Paul’s Discipleship of the Gentiles into the Hope of Israel
In previous lessons, we explored the major novelties in the New Testament and in Paul’s thought compared with Second Temple Judaism and apocalyptic expectation. We discussed the intentional mission to the Gentiles—calling them to repentance and to the worship of the God of Israel. We noted how Paul consistently frames his own mission within an unchanged Jewish apocalyptic view of history. His work among the nations was not a departure from Jewish hope but a means of strengthening it, even provoking his fellow Jews to jealousy so that they too might walk more faithfully within their covenantal story.
In this lesson, we will turn to the Gentiles and examine their discipleship response to that Jewish eschatology and the mission Paul carried out. Our purpose is to bring eschatology and discipleship together from the start. Too often in modern Western Christianity—especially within evangelicalism—these two are seen as separate, or even opposed. There’s a common sentiment: if you focus too much on eschatology, discipleship and evangelism will suffer. I believe this is exactly backward. Such a view is the product of distorted eschatology, particularly the excesses of dispensationalism that swept through American evangelicalism in the mid-to-late twentieth century.
Eschatology Drives Discipleship
In reality, eschatology always drives discipleship. Everyone lives according to some vision of the future. Throughout history—whether shaped by Gentile philosophies, Roman ideals, Augustinian theology, dispensationalism, or inaugurated eschatology—each eschatological vision has produced a corresponding discipleship pattern. For example, in America, the merging of inaugurated eschatology with ideas of Manifest Destiny has, over the last century, fueled the blending of evangelicalism with political power. The result is that, for many, the “American Dream” functions as the true eschatology into which people are discipled. Church becomes a social club, offering principles for success and happiness—an outlook exported globally, often with damaging effects.
The principle is simple: whatever future you set before yourself determines how you live now. Elon Musk illustrates this when he says: if you want to run a Fortune 500 company, work 100 hours a week. That end goal dictates how you order your daily life. The same is true of athletes who discipline themselves to achieve excellence. So it is in the church: whatever eschatology we embrace shapes our discipleship.
History bears this out. As the Jewish narrative was marginalized in the second century and replaced with Greek thought, new forms of discipleship emerged—most notably monasticism. St. Anthony, for example, retreated into the desert, practicing fasting and prayer as a way to overcome the world. From this came the “rule of life” and ascetic practices that viewed material reality as a hindrance to communion with God. Throughout the Middle Ages, variations of monasticism and later pietism expressed the same pattern: an immaterial destiny demanded withdrawal from the material world.
Alongside this ran Roman models of discipleship, where faith was expressed through conquest and empire. Charles Martel, Charlemagne, and the rise of the Carolingian Empire were framed as Christian victories, discipleship through dominion. Augustine’s synthesis of the “church militant” and “church triumphant” reached its climax in the military monastic orders—the Knights Templar, the Teutonic Knights—fusing militant conquest on earth with a heavenly orientation.
Even modern dispensationalism produces its own discipleship response: Gentile believers detach from the world, study prophecy, and wait for the rapture, while cheering from the sidelines as the Jewish narrative unfolds.
The point is this: every eschatology produces a discipleship. Theologies may differ, but each vision of the end inevitably shapes how people discipline their lives in the present.
This lesson focuses on Jewish eschatology as we have framed it—its historical context, its shaping of the New Testament, and Paul’s work within that worldview. As the apostles proclaimed Christ crucified for our sins, the gift of the Holy Spirit for witness, and the mission to the Gentiles as an expression of God’s heart for the nations, the central question emerges: what is the discipleship response of the Gentiles in relation to this Jewish eschatology?
The Great Commission Reframed
For Gentiles, it is always easier to craft discipleship around Gentile categories of eschatology. Yet Paul insists that the Gentiles are grafted into Israel’s story, into the commonwealth of Israel, by a kind of fictive kinship. They are not expected to embody Jewish covenantal obligations in the same way, as Acts 15 makes clear. Still, Paul emphasizes that certain modes of thinking and living are universal—patterns of discipleship that apply to Jew and Gentile alike.
To begin, let’s look at Matthew 28 and the Great Commission. This passage is often misunderstood. Many interpret it as the point where Jesus breaks from Jewish tradition and inaugurates a spiritual, universal kingdom detached from Jewish ethnocentrism. In this reading, his parables, miracles, and final commission are all signs of a new spiritualized gospel, which finally breaks free in Acts 10 when Peter preaches to Cornelius. We will argue this common narrative is far from what Jesus intended.
