Two years ago—in fall 2023—the internet was abuzz over the publication of an ancient manuscript that seemed to contain material from one of the most famous gospels outside our New Testament: the Gospel of Thomas. The online chatter was immense, which was why I wrote a lengthy article analyzing this discovery. Unbeknownst to most people, however, the same volume of the Oxyrhynchus Papyri (vol. 87) also contained two manuscripts of the New Testament, one from Romans and one from Revelation. But these received hardly any attention from the media. There was no buzz. This disparity highlights an intriguing reality: There always seems to be a disproportionate cultural fascination with “lost” gospels or “hidden” texts about Jesus. Write an article about the canonical texts, and you might get a few hits. Write an article about a new, lost, or forgotten gospel—and how it changes everything we know about Jesus—and there’s a reasonable chance it’ll go viral. Publishers haven’t missed our culture’s insatiable appetite for all things lost. Books are more likely to sell if you can find a way to get some key words in the title: “lost,” “forgotten,” “secret,” or “hidden.” Here’s a sampling of real titles just over the last couple of decades: Lost Scriptures: Books That Did Not Make It into the New Testament Lost Christianities: The Battle for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew Secrets from the Lost Bible The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and His Lost Gospel Hidden Records of the Life of Jesus Forgotten Scriptures: The Selection and Rejection of Early Christian Writings This raises an important question: Why are people so intrigued by the concept of “lost” gospels? Allure of the Hidden In 2001, Philip Jenkins published an intriguing little book that hasn’t received the attention it deserves: Hidden Gospels: How the Search for Jesus Lost Its Way. Jenkins tackles this issue head-on, arguing that modern scholarship has been derailed by an imbalanced quest to replace the canonical gospels with alternative versions like the Gospel of Thomas. While Jenkins explores many motives and causes behind our culture’s fascination with lost gospels, he homes in on one. The Western world, particularly America, perpetually distrusts authority, especially religious authority. Jenkins writes, “Quintessentially American is the distrust of external authorities such as the clergy, and the sense that through their affected learning, the priests have hidden the truth from the people.” The Western world is inherently drawn to conspiracy theories. We love the idea that for generations we thought the truth was one thing, only to discover it’s something different. And usually such a “discovery” is achieved through the earnest and tiresome work of intrepid reporters or investigators working against the machine. After all, if “the truth is out there,” then you just need a Mulder and Scully to uncover it. There’s a reason such conspiracy theories are so attractive. If someone can believe that the church (or Christianity) has been wrong for thousands of years, then exposing that wrongness suddenly becomes a work of justice and liberation. It allows scholars (or reporters or even laypeople) to feel they have a worthy cause to fight for. They’re now on a righteous quest to free people from religious oppression. So, argues Jenkins, these lost gospels are perfectly suited to meet this cultural need. They provide an opportunity for people to believe what they always wanted to believe anyway. Quest for Equality But there’s more going on here than just a proclivity toward conspiracy theories. The interest in these lost gospels is also driven by another quintessentially American value: a desire to give every view an equal standing. Lost gospels are attractive to our culture because they’re a reminder of the diverse viewpoints that exist about Jesus. They demonstrate that not all understood Jesus in the same way. They reveal that the landscape of religious viewpoints is vast and wide. And, of course, this is true. There are many religious positions out there. Opinions about the identity and person of Jesus abound. But the issue isn’t the existence of diversity. Rather, it’s the implications our world draws from that diversity. Our culture moves subtly from merely observing diversity to insisting it must mean no one view can possibly be right. Our culture moves subtly from merely observing diversity to insisting it must mean no one view can possibly be right. So, lost gospels are attractive precisely because they allow a person to say, “See, I told you there are other legitimate perspectives out there about the person of Jesus.” The work of the German scholar Walter Bauer has been particularly influential in raising questions about the theological character of early Christianity. His 1934 book, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, argues that in the earliest centuries, there was no such thing as “Christianity.” Rather, there were many different “Christianities,” each claiming to be the original, authentic version. And, argues Bauer, each of these versions of Christianity had its own books, its own gospels about what Jesus said and did. Why does Bauer’s theory matter? Because it effectively means all gospels are (or must be) the same. We only value Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John because those were the gospels valued by the version of Christianity that eventually prevailed. If another Christian group had prevailed, maybe we’d be