“The Word of God is preached too often in a way that will not transform listeners because it fails to discriminate and fails to apply.”

—Joel Beeke, “The Lasting Power of Reformed Experiential Preaching”

This past summer, I participated in a conference on expository preaching, where principles of exposition were followed by models of expository preaching.  The aim was to expose the meaning of the text for the sake of our listeners.  In other words, to borrow lingo from Leadership Resources International, the main idea and intended response of the biblical passage must become the main idea and intended response of the sermon.  The strength of this method lies in its authority.  The listener can see for himself that the Bible actually makes the statement, not just the preacher.  Instead of a “truth balloon” suspended above the text—something true, but not in that text—the truth extends from the text.  The meaning is exposed.

Now, depending on the preacher, the particular text, and, of course, the heart of the listener, transformation may or may not result from an expository sermon.  Transformation occurs when the Holy Spirit Himself applies the meaning of a particular text to a particular person in a particular way.  The listener somehow senses that this text is for me and for this purpose.  In contrast, a general message, even when its meaning is faithfully derived and delivered, often fails to impress the listener with its particular importance.  At times, it might succeed—even as John Piper learned once in preaching Isaiah 6 without an application—but that is the exception, not the norm.  Most listeners need discrimination (specifying to whom the text speaks) and application (for what purpose).

The Sermon on the Mount definitely exhibits all three traits—exposition, discrimination, and application.  As exposition, the sermon explains the real meaning of the law and drives the commandment back to the heart.  As discrimination, the sermon tests for hypocrisy and ends with lots of twos—two gates, two roads, two destinations, and two builders.  As application, the sermon exhorts disciples to trust rather than to worry, and to pray rather than to judge.  What a sermon!  Even the book of Matthew presents it as a model of how Jesus preached when He went from village to village (Matthew 4:23).  And because the Spirit of Jesus Himself lives in us, it is not unreasonable to expect Spirit-filled preaching to resemble the preaching of Jesus Himself.

At least two apostolic texts remind us of the importance of this kind of preaching.  First, in his second letter, Peter tells his readers twice that he aims “to stir [them] up by way of reminder” (2 Peter 1:13; cf. 3:1).  Much of pulpit ministry is reminder—rarely, do we preachers tell forty-year veterans something new—but it is reminder with a purpose.  Somehow, we must stir them up, and this will require diligence (1:15, “I will make every effort”).  Second, in his open letter to a younger preacher, Paul tells us the goal of the pulpit: “The aim of our charge is love” (1 Timothy 1:5).  Love, however, does not arise automatically from hearing the text; on the contrary, love “issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith” (1:5; cf. 2 Peter 1:5-7).  All of this involves discrimination and application.  In other words, the text must be closely applied to matters of purity, guilt, and sincerity.

Knowing how the text applies involves more than exegetical skill and doctrinal formulation.  Somehow, the preacher himself must live out the text, wrestling with its implications and submitting to its promises in a real-life context.  By necessity, the preacher is part of the equation of success: “Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching.  Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers” (1 Timothy 4:16).  Therefore, it should come as no surprise that the preacher himself continually needs wisdom from the sacred text for ultimate salvation through faith in Christ Jesus (2 Timothy 3:15).  The pulpit ministry needs wisdom and wisdom involves experience in applying the text personally.

Therefore, if these premises are true, we need more than expository preaching.  We also need insight into living that comes from applying to our experiences the broad scope of Scripture—not just one paragraph at a time, in piecemeal fashion.  Yes, we can preach from a particular passage—perhaps, we even should preach from a particular passage—but the application will draw from the broad wisdom of Scripture learned through the rich experience of endured trials of faith and discerning love.  The Puritans called such preaching experimental, because it involves “examining experience in the light of the teaching of the Word of God” (Beeke).  In modern times, we would more likely call it experiential.  Perhaps we could combine all the words into one statement:

We need preaching that is expository, experimental, and experiential—all three.

As expository preaching, the sermon will expose the main idea and intended response of the original text.  As experimental preaching, the sermon will test listeners and their behavior, leading to proper identification and classification.  As experiential preaching, the sermon will apply the text to the heart and life of the listeners in such a way that making a choice is unmistakable and believers are stirred up unto love and good deeds.  In an Old Testament framework, these three traits of good preaching correspond well to knowledge, discernment, and wisdom.  In a New Testament framework, these three traits correspond well to faith, hope, and love.  The first set has the preacher in mind; the second, his listeners.  Expository, experimental, and experiential preaching.  That is what we need in our pulpits today.