In Matthew 28, the disciples meet the risen Messiah in Galilee. They see him, worship him, and some still doubt. Jesus declares: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them… teaching them to observe all I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Several points are worth emphasizing:
Jewish apocalyptic expectation.
In Jewish apocalyptic literature, the Messiah’s anointing with authority over heaven and earth is always associated with the Day of the Lord and the coming judgment. For the apostles, this statement immediately evoked judgment and eschatological fulfillment—not a spiritualized detour from Jewish hopes.Peter’s interpretation in Acts 10.
Acts 10 is the only direct commentary on the Great Commission. When Peter preaches to Cornelius, he recounts Jesus’ ministry and concludes: “He commanded us to testify that he is the one appointed by God to be judge of the living and the dead. To him all the prophets bear witness that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins.” For Peter, the Great Commission meant testifying that Jesus had been appointed Judge in traditional Jewish apocalyptic terms.“End of the age.”
Jesus’ promise—“I am with you to the end of the age”—makes sense only in this apocalyptic framework. The phrase presupposes the dividing line of the Day of Judgment, the very event that separates “this age” from “the age to come.”
In light of this Jewish apocalyptic context, the command becomes clear: “Therefore, go and disciple the nations.” The Greek word ethnē can mean either “nations” or “Gentiles,” and the translation is somewhat arbitrary.
This leads us to the key question: what does it mean to “make disciples”?
In the first-century Jewish context, the Greek mathēteuō refers to learning. A mathētēs (disciple) is a learner; the opposite is a didaskalos (teacher). Thus, discipleship is fundamentally pedagogical. This is why the King James Version translated Matthew 28:19 as “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations.” In essence, Jesus is saying: “Go and make students.”
Of course, in English the word “student” carries different connotations, shaped by Western educational traditions that are far removed from the rabbi-disciple dynamic still preserved in Jewish yeshivas. Modern translations avoid “student” or “pupil,” even though that is closest to the intent.
And what are these Gentile disciples to study? Jesus makes it plain: “teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” For the apostles, the foundation of instruction was the Scriptures—the Tanakh. Baptism, associated with cleansing and pushed to its apocalyptic fulfillment, prepared disciples to stand blameless at the judgment. Invoking the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit reflected the functional Trinitarian reality within Second Temple Judaism: God the Father, anointing his Davidic Son on Zion, by his Spirit of wisdom and knowledge, extending the scepter from Jerusalem to the nations.
So the Great Commission is not a rupture with Jewish apocalyptic hope, but an extension of it. It is a call for Gentiles to become students of Israel’s Scriptures, living faithfully in light of the coming Day of the Lord, under the authority of the Messiah who will judge the living and the dead.
Eschatology Drives Discipleship
When the disciples remained in Jerusalem, waiting for the Spirit and power, their expectation was that they would walk in Israel’s calling to be a light to the nations. This is how Acts 2 unfolds, as Jews from across the Diaspora—and even proselytes—gather in Jerusalem for the feast. At that point, they likely did not envision Acts 10 or Acts 13, which brought surprising developments. When Peter returned to Jerusalem in Acts 11 and reported what had happened with Cornelius, the leaders were astonished, declaring: “Then God has granted even to the Gentiles repentance unto eternal life!” In other words, the mission to the Gentiles was not a departure from Jewish hope, but an unexpected extension of it—still firmly set within the Jewish apocalyptic framework of history.
Within this framework, the Gentiles’ discipleship response was to be formed around the knowledge and hope of the God of Israel. They were to become students of Israel’s story, conformed to the eschatological end that had now been revealed in Messiah. Paul illustrates this in Titus 2, where he writes:
“For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age, waiting for our blessed hope—the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for himself a people of his own possession, zealous for good works.” (Titus 2:11-14)
Notice the logic: the grace of God has appeared in the Messiah, fully expressed at the cross, to deliver us from the wrath to come. This eschatological hope—the appearing of Jesus at the Day of the Lord—becomes the very thing that trains and conditions us. It is not a matter of following a mere moral code, but of being shaped by a vision of history: the wicked deeds of this age will be judged, and the righteous will inherit unending life. That hope compels us to renounce ungodliness, resist the passions of this age, and fix our lives on the “blessed hope” of the Messiah’s return.
