Priests on Mission

Living for the Glory of the King

From the Series: Ordinary Saints: Lessons from the Ante-Nicene Church

Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

A royal priesthood was never meant to exist only for itself. When Peter tells believers that they are “a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people,” he immediately tells us why: “that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9). Our identity has a purpose. We have been brought near to God through Christ, not so that we can retreat behind the safety of Christian walls, but so that our lives might declare the excellencies of the One who saved us. We belong to another King, and wherever He places us, in our homes, workplaces, schools, neighborhoods, and communities, we live there as His people.

On the evening of His resurrection, Jesus appeared to His disciples and said, “Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you” (John 20:21). These men occupied a unique place in God’s redemptive plan. They had walked with Christ, heard His teaching, witnessed His works, and would become eyewitnesses of His resurrection. Jesus commissioned them to proclaim repentance and remission of sins in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem (Luke 24:46–48). Before ascending to the Father, He told them, “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me” from Jerusalem outward “to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8). And then something beautiful happened. The gospel did not remain with the apostles. It traveled. It crossed streets and city boundaries. It entered homes. It moved through conversations and relationships. When persecution scattered believers from Jerusalem, Acts tells us that “those who were scattered went everywhere preaching the word” (Acts 8:4). They were ordinary believers carrying an extraordinary message. The gospel traveled with them. And nearly two thousand years later, it has reached us.

Paul describes believers as ambassadors for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20). An ambassador represents someone greater than himself. He does not invent his own message or rewrite the king’s words to make them more acceptable to the people hearing them. His responsibility is faithful representation. That is a helpful picture of our place in this world. Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20), yet God has not removed us from the earth. Jesus prayed concerning His disciples, “I do not pray that You should take them out of the world, but that You should keep them from the evil one” (John 17:15). We remain here. We raise children and grandchildren. We go to work. We attend school. We shop for groceries. We talk across fences and apartment hallways. We sit beside people in waiting rooms. We answer phones, repair things, prepare meals, study, build, teach, serve, and care for people. And somewhere in the middle of all that ordinary life, someone may begin watching. Perhaps she notices that you refuse to participate in gossip. Perhaps a coworker watches you walk through hardship without abandoning your faith. Perhaps a neighbor wonders why you keep caring for someone who can never repay you. Perhaps your child sees you open Scripture when you do not know what to do. Perhaps someone simply asks, “Why do you believe what you believe?” Suddenly, ordinary life has become an opportunity for witness. The early Church knew something about that.

When we read Acts, we rightly remember Peter preaching at Pentecost and Paul carrying the gospel from city to city. But woven throughout those extraordinary moments are homes, tables, conversations, hospitality, prayer, generosity, and ordinary believers living their faith in front of other people. Believers gathered “from house to house” (Acts 2:46). Lydia opened her home after believing the gospel (Acts 16:14–15). Priscilla and Aquila opened theirs to the church (Romans 16:3–5). Paul reminded the Ephesian elders that he had taught them “publicly and from house to house” (Acts 20:20). Imagine walking into one of those early Christian homes. You come from a Roman world shaped by social rank, household gods, religious festivals, and deeply established expectations. Yet inside this home you find people who would not ordinarily share a table calling one another brother and sister. Someone is caring for a widow who has little to offer in return. A traveler has been welcomed. Food is being shared. Scripture is being taught. People are praying for one another. You begin to wonder why these people live this way. Eventually you ask. And someone tells you about Jesus. That is mission too. Not every believer stood before a crowd. Not every Christian crossed a sea. Not every faithful witness became a name preserved in history. But every believer could live as someone who belonged to Christ.

The mission did not end when someone first believed. Jesus did not tell His disciples merely to obtain professions of faith. He commanded them to “make disciples of all the nations,” baptizing them and “teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you” (Matthew 28:19–20). The gospel produces disciples.

A person hears the good news of Jesus Christ, repents, believes, and then begins learning to follow Him. She learns His Word. She learns obedience. She learns to pray, forgive, serve, love, give, endure, and walk in holiness. In time, she begins helping someone else learn what she herself has received. Paul described that multiplication when he told Timothy, “The things that you have heard from me among many witnesses, commit these to faithful men who will be able to teach others also” (2 Timothy 2:2). Paul taught Timothy. Timothy entrusted the truth to faithful believers. Those believers taught others. Generation after generation. That is part of how the gospel eventually reached our own hands. And wherever the gospel took root, compassion followed.

