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One Generation From Extinction
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Ligados pela passagem bíblica ou por temas comuns.
We're nearly at the end of 2 Timothy, a letter written for a situation of gospel crisis — a rapid, almost overnight collapse. Chapter 1 verse 15 says, "Everyone in the province of Asia has deserted me." Maybe we find it hard to imagine a crisis, a collapse like that.
But the Church of England, our denomination, is going through a collapse — just in a very English way. It's taking decades to happen, decades to unwind. Here are some numbers.
And the basic demographics mean this is likely to keep happening. A statistic that messes with your mind: an 81-year-old is eight times more likely to attend church than an 18-year-old. In the median Church of England church, there will be 24 adults and one child. In a third of churches, there is no one under the age of 18 at all.
Those are not decline percentages. Those are extinction percentages. We called this series "One Generation From Extinction."
Timothy has been told many things. He's been told to guard the gospel — and you guard it by giving it away to others who will carry it forward into the next generation. He's been told to avoid the false teaching around him. Last week, he was told to continue in the scriptures and in the example of Paul.
Tonight is more of the same, but sharpened. What Timothy needs to do is preach. What God demands of his church is to preach the word.
Look at verse 1. Stop looking around at all the trouble — the terrible times, the false teachers, the persecution. Don't look there, Timothy, because you are not on your own.
In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge.
Who really counts? Who is in control? It is God and Christ Jesus — the one who will judge the living and the dead. Remember his appearing. Every one of us will see Jesus. Remember his kingdom. On the day we see him, he will be king — not the emperor in Rome, not whoever it is we're scared of. And the only judgment that will matter on that day will be the one carried out by Jesus.
And in view of all of that:
Preach the word.
Faced with a crisis, everybody else would be screaming for something different. This isn't working, Timothy. Find something else to do. But Paul here is just radically steady. There's a confidence that comes from knowing that Jesus is on the throne.
What is the answer to national gospel collapse? Just tell them the gospel. What if there are very few believers left? Never mind — that means there are lots of people for you to tell the gospel to. Verse 5 puts it a different way:
Keep your head, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.
Does unbelieving England make us want to be quiet, or does it make us want to speak?
Imagine your goal in life was the goal of Jesus Christ — to make disciples of all nations. Imagine you heard about a city where hardly anyone believes in Jesus. That would be a good place to go, wouldn't it? And imagine you already spoke the local language, already had a visa, a job, and somewhere to live.
I'm talking about London. Gospel collapse is a great opportunity for the gospel.
Is there no one left? Well, that's all right — we've been there before. There was Jesus and 12 men with him. Then one helped kill him, which left 11. That's where it all started.
Let's not be too cheerful, though. Given where Paul is writing from, they might kill you, Timothy. They might. But they cannot kill the gospel. He is not going to fail now in 2026 just because some people curl their lip when they hear you're a Christian.
Since the 1900s, there's been a desperate search for something to reverse church decline. The way it's worked, people have jettisoned bits of the gospel to make it easier to believe.
It's like the hot air balloon of the church crashing under the weight of the message of Jesus. Let's get rid of the miracles — poof, throw them out. Oh, we're still falling. Let's get rid of judgment and hell — crunch. Still falling. Let's get rid of Jesus' uniqueness. And you realise you don't actually have a balloon anymore, and you're still falling.
That is not the answer. Don't panic. Preach the word.
Timothy is told to preach "in season and out of season." This recognises there will be easier times — times when people want to hear, when there's an openness to listening to God. Praise God for those seasons. You may be from a country where the church is growing right now.
But the true test — particularly for someone in Timothy's job — is whether you can keep going when it feels like you are the last one standing and nobody wants to listen. Can you do it out of season?
Verse 3 describes where Timothy lives — the times when people will not put up with sound doctrine. "Sound" just means healthy. But that doesn't mean they've no interest in teaching. It says instead, people's ears will itch.
It's a great image. Like a terrible itch in your back that you can't quite scratch — maybe in the middle of a sermon at church. What they do with itching ears is gather around them a great number of teachers who will scratch the itch, who will say what they want to hear, who will baptise their own desires.
Churches are not empty following the crisis. Timothy will see the false teachers' churches fill up with interested people desperate to have their itches scratched. Is that a signal to stop preaching the word? No. Paul says it's just a sign that you're living in the days before Jesus returns.
In the last days there will be terrible times. Everyone godly will be persecuted. So of course we're going to have teachers who pretend to be godly but aren't, because they want to get away without the persecution. There's huge market potential for someone who can persuasively use the Bible and redefine godliness until you have the appearance without the suffering.
All the redefinitions in the Church of England over the last 100 years have not come from people too confused to read the Bible. They have come from highly skilled experts, deeply skilled at providing exactly what the country wants from its established church: Let me keep my desires. Tell me it's okay to do what I want. Show me a way to have Jesus without the persecution.
The statistics I started with — I don't actually think they're bad news at all. They may be a sign that we are finally moving out of the time when the churches of the itching ears were dominant, into a time when they've at last talked themselves out of a job. When there's no difference between what's in the church and what's in the paper, you may as well stay in bed on a Sunday morning.
In England, new kinds of churches are growing. Bible-believing churches are growing. The proportion of gospel churches increases as other churches collapse. A few years ago, bishops told me hardly anyone agreed with the gospel position. Then they were astonished to find that thousands of clergy do — and their churches represented 42% of Sunday attendance and 50% of young people's attendance.
This is a moment of huge opportunity if you care about the gospel being passed to the next generation.
There is one child in the normal Church of England church. We have over 200 children here.