reading the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Peter, and the Gospel of Mary. In sum, it seems some people are drawn to alternative gospels because (at least in their minds) these provide the opportunity to pick the version of Jesus they prefer. If all versions of Jesus are equally valid, I can just choose the one I like. Better Way There’s nothing wrong with being intrigued by lost gospels. I’m intrigued by them! A large portion of my academic career has been devoted to studying them. But we always have to make sure we aren’t studying any gospel—including the canonical gospels—merely to satisfy or justify our preexisting preferences about the way we want Jesus to be. We don’t simply get to create the Jesus we like or the Jesus we prefer. Instead, we need to discover Jesus as he actually was. The only way to do that is to engage in a historical investigation into whatever gospel is in front of us, asking whether there are reasons to think it accurately captures the Jesus of history. How can that historical investigation be done? How can we determine which gospels are genuine? In The Genuine Jesus and the Counterfeit Christs: New Testament and Apocryphal Gospels, Simon Gathercole, professor of New Testament and early Christianity at Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, charts a clear way forward. This new volume—essentially an abridged version of his earlier and larger work The Gospel and the Gospels: Christian Proclamation and Early Jesus Books—argues that the best way to distinguish early gospels from one another isn’t by analyzing their authorship, date, or popularity but their theological message. Gathercole says that the theological standard to which any gospel should be compared is the gospel message of the apostles. But where do we turn to discover this message? He argues it can be found in the “creedal” statement laid out by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:1–11 and the major theological loci it contains. In that statement, argues Gathercole, Paul essentially summarizes the apostolic message in four key elements: (1) Jesus as the “Christ” (or Messiah), (2) Jesus’s saving death, (3) Jesus’s resurrection, and (4) Jesus’s fulfillment of Scripture. The best way to distinguish early gospels from one another isn’t by analyzing their authorship, date, or popularity but their theological message. With this theological standard in hand, Gathercole spends the bulk of the volume simply comparing various gospels to that standard. Of course, he compares Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to this creedal formula to see how they measure up. And then he compares a selection of apocryphal gospels to this creedal formula: the Gospel of Peter, the Gospel of Thomas, Marcion’s Gospel, the Gospel of Truth, the Gospel of Philip, the Coptic Gospel of the Egyptians, the Gospel of Judas, and the Gospel of Mary. Gathercole reaches two key conclusions. First, the canonical gospels form a very close match with the early apostolic message, whereas the apocryphal gospels typically don’t. Apocryphal gospels might share some of the four theological points, but none contains all of them. Second, the reason the canonical gospels match the early apostolic message isn’t coincidence or happenstance but because the canonical gospels are historically connected to the early apostles. Gathercole then offers a brief historical account of how the four gospels are connected to apostolic sources (e.g., Mark is dependent on Peter’s own teachings). Insightful Perspective All in all, Gathercole provides an insightful perspective on how to differentiate gospels from one another. He succeeds wonderfully in debunking the all-gospels-are-the-same paradigm that’s so dominant in our culture, and even in the academy. Of course, theological comparison isn’t an absolute criterion for distinguishing canonical from apocryphal gospels (and Gathercole never claims it is). While the existing apocryphal gospels don’t fully match up to these four theological loci, it’s certainly possible an apocryphal gospel could, in principle, affirm all four theological truths in an orthodox manner. We currently have fragments of apocryphal gospels that are more or less orthodox, though their fragmentary nature prevents a full analysis. Here’s the key point: While unorthodox views are enough to disqualify a gospel from canonical status, orthodox views aren’t sufficient to qualify them. Canonical gospels are certainly orthodox, but they’re more than orthodox. If our goal, however, isn’t so much to establish canonical versus noncanonical boundaries but rather to establish which gospels most accurately reflect the earliest apostolic message to which we have access, then Gathercole’s volume has demonstrated the canonical gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—are undoubtedly most consistent with the earliest Christian teachings about Jesus. The comparison isn’t even close. For this reason, my hope is that The Genuine Jesus and the Counterfeit Christs will be widely read. This slimmed-down volume is clearly intended for more than scholars but also for pastors, ministry leaders, and just about any person interested in knowing more about the origins of our gospels. Readers will realize our gospels aren’t in the canon merely because of political pressure or an ecclesiastical power grab. They aren’t there arbitrarily or randomly. They’re there because they embody, most faithfully, the “faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 1:3).

