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In the course of a few verses, Paul, Silas, and Timothy compare their relationship with the Thessalonian believers to “young children,” “a nursing mother,” and “a father” (1 Thes. 2:7, 11). Each of these emphasizes one aspect of the missionaries’ behavior. “Young children” emphasizes the innocence of their dealings with the Thessalonians. “Nursing mother” emphasizes their tender care for them. But what does “father” emphasize?

Here’s what the missionaries write:

For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory (1 Thes. 2:11–12).

To this point, Paul, Silas, and Timothy have spoken to the Thessalonians of their relationship “among you”, “for you,” “with you,” and “to you”—where you is a plural second-person pronoun. They were speaking to the believers collectively. But now, in these verses, they speak to “each of you,” indicating their ministry to individual believers. Pastors who minister only to the church collectively—through preaching, for example—fail to minister properly. They must also minister to individuals, paying attention to their unique spiritual needs, progress, and potential, “as a father deals with his own children.”

In what sense is “encouraging, comforting and urging” a uniquely fatherly role? Don’t mothers do this too? But if the motherly metaphor of verses 7–8 is not interchangeable—fathers can’t “nurse,” after all—shouldn’t we also assume that the fatherly metaphor of verses 11–12 is not interchangeable too?

Perhaps in using these metaphors, Paul, Silas, and Timothy were simply building on the prevailing understanding of sex roles in the Greco-Roman culture of their day. Regarding this, Gordon D. Fee writes: “The essential difference between the two metaphors is in this case to be found in the three participles [i.e., encouraging, comforting, and urging], which together describe what the ancients, both Greek and Roman, would have recognized as a father’s duty, especially in the matter of the moral training of his children.”[1] Perhaps the missionaries were teaching something essential rather than merely cultural in the differences between how mothers and fathers relate to their children. Or perhaps the culture vs. essence dichotomy is a false one, with motherly and fatherly roles being shaped by both nurture and nature. I don’t know.

Whatever the case, for the missionaries, the function of the fatherly metaphor had a specific purpose: to train the Thessalonian believers “to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.” Christians, in other words, should grow up. Today, they should have grown more than yesterday; and tomorrow, they should’ve grown more still. Pastors—Christians, more generally—should cheer this process along. The goal is not to infantilize Christian disciples perpetually as “our children,” making them dependent on us, but to mature them, making them our spiritual peers, or better, our “brothers and sisters.”

Children. Mothers. Fathers. Brothers and sisters. Different metaphors for different ministries at different stages of life—and all necessary!

As a vocational minister, I constantly hold in tension two thoughts about what I get paid to do:

First, vocational ministry is how I make my living. According to the Bible, getting paid for ministry is appropriate. “The elders who direct the affairs of the church well are worthy of double honor, especially those whose work is preaching and teaching. For Scripture says, ‘Do not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain,’ and ‘The worker deserves his wages’” (1 Tim. 5:17–18; cf. Deut. 25:4, Luke 10:7). (I wonder whether Paul compared preachers and teachers to treading oxen to keep us humble and remind us to work hard?)

Second, how I make my living might discredit my vocational ministry. Every now and then, some news show runs an exposé of how much this televangelist or that megachurch pastor gets paid. When I see the multiple homes and luxury vehicles some of these guys own, I have to admit becoming a bit cynical about their ministries. What are they in this for? I begin to wonder.

Such cynicism probably underlies what Paul, Silas, and Timothy wrote in 1 Thessalonians 2:9–10:

Surely you remember, brothers and sisters, our toil and hardship; we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you. You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed.

Remember the history of the founding of the Thessalonian church (Acts 17:1–9). The missionaries (who themselves were Jews) preached peacefully and effectively for approximately three weeks in the synagogue. Then, motivated by jealousy, some Thessalonian Jews who rejected the missionaries’ message “formed a mob,” tried to drag the missionaries before local courts on charges of sedition, but succeeded only in doing that to some of the Thessalonian converts. Alarmed, the Thessalonian believers hustled the missionaries out of town at night. However, they still had to deal with the mob and experienced some kind of persecution (1 Thes. 2:14, 3:3). After a while, some of the Thessalonian believers evidently started thinking, Perhaps those missionaries were only in it for the money.

This kind of cynicism about ministry is deadly to a minister’s credibility and to church members’ faith. If a minister is motivated by money (or power or fame), who knows what he or she will say to get more? And if church members doubt a minister’s credibility, what doubts might they begin to entertain about the gospel’s own credibility? Thus does a pastor’s greed destroy parishioners’ creed.

