The Apostles Were No Salesmen

“'Therefore let all Israel know with certainty that God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ!’ When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and asked Peter and the other apostles, ‘Brothers, what shall we do?’” (Acts 2:36-37).

Jesus was no salesman; neither were the men He sent.

Folks may grant that Jesus spoke with unusual severity because “He was the Son of God.” But some mistakenly think once His apostles began preaching in the world, they had to learn a more practical method. In other words, they had to learn how to soften people up before preaching Christ.

The Book of Acts gives a different picture.

The apostles did not leave Jerusalem armed with a handbook on human relations. They were filled with the Holy Spirit. I suspect that men, inspired by God, knew a thing or two about effective preaching.

Jesus promised them, “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

So when the Spirit came, what did He produce?

As you read Acts, do you find preachers walking on eggshells around their hearers? That's not how it reads to me. The men Christ chose cared little for self-esteem of their audience; they made no attempts to flatter men into the kingdom. Rather, they proclaimed the crucified and risen Christ and let the Truth do what Truth does — cut men to the heart (Acts 7:54).

Their preaching cut through excuse-making, pride, ignorance, Jewish unbelief, and Gentile idolatry — every hiding place men love, it exposed. Sometimes men repented, other times they mocked and murdered.

The apostles that survived pressed on. They weren’t careless men who lacked tact. Yes, they did adapt their approach from time to time, but if their preaching dinged man’s pride, so be it. If it made enemies, so be it (as it turns out, Truth often does, Gal. 4:16). When it saved honest hearts, then thanks and glory were given to God. That was the point (Acts 8:39).

If we want to know how preaching sounded after Jesus returned to Heaven, we do not have to guess. We begin where the Spirit began — Pentecost.

Pentecost: The Gospel Cuts Before It Heals

When Peter stood up that day to address the crowd, he got their attention and didn’t hem-haw around. He started with Scripture: “…this is what was spoken by the prophet Joel…” (Acts 2:16).

He didn't hurl insults or perform outrage. He had no interest in clever motivational speaking. Peter’s method was Word-saturated as he reasoned from Scripture, explained the events by Joel and David's prophecies.

Even as an inspired man, his preaching was still rooted in the Word of God. Then he declared the resurrection and reign of Christ, and put the guilt exactly where it belonged — on his hearers: “…this Jesus whom you crucified” (Acts 2:36).

That doesn't sound like a lesson built on human self-esteem, designed to make sinners feel important until they thought it safe enough to consider Jesus. He made them responsible.

He did not begin with “You are wonderful people with a few misunderstandings.” Nor did he stand before Jerusalem asking, “How can I get these men to say yes without making them uncomfortable?”

He said: God sent Christ. You crucified Him. God raised Him. He is Lord. Repent.

It’s safe to say they were not entertained, nor did they feel affirmed by this message. They were not nudged gently toward a better version of themselves.

But look at the effect of such preaching! They were cut to the heart and cried out, "What shall we do?" When the Word awakens their consciences, they know their guilt, Peter gives them the application alongside the promise of God.

The Gospel hurt before it healed. And when they asked what to do, Peter did not retreat:

“Peter replied, ‘Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. This promise belongs to you and your children and to all who are far off—to all whom the Lord our God will call to Himself’” (Acts 2:38-39).

Not “consider” or “open your heart to new possibilities.”
 Repent and be baptized in the name of the very Christ you crucified.

Then, and only then, could they receive the promise: forgiveness of sins — the gift of the Holy Spirit. Peter did not separate mercy from obedience. There is no pardon apart from repentance.

That was not cruelty. It was mercy. Peter preached the Truth because only Truth could bring them to the Christ who could save them (Rom. 1:16).

If our preaching skips the wound because we’re afraid men will not like the pain, we are not improving on the apostles. We are abandoning them.

Pentecost shows what happens when the Truth finds honest hearts.

But the same Truth does not always produce the same response.

The same Word that cuts men, leading to repentance, is the same Word that cuts others who cover their ears, grind their teeth, and reach for stones.

