The Gospel - Part 7: Living out the Gospel Truth - Being Obedient to God’s Commands
In this lesson we are going to jump right in by reading from Matthew 7. What Jesus says here is powerful—and it assumes something important. Many of the Jewish people and the Messiah, Jesus, know that the world has an appointment with what the Bible calls the Day of the Lord. But here’s the problem: the rest of the world doesn’t know it. The nations do not know that a day of judgement is coming.
There was a time—especially during the rise of Christianity—when large parts of the world had some understanding that a day of accountability was coming. Even secular people used to have some concept of divine judgment. But today, many nations that were historically influenced by Christianity have forgotten. They’ve lost that awareness. They no longer live as if a day of reckoning is on the horizon.
Jesus, knowing this, speaks with a level of seriousness that reflects the weight of what’s coming. And if we hear His words through the ears of a first-century Jew, what He says is even more striking.
21 “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ 23 And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ 24 “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25 And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. 26 And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. 27 And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” (Matthew 7:21–27, ESV)
A few quick notes here. First, Jesus gives a warning—a kind of prophecy—and then immediately explains it with a parable. His warning is, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only those who do the will of My Father” (Matthew 7:21). Then He describes people who will stand before Him saying, “Did we not…? Didn’t we do this or that in Your name?” And His response is sobering: “I never knew you. Depart from Me, you workers of lawlessness.”
The Greek literally says, you who practice lawlessness—or you who live without the law. Then, to explain what He means, Jesus says:
“Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does them…”
He gives the picture of two builders. Everyone in the crowd has heard His words. But now, some will do them, and some won’t. And all of them will still claim they were there. They’ll all say, “I went to the Jesus conference!” They’ll all build something. But only those who build on obedience—actually doing what He said—will stand when the storm comes.
Now, this imagery of storms, floods, and winds isn’t random. In the Psalms, in the prophets like Isaiah (see Isaiah 30), and throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, this kind of language is often used to describe divine judgment or the day of reckoning. It’s apocalyptic language. It’s about the end. Jesus is making it clear: the only way to know if your life will stand on that day is whether it was rooted in obedience.
Now, obedience doesn’t mean perfection. Everyone stumbles. But you can tell the difference between someone committed to obedience and someone who isn’t when they mess up. The one who’s truly following Jesus says, “I blew it. That’s not who I want to be.” And they realign. That response is consistent with a life of obedience. But others just play games.
So Jesus is speaking this message first to a crowd of Jewish men and women—gathered, perhaps, on a hillside near Capernaum by the Sea of Galilee. They’ve come because they’ve heard about Him, seen His miracles, and are curious. But He’s not trying to impress them. He’s warning them. He’s calling them to build their lives on what He’s saying—not just to admire His words.
Now fast forward to the end of Jesus’ ministry. In Matthew 28, after His resurrection, He speaks to His disciples. Listen to how this ties in with what we just read.
18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18–20, ESV Bible)
See the connection? At the beginning of His ministry, He’s telling people, “If you hear My words and obey them, you will stand when the judgment comes.” And at the end, He tells His disciples to go and teach the nations to obey everything He’s taught. Not just believe it. Not just admire it. Obey it.
Because obedience is the only foundation that stands when the storm hits.
We see in the New Testament the same Jewish framework for discipleship that existed in the first century. No one was simply a generic believer—they were disciples of a particular rabbi. Pharisaic teachers had their own disciples. Some aligned themselves with Moses, others with influential rabbis like Hillel, Shammai, or Gamaliel. Each rabbi had followers who sought to imitate their lifestyle, values, and teachings.
Jesus functioned in a similar way—as a rabbi with disciples. But He stood apart in a very specific way. Right after the parable of the wise and foolish builders in Matthew 7, the next verse (v. 28) says: “And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.”
That word “authority” is important. In rabbinic tradition, teachers often presented multiple interpretations: “It could mean this, or perhaps it means that.” You may have heard the joke, “Get two Jews in a room, and you’ll get three opinions.” That captures how rabbinic teaching often worked—it invited discussion and debate.
But Jesus broke that mold. He didn’t suggest, theorize, or offer options. He spoke with certainty. He declared truth with finality: “My words are life. If you obey them, you’ll live. If you don’t, you won’t.” This was shocking. They weren’t just moved by the content of His teaching—they were stunned by His confidence in declaring God’s will. No one spoke like that.
And Jesus carried that same authoritative posture into His command in Matthew 28. He said: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…”
Now let’s pause here. If we’re not careful, we might misread that as: “Go and make Christians.” But Jesus didn’t say that. He said, make disciples—people who learn from Him, obey His commands, and follow His example.