Jesus never treated people as projects. He saw them. He had compassion on the crowds because they were “weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). He touched the sick, welcomed children, fed the hungry, and stopped for people others passed by. His followers learned to do the same. The believers in Jerusalem shared with those who had need. The church cared for widows. Paul organized relief for suffering believers. James warned Christians against speaking religious words to someone who lacked food and clothing while refusing practical help. Compassion never replaced the gospel. But neither did proclaiming the gospel make compassion unnecessary. We tell people about Christ while loving the person standing in front of us. Sometimes that love itself causes someone to ask why. Yet there is something we must remember whenever we talk about mission: we cannot save anyone. The apostles themselves could not.

Before they began their witness, Jesus told them to wait for the Holy Spirit. They were not going to carry Christ’s testimony into the world through personality, clever strategy, education, or human determination. They needed God’s power. When opposition later arose, the believers prayed, “Lord, look on their threats, and grant to Your servants that with all boldness they may speak Your word” (Acts 4:29). God answered, and “they were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and they spoke the word of God with boldness” (Acts 4:31). The Spirit also directed the Church. At Antioch, He set apart Barnabas and Saul for the work to which He had called them (Acts 13:2–3). And when Paul spoke the gospel to Lydia, Scripture records a small sentence with enormous implications: “The Lord opened her heart to heed the things spoken by Paul” (Acts 16:14). Paul spoke. Lydia listened. But the Lord opened her heart. That truth removes an enormous burden from us. We can explain the gospel. We can answer questions. We can teach Scripture. We can pray. We can plant and water. But we cannot manufacture repentance. We cannot argue someone into the kingdom. We cannot find the perfect combination of words that forces another person to believe.

Paul understood his place: “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase” (1 Corinthians 3:6). We are witnesses. Christ is the Savior. Our responsibility is faithfulness. The results belong to God. That also means we do not have to force every conversation into a gospel presentation. Peter told believers to be “always ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). There is something beautifully natural about that picture. Someone has noticed hope. A question follows. And the believer is ready. We can know the gospel, know the Word, live consistently, listen carefully, and speak when God opens the door.

The Christians who lived in the generations immediately following the apostles inherited a world filled with temples, gods, social expectations, political loyalties, and customs that often conflicted with their allegiance to Christ. Most of those believers never became famous. They were mothers and fathers, widows and young people, laborers and merchants, servants and householders. They lived beside neighbors who did not understand their faith and among relatives who sometimes did not share it. They could not control the Roman world around them. But they could decide whom they would worship. They could refuse idolatry without hating idolaters. They could care for the suffering. They could welcome the stranger. They could remain sexually pure. They could pray for those who opposed them. They could gather with other believers. They could teach their children. They could open their homes. And when someone asked why they lived differently, they could speak of Christ. Their witness reminds us that mission is not always dramatic. Sometimes mission looks like quietly refusing to compromise. Sometimes it looks like an open chair at the dinner table. Sometimes it is a meal carried to someone who is struggling. Sometimes it is caring for someone everyone else has overlooked. Sometimes it is teaching a child Scripture for the hundredth time. Sometimes it is answering a coworker’s unexpected question. Sometimes it is forgiving when retaliation would be easier. Sometimes it is enduring rejection without returning hatred. And sometimes it is simply living faithfully until someone asks why. Peter’s words still speak over the Church: “You are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people.” And the purpose remains: “That you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9 ). We do not proclaim ourselves. We proclaim Him. We do not need an impressive platform. God has already placed people around us. Look across the table. Look down the hallway. Look at the neighboring desk. Look at the people whose lives already intersect with yours. Pray for them. Love them. Listen to them. Serve them. Know the Word. And when God opens the door, be ready to tell them about Jesus. You are not responsible for changing their heart. You are responsible for faithfully pointing them toward the One who can. A royal priest does not live to build her own kingdom. She lives so that, through her words, her love, her obedience, and her ordinary faithfulness, others may see something of the glory of the King.