The missionaries refuted Thessalonian cynicism by working outside jobs: “we worked night and day in order not to be a burden to anyone while we preached the gospel of God to you.” I don’t think all pastors need to do this. Paul didn’t think so either. But if we’re going to be paid for ministry, we must work hard and well, lest our lifestyle discredit the gospel.

In sum: Pay for pastors? Appropriate, but potentially dangerous.

Paul, Silas, and Timothy used three metaphors to describe how they acted toward the Thessalonian believers: “young children” (1 Thes. 2:7a), “nursing mother” (v. 7b), and “father” (v. 11). Each of these emphasizes one aspect of the missionaries’ behavior. “Young children” emphasizes innocence. “Nursing mother” emphasizes the missionaries’ in-it-together-ness with the Thessalonians. And “father” emphasizes the goals they were trying to accomplish.

I recognize that discussion about sex roles in America is contested ground, so I want to tread lightly on the differences between mothers and fathers. Nevertheless, it seems to me that that there is a basic difference between the ways moms and dads relate to their children. It is this: Mothers relate to children as “insiders,” fathers as “outsiders.”

A mother carries a child in her womb for nine months. She eats for two. Her health is affected by her baby, and her baby’s health is affected by her. She endures hours of agonizing labor to deliver her baby into the world. Then, as one of her first maternal acts, she brings that baby to her breast and nurses it. This is what I mean when I say that mothers relate to their children as insiders.

A father, on the other hand, is an outsider. He is responsible for but external to the mother-infant relationship. He doesn’t have a womb in which to carry a child. He doesn’t eat for two (although he may experience “sympathetic weight gain”). He watches as his wife endure hours of agonizing labor to deliver their baby (often being reminded, “You did this to me!”). He gets to cut the umbilical cord that has linked mother and child for nine months. (Talk about a highly symbolic act!)

The distinction between insider and outsider relationships leads to a startling insight: A father gives his child what he has, but a mother gives her child what she is.

I’ve waxed philosophical long enough. Let’s get back to what Paul, Silas, and Timothy wrote: “Just as a nursing mother cares for her children, so we cared for you. Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well” (2:7b–8).

Like good fathers, the missionaries gave the Thessalonians what they had: “the gospel of God.” And as good fathers, they encouraged, comforted, and urged the Thessalonians “to live lives worthy of God” (2:12), a topic to which we’ll return later. But—and this is where the “nursing mother” metaphor kicks in with force—the missionaries shared “our lives as well.” They gave what they were.

There is a lesson here for ministers in particular and the church in general. If we give people what we have but not what we are, they get a creed but not a life. If we give people what we are but not what we have, they get an experience but not a theological reference point. We need both doctrine and experience, “gospel” and “life.” Perhaps that’s why, as Paul, Silas, and Timothy wrote, we need mothers and fathers.

In lieu of The Daily Word, and in honor of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I am posting a video and the full text of his best-known speech, “I Have a Dream,” which he delivered from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC on August 28, 1963.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “For Whites Only”. We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

The problem with Christianity is not Christianity—let alone Christ!—but Christians.

Our walk too often undermines our talk. Our faults cast our faith in a negative light. We rightly strive to defend the truth of the evangel, but that effort comes to little when we evangelists are not trustworthy.

This is not a new problem. It seems that some of the Thessalonians entertained doubts about Paul, Silas, and Timothy. They believed in Jesus Christ with “deep conviction,” and their faith became “known everywhere” (1 Thes. 1:5,8). But because the missionaries left Thessalonica just as the believers there started to experience persecution (Acts 17:5–9; 1 Thes. 2:14, 3:3), some of those believers began to think that perhaps the missionaries had ulterior motives in preaching the gospel to them.

Paul, Silas, and Timothy responded by reminding the Thessalonians what their time among them actually looked like. They appealed to the Thessalonians’ memories of their behavior and preaching using the phrase, “you know” (1 Thes. 1:5; 2:1,2,5,11; 3:3; 4:2; 5:2). In 1 Thessalonians 2:1–7a, the missionaries demonstrated what their ministry among the Thessalonians was not like. We’ve already looked at 2:1–2, so let’s take a look at 2:3–7a:

For the appeal we make does not spring from error or impure motives, nor are we trying to trick you. On the contrary, we speak as those approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel. We are not trying to please people but God, who tests our hearts. You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed—God is our witness. We were not looking from praise from people, not from you or anyone else, even though as apostles of Christ we could have asserted our authority. Instead, we were like young children[1] among you.

