the disciples hearing the Great Commission — whichever version from whichever gospel you prefer1 — and asking Jesus a follow-up question:

“Lord, who does this apply to? Can you give us some more specifics about making disciples, teaching people all that you’ve commanded us, what exactly you mean by ‘gospel’ and the kingdom message?”

Then Jesus answering something like this:

“Well, I certainly want it to change individual lives, and of course their families as well. If the kingdom message affects workplaces, communities, and nations, that’s fine, but that isn’t your focus. In fact, I don’t really want you to influence political systems because, you know, they belong to the devil. And I’m not really all that concerned with cultures because they’re relative and all equally valid. And the realm of public discourse — that’s pretty secular, so no need to waste your time there. Just focus on individual hearts and see what happens after that.”

Ludicrous, right? Yet in spite of our theology and core beliefs, that’s how many Christians practically approach the Great Commission, if they even approach it at all. It’s treated as an individual thing — spiritual salvation only, a ticket to heaven, but hardly relevant to the aching, gaping needs of people around us that aren’t obviously spiritual.

What Do We Really Believe?

Few Christians would admit to those beliefs, yet practice is often a better indicator of what we believe than words are. When we hear someone advocate for societal change, social justice, and mercy ministries, many Christians are inclined to think these concerns don’t address the heart of the gospel, which is primarily about the salvation of souls.

Yet if we cast this in negative terms — as above, with Jesus saying, “No, don’t worry about that at all, it isn’t part of the kingdom” — it doesn’t sound right at all, does it? Deep down, we know the gospel should affect every area of people’s lives, including our culture and social issues.

The Lausanne Movement’s 2024 State of the Great Commission report addressed this conundrum:

First, we need reminding that the Great Commission is about discipling nations, not just individuals. The individualistic reading of Matthew 28 and many other parts of Scripture has meant that those of us who are recipients of theologies developed in the West have tended to gloss over the corporate nature of our witness.

“Discipling nations” means we engage the life systems — the structures and institutions by which we organize our societies’ common life — and turn them towards Christ.2

Jesus didn’t just preach a message of salvation. In fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find our standard gospel message coming from his mouth anywhere in the four gospels. We’ve compiled it from Paul and other New Testament documents. And because it’s biblical, it’s certainly true. But it isn’t the whole truth, at least not as Jesus presented it.

Delivering the Whole Message

Jesus came preaching the kingdom — God’s rule and reign not only in human hearts but also everywhere that doesn’t look like his kingdom — and his works backed up that comprehensive mission. Any area of this universe that doesn’t look like God’s kingdom ought to look should be fair game for Jesus’ followers to address.

It’s vital for us to evangelize, of course. But evangelism — literally, “good news-ism” — should reach into every area of life that isn’t already good.

That means we’re sent out on a very holistic, comprehensive mission to bring God’s goodness to everyone everywhere, in every aspect of their lives, in his name. And not just to individuals but also to societies and nations. The authors of the section of Lausanne’s report quoted above come to this conclusion:

Now more than ever, the church is being challenged to be truly herself, a community whose social behavior is such that it serves as a context in which the love and saving power of God is made visible. Like those of us who live in autocratic societies, the early church had no power to critique the authoritarian institutions that ruled over them. But their communities were transformed and adopted new patterns of culture, they eventually broke through barriers of class, race, and gender and inaugurated a new social ethic that contributed to the tearing down of Greco-Roman civilization. In this day and age, we can do the same as the Spirit leads us.3

In short, whatever looks like divine love, transforms lives to look more like Jesus, and brings the eternal goodness of God into this fallen world is part of the kingdom mission.

In whatever way you can, wherever you can, embrace that mission fully, wholly, comprehensively. Pray “your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven,” then live in a way that answers your prayer.

You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. (Acts 1:8)

Early Christians went around their cities, regions, and beyond telling people about Jesus and demonstrating a new way of life and power for living. They still had problems and conflicts of their own, to be sure — they didn’t stop being human — but they nevertheless became committed to a gospel of salvation and restoration.