My neighbor Evan (I’ve changed his name) is a successful, extroverted fortysomething: hip, engaging, friendly, and easy to talk to. He’s always willing to lend a hand, an ear, or a tool. His kids are the most respectful and responsible middle-schoolers on the block. Evan and his wife know I’m a pastor; we’ve had them over for dinner; we do our best to initiate as much conversation and front-porch interaction as we can. Yet Evan doesn’t seem particularly curious about the deeper questions of life. He hasn’t identified any God-shaped hole in his heart. It’s not that he seems hardened or closed off to faith; he just doesn’t appear to have any persistent spiritual hunger. I sent Evan a text message to invite him to church this past Easter. He never responded. I think a lot about Evan. I think about him when I preach: How would this message resonate with him? I think about him when I pray: How can I love him and witness to him more faithfully? And I think about him as I lead: How might I help him experience the church—and the gospel it proclaims—as interesting, compelling, and credible? What I really want is for Evan to see the world differently. I want him to apprehend and be changed by the fact that “the last word in human affairs is represented by a man hanging on a cross.” It’s God, of course, who must open Evan’s eyes. But the Westminster Confession reminds us that “God, in His ordinary providence, makes use of means.” And one of those means is the church. I want my church––and your church—to give our neighbors a new set of “lenses” through which to see the world. And we can. When churches take seriously our calling as countercultural communities, we start to do the work of cultural apologetics without even thinking about it. Because we love our neighbors and want them to know Christ, we think more intentionally about “how we do what we do.” And without losing any of its depth and richness, what we do starts to reflect the gospel’s transformative power in ways that our neighbors often find compelling. Here are five ways that happens. 1. Preaching That Engages Doubt “What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you,” Paul declares in Athens (Acts 17:23). He aims his message at the gaps and idiosyncrasies in his hearers’ worldview, graciously confronting their inconsistency. Effective preaching in our late-modern world follows the same pattern. When churches take seriously our calling as countercultural communities, we start to do the work of cultural apologetics without even thinking about it. The influence of postmodern epistemology and skepticism means we’re all doubters now. A wise, evangelistically attuned approach to preaching seeks to reveal the flaws and gaps in modern ways of thinking, contrasting the weakness of cultural narratives with the strength and beauty of the gospel. Editors often instruct journalists, “Show, don’t tell.” Compelling preaching does the same. It doesn’t just tell people what the Bible says; it also shows the gospel to be more existentially satisfying, more intellectually compelling, and more situationally applicable than the cultural narratives on offer around us. This type of preaching takes its stand “between two worlds,” confronting modern worldviews with Scripture while putting the Bible in dialogue with modern concerns. The church’s preaching is an apologetic. 2. Hospitality That Welcomes the Outsider Humans are distinctly aware of social cues. We quickly discern in-group and out-group dynamics, and we react accordingly. Churches that value theological orthodoxy can unintentionally create strong insider-outsider dichotomies: We place those who believe into one category and those who don’t believe into another. But the gospel frees us to emphasize our common humanity without erasing or minimizing our differences. Evan and I share much in common. We’re husbands, fathers, and citizens. We work and play and eat and sleep. We pay taxes and cast votes and root for our favorite teams. We have hopes, dreams, fears, and uncertainties. We love, trust, and worship someone or something. Churches that love the gospel highlight these shared human realities. They genuinely welcome outsiders by emphasizing our common, shared humanity. This allows them to be bold and forthright in communicating the gospel while displaying humility and generosity toward fellow image-bearers. The church’s hospitality is an apologetic. 3. Worship That Shows the Arc of the Gospel Years ago, a wise author posed a provocative question that changed the way I think about worship: “How is your worship service forming the expectations of the people who attend?” My answer was this: “It’s teaching them to expect three fast songs, then two slow songs, then a sermon and a benediction.” The church I served at the time was a standard evangelical megachurch with little connection to history and no real concern for catechesis. It relied on an emotionally powerful worship experience and a relevant and interesting sermon to do the work of Christian formation. Thinking about my kids and my neighbors has changed my convictions about Christian worship. Our services now follow the “gospel arc” of historic Christian liturgy, which includes singing, corporate confession of sin, spoken creeds, the Lord’s Prayer, and weekly Communion. The order of our worship service communicates something. It moves people along the storyline of Scripture from creation to new creation. It works on an implicit, affective register, drawing people into a pattern of worship that helps them connect the dots of guilt, grace, and gratitude. The church’s worship is an apologetic. 