In his commentary on 1 and 2 Thessalonians, Gordon D. Fee outlines the syntax of the Greek text of these verses this way[2]:

Vv. 3–4         For our appeal was

not based on error

nor on impure motives

nor with guile

but as those approved by God

thus we speak.

Vv. 5–7b      For we came

not with flattery

nor with a mask of greed

nor by seeking human praise

but we became “infants/little children” in your midst.

Notice all the not and nor statements in verses 3–7a. Turn these into positive statements, and you have a list of suspicions that even people today have about Christians. Christians—so the complaint goes—are in “error,” have “impure motives,” are trying to “trick” the gullible. They use “flattery,” but behind their smiling faces are “masks of greed” and or a desire for fame (“human praise”).

The only refutation for such suspicions about Christians’ motives is the one Paul, Silas, and Timothy gave: “You know.” Do people know you? Are you authentic with others? Does your manner of speech and style of life prove your innocence of ulterior motives? If not, they can’t hear what you say about Christ, for your walk is louder than your talk.

Christians, don’t let your life refute Christ’s message!

On December 23, 2011, the Iranian Intelligence Agency raided an Assemblies of God church in Ahvaz during a worship service. Church members, including children, were arrested, detained, and interrogated. Hours later, most of the members were released. As of today, however, Pastor Farhad Sabokrouh, his wife, Shahnaz Jizani,  and church members Naser Zamen-Dezfuli and Davoud Alijani are still under arrest. Their location and condition are not known.

Another Christian pastor, Youcef Nadarkhani, has been in prison since 2009. Tried and convicted for apostasy because he converted from Islam to Christianity as a teenager, Nadarkhani sits in jail with a death sentence hanging over his head.

This is not the first time Iranian Christians have faced persecution. (All religious minorities in Iran—Christian, Baha’i, and Jewish—are subject to a variety of legal impediments and social obstacles.) In 1993, for example, Mehdi Dibaj was arrested, tried, and convicted of apostasy, and sentenced to death. His pastor, Haik Hovsepian Mehr, initiated and led a global protest of Dibaj’s sentence. On January 16, 1994, Dibaj was released. Three days later, Haik was abducted and murdered, most likely by the regime. On June 24, Dibaj was abducted. His body was found on July 5. He had been killed, most likely by the regime.

With these stories in mind, consider what Paul, Silas, and Timothy write in 1 Thessalonians 2:1–2:

You know, brothers and sisters, that our visit to you was not without results. We had previously suffered and been treated outrageously in Philippi, as you know, but with the help of our God we dared to tell you his gospel in the face of strong opposition.

The missionaries arrived in Thessalonica after ministering in Philippi (Acts 16:11–17:9). In Philippi, a mob attacked Paul and Silas, and the Roman magistrates had them stripped, beaten, and imprisoned. While in prison, they suffered an earthquake. When the Roman magistrates discovered that Paul and Silas were Roman citizens, who shouldn’t have been beaten, they apologized but nonetheless asked them to leave the city. In Thessalonica, a mob went searching for the missionaries. Not finding them, it abducted Jason and some other believers, dragged them before the courts, and accused them of sedition. The Thessalonian believers hustled the missionaries out of town under cover of darkness. However, despite the absence of the missionaries, the Thessalonian believers continued to suffer (1 Thes. 2:14, 3:3).

Whether in the first century or the twenty-first, persecution is the fate of many Christians around the world. Those of us who live in America or other countries that practice religious freedom should thank God every day that he has given us this grace. We should also pray for and advocate the freedom of our suffering brothers and sisters in Iran and elsewhere, as my father has done with regard to the persecuted Iranian Christians. But mostly, we should drink deeply from the well of their courage.

If, with the help of God, they dare to preach his gospel in the face of strong opposition, what is our excuse for not doing the same in our much pleasanter circumstances?

In 1 Thessalonians 1:8–10, Paul, Silas, and Timothy praise the Thessalonian believers for their faith, which had become well known through the region:

The Lord’s message rang out from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia—your faith in God has become known everywhere. Therefore we do not need to say anything about it, for they themselves report what kind of reception you gave us. They tell how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead—Jesus, who rescues us from the coming wrath.