He continues: “…teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” This is the same pattern of discipleship He modeled with His own followers: not just believing, but learning to live in obedience.
There’s only one clear New Testament commentary on what Jesus meant by “all authority,” and it comes from Peter in Acts 10:42, when he’s speaking to Cornelius’ household. Peter says: “He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one appointed by God to be judge of the living and the dead.”
That’s what Jesus meant by “all authority.” The Father has appointed Him as judge. That’s why the call to discipleship is so serious: obedience isn’t optional—it’s how we prepare for the day of judgment.
The early apostles understood this. So when Jesus told them to go make disciples among the Gentiles, they did just that. And they were shocked by how the Gentiles responded. That led to the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15, where the apostles had to discern how to integrate Gentile believers into the family of God.
Peter’s testimony about Cornelius became central. After Peter shared what happened, James stood up and said in Acts 15:14: “Simeon has related how God first visited the Gentiles, to take from them a people for his name.” The word “take” here literally means “to draw out” or “to bring forth”—God was calling out a people from among the Gentiles to belong to Him.
Peter shares the same story again in Acts 11, this time with Jewish believers in Jerusalem. At first, they’re skeptical, but after hearing the full account, they respond in Acts 11:18: “Then to the Gentiles also God has granted repentance that leads to life.”
So when we connect these ideas, a pattern emerges:
Jesus, the authoritative Rabbi and Judge, sends His disciples to make more disciples.
Discipleship means obedience to His commands.
God is calling out a people from the Gentiles to bear His name.
This plan wasn’t invented by the Church—it was part of God's redemptive story from the beginning.
God gave the Gentiles repentance that leads to life. God stepped into their destiny and gave them the opportunity to turn and truly live.
In our modern context, we often define repentance as "stop doing bad stuff." That’s part of it, but if that’s our only definition, we’re missing the bigger picture. Think about Cornelius in Acts 10. He was already a pretty moral person—generous, devout, prayerful. He’s called a God-fearer, someone who worshiped Israel’s God but hadn’t fully converted to Judaism. He may have still participated in certain Roman customs, maybe even offered incense to other gods occasionally—some God-fearers did. But overall, he was seeking Israel’s God and clinging to Israel’s hope. So what kind of repentance did Cornelius need?
Now think about Peter—before and after Acts 2. Before Pentecost, he denied Jesus out of fear of a servant girl. After Pentecost, he boldly proclaims the gospel in front of crowds, ready to suffer. That’s not just a behavior change—it’s a complete reorientation of priorities. He stopped living to preserve his own life and started living in obedience, even at great cost.
That’s repentance. It’s not just about stopping sin; it’s about surrendering your life. It’s about saying, “I’m not in charge anymore. I belong to God.” When the apostles saw the Holy Spirit fall on the Gentiles, that’s what they recognized: God was empowering them for the same kind of surrendered, obedient life.
Repentance, the Holy Spirit, and God “taking a people for His name” are all deeply connected. Repentance isn’t just moral improvement. It’s about being willing to lose your life for the sake of the kingdom.
Many churches and denominations have opinions on what it means to be filled with the Holy Spirit—some say it’s speaking in tongues, some point to other gifts. But David Pawson, a bible teacher, said something profound. He said, “Every time I read my Bible, when people are filled with the Spirit, it seems like the main evidence is… trouble.” That’s so true. Being filled with the Spirit doesn’t just bring comfort—it brings conflict with the world. It challenges your own desires. It pushes you into obedience. And yes, sometimes it gets you in trouble.
So I want to clarify something really important here:
What we’re talking about—this repentance, this surrender, this Spirit-empowered life—is not in addition to being a disciple. It is what it means to be a disciple.
God is taking a people for His name from among the Gentiles by:
Giving them repentance (true surrender),
Empowering them through the Holy Spirit,
And calling them into lives that reflect His character.
That’s discipleship.
Now, as we continue, remember:
Jesus’ teachings aren’t just moral advice. They’re meant to train us to live in light of the storyline He believed—God’s redemptive plan for the world, the coming Day of the Lord, the resurrection, and the kingdom. His words shape how we live because they are anchored in that prophetic, apocalyptic view of history.
You’ve probably heard of groups like the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, or Zealots—Jewish sects during the time of Jesus. Each group had different perspectives on theology, politics, and the future. Not everyone agreed on what the future held, but Jesus was very clear in His teaching: history is moving toward a specific event—the Day of the Lord.
