It was Tom Wolfe, author of The Bonfire of the Vanities, who dubbed the ’70s the “me decade”. The ’80s, he said, could be regarded as the decade of money fever. I would like to suggest, if Wolfe is accepting submissions, that the ’90s’ most obsessive expression of narcis­sism is its quest for power.

And that quest has not been without its effect on the church, from naming and claiming prosperity from the “pool of power” to “power ministries” in church growth, advocated by C. Peter Wagner and the Vineyard Fellowship, to “the power released by our Self-Talk” advocated by an evangelical pastor, and the blending of psychology, magic, and religion in Robert Schuller’s remark,

You don’t know what power you have within you! ... You make the world into anything you choose. Yes, you can make your world into whatever you want it to be.

A great many Christians at the end of the 20^th century appear to be interested in everything except the gospel. Motifs of political liberation, “spirituality” (with dozens of subheadings), celebration of sexuality, creation as sacrament, radical femi­nism, self-esteem and inner healing, signs and wonders, church growth, spiritual gifts, moral crusades: you name it, we’ve got it. But the one thing we no longer believe in is the gospel.

There’s no room for irrelevant dogmas about original sin, total depravity, guilt, atonement, propitiation, substitution, jus­tification, the sovereignty of God, regener­ation and sanctification, judgment, heaven, and hell. In our day nearly every one of those doctrines is up for grabs; one does not have to hold a “narrow” position on these issues to wear the evangelical label.’

However, an evangelical must be absolutely certain about how to tackle issues such as abortion, pornography, socialism, affirmative action, homosexuality, the gifts of the Spirit, and the precise chronology of end-times events. Whereas the Bible does indeed have something to say about our behavior, spiritual gifts, and eschatology, often issues barely (some never) discussed in the Bible have become the standard tests of orthodoxy at the same time the most obvious biblical motifs are largely unknown.’

In this article I want to present a sound case for a renewed confidence in the gospel itself as “the power of God unto salvation.” To do that, I would like to take a closer look at one of the most important chal­lenges an apostle presented to a congrega­tion: Paul in Corinth.

The commercial capital of Greece, Corinth was the quintessence of metropol­itan sophistication in the region. Athens was the centre of academic life, but the practical Corinthians liked to think that they, too, were up on the latest ideas. Temple prostitution was big business at the shrine of Aphrodite (goddess of love). Down the street was the shrine of Asclepius, the god of healing. In fact, even decades later, after all of the 12 pagan tem­ples were converted to churches in Corinth, the healing shrine continued to be frequented.

The purpose of Paul’s letters to the Corinthian believers was to respond to news the apostle had received about divi­sions in the church (1 Corinthians 1:11). “Super-apostles,” as Paul called them, had gained access to the congregation, bringing confusion in their train, and the apostle’s patience was wearing thin:

For if someone comes to you and preaches a Jesus other than the Jesus we preached, or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received, or a different gospel from the one you accepted, you put up with it easily enough. But I do not think I am in the least inferior to those super-apostles. I may not be a trained speaker, but I do have knowl­edge. 2 Corinthians 11:4-6

In Corinth, the simplicity of the gospel was being undermined by those who sought to turns it into the speculative mys­ticism of Greek philosophy. Combining Christianity, folk religion, and esoteric wis­dom, the super-apostles attracted the met­ropolitan upper classes much as Eastern philosophy has gathered a following among professionals in our time.

Silver-tongued speakers would put on seminars and promise the keys to success and happiness. Because they made at least some appeal to Christ, the super-apostles convinced some of the Corinthian believers that they were simply bringing together the best of secular wisdom and Christian belief. The gospel was not enough; to make Christianity relevant in a pagan commercial centre like Corinth, in order to really mar­ket it well, the church had to promise answers to questions the Bible never answered and solve riddles about which the Bible was not the least bit interested. Where the Scriptures were silent, secular wisdom threw in its two cents worth.

The sophisticated Corinthian, confident and self-assured, had little time for sin and judgment, guilt and grace. Religion was supposed to supply social glue, give people a philosophy of life and a way of living a happy and meaningful life. In that sort of setting, the gospel was probably viewed as an answer to a question the people were not even asking: How can I, a condemned pris­oner of my own depravity, ever have a relationship with a holy and just God?

But Paul’s response was clear. Instead of taking a marketing survey of Corinthian attitudes and developing a gospel that would address “felt needs,” he told them what the real needs were, whether they felt them or not. In fact, said Paul, if they did not feel within them the need or were not asking the right questions, it was not because the gospel is irrelevant, but because “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing” (1 Corinthians 1:18).

The super-apostles were more powerful than Paul in terms of popular appeal. They appeared to be more relevant, offering the recently converted pagans something familiar, and they made it sound captivat­ing. They could really sell the product, and Paul was being put on the back burner. Their success suggests that the super-apos­tles spoke more directly to the felt needs of the Corinthians. And what were those felt needs? Probably not much different from those about whom Paul warned Timothy: “People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive ... rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God” (2 Timothy 3:2-4) — and these were professing Christians!

This is the problem, isn’t it? By preach­ing to “felt needs” we are often preaching to selfish and idolatrous cravings. What will be the “felt needs” of people who love themselves, money, and pleasure? Our job is not to preach to felt needs, but to expose such felt needs as sinful cravings that must be supplanted by Christ. Only in that way can unbelievers see their truest, deepest need for the One whose absence those dis­tractions have sought to soothe.