What accounts for such disparity?

That brings us to Stephen.

When Truth Makes Enemies

A man might take a cursory look at Stephen and conclude he was a reckless loudmouth — but only if they’ve been trained to believe plain speech equals pride, sharpness equals cruelty, and controversy equals failure.

This is how Scripture remembers Stephen:

“Now Stephen, who was full of grace and power, was performing great wonders and signs among the people. But resistance arose from what was called the Synagogue of the Freedmen, including Cyrenians, Alexandrians, and men from the provinces of Cilicia and Asia. They disputed with Stephen, but they could not stand up to his wisdom or the Spirit by whom he spoke” (Acts 6:8-10).

Notice Stephen spoke with wisdom and the Spirit. Not ego or temper. His sermon provoked rage, but that wasn’t proof that Stephen preached wrongly. Truth had found men who hated it.

If you follow Stephen into chapter 7, you find a detailed history of God’s people through Scripture from verses 1-50. He did not scream, “You people are wicked.” He walked through Israel’s timeline for the history of his people revealed a pattern: God sends deliverers, Israel resists and kills them.

Like Peter:

Stephen preached Scripture, not personal venom.
 He exposed the real issue: resisting the Holy Spirit.
 His hearers were also cut but, sadly, not converted.

He built a case, and his final charge wasn’t random:

“You stiff-necked people with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You always resist the Holy Spirit, just as your fathers did. Which of the prophets did your fathers fail to persecute? They even killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One. And now you are His betrayers and murderers — you who received the law ordained by angels, yet have not kept it” (Acts 7:51-53).

What a poor example of winning friends and influencing people! If only the Holy Spirit knew enough about Dale Carnegie’s model, He could’ve at least enabled Stephen to save his life, not to mention restrain him from "driving away" all those “prospects!”

Stephen broke every one of Carnegie’s rules.

He certainly did not make them feel important, or let them save face. He called attention to their sin directly and specifically:

Stubbornness — “stiff-necked” (v. 51)
 Spiritually blind and deaf (v. 51)
 Resisting the Holy Spirit (v. 51)
 Rebellious like their ancestors (v. 51)
 Persecutors of Truth (v. 52)
 Betraying and murdering the Righteous One (v. 52)
 Boasting in the law while breaking it (v. 53)

From where I’m sitting, that list is pretty “on the nose.” You have to admire a preacher unwilling to tip-toe around the issues.

In a time where so many want to pander, smile and wave, hoping to still have a job when they’re done preaching or, in the very least, not slide in their popularity, isn’t it refreshing and encouraging to remember a man who couldn’t care less about surviving the sermon? Who wouldn’t let man’s pride or intimidation edit his preaching into vague generalities about what other people in other places need to do?

Carnegie warned that if you prove a man wrong too directly, you hurt his pride and make him resent you rather than change. If Stephen wasn’t direct, then I don’t know what direct is. He exposed their error by Scripture, history, and the Spirit of God.

That “dangerous spark” of criticism landed in the powder keg of their pride, and it exploded:

“Now when they heard these things, they were cut to the heart, and they gnashed on him with their teeth” (Acts 7:54).

Sadly, very different from Pentecost. Why?

Humility receives the Word; pride resists it. The honest-hearted hear the Word and think: “Does this apply to me?” “Where must I repent?”

But the proud hear the same Truth and think: “He’s attacking me.” “He’s targeting my situation.”

Pride turns conviction into persecution. 
It wants to be righteous without repenting. 
So when guilt is exposed, pride cannot admit it (that would require humility). 
 It cannot obey the Word (that would require submission). 
Yet it cannot walk away justified (conscience won’t allow it) — 
so the only recourse it allows itself is to attack the standard and the one preaching it.

But the preacher is not judged faithful by how calmly men receive the Truth. 
He is judged faithful by whether he preaches the Truth.