Peter says the same in 1 Peter 1. After reflecting on trials in this present age and the inheritance to be revealed at Christ’s coming, he exhorts:
“Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 1:13)
Here again, discipleship is conditioned by eschatology. Because the Messiah is coming, believers must live holy lives, not conforming to the passions of ignorance but walking in obedience and reverent fear during the “time of exile.” This exile is not Babylon or Assyria but the entire present age itself, awaiting final restoration when the Messiah regathers the tribes, brings resurrection, and restores all things.
Paul echoes this in Romans 12. After his sweeping discussion of God’s mercy to both Jew and Gentile in chapters 9–11, he concludes:
“Therefore, in view of God’s mercies, I urge you, brothers and sisters, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true worship. Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may discern the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God.” (Romans 12:1-2)
Romans 12 is often read as a generic discipleship passage, but Paul roots it directly in Jewish eschatology. Because God’s mercy has been revealed in this age, both to Israel and the nations, believers must now offer their whole lives in light of the coming judgment. The call is not to conform to the patterns of “this age” (aiōn), but to be transformed through the renewing of the mind. That renewal comes through the knowledge of God in the Scriptures—the Tanakh—by which we understand His story, His promises, and His ultimate plan.
In every case—Paul, Peter, and the early disciples—discipleship is not detached from eschatology. Rather, it is driven by it. The hope of Israel, now revealed in the Messiah, becomes the lens through which Gentiles as well as Jews learn to renounce the ways of this present age and live in holiness in anticipation of the age to come.
Jewish eschatology drives discipleship in four main ways
1. Jewish eschatology informs mission.
It shapes the mission of God and, therefore, the mission of God’s people. Whatever God is doing in history, His people are called to align their lives with that same narrative. A vivid example comes from 2 Peter 3:
7 But by the same word the heavens and earth that now exist are stored up for fire, being kept until the day of judgment and destruction of the ungodly. 8 But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 9 The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” (2 Peter 3:7-9)
This is a hallmark of Jewish apocalyptic thought: this present age is marked by God’s mercy, patience, and long-suffering before the Day of the Lord arrives. After that day, the opportunity for repentance ends, and judgment begins.
So what is God doing right now with all power and authority given to the Messiah? Psalm 110, repeatedly cited in Acts 2 and Hebrews 10, gives the answer: Jesus is at the right hand of God, waiting for His enemies to be made His footstool. He is not idle; He is patient—His kindness leading to repentance.
The church is therefore called to mirror this mission: patiently proclaiming the coming judgment, the return of Jesus, the hope of the resurrection, and the cross as God’s provision to escape the wrath to come. Romans 11 reinforces this:
“A partial hardening has come upon Israel until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in.” (Romans 11:25)
Romans 11 is a crucial anchor because it explains why the delay isn’t meaningless. Gentiles are being brought in during this period of patience, and Israel’s role is safeguarded for the end. Paul sees Israel living in the curse/exile phase — a “partial hardening.” That text keeps us from both arrogance (thinking God is “done” with Israel) and apathy (thinking the mission is optional). It ties the church’s mission straight into God’s eschatological timeline. The restoration promise of Deuteronomy 30 anchors Paul’s hope: God has not rejected His people; mercy will triumph. The Gentiles’ inclusion isn’t a replacement but part of God’s strange strategy of mercy during the exile-curse window. Their “fullness” provokes Israel to jealousy and sets the stage for Israel’s restoration.
This is God’s agenda in the present age—mercy first to Israel, then to the nations—so that His glory might be revealed forever. The church’s role is to proclaim that mercy in full, pointing both Jews and Gentiles to the hope of the resurrection and the restoration of all things.
2. Jewish eschatology sustains believers through trials/suffering.
The second way eschatology drives discipleship is by giving endurance in suffering. 2 Corinthians 4 captures this dynamic:
“We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-17)
This is the engine of eschatological discipleship: the mechanism of comparison between this age and the age to come. We endure the brokenness of this age by comparing it to the age to come. The sufferings of the present are real, but they cannot be measured against the glory that awaits.
Modern Western culture struggles with this. We’ve raised entire generations who melt down over minor inconveniences. Meanwhile, Paul endured beatings, shipwrecks, lashings, and imprisonments—experiences that would leave most of us in therapy for years. Yet he calls them “light and momentary.” Why? Because he never lost sight of the comparison:
“I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).
When the church loses this comparison, it breeds weak discipleship. It’s not simply that we lack eschatology—it’s that we have embraced bad eschatology. Every community lives into some vision of the future. The problem is not that Western Christianity has stopped caring about the future — it’s that we’ve replaced the biblical hope with counterfeit ones. These substitutes don’t just shape ideas; they reform discipleship around distorted goals.
