On Second Thought
If you were to scroll through headlines this morning, you would likely encounter a steady stream of violence, corruption, illness, economic anxiety, and global unrest. Our culture has trained us to brace for impact. We expect the worst. The word “news” itself has become almost synonymous with alarm. Against that backdrop, the claim of the Christian faith—that there is genuinely good news—can sound naïve at best and suspicious at worst.
Yet when Jesus stood with His disciples after His resurrection, as recorded in Luke 24:44–49, He did not offer them motivational slogans. He opened their minds to understand the Scriptures. He showed them that everything written in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms pointed to Him. He explained that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins would be proclaimed in His name to all nations. This was not sentimental optimism. It was redemptive reality.
The Greek word translated “gospel” is euangelion, meaning “good news.” In the ancient world, this word was used to announce military victories or the birth of a king. It signaled that something decisive had happened that changed the future. The gospel of Jesus Christ is good news because something decisive has happened. Sin—the bad news that infects every human heart—has been confronted at the cross. Death—the universal fear—has been broken by the resurrection. When John writes, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16), he is not offering vague comfort. He is declaring a cosmic intervention.
Modern skepticism often whispers, “There must be a catch.” We have been conditioned to assume that free offers conceal hidden costs. But the good news of the gospel is untainted. The Son of God, fully divine and fully human, bore the penalty of sin in our place. As the apostle Paul summarized it, “Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures… and that He rose again the third day” (1 Corinthians 15:3–4). The offer of salvation is not earned by moral performance or social standing. It is received by faith.
This is where the gospel challenges our instincts. We prefer transactions we can manage. We are comfortable with merit-based systems. But the gospel removes our leverage. It declares that salvation is a gift. The word “believes” in John 3:16 comes from the Greek pisteuō, meaning to trust, to rely upon. It is not mere intellectual agreement; it is personal dependence. We entrust ourselves to Christ, believing that His death and resurrection are sufficient.
The good news is for every age and temperament. It does not discriminate. There is no fine print restricting access. The same message that reached fishermen by the Sea of Galilee reaches executives, students, parents, and skeptics today. Augustine once wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” That rest is precisely what the gospel provides. It offers not only forgiveness but friendship with God—eternal life that begins now.
And yet, we must not overlook that Luke 24 connects the good news with repentance. Jesus declared that repentance and forgiveness would be preached in His name. The gospel is free, but it is not casual. It calls for a response. It invites us to turn from sin and to trust Christ. In doing so, we step out of the cycle of fear-driven headlines into a story shaped by redemption.
If you are weary of bad news, consider this: the resurrection of Jesus is not a seasonal slogan. It is the central fact of Christian faith. It assures us that evil does not have the final word. It grounds our hope not in political stability or economic growth but in the finished work of Christ. As J.I. Packer observed, “The gospel is the message of God’s grace to sinners deserving His wrath.” That grace changes everything.
On Second Thought
Here is the paradox that often escapes us: the good news begins with bad news. The gospel only makes sense if we acknowledge the seriousness of sin. In a culture that prefers self-affirmation to confession, that can feel uncomfortable. Yet the very reason the news is so good is because the diagnosis is so honest. If sin were merely a minor flaw, the cross would be excessive. If death were a temporary inconvenience, the resurrection would be unnecessary. The gospel does not minimize reality; it confronts it.
On second thought, perhaps the reason we struggle to believe in good news is that we have underestimated the depth of our need. When we see how thoroughly sin has distorted human hearts and systems, we begin to grasp the magnitude of what Christ accomplished. The cross is not an accessory to a decent life; it is the rescue of a dying one. The resurrection is not a religious symbol; it is the inauguration of new creation.
And here is the unexpected turn: the good news does not only change our destiny—it reshapes how we view today’s headlines. When we know that Christ has overcome sin and death, we do not deny the darkness of the world, but we refuse to surrender to it. We live as witnesses. Luke 24 ends with Jesus telling His disciples, “You are witnesses of these things.” The good news is not meant to be admired from a distance; it is meant to be shared.
So the next time you encounter another wave of troubling reports, remember that the truest headline of history has already been written: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. That is news worth believing—and worth living.
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