The gospel of Jesus is not a plan.
It is not a pattern.
It is not a gender role, it is not an ordinance, it is not a holy book.
It is not a priesthood.
It is not a prophet, it is not a calling, it is not something you earn or for which you qualify.
It is not a weapon. It is not a paycheck. It is not a right.
It is not safe.
It is not power.
The gospel of Jesus is a stripping away. It is a radical revolution of heart and community. It is a tear-your-guts-out, break-down-your-walls, destroy-all-your-paradigms, full-contact-sport of living and loving in blindingly truthful ways.
It is salt in a meal. It is yeast in a loaf. It is treasure in a field.
It is the God of the Universe making Himself so vulnerable, so raw, that blood dripped from every pore and nails tore at His flesh as a symbol of the agony we inflict upon each other when we insist that the gospel is anything – anything — but Him.
Things that are not the gospel may help us experience the gospel. But when we make them the gospel, when we supplant Him with them, oh –
How we miss the mark indeed.