In the meantime, Paul responds to the problem with the super-apostles by telling the Corinthians they are shallow and immature, captive to “the wisdom of this age”, which did not even have the sense to recognise the most remarkable triumph of divine wisdom in history: the satisfaction of God’s justice and mercy in the cross of Christ.

But Paul didn’t let the Corinthian Jews off, either. Whereas Greek culture-Christianity turned Christian discourse into a combination of magic, self-reflec­tion, and speculation, Jewish sympathies led to a different distraction: the miracu­lous. In both cases, power was the key. Through understanding esoteric mysteries of life and knowing the secret “laws” that governed the spiritual realm, Greek religion promised Christians power through magic; the Jews promised power through miracle; and Paul said both promised what God considers weak.

We see the weakness of the miracles, even of those performed by our Lord him­self. Well into his ministry, after scores of miracles, the Pharisees asked Jesus whether he was the Christ. Jesus answered,

I did tell you, but you do not believe. The mira­cles I do in my Father’s name speak for me, but you do not believe because you are not of my sheep. John 10:25

Indeed, seeking signs and wonders was not considered by our Lord to be a sign of faith, but of unbe­lief:

As the crowds increased, Jesus said, ‘This is a wicked generation. It asks for a miraculous sign’. Luke 11:29

The cross was a stumbling block to the Jews also in that accepting its message meant coming to terms with the fact that they could not save themselves, not even with God’s help. They were helpless to par­ticipate in their own redemption, and this public picture of Christ hanging on a cross, carrying the weight of our sins, meant that all of their works had been for nothing.

Salvation by grace alone, through faith alone, because of Christ alone, was a scan­dalous notion to a religion that had become increasingly legalistic by the time of Christ.

The magic wisdom of the Greek and the miraculous signs and legalistic “righteous­ness” of the Jew are for Paul, therefore, stumbling blocks, not power encounters. The gospel does not step into the ring with such challengers. The gospel is not like a shy, physically retiring boy who needs his big brother to stick up for him, whether the big brother is the miraculous, secular wis­dom, marketing, business, psychology, pol­itics, legalism, or traditionalism.

Although miracles, philosophy, corpo­rate and psychological insights, and politi­cal positions may well be part of the life of any Christian, they are weak substitutes for the gospel.

Part of the problem is that, as fallen men and women, we want power not only for the advance of the church in a secular cul­ture, but even for ourselves. There is some­thing exalting about being a part of some­thing that is respected by society. If we can build larger buildings, have larger gatherings, create larger enterprises, and compete with other mass-marketed products, we will be a part of something powerful, some­thing relevant, and the world will have to sit up and take notice of us for our impressive technological, philosophical, psychological, and financial sophistication.

That is what was driving the Corinthian believers, too, who had forgotten their roots. That is what Paul points out imme­diately after he describes the gospel as a stumbling block:

Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things — and the things that are not — to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God — that is, our righteous­ness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: ‘Let him who boasts boast in the Lord’.1 Corinthians 1:26-31

The Corinthian believers did not want to win their sophisticated neighbours as much as they wanted to be like them. In a culture that idealized power, strength, wealth, wisdom, and nobility, Christianity made little sense. After all, the saviours of Greek mythology and philosophy redeemed by example. They displayed heroic qualities that wise followers emu­lated to their own immortal conquest. Although the gods were worshipped for each deity’s unique role, all of them shared a common attribute: power. They made mistakes, misjudged, miscalculated, mis­carried, waged wars among themselves, and committed adultery, but they were all powerful.

In the face of all of that, Paul expects the Corinthians to tell the neighbour next door that their Saviour-God was sentenced to death by (1) his own people, (2) the Roman authorities, and (3) God the Father himself. Thus salvation in this scheme is the result of a shameful death on a cross that, for Romans, had the equivalent criminal asso­ciations we would make with the electric chair.

No wonder many cultures have found it difficult to understand this core message of Christianity! Our culture worships power. Even if power is stolen or used manipulatively, it is respected by our society. Strength is reverence, if reverent hatred on the part of those who get the brunt of it.

Nevertheless, at the point Christianity is least saleable, it is the most powerful. The resurrection was such an overwhelming concept that those gathered in Athens to “hear the latest ideas” told Paul, “we’ll hear more from you again on these things.”

But today, we hardly say enough to pro­voke the slightest interest. In bending over backwards to be relevant, we have actually become politely irrelevant, mumbling when we get to the bit about judgment, hell, wrath, condemnation, human helplessness, and our utter dependence on the grace and righteousness of someone outside of ourselves. “Give us a god who shows us an example of greatness — power, virtue, wisdom; not a god who dies for us, but one who shows us how to live!” That is what the modern Greeks demand, just as others demand miraculous signs. But Paul continues his defence with the following:

When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified ... My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on men’s wisdom, but on God’s power. 1 Corinthians 2:1-5

In other words, the apostle Paul could say today, “When I came to you I didn’t have a lot of clever insights and tips for successful living, child-rearing, and inner healing. I didn’t give you a political agenda or a building program.” Paul even declines a “power encounter” between himself and the super-apostles. In addition to what we have already seen about Paul’s superior education, he himself adds, “I am not in the least inferior to the super-apostles” (2 Cor. 12:11). And yet, “I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom” (1 Cor. 2:1).

There was not going to be a test to see whose gospel was the cleverest, whose gospel was the most relevant, whose gospel could attract more attention. “For I resolved to know nothing ... except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (2:2).

We want to stand out, to be relevant and “in touch,” but when we don’t talk about sin, judgment, grace, and redemption enough for even regular churchgoers to be able to articulate their theology, we couldn’t be more irrelevant.