This Day of the Lord, Jesus taught, is not just a poetic image or spiritual metaphor. It’s a real, future event when God will descend in fire, judge the wicked, rescue the righteous, and cleanse the world. Many of Jesus’ teachings are His answer to the question: “So what do we do now, knowing that’s where the world is headed?”
Let’s sit with that for a second.
If that’s true—if the world really is heading toward a day of judgment and a future restoration of heaven and earth—it changes everything. It shifts the way we read Jesus’ words. It moves us away from the common (and often vague) hope of escaping to a cloudy, golden afterlife and instead roots our hope in God’s promise to redeem and renew His good creation.
God isn’t giving up on the world. He’s not abandoning the earth. He’s going to cleanse it, restore it, and dwell with His people on it.
Peter echoes this in 2 Peter 3, where he speaks of the world being cleansed by fire—not obliterated. Some translations say “destroyed,” but the meaning is more like purged or loosed, much like how the earth was cleansed during the flood in Noah’s time. The world didn’t vanish in the flood; it was purified. The fire of judgment works the same way—it purifies, not annihilates.
That understanding reshapes how we interpret passages like “store up treasures in heaven.” It’s not about accumulating spiritual gold bars on a cloud somewhere. Jesus is urging us to live now in ways that will have eternal value in God’s restored world.
But to fully grasp Jesus’ teaching, we have to understand something that was central to the prophets and Jewish apocalyptic thought: justice delayed is not justice denied.
The righteous often suffer unjustly in this age. That’s part of the tension. Think about the prophets—Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Daniel. Were they faithful to God? Absolutely. But they still experienced suffering, exile, and injustice. Why? Because we live in a broken world where righteousness isn’t always rewarded. But God sees it, and He promises to make it right.
That’s why the Day of the Lord was the great hope of Israel’s prophets. It’s the day when God finally gives justice—when wrongs are righted, promises fulfilled, and evil decisively judged.
Take Abraham, for example. God promised that his descendants would live in the land forever—but also promised that he would live there forever. And yet, as Stephen points out in Acts 7, Abraham didn’t receive even one square foot of the land in his lifetime. Why? Because the promise wasn’t just about the present—it was about resurrection. Abraham will rise and inherit everything God said. That’s justice. That’s fulfillment.
So when we adopt this framework—that history is headed toward God’s climactic intervention—then Jesus’ teachings suddenly make sense. They’re not just about being nice or moral; they’re instructions for how to live in light of the age to come.
Let’s read what Jesus says in Matthew 5:
“But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.
Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.
*You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” (Matthew 5:39-44, ESV)
This is how Jesus calls us to live—not because it’s easy, but because we trust in the justice that’s coming. We don’t need to fight for our own vindication now. We live generously, humbly, and sacrificially—because we know a Day is coming when God will set everything right.
At the core of discipleship—really at the very center of it—is how we honestly respond to injustice. Injustice forces the real question of faith: Do I believe God will make it right one day… or not?
When we’re mistreated, when we’re wronged, that question cuts right to the heart. And we have to wrestle with it—not just in theory, but in the deepest places inside us. In those moments, the Holy Spirit will often bring Jesus’ words back to mind. Look at John 14, when Jesus is preparing His disciples for His departure. He tells them it’s actually better for them if He goes away, because the Spirit will come:
But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. (John 14:26, ESV Bible)
This is incredibly accurate—because we do forget. We forget what He said, especially when injustice hits us in the face. In those moments, the Spirit reminds us of Jesus’ words, and every fiber of our flesh wants to argue: “Yeah, but… yeah, but… this is different… this doesn’t apply here… this is obviously an exception.”
Part of growing as a disciple is learning to confront those “yeah, buts” and say, No, I’m binding myself to obey Jesus—because I believe His words lead to eternal life.
The point is that not all struggles affect everyone equally—we each have “buttons” that, when pressed, trigger deep fear, insecurity, or doubt. For one person, it might be financial insecurity; for another, it’s rejection, physical suffering, or the loss of control. That’s why a situation that shakes you to your core might barely register for someone else, and vice versa.
When your particular button gets pushed, the “yeah, buts” start coming—those thoughts that try to justify stepping away from obedience:
“Yeah, but this is different.”
“Yeah, but God wouldn’t expect me to obey here.”
“Yeah, but I need to protect myself.”
The suggestion here is that you deal with those fears by taking them all the way to the extreme in your mind—asking: What’s the worst that could realistically happen if I stay faithful to God?
If, in your mind, the “worst” is something like losing your job, your reputation, your home—or even ending up destitute—then you consciously decide to make peace with that possibility before God. If it happens, I’ll still trust Him. That’s what Job modeled when he said:
Though he slay me, I will hope in him (Job 13:15, ESV).