After all, that’s the context for the promise Jesus gave his disciples when they asked about the timing of his restoration of the kingdom. Instead of telling them they were thinking along the wrong lines, he told them they didn’t need to know such things. Meanwhile, they would receive power for the kingdom work he had assigned them.

Nothing in the New Testament suggests that the power of the Holy Spirit wanes or ceases, though God may move in different ways in different seasons. He has certain emphases that fit specific times and places, and sometimes we’re led to cry out for a fresh move. And he does move. The power is still there. The world needs people who are filled with the Spirit and energized by him.

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And, as with everything else of lasting significance, there’s only one way to receive his power: by being in his presence.

We know God is always with us; his presence is not in question. But his manifest presence — that’s another story. We aren’t empowered by the Holy Spirit by default; we have to be in relationship and conversation with God and available for his purposes, just as the first believers were on the Day of Pentecost. In fact, we have an open invitation to press in to his promises with faith and persistence.

When we do — and when we cultivate the kind of relationship that makes us aware of and receptive to his power — things happen. Doors open. Opportunities to be ministers of restoration come up. And we have the means to step into them in the power we’ve been promised.

A Prayer for Power

Holy Spirit, I make myself available to you. I lay down my agendas and embrace yours. I lay aside my strength and choose to lean into yours. I open myself to whatever opportunities you place before me to cultivate your kingdom, restore lives, and express the message of salvation in every area of life. Amen.

Excerpted and adapted from The One Year Salt and Light Devotional: 365 Inspirations to Equip and Encourage to Live Out Your Calling in the World (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2019), 28.

Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone. (Mark 16:15)

They were only following instructions. The many missionaries and conversationalists of the kingdom who have gone into the world with the gospel of truth were doing what Jesus said to do. The Great Commission in its various expressions — Matthew 28 and Mark 16 contain two of the clearest — compels followers of Jesus to carry claims of truth with them wherever they go and urge others to believe them. This is an integral, inseparable part of the Christian faith.

It’s also an offensive one. Many have taken our claims to be arrogant. The idea of one group professing to have the one eternal truth and taking it to others, implying that all other perspectives are false, seems pompous. And in an age of relativism and hyper-tolerance, “pompous” doesn’t go over very well. The Great Commission becomes a great annoyance to everyone around.

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Is it arrogant to see yourself on a mission to the world? It depends on your attitude. Everyone thinks that what they believe is true (which is why they believe it). And they think those who disagree with them have false beliefs. That’s what disagreeing implies, always and without exception. So even from an entirely human perspective, presenting the gospel as truth is no more “arrogant” than anyone else’s beliefs.

The problem is when we become insensitive to the fact that many nonbelievers gain genuine wisdom from other meaningful experiences. Our goal is not to deny this or shame them for it. It actually presents us with a great opportunity. We can find where God has already been working in their lives and draw that treasure out into its ultimate conclusions. In the process, we might learn a lot from those around us without fear of compromising our own beliefs.

In your efforts to fulfill Jesus’ instructions, make sure your conversations are two-way exchanges. The Great Commission doesn’t tell us to watch our attitude, but the rest of the New Testament does. None of us has the corner on truth; we only know its source. It’s our job to point to him in humility.

A Prayer for Winsomeness

Jesus, your message can be offensive, but I don’t want my attitude to add to the offense. Give me a genuine love for people and an inquisitive heart for what they have learned. May my influence come through mutual respect. Amen.

Excerpted and adapted from The One Year Salt and Light Devotional: 365 Inspirations to Equip and Encourage to Live Out Your Calling in the World (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2019), 111.

The disciples were hiding in fear, locked in a room, knowing that corrupt Jewish leaders whose Passover sabbath had just ended might now come looking for them.1 Those leaders had collaborated with Romans to have Jesus crucified, and even though Mary Magdalene had told the disciples he was alive, they knew they were still personae non gratae in Jerusalem.