For example, Greek-style spiritualism: Rooted in Platonic dualism: body = corrupt / spirit = true self. The future becomes an escape from earth into a disembodied heaven. Discipleship then turns into “personal piety + escape plan” rather than embodied holiness, endurance, and hope for resurrection. Result: disconnection from creation, ethics, and history.
Another example is Roman visions of Christian empire: From Constantine onward, many Christians saw the kingdom as being realized through political power and Christianized statecraft. Future = triumph of the church in empire. Discipleship then = loyalty to Christendom structures, not the cross-bearing community awaiting resurrection. Result: coercion, cultural compromise, and persecution of dissenters.
Another example is utopian “Christian nationalism”: Modern version of the Constantinian temptation. Future = reclaiming the nation for God, often through legislation and political dominance. Discipleship becomes culture war, power-seeking, and measuring faithfulness by national influence. Result: misplaced hope, disillusionment, and compromised witness when political projects inevitably fail or corrupt.
The Greek, Roman and Christian Nationalist all present false futures. Just as socialism keeps resurfacing with “new versions” that claim to fix the failures of the old, so these false eschatologies keep coming back in new clothes. Yet the outcome is predictable: disappointment and broken discipleship. Why? Because they promise what they cannot deliver: resurrection life and God’s reign are not achievable by philosophy, empire, or nationalism.
Bad eschatology doesn’t just confuse future hopes — it reorients present living. If the future is disembodied: discipleship is privatized and escapist. If the future is empire: discipleship is compromised into cultural dominance. If the future is nationalism: discipleship is co-opted by political identity. In all cases, the cross is minimized, and endurance in suffering is seen as failure rather than fidelity.
Paul, by contrast, gives believers a framework for suffering: you are co-heirs with Christ if you suffer with him; creation groans, and we groan, but the Spirit renews us inwardly as we anticipate the age to come.
The letter to the Hebrews shows this clearly:
“Remember those earlier days after you had received the light, when you endured great conflict full of suffering. Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those so treated. You suffered along with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions.” (Hebrews 10:32–34)
The key word is “better.” How do believers endure persecution, property loss, and trauma? By comparison. By remembering that the age to come holds something better and lasting.
This is why, earlier in Hebrews 10, the exhortation is to meet together, spur one another on as the Day approaches, and not shrink back because “he who is coming will come.” Eschatology brackets the entire call to perseverance.
Acts 2 and Acts 5 make this plain. Believers were selling property and laying proceeds at the apostles’ feet—not because of some proto-communist ideal, but because Jewish eschatology was burning in their hearts. They had seen the resurrected Messiah, the Judge of the living and the dead, who promised to return soon.
And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. (Acts 2:44-45)
But a man named Ananias, with his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property, and with his wife’s knowledge he kept back for himself some of the proceeds and brought only a part of it and laid it at the apostles’ feet. But Peter said, “Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back for yourself part of the proceeds of the land? While it remained unsold, did it not remain your own? And after it was sold, was it not at your disposal? Why is it that you have contrived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to man but to God.” When Ananias heard these words, he fell down and breathed his last. And great fear came upon all who heard of it. The young men rose and wrapped him up and carried him out and buried him. After an interval of about three hours his wife came in, not knowing what had happened. And Peter said to her, “Tell me whether you sold the land for so much.” And she said, “Yes, for so much.” But Peter said to her, “How is it that you have agreed together to test the Spirit of the Lord? Behold, the feet of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out.” Immediately she fell down at his feet and breathed her last. When the young men came in they found her dead, and they carried her out and buried her beside her husband. And great fear came upon the whole church and upon all who heard of these things. (Acts 5:1-11)
That expectation molded their community life. If the present age is passing away and the age to come offers eternal reward, then selling possessions and storing up treasure in heaven makes sense. As Jesus promised, what you give now will be returned a hundredfold at His coming, when He judges and rewards the saints.
In a sense, Acts 2 and Acts 5 represent an early expression of radical investment—radical “capitalism,” if you will—rooted in a vision of the future. The point is not to label it one way or another but to recognize that Jewish eschatology drove the early community’s radical response. Without that vision, exhortations to such costly action become hollow—merely cultic, personality-driven, or manipulative. But when disciples see history as God paints it, moving toward a climactic end, it becomes reasonable to lay down their lives and forgo the gains of this age. We could all work hard, amass wealth, and gain fame, but instead, we choose to “seek first” the age to come and live accordingly.