They rushed upon Stephen, cast him out of the city, and stoned him, but Heaven did not treat him like a failed servant, for he saw Jesus standing at the right hand of God (Acts 7:54-56).

Men sure hated Stephen's last sermon, but Christ honored the preacher, and stands as an example today. If Stephen’s sermon was a failure, then Heaven has strange standards. Whatever our thoughts are on tone and style, if we can’t make room for Stephen, perhaps our idea of effective preaching is not biblical.

Tact Without Trimming Truth

Standing there, watching the coats of Stephen’s murderers, was a young man named Saul (Acts 7:58).

He is not introduced as a polished evangelist, but as a persecutor. Saul heard Stephen’s preaching. He saw Stephen’s courage. He approved Stephen’s death. And before long, the same man who once helped silence a preacher would become one.

Just like Peter and Stephen, Paul’s preaching would cut to the quick, but notice something he says:

“Though I am free of obligation to anyone, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), to win those under the law. To those without the law I became like one without the law (though I am not outside the law of God but am under the law of Christ), to win those without the law. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings” (1 Cor. 9:19-23).

No one can honestly dismiss Paul as a clumsy man who preached hard because he lacked tact. Paul knew how to adapt and read the room. He could speak to Jews, Gentiles, mobs, governors, kings, philosophers, and, jailers. Yet he never preached around the rule of Christ or the need for repentance.

He circumcised Timothy to remove a needless obstacle when reaching the Jews (Acts 16:3), and he refused support in Corinth rather than hinder the Gospel there (1 Cor. 9:12). When a hostile Jewish crowd wanted to tear him apart, he spoke to them in their own language (Acts 21:40-22:2). He quoted Greek poets at Athens (Acts 17:28), and appealed to Philemon with tenderness when he could have commanded him with apostolic authority (Phm. 8-9).

All of that to say, when Paul spoke directly and incisively, it was not because he lacked skill.

Paul could build a bridge. He simply refused to build one at the expense of Truth.

He did not become all things to all men by becoming less faithful to Christ.

After his baptism in Damascus, Paul immediately proclaimed Jesus as the Son of God and “confounded” the Jews (Acts 9:22) and, again in Jerusalem, he disputed with them, as they sought to kill him (Acts 9:29). When he came to Antioch, he told them that justification could not come through the law of Moses, and warned them against scoffing and blaspheming (Acts 13:39). In Lystra, he told idolaters to turn from empty things to serve the living God, and there his enemies stoned him and left him for dead (Acts 14:15, 19).

Measured by salesmanship, Paul had a terrible record.

He confounded and argued. He rebuked false teachers, divided cities, and nearly got himself killed so many times.

But measured by Scripture, Paul was faithful (1 Cor. 4:2).

He could say at the end of his life: “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” (2 Tim. 4:7-8).

Consider one more example: Paul in Athens.

There, surrounded by temples, idols, and philosophers, Paul did what modern men often praise as “meeting people where they are.”

We end here because Athens is where many men run when they want to soften Paul.

Standing before the Areopagus, he said:

“So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: ‘Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription: “To the unknown god.” What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you’” (Acts 17:22-23).

Did he just call that whole group of people ignorant? Try that at a TED talk.

That was Paul’s first diagnosis. Their religion was sincere enough to build altars, but ignorant enough to think the God who created all things could fit in their pantheon.

He did not congratulate them or offer some sop about “all religions are basically reaching toward the same light.”

He goes on: “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples made by human hands” (Acts 17:24).

In a city full of temples, Paul told them God does not live in temples.

Now, squishier Christians will say, “Hold up! Paul, buddy, as a student of human relations, I think it best not to criticize the established religion of your audience.”

Carnegie said that’s "a sure way of making enemies.” Instead, he recommends the advice of Lord Chesterfield: "Be wiser than other people if you can; but do not tell them so.”

Paul did not seem to share that approach.
 He stood in one of the great centers of idolatry in the ancient world and told them their city was full of religion but empty of Truth. Their temples were nothing more than impressive monuments to ignorance.