4. Community That Rejoices in Repentance and Faith A few years ago, I was invited to a local alumni club meeting for my alma mater. The gathering was held at a sports bar so we could watch our team play an important football game. It quickly became evident that the orienting center of this little community—the thing we gathered to rejoice in—was our football team. Every community rejoices in something. And a gospel-oriented church rejoices in repentance and faith. We rejoice in confessing our sin, acknowledging our need, being honest about our weakness. We rejoice in the grace of Jesus Christ and the glory of God’s promises in Scripture. And by rejoicing in these, we become strangely countercultural. A friend said to me recently, “Growing up, I never heard my dad apologize. He never admitted he was wrong about anything. When I first met some Christians, and they were confessing their sin to one another and asking for forgiveness, it radically affected me! I had never experienced that kind of humility.” The church’s community is an apologetic. 5. Atmosphere of Resilient Hope Suffering is the one experience guaranteed to every human being: “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33, NIV). And the gospel gives Christians a hearty resilience amid suffering. The order of our worship service communicates something. It moves people along the storyline of Scripture from creation to new creation. Paul and Silas, when imprisoned, sang hymns (Acts 16:25). Stephen, when martyred, forgave his attackers (7:60). And Peter, writing to the earliest Christians, urged them to “rejoice insofar as [they] share Christ’s sufferings” (1 Pet. 4:13). Christians don’t “grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thess. 4:13). Our grief is a hopeful grief. Because a gospel-loving church is full of human beings, it’ll also be full of death and dementia and divorce and Down syndrome. These things come for us, just as they come for all the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. But we face them leaning forward in great hope, anticipating the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. And that speaks volumes to a culture imprisoned by an “immanent frame.” The church’s hope is an apologetic. Embrace Our Calling The church exists to confront the world: “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you” (John 15:18). The church exists as a transformative influence within society: “You are the salt of the earth. . . . You are the light of the world” (Matt. 5:13–14). And the church exists as a contrast community, an alternative kingdom to the kingdoms of this world: “Be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world” (Phil. 2:15). Since “the power which has the last word in human affairs is represented by a man hanging on a cross . . . the only hermeneutic of the gospel is a congregation of men and women who believe it and live like it.” The church doesn’t just do apologetics; the church is an apologetic. May we embrace our calling and fulfill it to the glory of God.

Melissa and Courtney talk with Megan Hill about how God’s Word helps us understand the deep hurts that can come from God’s own people. They discuss why church hurt is so painful as well as why we shouldn’t run from church when we’ve been hurt. They talk about how to know when it might be right to leave a church and how to find comfort in God’s Word. Listen to this episode if you’ve ever experienced church hurt or want to care for those who have. Recommended Resource: Sighing on Sunday: 40 Meditations for When Church Hurts by Megan Hill Related Content: Let’s Talk: Overcoming Church Hurt Understand Church Hurt’s Source We’re Hurt, and Healed, in Community Discussion Questions: 1. When you hear the phrase “church hurt,” what comes to mind? How would you define it in your own words? 2. What makes church hurt different from conflicts in other areas of life, such as work or friendships? 3. How did the biblical examples of church hurt that were shared encourage or convict you? 4. How can you come alongside those in your church who are healing from past hurt? In what specific ways can you pray for them? 5. How would you discern whether it’s time to leave a church community? Who could you turn to for wise, godly counsel in that process? 6. How does understanding God’s perfect justice equip you to encourage and reassure those struggling in the wake of church hurt?