At Least Christ Is Preached? Rethinking Philippians 1:17 in the Age of Platforms
Why motives and mediums matter for the gospel today
I have watched from a distance as the institutional church again cheers when the gospel is shared in spaces it longs to inhabit: political stages, nationally broadcast spectacles, Christian influencer platforms, and even the latest social media trends. When questioned about using secular platforms for Christian evangelism, institutional evangelicalism responds with the same old refrain: At least Christ is being preached— often citing Paul’s words in Philippians 1:17.
Some indeed preach Christ even from envy and strife, and some also from goodwill: The former preach Christ from selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing to add affliction to my chains; but the latter out of love, knowing that I am appointed for the defense of the gospel. What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is preached; and in this I rejoice, yes, and will rejoice. (NKJV)
But this refrain deserves more scrutiny. What kind of Christ is actually heard in these spaces? And what kind of discipleship, if any, is being formed?
When Christ Is Preached
The Apostle Paul’s words in Philippians 1:15–18 speak directly into this tension. From his prison cell, Paul names the reality that some preach Christ from envy and rivalry, while others do so out of love. He does not hide the duplicity; he identifies it with precision. Yet his conclusion is startling: “What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in that I rejoice” (NIV).
On the surface, Paul seems to shrug: “So what? As long as Jesus’ name is mentioned, I can celebrate.” This has become a convenient verse for those who believe all evangelism is good evangelism, regardless of method or motive. But the scholars most often quoted in the institutional church point out that Paul’s joy was never indiscriminate.
John Piper, a leading evangelical pastor, observes that Paul could rejoice because the content of the message itself remained faithful. If the gospel had been bent into another form, his response would have been fierce, as in Galatians: “Even if an angel from heaven should preach another gospel, let him be accursed” (Piper, Desiring God, 2011). Paul’s distinction was clear: he was harsher with a malformed gospel than with malformed preachers.
David Guzik, whose commentary is read widely across denominations, sharpens the point: “If you preach the true gospel, I don’t care what your motives are—God will deal with you. But if you preach a false gospel, I don’t care how good your motives are—you are dangerous and must stop” (Guzik, Enduring Word Commentary: Philippians 1).
Marg Mowczko, a respected New Testament scholar, emphasizes that Paul could never rejoice in a message that distorted Christ. The rivals in Philippi may have been selfish, but they were still presenting Christ in a way that was faithful to the apostolic witness (Mowczko, “Motives in Ministry – Philippians 1:12–18,” 2010; Ligonier, Tabletalk Devotional on Philippians 1:15–17, 2011).
But here we must pay close attention: Paul is not giving a pass to every possible motive. He names envy and selfish ambition, but those are only two of many ways the gospel has been co-opted. Elsewhere in the New Testament, Paul warns against those who “peddle the word of God for profit” (2 Cor. 2:17), condemns the exploitation of spiritual power for gain (Acts 8:18–23), and insists that ministry not be conducted “under pretext for greed” (1 Thess. 2:5). In every case, the danger is the same: the gospel bent into a tool for self-interest, whether for money, power, or prestige.
History has proven Paul right. The gospel has been conscripted to justify crusades and colonial expansion, prosperity schemes and political branding, cults of personality and quests for national greatness. Not all motives are benign, and not all uses of Christ’s name are formative for discipleship. Envy and rivalry in Philippi were serious enough; greed, manipulation, and domination are even more corrosive.
Paul is not giving a pass to every possible motive. He names envy and selfish ambition, but those are only two of many ways the gospel has been co-opted. Elsewhere in the New Testament, Paul warns against those who “peddle the word of God for profit” (2 Cor. 2:17), condemns the exploitation of spiritual power for gain (Acts 8:18–23), and insists that ministry not be conducted “under pretext for greed” (1 Thess. 2:5). In every case, the danger is the same: the gospel bent into a tool for self-interest, whether for money, power, or prestige.
And this is where the institutional church’s own voices serve as a self-critique. Piper, Guzik, Mowczko, none of them fringe figures, remind us that Paul’s joy was narrow. He could rejoice only when Christ was proclaimed in a way that remained faithful, even if the preachers were not. His words cannot be used to baptize every motive, every stage, or every platform.