Peter expresses this same logic in 1 Peter 4:
“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.” (1 Peter 4:12-13)
This is the apocalyptic framework at work. After the cross and resurrection, the epistles contain far more “two-age” references than the Gospels because the death and resurrection of the Messiah confirmed the Jewish apocalyptic narrative rather than overturning it. Peter is saying: don’t be surprised by fiery trials; they are part of being conformed to the Messiah. As Hebrews says, “Just as man is appointed to die once and then face judgment, so also the Messiah was offered once to bear the sins of many. He will appear a second time to bring salvation” (Heb. 9:27–28). Disciples of that Messiah will walk the same path: suffering now, glory at his appearing.
This is why believers can rejoice in suffering. We do not grit our teeth and force our hearts to rejoice out of sheer willpower. The human heart does not work that way. It is dynamic, responsive, and must be moved by vision. We rejoice because we have fixed our eyes on the story the Scriptures tell: that God has ordained our trials to purify us, preparing us for a greater reward in the age to come, so that He is glorified for His mercy and power. As we focus on that hope, the Spirit makes our hearts alive even in the midst of suffering.
If we find ourselves unable to rejoice in trials, the answer is not self-condemnation but immersion in Scripture—feeding our faith with the promises that Jesus is returning, that He will make all things new, and that He is working all things for good for those who love Him (Romans 8). The Spirit groans within us to strengthen and carry us to the day of Christ Jesus.
3. Jewish eschatology patterns righteous conduct.
This leads to the third major way Jewish eschatology drives discipleship: it patterns righteous conduct. Paul writes in Romans 13:
“You know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” (Romans 13:11-14)
Here the two ages are explicit: “night” is this present age; “day” is the Day of the Lord and the age to come. Because the day is approaching, we are to cast off deeds belonging to this age—orgies, drunkenness, sexual immorality, quarreling, jealousy—and “put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” making no provision for the flesh.
The underlying principle is this: live now as you will live in the age to come. Jewish apocalyptic thought understood the age to come as a restoration of the original Adamic order—Edenic life without death, suffering, or disorder. Under the last Adam, God will restore creation, making all things new. Therefore, to live righteously now is not to follow an arbitrary moral code but to align with both our created design and our eschatological destiny.
Paul applies this logic in 1 Corinthians 6, reminding believers that they will judge angels and the world in the age to come:
When one of you has a grievance against another, does he dare go to law before the unrighteous instead of the saints? Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life! (1 Corinthians 6:1-3)
If that is their destiny, why not rather suffer wrong now, walking in forgiveness and mercy, anticipating the Messiah’s peace extending from Jerusalem over the earth? The call to “walk worthy of our calling” (e.g., 2 Thess. 1:11) is rooted in the same vision:
To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. (2 Thessalonians 1:11–12)
Paul prays that believers would live lives worthy of their calling—the calling to share in the resurrection of the dead and the glory of Christ at his coming.
4. Jewish eschatology frames self-denial.
Finally, Jewish eschatology frames self-denial. Jesus himself makes this explicit in Matthew 16:
Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done.” (Matthew 16:24–27)
This is not an abstract principle. It is grounded in the martyrdom tradition that arose in Second Temple Judaism—stories of the Maccabean martyrs and others who suffered in hope of the resurrection. Jesus takes this two-age martyrdom framework and demands it of every disciple. Quoting Zechariah 14 immediately afterward, he anchors the command in his future coming with angels to repay each according to what they have done.
Thus, losing your life in this age means gaining it in the resurrection. This frames all the exhortations to suffer well in the New Testament. Without this vision, calls to “embrace suffering” become sadistic or hollow. True Christian endurance flows not from loving pain but from loving the promise. We lay down our lives because we believe the Messiah’s story and his coming kingdom.
We walk according to His exhortation—believing the Word of God, trusting the Scriptures, and anchoring our hope in what is to come through Israel’s Messiah, who has saved us from the wrath to come and secured the forgiveness of sins. This is not just a belief system; it is a conviction about the very nature of history. God has ordained even suffering for our good. In that light, we can embrace hardship, knowing it flows from His good heart—that He loves us, disciplines us as His children, and prepares us to inherit the kingdom and co-reign with Christ at the redemption of our bodies.