So imagine their surprise when Jesus appeared in their midst in this supposedly secure room. They were so startled, in fact, that they weren’t glad to see him until he showed him his hands and his side so they would know it was him. It makes perfect sense that Jesus’ first word to them was “peace.”

But not just peace. In a Hebraic mind, this is shalom — fullness, wholeness, completion. Not only was Jesus telling them to calm down. He was imparting the culture of the kingdom to them. Shalom was his first word in an impromptu commissioning service.

A Missionary Moment

That’s essentially what this this surprise visit was about. After repeating his declaration of peace over them, Jesus gave them a mission. He was sending them into the world just as the Father had sent him into the world — humbly, powerfully, supernaturally, sacrificially, full of grace and truth.

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That’s a high calling. They had been sent before and marveled that even demons responded to them in the name of Christ.2 But to walk in the same power as Jesus as incarnations of his presence? They would need an upgrade.

So Jesus breathed on them.

Seems strange, doesn’t it? It began to make sense with the words he spoke next: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” In both Hebrew and Greek, “breath” and “spirit” are the same word, so Jesus imparting his Spirit to these disciples both in words and actions.

But there’s more going on in that breath than just a symbol of the Spirit. It’s a reenactment of Eden, when God formed a man out of the ground and breathed his life into him. Jesus looked into his disciples fallen faces just as God had looked into the first man’s lifeless face in the garden, and he breathed life into them.

So even though this was a commissioning moment, it was more than marching orders. It was the inauguration of a new creation. These disciples were being sent out on the mission of Jesus in the likeness of Jesus with the life and power of Jesus working in and through them. They were to go into the world as agents of the regenesis, just as Jesus had been sent into the world to bring the new creation.

The First Words of the Commission

All of which is fascinating and inspiring. But even more fascinating are the first words of this mission, the presentation of its primary focus: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

Theologians debate the meaning of this commission because it’s so . . . well, debatable. We’re comfortable with pointing the way to forgiveness. We have no problem delivering the message of God’s forgiveness for those who repent and believe. But to actually be the forgivers on his behalf? That’s a little harder to sort out.

Regardless of where we land on the various interpretations of this verse, we can reasonably conclude that it at least empowers followers of Jesus not just to tell people about God’s forgiveness but to declare it in some measure. How exactly we should do that is still a huge question for most of us.

Is it only for those who demonstrate enough repentance and faith for us to affirm their forgiveness? If so, aren’t they forgiven already, regardless of our declaration? Why would Jesus then, with language that goes far beyond just rubber-stamping his mercy, make us the agents of giving or withholding forgiveness?

Or is it for anyone we’d like to see forgiven? In which case, why wouldn’t he just tell us to indiscriminately forgive everyone?

Somewhere in between these ends of the spectrum is a remarkable opportunity to carry the grace and mercy of God within us to such a degree that we can pronounce it in sync with the divine will. We can say, “You are forgiven,” with some measure of God-given authority.

And that tells us a lot about our mission in this world. Like Jesus, we don’t go into the world to condemn it3 but to liberally spread the grace and mercy of God all around us as far as we can.

The Liberating Message

That may rub a little uncomfortably against our religious instincts — something in us wants us to convince people of how much they need a Savior before we tell them they have one — but it’s a reflection of the heart of the Father, and of the Son whom he sent. Part of our mission is to tell people the truth and preach righteousness, but Jesus didn’t lead with that in this commissioning encounter. He led with forgiveness, and he endowed his followers with the authority to give it.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to go into the world with that extravagantly gracious, hopeful, liberating message. It’s the Holy Spirit’s job to convict people of sin.4 It’s ours to declare their freedom from its ravages.

Take that mission seriously. You are sent just as the Father sent the Son, carrying the shalom of the kingdom within you, filled with the life-giving breath of God himself, with words of forgiveness on your lips.

Embody that mission, and not only will you be filled with the life of the new creation. You’ll spread it wherever you go.

God is active. A lot of people don’t know that. Some philosophical systems portray him as static, not only unmovable but unmoving, always there but rarely actually doing anything. He is seen by some as simply a “presence” or a state of being — the impersonal cause that no longer really causes very much.

