From Mere Application to Redemption
What Happens When Sermons Aim at Change Without the Cross
A quick note before we dive in: This article expands on material from the Gospel-Centered Preaching Workshop I’m currently teaching here in Šumperk, Czechia. Each session has sparked more conversation than time allows, and I’m using these posts to develop some of the ideas we’ve only touched on briefly—especially the foundational shifts at the heart of gospel-shaped preaching. I’m also considering turning this workshop into a digital training down the road—something simple and accessible, with recorded walk-throughs of each session, teaching slides, and downloadable resources. If that’s something you’d find helpful, feel free to subscribe or let me know you’re interested.
In the last post, I introduced three foundational shifts that every gospel-centered preacher must make. These shifts are not stylistic or superficial. They are theological and pastoral—shaping not only how we preach, but how people live under what we preach.
The first shift is this:
From Mere Application to Redemption.
At first glance, this doesn’t sound controversial. Who’s against redemption? And who would say they’re preaching application “merely”? But that’s part of the challenge.
The danger here isn’t in what’s said, but in what’s centered.
Because when application becomes the gravitational pull of a sermon—when the goal is to make Scripture useful rather than redemptive—we slowly train people to look to themselves instead of Christ.
And that’s not just a homiletical problem. It’s a spiritual one.
How Practicality Became the Priority—and Why That Wasn’t Neutral
The practical turn in evangelical preaching—particularly in the latter half of the 20th century—was shaped by both pastoral concern and cultural shift.
On one hand, pastors were rightly reacting to abstract preaching that failed to connect doctrine with everyday life. But on the other hand, their methods began to mirror the rising influence of therapeutic individualism and consumer pragmatism—the idea that sermons should solve problems, improve daily living, and meet felt needs.
Books like 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (1989) and the explosion of Christian self-help literature throughout the 1990s were not just being read by congregants—they were being absorbed into the pulpit. Sermons became increasingly structured around behavioral outcomes and personal improvement, with biblical texts serving as launch points rather than theological anchors.
Pastors were trained to make sermons useful. Clear. Actionable.
By the mid-90s, there was a notable trend in evangelical homiletics toward emphasizing application—often at the expense of theological exposition. Sermons needed a strong hook, practical takeaways, and next steps. The goal was not just to reveal truth, but to help people do something.
The instinct wasn’t wrong. The church needed preaching that touched real life. But over time, the center of gravity shifted—from Christ’s work for us to our work for Christ.
And the cultural currents only accelerated the drift.
Writing in 1993, theologian David Wells was already sounding the alarm.
“The disappearance of theology from the life of the church, and the orchestration of this disappearance by some of its leaders, is hard to miss,” he wrote. “Church life has become absorbed in organizational matters, strategy, marketing, psychology, and the tactical management of people and resources.”¹
“These developments are not the result of a conspiracy,” he continued, “but they do represent a shift in consciousness about what the church is and what its priorities should be.”¹
Wells wasn’t critiquing a fringe movement—he was diagnosing the theological consequences of a trend that had become deeply embedded in large portions of evangelical ministry.
The sermons shaped by this approach were often biblically grounded and well-intentioned. But without a clearly defined redemptive center, they became more about life management than resurrection life.
This was particularly evident in the seeker-sensitive movement. Pastors were trained to meet people “where they are,” which increasingly meant prioritizing accessibility over theological depth, and felt needs over redemptive focus.
The result was sermons that were practically effective but theologically weightless—capable of producing some outward behavior, but not worship. Christ remained in the vocabulary, but not in the logic of the sermon.
As Bryan Chapell rightly warns in Christ-Centered Preaching:
“A message that fails to preach Christ is not a Christian sermon, regardless of how finely crafted its diction, how doctrinally orthodox its content, or how fervently it is delivered.”²
That’s the danger of application untethered from redemption. It doesn’t necessarily sound wrong. But over time, it forms people who associate Christian maturity with performance, not peace—with effort, not union.
It gives them the what of obedience without the how of grace.
It demands change without pointing to Christ.
It calls for effort without offering assurance.
And slowly, the cracks begin to show.
The real issue isn’t that these sermons were unbiblical.
It’s that they lacked a theological engine.
They urged obedience but failed to anchor it in Christ’s finished work.
They placed weight on the listener without first declaring what Christ had carried for them.
The cross—if mentioned at all—was often a brief conclusion or an assumed backdrop.
And while these sermons may have been expositional, their center of gravity had shifted:
From divine accomplishment to human effort.
From grace to grit.
The Problem With Untethered Application
Here’s the heart of the problem:
Application that isn’t rooted in redemption will always drift into moralism.
Even if we preach through a biblical text every week.
Even if we call people to holy things.
Even if we hold to orthodox doctrine.