Notice several things about these verses:

First, the Lord’s message is demonstrated in our faith. It is not reducible to our faith. Neither God nor his word can be reduced to the finite limitations of human experience. He always breaks out of our boxes, whether theological or experiential. Nevertheless, there is a relationship between the gospel and its effect on us. If we accept in the gospel, we will belong, behave, and believe in a different manner than we did before accepting the gospel.

Second, receiving the Lord’s message initiates a new pattern of relationship. Notice the first thing about the Corinthians that had gained renown: “what kind of reception you gave us.” Remember Acts 17:1–9! The Thessalonians believed the missionaries’ preaching and sheltered them even though doing so resulted in their persecution and suffering. It’s one thing to show hospitality to people who are popular. It’s another thing entirely—a very Christlike thing—to show hospitality to people who are unpopular. The Thessalonians did the Christlike thing.

Third, receiving the Lord’s message involves changing who or what you worship. “[Y]ou turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God.” An idol is not merely a physical object that you pray before, burn incense to, or leave gifts for. An idol is any person, thing, or idea that requires the best attention of your mind, the deepest devotion of your heart, and the constant activity of your hands. For many today, money—acquiring it, gaining interest from it, spending it—is an idol. For others, it’s sex, celebrity, or power. Whatever it is, to be a Christian means to turn your back on idols and make “the living and true God” the object of your head, heart, and hands’ best thoughts, feelings, and activities.

Fourth, receiving the Lord’s message involves patiently waiting for Jesus to return. The Nicene Creed states the faith of all Christians when it says that Jesus Christ “will return to judge the living and the dead.” That is his eschatological—or “end times”—role. His return is the end of this age, in which good and bad are mixed, and the beginning of the age to come, in which God triumphs, good prevails, and evil is conquered. Just as Jesus was raised from the dead, so to we live for the promise of eternal life.

What strangers have you welcomed? What are you turning from? What are you turning to? And what are you waiting for? How you answer these questions determines whether your faith will be remembered.

Which is more important: what you say or what you do?

In one sense, this is a false dichotomy. Both our words and our deeds are important. Indeed, they need one another. Without deeds, words are empty. Without words, deeds are mute.

Paul brings words and deeds together in 1 Thessalonians 1:4-10. Verses 4-5 speak of Paul, Silas, and Timothy’s Spirit-driven preaching that was demonstrated by “power” (miracles) and resulted “deep conviction” in the heart of the Thessalonians. Out of that deep conviction, and following the missionaries’ example, the Thessalonians themselves lived lives that gained renown throughout the area.

In another sense, however, deeds speak louder than words. Consider what Paul, Silas, and Timothy wrote in verses 5b-7: “You know how we lived among you for your sake. You became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit. And so you became a model to all the believers in Macedonia and Achaia.”

In the course of these three verses, the missionaries chart the course from being imitators to becoming imitable.

The course begins with someone to imitate. Here, Paul, Silas, and Timothy themselves are the examples the Thessalonians followed. “You know how we lived among you for your sake.” According to Acts 17:1-9, persecution followed hard on the heels of the foundation of the Thessalonian church. A lynch mob went looking for Paul and Silas. Unable to find them, they dragged a Thessalonian believer named Jason and unnamed others to court, accusing them of sedition. Afraid for the missionaries’ safety, the Thessalonians rushed them out of town in the dead of night. We don’t know how long Paul, Silas, and Timothy lived among the Thessalonians–perhaps a matter of weeks–but their hard work (1 Thes. 2:9) left a deep impression on them.

So, imitable lives produced imitators: “You became imitators of us and of the Lord.” The missionaries didn’t make up their example. They simply imitated Jesus. So, by imitating the missionaries, the Thessalonians imitated the Lord. In what way? “You welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit.” In reading this, I am reminded of two statements, one by and one about Jesus. First, in Gethsemane, facing certain death, Jesus prayed, “yet not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42). And second, Hebrews 12:2: “For the joy set before him [Jesus] endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. The Thessalonians learned how to suffer joyfully from the missionaries, who themselves learned it from Christ.

Finally, the imitators themselves became imitable. “And so you became a model to all the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. People who imitate Jesus inevitably become people whom others want to follow. Being shaped by him, they began to shape others in his image.

Words are important. But in a real sense, how you live is your most convincing sermon. So live a life worthy imitating!