But the first picture of God in scripture is of an active creator, and the first picture of the Holy Spirit has him hovering, moving back and forth across the surface of the waters, breathing his breath into creation and causing life and order to spring up. He is portrayed throughout the Bible as a personal being who relates to us with interpersonal dynamics. He has desires and plans and feelings and thoughts and zeal. He is a God on a relentless mission.

There’s a lot of movement the gospel accounts of Jesus’ ministry. The Spirit who moved over the surface of the deep waters in Genesis was moving and breathing over the landscape of the earth to breathe life into his people. Jesus sent out twelve disciples, and they returned;1 then he sent out seventy-two disciples, and they returned.2 In Luke 9-11, he sent messengers into Samaria,3 he “resolutely set out for Jerusalem,”4 and he even discussed the coming “exodus” with some ancient men of faith who knew quite a bit about the movements of God.5

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Luke 9:51 begins a long section (through chapter 19) designated by many as “the travel narrative.” The city of Jerusalem figures prominently in this portion of Luke — the section begins and ends with Jerusalem, Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem, and he laments over Jerusalem twice — and the movements of the Messiah and his disciples virtually cover the landscape between his northern ministry in Galilee and his destination at a cross on a hill in the holy city. He is an accurate picture of the biblical Father — a God on a mission.

It’s clear that Jesus expected his disciples to be on that same mission. He sent them out on multiple occasions in order to preach the good news and do miracles in his name. He gave them authority over the power of the enemy, and they used it. They came back with good reports of demons bowing to the pressure of their words. And those who hungered for God heard his Word being preached.

There’s no reason that Christians today shouldn’t take up that same mission. In fact, we’re commanded to.

We may not have been present the day he declared our authority over snakes and scorpions and all the power of the enemy,6 but other verses imply that this authority extends throughout the ages to all who believe.

Like the Spirit and the Son, we can move over the face of the earth in his authority to breathe his life into his fallen creation. We, too, were designed to be an accurate picture of the biblical Father — a God on a mission.

Let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. (Galatians 6:9)

When single women began applying for missionary service in the 1800s, many men who led mission organizations were reluctant to accept them. Over time, they did, but single women were often resisted at mission stations on the field, even through at least the first half of the twentieth century, and sometimes beyond. The attributes that qualified them for service — persistence, assertiveness, outspokenness, and an adventurous and independent spirit — were apparently the same attributes that rubbed fellow missionaries the wrong way.

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Maude Cary, for example, was often called “prideful” in her early years in Morocco. Lottie Moon repeatedly felt the need to insist on equality in the work assigned to her in China. Isobel Kuhn was at first considered “likely to be a troublemaker.” Women like these felt it necessary to pray persistently and faithfully on two fronts: that God would use them to reach people with the gospel and that they would be accepted by fellow believers.

Those prayers were eventually answered on both fronts. These single women missionaries became fruitful in their ministries, sometimes after years of hard work in difficult fields, and were eventually accepted as significant, even indispensable colleagues. At certain times — during the world wars, for example — they were the only missionaries “manning” the stations and keeping the work alive.

What had begun as a slow and controversial practice in missionary recruitment developed into a mainstay of missionary service. God backed them up with his presence and power, even in those early years when he may have seemed far away.

If we want not only to pray with faith but also to dedicate our lives as offerings of faith, we will need that kind of holy stubbornness to continue at the work God has given us and to believe in spite of contrary and adverse situations. Persistent prayers go hand-in-hand with persistent faith and persistent service, each requiring a sanctified resolve, determination, perseverance, and firm focus on the long view. God’s purposes in this world will be accomplished, but often against adversity, even on surprising fronts, and we’ll often need to swim against the tide.

God never promises easy roads for those who follow him, and sometimes the difficulties come within our own camp. But he does promise to be the Lord of the harvest, and in time, our faithfulness reaps its rewards. We bring to him our weakness; he gives us his strength. And one way or another, his work in us—and in the world we’re called to serve—proves fruitful.