For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. (1 Peter 2:21–23)
This framework gives us the strength, the joy, and the courage to say in suffering, “Yes, Lord. Even here, we trust Your plans. Even here, we believe the end will be good.” I’m reminded of that old internet meme with a picture of second-century martyrs in the Roman arena, awaiting the lions, with the caption: “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.” As grim as the image is, the statement is true. God does love us, and His wonderful plan for our lives will be revealed at Christ’s return, when we are raised in eternal glory.
But until then, life in this age will not “go well” by worldly standards. It didn’t for the apostles—all of whom, except John, were martyred. John himself narrowly escaped martyrdom twice. Our Messiah died as a martyr. The saints throughout history walked this same road of pain, loss, and persecution. Yet somehow, we’ve come to think we are different—that God’s love means an easy life, comfort, and worldly success. That is simply not the case.
It is Jewish apocalyptic eschatology that provides the framework to embrace self-denial and suffering with joy. Without it, suffering feels meaningless. With it, we can rejoice, because we see the bigger story.
The Ruinous Effects of Realized Eschatology
This is why Paul speaks so strongly against distortions of eschatology. Paul often confronts early proto-Gnostic ideas—claims that the resurrection had already taken place, a primitive form of realized eschatology.
But avoid irreverent babble, for it will lead people into more and more ungodliness, and their talk will spread like gangrene. Among them are Hymenaeus and Philetus, who have swerved from the truth, saying that the resurrection has already happened. They are upsetting the faith of some. (2 Timothy 2:16–18)
O Timothy, guard the deposit entrusted to you. Avoid the irreverent babble and contradictions of what is falsely called “knowledge,” for by professing it some have swerved from the faith. Grace be with you. (1 Timothy 6:20–21)
Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified about God that he raised Christ, whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied. (1 Corinthians 15:12–19)
Now concerning the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our being gathered together to him, we ask you, brothers, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by a spirit or a spoken word, or a letter seeming to be from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord has come. Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction. (2 Thessalonians 2:1–3)
Paul says these teachings “ruin the faith of some.” Why? Because they rob believers of the theological framework necessary to persevere and respond rightly in this age.
Different versions of realized eschatology—proto-Gnostic, Constantinian, or modern “inaugurated” forms—have different expressions and endgames, but they all share the same effect: they change the vision of the future, and therefore they distort discipleship in the present.
In proto-Gnostic thought, the results fell into two camps:
Extreme asceticism – If the body is evil and only the immaterial spirit matters, then deny the body. Reject marriage, food, and the created order that God still calls “good.”
Indulgence – If the body doesn’t matter, then it doesn’t matter what you do with it. This was the error of the Nicolaitans, condemned in Revelation. Early church tradition links them to Nicholas of Antioch (from Acts 6), who abandoned the faith, followed Simon Magus (widely regarded as the father of Gnosticism), and led a movement marked by sexual immorality and compromise.
Both distortions flow from a false eschatology. They either crush discipleship into joyless severity or dissolve it into moral license. In either case, the vision is corrupted, and so the life of the disciple is ruined.
This is why Paul insists that the church cling to the hope of the resurrection and the return of Christ as its anchor. A right eschatology preserves both the dignity of the body and the goodness of creation while sustaining perseverance in trials and holiness in conduct. When the future is rightly fixed on the day of the Lord, discipleship remains clear: deny ungodliness, embrace suffering with hope, and walk in obedience until the appearing of Christ. But when the future is redefined, whether by denying the resurrection, spiritualizing the kingdom, or distorting the goodness of creation, the present life of faith inevitably unravels. Sound eschatology safeguards sound discipleship; lose one, and the other is lost as well.
Closing
In the end, Paul’s gospel does not loosen us from Israel’s hope; it grafts us into it. The same story—creation, covenant, exile, promised restoration—now centers on the crucified and risen Messiah who will judge the living and the dead and raise the righteous on the Last Day. That future is not background music; it is the drumbeat that sets our steps. It sends us on mission with patience and mercy, steadies us in suffering by comparison with the glory to come, patterns our conduct as citizens of the day, and calls us to daily self-denial under the promise of resurrection. Let us therefore refuse the counterfeit futures—whether spiritual escape, imperial triumph, or nationalist utopia—that deform discipleship. Instead, with Scripture in hand and hope set “fully” on the revelation of Jesus, let us live now as we will live then: holy, sober, generous, steadfast, and zealous for good works. May the God of Israel strengthen us to hold fast to this blessed hope, to proclaim his mercy to Jew and Gentile, and to endure in faith until the appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.
References
This study draws on John Harrigan’s teaching, Discipling Gentiles into the Hope of Israel.