When you settle that in your heart, the fear loses its grip. The “yeah, buts” no longer have the same power because you’ve already chosen trust over self-protection—even in the worst-case scenario.
Jesus taught this in Matthew 6:
Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:19–21, ESV)
In the surrounding passage, Jesus warns us not to do good works for the sake of human recognition—because if you receive your reward here, it expires. But if you wait for God to reward you at the end, it lasts forever.
And who modeled this better than Jesus Himself? Remember when He first told His disciples that He would be tortured, handed over to the Gentiles, killed, and then raised on the third day? Peter immediately said, “Never, Lord! This will never happen to you!” And Jesus replied sharply: “Get behind me, Satan” (Matthew 16:21–23).
That wasn’t drama—that was reality. Jesus had heard this argument before. In the wilderness, Satan had offered Him the kingdoms of the world without the cross (Matthew 4:8–10). Peter was unknowingly echoing that same temptation: You can have the reward without the suffering. But Jesus knew where it came from, and He shut it down.
We all face the same pull. Wouldn’t it be easier if I could just take the reward now? But Jesus said, “Store up treasures in heaven.” That’s because the reward doesn’t stay there—it comes with Him. Revelation 22:12: “Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.”
Luke 14:13-14 echoes the same truth: When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind. They cannot repay you, but you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.
Hebrews 10:34 describes believers who “joyfully accepted the confiscation of their property because they knew they had a better and lasting possession.” That’s the perspective that says, I can wait. I can trust Him with the “yeah, buts.”
Someone might ask, “Okay, but what does it mean to store up treasure in heaven? What’s the practical substance of that reward?”
First, there’s the reward we experience now: intimacy with God. Walking with Him in obedience produces a closeness that is priceless. But that’s just the deposit—the down payment. It’s meant to assure us that the full reward is coming. And the full reward isn’t floating on a cloud; it’s life with God in a restored earth, in a renewed creation, where every injustice is made right.
That’s why we endure. That’s why we obey. That’s why we silence the “yeah, buts.” Because our King is coming—and His reward is with Him.
Several times, Paul refers to the Holy Spirit as the deposit—the down payment—of what’s to come. We often connect that idea to miracles we see in the New Testament, but I think it also applies to the intimacy with God were talking about. There’s something in you that comes alive when you know you’re walking in a way that’s pleasing to God. And when you’re not sure, it’s deeply unsettling—because we were made to walk in close fellowship with Him.
The Spirit affirms that fellowship. In 1 John 3 it teaches that the Holy Spirit testifies inwardly that we belong to God (“By this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit whom he has given us” — 1 John 3:24). John repeatedly connects love and obedience to assurance: when we “keep his commandments” (especially loving one another), our hearts rest in confidence before God (1 John 3:18–19). Sometimes our conscience makes us feel distant from God — maybe because of guilt, shame, or doubt (“whenever our heart condemns us” — v. 20). Walking in God’s commands silences that inner condemnation. Not because obedience earns salvation, but because it aligns us with God’s will and removes the gap between what we believe and how we live. That’s when the Spirit confirms to our heart: “You belong to Me. You will inherit the life I’ve promised.”
In short:
The Spirit’s witness gives us assurance.
Our obedience strengthens that assurance by removing the disconnect between our faith and our actions.
When there’s a disconnect, our hearts tend to condemn us, and the assurance feels shaky.
It’s the same dynamic Paul describes in Romans 8:16 — “The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”
That means the Spirit’s role isn’t just to give us enjoyment now (though we should treasure that!); He’s anchoring us to the future. Every taste of God’s presence is a preview—a guarantee—that the full reality is coming. The New Covenant will be fully realized only at Jesus’ return, when the Kingdom begins in its fullness.
The Spirit’s present work is partial fulfillment—a foretaste—of what God promised through the prophets (Jeremiah 31:31–34; Ezekiel 36:26–27). Right now, the Spirit writes God’s law on our hearts in measure, empowers obedience in measure, and gives us intimacy with God in measure.
The full reality—complete internal transformation, unbroken obedience, total cleansing from sin—awaits the age to come, when Jesus returns and reigns.
Paul uses “down payment” language explicitly:
“[God]… has given us the Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee” (2 Cor 1:22, ESV).
“…who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee” (2 Cor 5:5, ESV).
“…the Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it” (Eph 1:13–14, ESV).
In other words, the Spirit is God’s pledge—His binding promise—that He will bring about the full covenant conditions when the Messiah comes to reign.
Now, the Spirit gives us foretaste (renewed hearts, some measure of obedience, glimpses of God’s presence). Then, the Spirit will bring full reality (perfect obedience, full intimacy, everlasting life in a restored creation).