Remember when Pesh preached? He made a decision to pass on the gospel — to be a youth leader. What he didn't tell you was quite how much he did it. He was a Friday night and Sunday morning youth leader, a cook on the youth weekends, writing all the Bible study materials, giving talks. He threw himself, in the middle of a busy London life, into 40 or 50 teenagers so they could know the gospel and live for Jesus. Do you want to make an impact?
More than half the people who go to church anywhere in Britain aged 18 to 34, roughly half of them go to church in London. If there is going to be a servant-hearted, sacrificial gospel culture in this country's future, it begins in rooms like this — where people in their 20s and 30s talk to each other about what it means to be a Christian in their generation.
Or the ministry trainees. They've given a year or two and are thinking about giving the rest of their lives to work for churches and gospel organisations. Could that be you applying this year? The Church of England now desperately needs vicars — it will be down thousands in ten years' time. That could be depressing, or it could be saying: there are churches that would never have allowed Bible-teaching ministry near them who will one day be desperate for any vicar with a pulse. Could be you. Not flattering, but true.
We don't need to know the future, because whatever happens: preach the word.
Last week we said the scriptures are totally competent — the one and only Swiss Army penknife, everything you need. The minister who has the scriptures has everything he could possibly need. Thoroughly equipped (3:17) for every good work. The scriptures are where salvation is (v.15), where usefulness is (v.16).
The words Timothy is told to preach, rebuke and teach come from 3:16. This word is worth preaching because it is God's word — breathed out by God. Timothy is not up to the crisis moment, and nobody around him is. But the word of God has all the power of the Creator to call the dead to life — dead people, dead churches, dead denominations. So just preach it.
Notice the surprises from 2 Timothy about the kind of leader needed:
In a gospel crisis we don't need someone innovative with thousands of new ideas. There's nothing wrong with new technologies for spreading the gospel — nothing wrong with the parchment this letter was first copied onto, nor the printing press, the audio recording, or the podcast. But we don't need a new message or new basic methods. We just need people who will keep their heads and keep preaching.
Does all this sound impossible? Surely nobody faced with such opposition could discharge all the duties of their ministry?
This is where the book begins to close, because Paul has a worked example: his own life and death. He knows someone who did discharge all the duties, who did endure hardship. And now, so near death, this is no longer about boasting — he is simply overjoyed to say it.
For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day — and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
Paul was not superhuman. He was a real person — quite ordinary, quite beaten up, quite old by now — but a real person who made the distance. He's chained in a dark, smelly prison waiting to die. He says his blood is already being poured out, like a temple sacrifice. But sacrifices in the temple do not die in vain. He has died so the gospel would be passed on.
He's talking about a life full of hardship and suffering, ending in prison and death. And he says: I reckon I did the right thing. Because he is waiting for me — and there will be a crown for the scabby, chained-up, shameful man.
And he says, Timothy, don't you want that crown too? The crown of righteousness — awarded not only to Paul, but to all who have longed for his appearing.
This pushes Timothy one more step. It's nearly only him left. And it's about to get worse, because the previous generation is about to be killed. So what will Timothy do in his generation to make sure the gospel is passed on?
Paul dies shouting that he made the right decision. Death is a terrible thing, but it is not a surprising thing — which means you can choose how you will be poured out, how you will die.
Archbishop Ben Kwashi from Jos in Nigeria served Jesus all his life in real physical danger. When the Church of England asked him to find someone present at his ordination to certify it, his reply was, "I can't. They are all dead." He never expected to make it to 40, let alone 70, which he is now. But he said it is very liberating to know that you might die: "Everyone has to die. You might as well die for something good."
Can I offer you Jesus as the something good to die for? The spread of Jesus, the preaching of the gospel, doing the work of the evangelist even in a place like Jos, where they will burn down your house and kill you for it.
What stopped Paul from becoming Demas (4:10), who loved this present world? Paul was all about that day — the appearing of Jesus, the future world. He loved Jesus and could not wait to see him.
Paul offers his experience tested to destruction, like an engineer testing equipment to see if it holds:
Surely it was tempting to change course. Paul, just change a bit of the gospel. Everybody else has. Sacrifice to the emperor, hold out, patch things up later. Save yourself so you can save the church. But Paul decided to have confidence in God — and he was right. The gospel survived. Timothy stood firm. The churches in Asia stood firm for hundreds of years.
Tonight we read his words, scribbled on prison paper by a dying man, because — like tens of thousands of churches around the world — we still think this is how to order our churches 2,000 years later. The only thing we can't yet see is 4:8. We are waiting, like Paul, to see the appearing.
Is it worth it? Can you trust that promise? That is probably the most important question to resolve, because your answer will determine the whole future course of your life. It will determine whether you offer your life to the struggle Paul has outlined. It will determine whether safety, respect, security and money become more important to you than this commission.
These are Paul's last words. But what will mine be? What will yours be?
This letter had a profound impact on me when I was 21. Nearly 30 years later, I am at least halfway to my last words — maybe much sooner. A whole life may seem daunting if you're at the younger end of our church. But all that means is that you are the next generation. Without you and your cohort, the gospel will be extinct.
So look around the room. Find someone who appears older than you — look for some grey hair — and ask them: Why are you still a Christian? Why are you still pressing on like a soldier, like an athlete? Why are you still in love with that day and the appearing of Jesus?
When I taught a series on 2 Timothy in 2010, I wrote on the page the names of older people the congregation could go and talk to. Sixteen years on, they are all dead — and they all died trusting in Jesus, having completed the race. There was Stephen, who gave his whole life to serving Jesus in London as a church warden and on church councils; I'll see his widow at General Synod next week, still fighting in his place. There was Elva, a friend of Elisabeth Elliot, whose grandson may well be in the room tonight. There was Grace, who was born in China.