In Romans, Paul presents the gospel as the inauguration of a new humanity. His agenda and network reflect the breadth and depth of this new creation. His outlook also implies a calling for every believer.

As Paul has made clear throughout this letter, the gospel is not just about how God renews and restores us. It’s about what he does through us — how he is renewing and restoring the world through his people. This can only happen if Israel is God’s firstborn nation, not his only-born nation. All who believe are grafted into God’s people, and all become catalysts for transforming the world.

Paul’s expansive vision has huge implications. It can’t be fulfilled unless believers see first what God has done for them, and then what he is doing through them.

This is why, in Romans, Paul has not simply presented the Good News of salvation as it is often understood. He has presented the Good News of the Kingdom, a theme emphasized in all four Gospels and throughout the New Testament.

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Nowhere does Romans tell us that we are escaping this world. In fact, just the opposite. As Paul’s missionary vision and the fellowship of Roman churches demonstrate, we are at the center of the new earth, both as evidence and as agents of renewal.

Fully Presenting the Good News

Writers in ancient times often emphasized their credentials for their readers. This rhetorical practice bordered on boasting, and Paul was typically hesitant to indulge himself.2 Yet in writing to a church he had not helped establish and had never visited, his track record mattered. He wanted the Romans to recognize his authority without forcing it on them.

Paul’s perception of his own credentials is revealing. His pedigree as a Pharisee3 was well known, and he has mentioned his Jewish heritage several times in this letter. But that isn’t what he emphasizes in his brief résumé here. Above all, he wants to remind the Romans of his call to preach to Gentiles4 — as if to say, “I’m not just a member of the Jewish faction; I’m a bridge between the two groups in your church”— and how God’s power has worked through him.5 His message was not just in words. It was authenticated by changed lives and miraculous signs and wonders.

Paul connects the message with miracles elsewhere too, perhaps most directly in his first letter to the Corinthians, where he admits the weakness of his own presence and persuasion and relies instead on “a demonstration of the Spirit’s power.”6 This is a pattern among all who preached the Good News in Acts, in keeping with the demonstrations of power in Jesus, who assured his followers that they would carry out the same kinds of works that he had.7

The point throughout the New Testament is that the gospel is more than just words and beliefs. It’s the fullness of God’s presence, purpose, and power. The Good News of Jesus centers on spiritual salvation from sin and death but also includes restoration from brokenness, futility, despair, regret, loss, and all the ravages of sin and a fallen world. The new humanity experiences an abundance of life.

Re-envision the Gospel

The gospel of salvation is the core of the Christian message, but it’s not the full picture. Jesus presented the Good News of the Kingdom — not just information to respond to, not just a message to hear and accept, but a demonstration of the new humanity. This certainly includes information, preaching, powerful words, and the promise of eternal life, but it also involves hearts transformed by the Spirit, restoration of lives, reconciled relationships, and empowered ministry characterized by Jesus accomplishing his works in us and through us.

Even more than a gospel presentation, the world needs a gospel demonstration. The Good News of the Kingdom doesn’t take us out of our fallen world yet, but it does bring healing, deliverance, and restoration to our lives — and through us, to the lives of others. Seek that fullness for yourself and for the world around you, always moving in the power of God and (like Paul) fully presenting the Good News of Jesus.

May the nations praise you, O God. Yes, may all the nations praise you. Then the earth will yield its harvests, and God, our God, will richly bless us. (Psalm 67:5-6, NLT)

In the eyes of the ancient Israelites, faithfulness to the covenant resulted in good harvests and numerous other blessings. This was not a fabrication of the Hebrew mind; God himself had said so when he outlined the blessings and curses of the covenant (Leviticus 26; Deuteronomy 28). It was a divinely inspired promise.

Psalm 67 celebrates the faithfulness of the people and the harvests that result — the continuing fulfillment of that promise. But it also does something even more significant: It expands that vision to “all the nations.” It’s a remarkably global perspective for a small kingdom with a uniquely singular God.