In the course of my life, I have heard thousands of sermons, and I myself have preached a considerable amount. Some of these sermons–mine and others–have been excellent. Some of them have been unmemorable. And some of them–to be quite frank–deserve to be forgotten. Yet each week, I go to church to listen (on rarer occasions, now, to speak) and expect that God will say something to me through the preaching of his word.

Why?

In 1 Thessalonians 1:4-5, Paul, Silas, and Timothy provide an answer: “For we know, brothers and sisters loved by God, that he has chosen you, because our gospel came to you not simply with words but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and deep conviction.” We need to read these words in context. In Greek, they are part of a single sentence that begins in verse 2: “We always thank God for all of you…” The missionaries express their gratitude by continually mentioning the believers in their prayers (v. 2b); by remembering faithful works, loving labor, and hopeful endurance; and now by acknowledging God’s election of them for salvation.

How did the missionaries know that God had elected the Thessalonians for salvation? Because of the work of the Holy Spirit, which provided both external and internal evidence. The missionaries say their preaching was “not simply with words but also with power.” Most likely, power refers to miraculous works that the Holy Spirit performed through the missionaries. These miracles are external evidence that the gospel is true.

The internal evidence is “deep conviction” in the minds of believers, an assurance that the gospel is true for me. Theologians refer to this deep conviction as the internal witness of the Holy Spirit. In Galatians 2:20, Paul depicts it this way: “The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Wouldn’t you love to experience both power and deep conviction each time you go to church? Wouldn’t you love to have an encounter with the Holy Spirit when you hear the word of God preached each Sunday? Is this even possible?

Yes, of course it is! For it to happen, preachers must humbly invite the Spirit to guide them as they prepare for and deliver the sermon. And listeners must expect to hear something from God, not just from their preacher.

This doesn’t mean that miracles will attend every sermon or that we will feel deeply assured every Sunday. Some years ago, when my dad retired from his church, the chairman of the board said that he had forgotten most of my dad’s sermons. But, he went on to say, he had forgotten most of his meals too. But they nourished him anyway.

That’s a good lesson. When we come to church, we should come expecting the Holy Spirit to nourish us through the sermon. That’s what ordinarily happens. But sometimes, we come to a feast, and then we know for sure that God is present and at work in our lives.

Gratitude has a reason. We give thanks for people or because of something they have done. After an accident or during a severe illness or in the aftermath of catastrophe, we give thanks simply to be alive.

Paul, Silas, and Timothy are thankful for the Thessalonian Christians. Their reason? “We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thes. 1:3). Faith, hope, and love are hallmarks of authentic Christianity (1 Cor. 13:13), and they marked the lives of the Thessalonian. For that, the missionaries express gratitude. The seed of the gospel they planted in Thessalonica had grown into a healthy tree.

Let’s take a closer look at faith, hope, and love.

First, work produced by faith: In Ephesians 2:8–9, Paul contrasts faith to works: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith…not by works, so that no one can boast.” Here, however, he brings them together. “Faith, not works” is Paul’s slogan when it comes to how God justifies sinners. But “Faith produces works” is Paul’s slogan when it comes how justified Christians live. Immediately after arguing that we are justified through faith not, not work, Paul writes: “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (2:10).

Second, labor prompted by love. The Greek word for “labor” is kopos. It seems to be used in two senses. On the one hand, in 1 Thessalonians 2:9, it refers to “toil” the missionaries performed in order to support themselves “while we preached the gospel of God to you.” On the other hand, in 3:5, it refers to the missionaries’ “labors” of evangelism, discipleship, and church planting. To which does kopos refer in 1:3? Probably the former. In 2 Thessalonians 3:6–15, the missionaries contrast their “toil” with the laziness of a few Thessalonian slackers. Such hard work earns Christians a good reputation, makes them financially independent (1 Thes. 4:9–12), and makes it possible for them to share their surplus with the poor who want to but cannot work (2 Thes. 3:6–15).

Third, endurance inspired by hope. The Greek word for “endurance” is hupomonē, which derives from the two words for “remain” and “under.” When trouble comes, Christians can remain under it without being crushed by it because of their hope. Hebrews 12:2 says of Jesus, “For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, scorning its shame.” Christians follow his example. But they know that suffering does not have the last word, in Christ’s life or our own. Hebrews goes on to say that Jesus “sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Like Christ, those who endure “will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him” (James 1:12). Christ is our example and hope.

Faith works. Love labors. Hope endures.