That is exactly the kind of thing Carnegie warned against: "When dealing with people, let us remember that we are not dealing with Creatures of logic. We are dealing with creatures of emotion .... bristling with prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity.”

Carnegie says delicate, human pride must be handled carefully. Yet, Paul wades straight into it with a broad-axe.

He goes on: “Being then God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man” (Acts 17:29).

Paul did not call idolatry “a meaningful expression of worship.” 
He did not say, “This is fine so long as your heart is right.”

He said the living God is not like the things you’re carving and worshiping.

Finally he takes them where all sound preaching must go — faith and repentance toward Christ.

“Although God overlooked the ignorance of earlier times, He now commands all people everywhere to repent. For He has set a day when He will judge the world with justice by the Man He has appointed. He has given proof of this to everyone by raising Him from the dead” (Acts 17:30-31).

God was not inviting Athens into a conversation. He was issuing a command. All men. Everywhere. That included their best philosophers, poets, and upstanding citizens.

Notice how Paul's inspired preaching aligns with Peter and Stephen.

They all begin from what the audience knows (Acts 2:22; 7:2; 17:23).
 They reason from Scripture or revealed truth (Acts 2:16, 25–28, 34–35; 7:2–50; 17:24–29).
 They proclaim Christ (Acts 2:32, 36; 7:52, 55–56; 17:31).
 They expose guilt, ignorance, rebellion, or false worship (Acts 2:23; 7:51–53; 17:23, 29).
 They press the hearer to respond (Acts 2:37–38; 7:51–53; 17:30–31).
 They allow the Truth to divide the audience (Acts 2:41; 7:54–60; 17:32–34).

When Paul preached resurrection, the room split:

“When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some began to mock him, but others said, ‘We want to hear you again on this topic.’ At that, Paul left the Areopagus. But some joined him and believed, including Dionysius the Areopagite, a woman named Damaris, and others who were with them” (Acts 17:32-34).

Some mocked.
 Some delayed. 
Some believed.

This was not some innocent miscalculation. Paul preached the very thing he knew would make the room split. He already knew resurrection was a point of conflict (Acts 17:18). If he knew the doctrine sounded strange to them, why not “ease them into it”?

Because Paul was not trying to win Athens to Paul.

He was trying to bring Athens to God.

That’s what modern salesmanship cannot stomach. 
It assumes the hard truths must wait until people like us enough to hear them. 
But Paul did not treat Truth like unpleasant medicine that needs to be hidden in applesauce. 
He preached it plainly, knowing some would mock.

Paul did not fail because men mocked anymore than Stephen did because men stoned him.

That is what Truth does. It divides. It reveals. 
It finds the honest and exposes the proud.

This is why the inspired men of Acts preach in ways that human wisdom would never recommend.

Why does Peter press guilt when he could have preserved goodwill? 
 Why does Stephen expose rebellion when he could have softened the charge? 
 Why does Paul preach resurrection, repentance, and judgment to men already inclined to mock?

Maybe the answer is simpler than we want it to be.

It’s not that the Holy Spirit avoided effective means.

It’s that men have misdefined effectiveness.

The Spirit was using the exact means suited to His purpose.

He was not trying to win men to the preacher. He was bringing men before Christ.

If the purpose was merely to make friends and admirers, and keep things polite so as not to upset the apple cart, then apostolic preaching would be hard to explain.

If the purpose was to confront sinners with Truth, and bring them face to face with the risen Christ they must trust and obey, then the method makes perfect sense.

The same preaching that made enemies also made disciples.

It cut. It divided. It revealed. It saved.

The question is not whether we can be wiser, gentler, clearer, or more careful. We must be all of those things lest our own pride and agenda weasel into our preaching. If men stumble over our pride, shame on us. If they stumble over Christ, let the Rock of Ages stand.

The apostles were not careless, cruel, or clumsy. 
 They simply preached Christ crucified, risen, and reigning.

If that was the Spirit’s method, it must be ours.