The Spirit right now is the down payment of the coming New Covenant order. We’re living in the “already” of receiving the Spirit but still waiting for the “not yet” of the Kingdom’s complete arrival and the covenant promises being fully enforced worldwide.
Think about Hebrews 10. Those believers “joyfully accepted the plundering of their property” because they knew they had “a better and lasting possession.” The Holy Spirit was telling them, You have no idea how good what’s coming will be. So they could say, Take it. I’ll get back far more than I lose.
That’s incredible faith—to not just endure loss, but to welcome it with joy. And that’s why Hebrews was written—because their joy in persecution was fading. The author warns that if you lose that joy, soon you’ll start resisting the loss altogether.
Jesus made the same promise. In Matthew 19:27–30:
27 Then Peter said in reply, “See, we have left everything and followed you. What then will we have?” 28 Jesus said to them, “Truly, I say to you, in the new world, when the Son of Man will sit on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 29 And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life. 30 But many who are first will be last, and the last first. (Matthew 19:27–30, ESV Bible)
Luke 12 carries the same heartbeat:
31 Instead, seek his kingdom, and these things will be added to you. 32 “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 33 Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. 34 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Luke 12:31-34, ESV Bible)
And that’s why we’ve been looking at Jesus’ words with a fresh understanding of this age and the age to come. When we see the big picture—the restoration of all things—His teachings hit with their full weight. Then we don’t need a class to tell us how to please the Father. We can open the Scriptures, see clearly, and say: This is the path of life. I’ll walk in it. I’ll teach it to my children. I’ll call others to it.
If you want to be a disciple of Jesus: read the words of Jesus and obey them. That’s what the original disciples did. Try not to look at Jesus’ words in a complicated, over-explained way, rather than simply taking them at face value.
Take Luke 12, for example—just listen to Jesus’ words to His disciples:
29 And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried. 30 For all the nations of the world seek after these things, and your Father knows that you need them. 31 Instead, seek his kingdom, and these things will be added to you. 32 “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 33 Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. 34 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Luke 12:29-34, ESV Bible)
In Jesus’ mind, this is perfectly logical. Jesus says, “It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (v. 32). That means God’s ultimate gift — eternal life in His restored reign — is already His settled will for you. It’s not uncertain. He wants to give it to you. If the Father has already secured your eternal inheritance, you don’t have to cling to temporary possessions. You’re free to give them away generously — even sacrificially — because you know your future is secure. When you “sell your possessions and give to the needy” (v. 33), you’re not losing wealth — you’re relocating it. You’re “providing purses that do not wear out” and “treasure in heaven that will never fail,” meaning you’re moving your assets from a temporary, decaying system into a permanent, indestructible one.
And remember—Jesus said, “My reward is with me” (Rev 22:12). “You will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous” (Luke 14:14).
What that reward will look like will probably vary. In one parable, Jesus hints that good stewardship now—meaning obedience to His teachings in how we handle what He’s given—will translate to places of authority in the age to come. Some will be over one city, others over ten. There are only twelve thrones promised to the apostles, but the principle stands: our stewardship now shapes our role in the kingdom.
The first major aspect of discipleship is this: obeying Jesus’ teachings both expresses faith and strengthens faith. Obedience is how we exercise the faith muscle. We grow in faith when we entrust our lives to God in the face of real trouble.
The world is not right. Death exists—and it shouldn’t. Violence exists—and it shouldn’t. Injustice exists—and it shouldn’t. But one day, God will raise the dead and restore all things. In the meantime, we live in bodies that are fragile, vulnerable, and subject to harm. That’s why even small wrongs—a driver cutting you off—can stir something deep in us. Those moments reveal where our trust really lies.
And here’s the thing: discipleship is also preparatory. Every act of trusting God now is training for greater trials later. It’s like a muscle—the more we use it, the stronger we become.
Paul says in 2 Corinthians 4:
16 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18, ESV Bible)
Everyone suffers—but not everyone stores up treasure in heaven through their suffering. Jesus “cracked the code” for us:
Everyone will be wronged—do you want a reward for it? Respond in faith.
Everyone will lose something—do you want to gain in the age to come? Trust God to repay.
When you live this way, not only do you receive a reward, but your heart is strengthened for the future.
That’s why Jesus said in Luke 14:27–30:
27 Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. 28 For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? 29 Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him. (Luke 14:27-30, ESV Bible)
Discipleship requires this kind of sober, up-front decision-making: knowing the cost, trusting the reward, and setting your heart on the kingdom rather than the things of this age.
