What the First Christians Thought the Gospel Was (And Why That Changes Everything)
When I was growing up, I was told the gospel was the message of how to get into heaven when you die. It was a spiritual transaction: say a prayer, believe the right things, and your eternity is secure. But the more I’ve studied the New Testament, especially the earliest Christian writings, the more I’ve come to believe that the first followers of Jesus saw the gospel as something much more immediate, much more radical—and honestly, far more compelling.
For them, it wasn’t just about the afterlife. It was about a whole new reality taking shape in the here and now.
In fact, the word “gospel” (Greek: euangelion) already had meaning long before Jesus ever stepped onto the scene. In the Roman world, a gospel was an announcement—often tied to empire: the birth of a new Caesar, a military victory, or a new decree from the emperor. It was news of something big that had happened, something that changed the world and demanded a response.
So when the writers of the New Testament start using that word to talk about Jesus, they’re making a bold claim. They’re not just offering spiritual advice or moral guidance. They’re proclaiming that something has happened—something that redefines reality. That Jesus has been enthroned as King. That his life, death, and resurrection weren’t just inspirational events, but world-altering ones. That a new kingdom has broken in.
When you read the first sermons recorded in Acts—the first public declarations of what Jesus’ followers believed—you don’t see messages about how to escape this world. You see messages about how God has acted in history, how Jesus is the fulfillment of Israel’s long story, and how his resurrection confirms that he is the promised Messiah, the anointed King. In Acts 2, Peter doesn’t offer an altar call. He proclaims that Jesus—whom they crucified—has been raised by God and exalted. That’s the gospel. That’s the announcement.
Paul says something similar in 1 Corinthians 15, where he gives one of the earliest written summaries of the gospel: “Christ died for our sins… he was buried… he was raised on the third day.” This wasn’t just doctrine to memorize. This was the center of everything. For Paul, the gospel wasn’t a static statement. It was something that you received, something you stand in, and something by which you are being saved. Present tense. Ongoing.
This means the gospel isn’t just about what happened to Jesus. It’s about what’s happening to us—right now—because of Jesus.
And this is where I think we need to recover what the early church understood. We’ve often reduced sin to a checklist of moral failures, and salvation to a get-out-of-hell-free card. But sin is anything that fractures God’s good world—anything that deforms us from being the people we were created to be. Sin dehumanizes. It alienates. It sabotages what is good and beautiful in us and in our world.
Jesus came not just to forgive sin, but to heal it. To restore us. To make us whole. To rehumanize us.
The resurrection isn’t just proof of divine power. It’s the beginning of a new creation. It tells us that death doesn’t win, that evil doesn’t have the final word, and that God’s kingdom is already at work—here, now, through ordinary people who trust in this good news and live like it’s true.
So if someone asked me, “What is the gospel?”—here’s what I’d say:
The gospel is the good news that through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, he has been enthroned as King—and we are invited to live in his kingdom, starting now.
It’s not about evacuating earth for heaven. It’s about heaven taking root on earth.
That’s why forgiveness matters—not just as a theological concept, but as a way of healing relationships and communities. That’s why love of enemy matters—not just as a lofty ideal, but as the only way to break cycles of hate. That’s why generosity matters, why justice matters, why humility matters—because they are signs that God’s new world is breaking into this one.
The earliest Christians believed this message with their whole lives. And it cost many of them everything. Because saying “Jesus is Lord” in their world meant saying Caesar wasn’t. It meant living in a way that challenged the empire’s version of power, success, and glory.
It still does.
So if you’re disillusioned with religion but still drawn to Jesus… if you’ve been told the gospel is just about afterlife insurance but you sense there must be something deeper… if you want to know whether this story still matters in a world full of brokenness, injustice, and exhaustion—then you’re not alone.
You’re asking the same kinds of questions the first Christians wrestled with.
And maybe, just maybe, the gospel they believed—the good news of a crucified and risen King—is still good news for us today.
Not just for your soul.
Not just for your Sunday.
But for your whole life.
And for the world we’re called to help heal.