Source: Beeke, Joel. Puritan Reformed Spirituality. Webster, NY: Evangelical Press USA, 2006 [2004], 428, 427.

The idea of contextualizing the gospel is not new to me.  In his book Center Church, Timothy Keller cites a wonderful example of contextualization from the gospel narratives.  In Matthew, the sower casts his mustard seed in a “field” (Mt 13:31); in Luke, the seed is sown in a “garden” (Lk 13:19); and in Mark, the seed is cast on the “ground” (Mk 4:31).  According to scholar Craig Blomberg, the Jews grew mustard on the farm, while the Mediterranean Greeks grew mustard in gardens.  Both Matthew and Luke were apparently contextualizing the generic wording of Jesus (“ground”) for their specific audiences, so that they received the “same impact as the original audience” (Keller 95).

When I site this example with college students, I often ask them, “What did Jesus actually say—field, garden, or ground?”  The answer, of course, is none of the above.  Jesus spoke in Aramaic and all those words from the gospel narratives are Greek words.  Yes, the New Testament has accurate translation; and yes, the ipsissima vox of Jesus is present; but there is also cultural flexibility for different audiences, even if that meant that Jesus spoke the same parable at different times using different words and the gospel writers chose which version best suited their purpose. 

The point to learn here is that the Gospel message—and even its very narrative—is not language-bound or culture-bound.  While given to us in words, even inspired words, both from the lips of Jesus in Aramaic and from the gospel writers themselves, the gospel message itself is bigger than words.  The transcendence of the gospel is necessary for the mission of the gospel.  Jesus Christ is for all peoples and all languages.  Even the inspired writings of the New Testament bear witness to this universal scope and transcultural ability of the gospel, which will ultimately triumph.

Surprisingly, this contextualizing flexibility is also found in the New Testament epistles.  The apostle Paul, missionary to the Gentile par excellence, tailored his message for different thought worlds.  We definitely see this practice in the book of Acts, where Paul speaks narratively in the Jewish synagogue but dialectically on Mars Hill; but until recently, I had not noticed the same thing happening in his letters.  Please consider the following examples.

When the Judaizers were troubling the pagan converts from Galatia, Paul penned the letter to the Galatians.  The style and emphases reflect the Jewish concerns for law, covenant, history, and righteousness.  Later, Paul seems to have generalized this approach in writing a systematic and logical gospel to the Jewish-and-Gentile church at Rome.  Here we have a specific letter (Galatians) followed by a generalized treatment of the same gospel (Romans), written in the same thought world or system of symbols.

Similarly, late in Paul’s career, he heard from Epaphras that the small church planted by this faithful pastor was troubled with Gnostic teachings about cosmic layers of deities in contrast to the one Christ, Jesus the Lord.  In writing the letter to the Colossians, Paul appears to have utilized some Gnostic language of invisible powers to present “the cosmic Christ” (as one book, When Helping Hurts, labels Him).  As with Galatians and Romans, Paul then took this specific letter of Colossians and generalized it into the letter of Ephesians, which may have been a circular letter (the opening address has some manuscript variants).  What flexibility!  Given two different thought worlds confronting the church—the Jewish world of the Judaizers and the pagan world of the Gnostics—Paul was enabled in the Spirit to articulate the same gospel using two different sets of language symbols.  In fact, and this may be the most remarkable trait here, the same author accomplished this feat, and even systematized or generalized the message, but without changing the gospel one bit.  Again, this flexibility in the gospel wording is necessary for the gospel mission, because it will triumph in all languages with all their thought worlds.

These examples from the New Testament challenge us to preach better.  As pastors, do we know what thought worlds are troubling our people?  Can we articulate the gospel using the language of those thought worlds?  The Reformers did.  The Bible does not speak of merit, but the Roman Catholics certainly did in the era of Trent, especially when they applied the “extra credit” from the treasury of the saints to the release of temporal punishment through indulgences.  Ironically, such a transaction is a pure imputation; therefore, the Reformers could assert that we are saved eternally through the imputation of the merits of Christ.  This is not the language of the New Testament, but it is the fundamental message of the New Testament gospel.  We have an exciting challenge awaiting us in the pulpit this Sunday morning!