In English, we use “can” for ability and “may” for permission — though in casual speech, we often blur the lines.
Permission: “May I go?” — asking if you’re allowed to go.
Ability: “Can I go?” — asking if you’re able to go.
A kid, asks their mom if they could go to a friend’s house, “Can I go?” The mom clarifies: “Yes, you can, but no, you may not—because you’ve got chores to do.” She’s saying, “You’re physically able to go, but I’m not giving you permission because you have chores.”
Now, in Greek, the word dunamai works like the “can” in English — it’s about capacity or ability, not permission.
In Luke 14:27, Jesus says:
“Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot (ou dunatai) be my disciple.”
Here, He’s not saying, “I won’t let you be my disciple.” He’s saying, “You won’t be able to do it — you’ll lack the capacity.”
It’s the same root word used in Acts 1:8:
“You will receive power (dunamis) when the Holy Spirit comes upon you.”
That power is the capacity to do something you couldn’t otherwise do.
So, in Luke 14:27, the idea is: If you’re not willing to carry your cross — to fully commit and endure suffering — you won’t have what it takes to actually follow Me through to the end.
It’s not a matter of God denying you permission; it’s that without that commitment, you’ll simply fall away because you lack the inner strength to last.
It’s like the parable of the tower: if you start building without counting the cost, you’ll run out of resources before you finish. A beautiful start means nothing if you can’t see it through. Jesus gives us these reality checks because He knows that what sustains discipleship is not good intentions—it’s being grounded in obedience from the start.
That’s why His teachings are so empowering. They work the “muscles” of endurance. James 1 tells us to “count it all joy” when we face trials, because the testing of our faith produces perseverance. Why do we need perseverance? Because greater challenges lie ahead. Every time we trust God in hardship—even in something as simple as having our property taken—it’s training us for bigger tests.
Peter says the same in 1 Peter 4: “Don’t be surprised at the fiery trial… but rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed.” The trials aren’t random—they’re preparation.
That’s why Jesus can say in Luke 12, “It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor.” And why I would add: “So rejoice even when they take your stuff.” Because God is working through those losses to secure for you a rich welcome into His kingdom.
The call to take up your cross is not a call to misery—it’s a call to be empowered for the long road of obedience, to be the kind of disciple who finishes well, no matter what comes.
And as God gives them grace, and they give themselves to a life of obedience, strongholds start breaking—here, there, little by little. They stay focused on these things for years, and somehow, through simple perseverance, things change.
We all know why certain struggles—especially financial ones—persist. If you’ve lived a while, raised kids, managed a household, you realize the money issue is no accident. Scripture shows three primary mechanisms of the curse:
Death and bodily decay (which includes sickness).
Relational conflict and breakdown.
Difficulty in providing for oneself.
These three realities are part of the curse, and are all explicitly introduced in Genesis 3 as the consequences of human sin:
Death and bodily decay: Genesis 3:19 — “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Paul affirms in 1 Corinthians 15:21–22 that death entered through Adam.
Relational conflict: Genesis 3:16 — the relationship between man and woman would be marked by tension and disordered desire.
Difficulty in provision: Genesis 3:17–19 — the ground is cursed, work becomes toilsome, and provision comes through sweat and struggle.
Despite this reality, the author of Hebrews says God allows them with a redemptive aim. Paul says the same in Romans 8—that God subjected creation to futility in hope that it might one day be redeemed. In other words, the curse itself is intended as a redemptive mechanism.
The author of Hebrews alludes to God’s discipline being purposeful and ultimately aimed at producing righteousness (Hebrews 12:5–11). This connects to the idea that God’s allowance of the curse is not punitive without purpose—it’s corrective and redemptive.
Paul makes this explicit in Romans 8:20–21:
“For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.”
Here, “subjected to futility” is another way of describing the curse’s effects—death, decay, frustration. The key is that God did this “in hope,” meaning He embedded redemption into the story from the very beginning.
Biblically, suffering and hardship can function as a means of:
Revealing our need for God (Psalm 119:67, 2 Corinthians 1:8–9).
Training us in obedience (Hebrews 5:8, Hebrews 12:11).
Creating longing for ultimate restoration (Romans 8:23).
The curse’s painful realities remind humanity that the world is broken and drive us to look for God’s promised restoration in the Messiah. In this way, the curse is not just a punishment—it is also a persistent reminder of our need for redemption, which points forward to the renewal of all things (Revelation 21:4–5).