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It isn’t difficult to spiritualize this vision as a prophecy pointing to the Great Commission of the New Testament and a continuing harvest of souls. God is at work everywhere in the world, and always has been — preparing hearts, sending his people, desiring to bless and to save. We can be sure that Jesus did not send his disciples out into the world on a mission of futility. His ultimate purpose is to restore the world under the Messiah’s reign.

Re-envision History

Not everyone believes that, at least not with the hopefulness God intends for us. Many Christians hold to a rather depressing eschatology, envisioning history as headed toward disaster — increasing conflict, dwindling numbers of believers, shrinking influence of the church, and the apparent rule of ungodly forces until Jesus returns. Elements of that scenario are clear in Scripture, but so are elements of the kingdom coming and victories being won.

And it isn’t just a matter for theologians to sort out. Our entire outlook and labor for the Lord are affected by our view of what’s ahead.

So what is God really doing in the world? Yes, there’s a spiritual battle, but there’s also his ever-growing kingdom and his ultimate purpose — for his glory to cover the earth. And since his glory is in his people (John 17:22), that means his people will cover the earth. It’s both a prophecy and a promise.

That’s a very encouraging vision. It tells us that there will be greater unveilings of who he is to those who do not know him through those who do — and that sooner or later, all the nations will in fact praise him, just as the psalmist said.

1

Chris Tiegreen, Psalms: A Devotional Commentary: See Your Worship with New Eyes (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2025), 155-156.

Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you. (John 20:21)

When Jesus left the glories of heaven to step into the visible world, he pitched his tent among us (1:14), came face-to-face with our weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15), and showed us what it looks like for a human being to depend entirely on God. Like missionaries adapting to their host culture, he clothed himself in flesh, spoke our language, and lived as one of us.

But embracing this divine trajectory of humility-then-exaltation (Philippians 2:6-11) did not disconnect him from the realm of glory. He talked with the Father often (Luke 5:16), did and said what he saw and heard from heaven (John 5:19-20; 12:49-50), was supported by heaven’s angels (Matthew 4:11), and experienced heavenly glory (Luke 9:28-36). He was sent into this world on a mission with heaven’s full support.

He sends us into the world in the same way.

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Jesus surprised some of his followers by showing up in a room where they were hiding in fear, and he imparted his peace — his shalom — to them. He had promised shalom earlier (John 14:27; 16:33) and prayed for their protection (17:11, 15). He also prayed that the Father would send them out just as he had been sent (17:18). Now he gave them that commission in person.

This incarnational mission — clothing ourselves in the culture of those around us in order to bring them out into eternal life — is less of a stretch for us than it was for Jesus. We didn’t leave the glories of heaven to come here. But we have been born into the realm of glory, and we draw our life from its King.

Like Jesus, we embrace a divine trajectory of humility-then-exaltation (1 Peter 5:6), talk with the Father constantly, take our cues from what he does and says, receive angelic support, and get glimpses of glory.

Yes, we will experience similar opposition. But like Jesus, we have been sent as an act of divine love (John 3:16) to carry his light into the darkness (John 1:5, 9; Matthew 5:14-16). And in our union with him, we are the flesh in which his Spirit dwells.

Re-envision the Incarnation

In many respects, the incarnation of God in Christ was unique, never to be repeated. But in other ways, it has become the template for the new creation. Having been born of the Spirit, we now live in two realms simultaneously, just as Jesus did. Just as the Father sent Jesus, so Jesus sends us. He’s the incarnation, but we are incarnational. We bring heaven to earth in order to bring many on earth to heaven.

Determine to live as an incarnation of Jesus. You’re called and empowered to do so; add your “yes and amen” to that calling. Spiritually immerse yourself in heaven’s realities and live them out here and now. You live at the intersection of visible and invisible realms. Wherever you can, give your world a taste of God’s glory.

1

Chris Tiegreen, John: A Devotional Commentary: See the Realm of Glory with New Eyes (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale House, 2025), 228-229.