If we ask people to obey without showing them how Christ has already secured their acceptance, we are discipling them into pressure—not peace.
This kind of preaching forms a particular kind of person. Over time, they begin to associate maturity with performance. Obedience becomes a form of spiritual currency. When they succeed, they feel proud. When they fail, they feel condemned. Either way, Christ is peripheral.
This isn’t theoretical. It shows up in the questions people quietly carry:
“Am I doing enough?”
“Why do I feel more guilt than joy?”
“Why does church feel like a reminder of my failures?”
This is the fruit of application without redemption. It exhorts but doesn’t free. It convicts but doesn’t comfort. It informs but doesn’t transform.
What Gospel-Centered Application Looks Like
So what does it mean to preach application that flows from redemption?
It means we start, not with what people should do, but with what Christ has already done.
Not because obedience doesn’t matter—but because the kind of obedience God desires is born from faith in Christ, not fear of falling short.
When application is shaped by the gospel:
Obedience becomes an overflow of love, not a means of earning it.
The Spirit becomes the agent of change, not the preacher’s volume or persuasiveness.
The imperatives of Scripture are framed by the indicatives—the declarations of who God is and what He has done.
The result? Application isn’t eliminated. It’s elevated. It’s no longer a burden—it’s an invitation. No longer a list—it’s a response of gratitude, joy, and trust.
And this shift does something vital: it restores the cross to the center of the sermon—not just at the end, not just as a transition into communion, but as the engine of everything we say.
Is the Gospel Still in the Room?
Here’s one of the clearest diagnostic questions a preacher can ask when preparing or evaluating a sermon:
Is the same gospel unbelievers need to hear for salvation being proclaimed to believers for their sanctification?
Because if the sermon assumes the gospel is primarily for outsiders—something we present at the front door but leave behind once people are “in”—then the sermon has already drifted from its center.
This is one of the subtlest forms of gospel neglect.
Not denial. Not rejection.
Just quiet replacement.
We preach grace to the lost and grit to the saved. We call people to trust Christ for justification, then call them to trust themselves for growth. And week by week, without ever saying it outright, we teach believers to live by effort instead of by union.
But the gospel isn’t just how we get in. It’s how we go on.
It’s not the intro course. It’s the whole curriculum.
That’s why Paul says to the Galatians, “Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?” (Gal. 3:3), and to the Colossians, “As you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him.” (Col. 2:6). He doesn’t point them beyond the gospel—he drives them deeper into it.
Gospel-centered preaching proclaims Christ to the lost and to the church.
It keeps the cross at the center—not just for forgiveness, but for formation.
It reminds believers that the power to obey doesn’t come from guilt or willpower, but from the Spirit working through the finished work of Christ.
Where This Matters Most
This shift matters not just in obvious texts about grace, but in the ones that feel heavy.
When you’re preaching on sinful anger, you can’t just say, “Don’t be angry.” You have to go deeper. You have to ask: What has Christ done with the wrath of God?
You have to show that the gospel doesn’t just expose our anger—it disarms it.
Because in Christ, our standing is no longer fragile. Our identity is no longer under threat. We are no longer at war with God—or scrambling to justify ourselves.
Only then can you say, “Now, because you’re completely secure in Him, you’re free to lay down your need to defend yourself.”
When you’re preaching on generosity, you don’t just say, “Give more.” You show people what they’ve already received. That in Christ, the Father has withheld nothing. That He has made them heirs—not beggars.
The gospel doesn’t just call us to generosity—it creates it.
It loosens our grip on this world by securing our future in Christ.
Only then can you say, “Now, because your future is completely secure, you’re free to give with joy.”
This is what gospel application sounds like. It is rooted, thoughtful, redemptive, and freeing.
The Stakes Are Pastoral
This isn’t about getting our categories right for the sake of theological purity alone.
It’s about protecting the church from exhaustion.
It’s about forming people who know the joy of being loved while still unfinished.
It’s about lifting burdens instead of adding them.
The gospel doesn’t silence application—it grounds it.
And until our preaching reflects that, we’ll keep producing well-intentioned moralists instead of Spirit-formed disciples.
In the next post, we’ll explore the second shift:
From Surface Sin to Root Unbelief.
We’ll look at how the gospel doesn’t just confront our behavior—it rewires our beliefs. And why that distinction makes all the difference.
If you’re finding this series helpful, consider subscribing—or sending it to someone who might benefit.
No pressure. Just an invitation.
📚 Footnotes:
¹ David F. Wells, No Place for Truth: Or Whatever Happened to Evangelical Theology?, Eerdmans, 1993.
² Bryan Chapell, Christ-Centered Preaching: Redeeming the Expository Sermon, Baker Academic, 2018.