This is what sets the teachings of Jesus apart from moral philosophies like those of Gandhi. Gandhi promoted nonviolence because, looking at the world, he saw that killing was bad and peace was better. And he was right—nonviolence is better than violence. But Gandhi had no covenant relationship with a loving, faithful God who is committed to justice. He didn’t have to wrestle with reconciling God’s love with His justice. His aim was simply, “Let’s get along and the world will be better.”
True enough—but God’s plan goes further. He’s not just leaving the world “better” than before. He loves justice and will one day set all things right.
In 1 Corinthians 4, Paul addresses the believers in Corinth. Here’s the background: like in many cities, Paul planted the congregation and then left. But after he left, other groups came in and disrupted what he had taught. Why? Because Paul’s message was one of the most provocative and dangerous things you could say in a Roman city.
As we see in Acts 17, Paul would walk into a pagan environment and declare:
God has appointed a day when He will judge idolatry by the Man He has chosen, and He proved it by raising Him from the dead. (Acts 17:31)
That was explosive in the Roman world. Worshiping the gods wasn’t just superstition—it was directly tied to social stability and prosperity. The Roman Empire believed its strength and endurance came from keeping the gods happy through public worship. Citizens had to participate in temple offerings, processions, and incense rituals—not doing so was unthinkable.
The Jews were an exception because of their ancient covenant practices, but Gentile citizens of Rome, Corinth, Galatia, Cappadocia, and Ephesus were not free to abstain. For them, Paul’s message—stop worshiping idols—was socially and politically dangerous.
To avoid persecution, some Gentiles converted to Judaism—not out of love for the Torah, but to escape suffering. This is the situation in Galatia. Paul says in Galatians chapter 6 that the ones urging circumcision were doing so to avoid suffering for the Gospel:
“It is those who want to make a good showing in the flesh who would force you to be circumcised, and only in order that they may not be persecuted for the cross of Christ.” (Galatians 6:12)
They wanted the safety of being considered Jewish without truly following the Law or loving God. That’s why Paul says, “If you are circumcised, Christ will be of no benefit to you.” He’s not condemning circumcision—he had Timothy circumcised because he was a Jew and possibly for missional reasons (Acts 16:3). Rather, Paul is saying that if you receive circumcision as your means of avoiding suffering or as your pathway to righteousness, you’re effectively rejecting the sufficiency of Christ’s work.
For Paul, this is a betrayal of the Gospel because it trades the costly allegiance to Jesus for an easier, culturally acceptable path. It exchanges the offense of the cross for the comfort of social safety.
The same dynamic appears in Corinth. After Paul left, certain leaders—whom Paul sarcastically calls “super-apostles”—arrived and began telling the believers that they had already inherited the Kingdom, that they were kings now. Paul’s reply is essentially, “I wish that were true! Because if the Kingdom had already come, then I wouldn’t be homeless and suffering”:
8 Already you have all you want! Already you have become rich! Without us you have become kings! And would that you did reign, so that we might share the rule with you! 9 For I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. 10 We are fools for Christ's sake, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You are held in honor, but we in disrepute. 11 To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly dressed and buffeted and homeless…(1 Corinthians 4:8-11, ESV Bible)
He uses his own life as an example:
“This, then, is how you ought to regard us: as servants of Christ and as those entrusted with the mysteries God has revealed. Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.” (1 Corinthians 4:1–2)
Everyone entrusted with God’s mysteries must be faithful stewards. These mysteries are not just about following Jesus’ ethical teachings—they’re about who God is and what God is doing right now.
This leads to the questions atheists often ask:
Is God loving?
Is God powerful?
Does God know what’s going on?
If all three are true, why doesn’t He stop evil and suffering?
Paul’s answer is that God does know, God does care, and God is powerful—but He’s also working with a long-term, redemptive plan that allows suffering for a season so that all things might be restored in the end.
In Matthew 5, Jesus says:
“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Even the tax collectors do that.” (Matthew 5:44-46, ESV Bible)
His point is that His teaching is meant to conform our hearts to the heart of the Father. Our Father is not looking at the wicked and deciding to starve them out. He is kind even to the unrighteous, giving rain and sunlight to both the good and the evil.
When we turn the other cheek, we are withholding personal justice in order to mirror God’s own mercy. Second Peter 3 describes scoffers asking where the promise of His coming is. Peter answers by quoting Psalm 90:
“With the Lord, a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” (2 Peter 3:8, ESV Bible)
God’s relationship to time is entirely different from ours, and the point is this—He isn’t slow, He’s merciful. He’s patient. He does not delight in the death of the wicked. Justice delays because God loves even those who deserve wrath.
This is the framework for the Great Commission. The message isn’t just “God loves you and has a plan for your life.” It’s “God loves you, and a day of justice is coming. He wants you to inherit eternal life.” His love is aimed at your eternal good, which is far greater than simply making your present life easier or more comfortable.
Revelation 1 calls Jesus “the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.” Jesus is the faithful witness of what God is like. He did not retaliate against those hitting Him because God loved them. He did not call on angels to destroy those torturing Him because God loved them too.
In Matthew 10, Jesus warns His disciples that He is sending them out like sheep among wolves, telling them to be as shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves. He warns they will be handed over to councils, flogged in synagogues, and brought before governors and kings—not for honor, but as a witness. In the first century, appearing before a governor or king as a disciple of Jesus meant one of two outcomes: imprisonment or death. And yet Jesus orchestrated such moments because He loved those pagan rulers enough to put His disciples’ lives in jeopardy so they could hear a witness.
Turning the other cheek is not simply a matter of personality or being “easygoing.” It is the deliberate act of bearing witness to God’s mercy. Jesus warned in Luke 6, “Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you.” If you get all your reward here, you forfeit the greater reward there. This is why He calls us to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Him. In the first century, “taking up your cross” meant public humiliation on the way to execution. It was the ultimate shame. Jesus’ call is that if we don’t count our lives as already lost, we won’t finish the race.
Hebrews 12 says Jesus endured the cross for “the joy set before Him.” Without an eternal perspective, that’s hard to understand. Hebrews 2 explains that He took on flesh so that through death He could destroy the one who holds the power of death, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. This is the deepest kind of freedom—freedom from the fear of death itself.
The question is, do we believe the oracles of God? Do we believe there will be a resurrection, a restored earth, everlasting joy, and peace from sea to sea? If we do, then these things are worth more than the few decades we have left here. Following Jesus means counting your life as already lost so that you may truly live.
Hebrews says that Jesus was “tempted in the things which He suffered.” Many scholars believe the New Testament shows that the account of Jesus in Gethsemane, before his crucifixion, was a well-known and cherished tradition in the early church—one that was sung about, taught, and referenced repeatedly. This is possibly what the writer of Hebrews is alluding to. In Gethsemane, Jesus prayed, “Father, if there is any other way, let this cup pass from Me. Yet not My will, but Yours be done.” Because Jesus endured that moment, He is now able to come to the aid of all who find themselves in their own “not my will, but Yours” moments. He can strengthen us so that we, like Him, say “yes” to the Father’s will.
When it comes to practical service—living a life for “that day” and deciding which opportunities to take—the guiding principle is not “say yes to everything.” Rather, take every opportunity that will conform your life to the image of Christ. That will often mean serving others, but sometimes it may mean something else entirely. The key is to listen to the Lord. Jesus Himself had endless opportunities to act, yet He said “no” to many of them, withdrawing to pray or waiting for the Father’s timing. The measure isn’t whether an opportunity is available, but whether it’s what the Spirit is leading you to do.
This connects to 1 Corinthians 13, where Paul warns that even the most sacrificial acts—giving away everything, even laying down our lives—profit nothing without love. That is sobering. It means that service alone isn’t the goal; the goal is to represent the longsuffering heart of God to the world. Discipleship can’t be reduced to a calendar of planned actions; it’s mostly about how we respond to what happens to us. We’re not going to “achieve” discipleship through careful scheduling—we are shaped into the image of Jesus through trials, pressures, and sometimes even crushing circumstances. Paul knew this well. In Ephesus he testified, “In every city the Spirit warns me that chains and afflictions await.” That wasn’t a sign to quit; it was a reminder that the path of the Kingdom runs through many tribulations, not many triumphs.
This is the Spirit’s role in conforming us to Jesus—forming His life in us not through comfort and ease, but through costly obedience. That’s why we must learn to count it all joy when trials come. Sometimes, when our possessions are taken or our name is slandered, the Spirit is deepening our faith to say, “God will restore what is lost.” But that kind of faith is expensive to acquire—it often comes through “many beatings,” as Paul would put it.
So how do we make sure our costly service is not wasted? It comes down to heart posture. As we grow older, we realize that not every open door is an invitation from the Lord. Sometimes humility means saying “no.” Jesus modeled this—He was moved by compassion, not by self-glory. He told us to do our good works in secret, so our Father alone would see and reward them. Paul was deeply concerned that ministry could become self-exalting, that we could do great things “for God” that are actually for ourselves. Love must be the motive—love for God and compassion for people.
Ultimately, the answer is deeply personal. It’s about walking closely with the Lord, listening for His Spirit’s leading, and letting Him decide where your “yes” belongs. Service that flows from love, obedience, and God’s direction will always bear fruit in eternity.