For those still inside the structures, this is a reminder from their own teachers that Philippians 1:17 is not a blank check for every form of evangelism. And for those on the outside, it is an intersection: evidence that even insiders recognize the danger of confusing mere proclamation with faithful witness.
Which leads us to the more pressing question in our time: if the words remain faithful but the medium itself reshapes how the gospel is heard, should we really rejoice in the same way Paul did?
The Medium Shapes the Message
If Paul could rejoice that Christ was proclaimed even from selfish motives, he was also clear that certain distortions could never be celebrated. The gospel, when bent toward profit, power, or prestige, became something else entirely. And here is where our own moment diverges most sharply from his. For today, the issue is not only why Christ is proclaimed, but how and where.
The institutional church often assumes that medium is neutral, that the message of Christ is unchanging no matter what platform carries it. But communication theory, pastoral experience, and even the church’s own teachers suggest otherwise. Marshall McLuhan once wrote that “the medium is the message.” His insight is simple but profound: the form of communication is not just a delivery system, it reshapes what is communicated. McLuhan argues that the form of a medium matters more than its content, because the medium itself reshapes human perception, behavior, and society. A newspaper, a TV broadcast, a political rally, or a TikTok video isn’t just a neutral container carrying information, as each medium changes the scale, pace, and pattern of human life in its own way.
Think of it this way: a political rally is not a blank stage. It is a theater designed to manufacture allegiance. A TikTok video is not just a container for ideas. It is part of a disembodied feed that trades in distraction and entertainment. A funeral is not merely a solemn occasion. It is a moment when grief and vulnerability can be manipulated and leveraged as coercion. In each of these contexts, even words that are faithful in content are bent by the medium into something else.
McLuhan argues that the form of a medium matters more than its content, because the medium itself reshapes human perception, behavior, and society. A newspaper, a TV broadcast, a political rally, or a TikTok video isn’t just a neutral container carrying information, as each medium changes the scale, pace, and pattern of human life in its own way.
Here, again, even institutional voices agree. Gordon Fee, a Pentecostal scholar whose commentary on Philippians remains a standard, reminds us that Paul’s tolerance in prison was exceptional, not general. His “theological narrowness” meant he would never rejoice in Christ preached where the message itself was compromised by ideology or spectacle (Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, NICNT).
Jeremy Berg, reflecting on the rise of celebrity preachers, notes that their very platforms (the branded stage, the curated image) create followers who are more loyal to personalities than to Christ (Berg, “The Message & the Medium,” 2009). Bill Muehlenberg, writing from within evangelicalism, cautions that Philippians 1:18 cannot be a license for bad methods: the context in which Christ is preached inevitably shapes how he is received (Muehlenberg, “Difficult Bible Passages: Philippians 1:15–18,” 2019).
These critiques from inside the church echo what those outside often feel: that the gospel, when entangled with certain mediums, ceases to be formative. At a rally, the gospel sounds like a campaign slogan. Online, it becomes a clip of disposable inspiration. At a funeral, it can be heard as manipulation. Even when the words themselves are faithful, the medium bends their meaning in the ears of the hearers.
Which is why the Great Commission matters here. Jesus did not command the apostles to secure public faith claims; he sent them to make disciples (Matt. 28:19). Discipleship is not formed in crusades, soundbites, or spectacles, but in patient, embodied practices — the very thing most ill-suited to mass platforms and fleeting media.
So when the institutional church cheers that “at least Christ is being preached” in every new medium, it would do well to hear its own teachers: Paul’s joy was narrow, not indiscriminate. The content of the message matters, yes. But so too does the medium, for it is the medium that so often determines whether the message is received as truth, as entertainment, as propaganda, or as manipulation.
A Word from the Margins
From where I stand, it seems clear: the church’s scramble for cultural relevance has become its own gospel. New platforms are praised, new mediums are seized, new stages are celebrated, often with little thought to what is being formed in the process. The refrain “at least Christ is being preached” is not enough when the Christ being heard sounds like a politician, an entertainer, or a sales pitch.
For those still inside the structures, hear this from your own teachers: Paul’s joy in Philippians was narrow. It was tied to Christ being proclaimed faithfully, even if the preachers were compromised. It was never a blank check for every motive or every method. To rejoice in evangelism without asking whether it forms disciples is to rejoice in shadows.
Paul’s joy in Philippians was narrow. It was tied to Christ being proclaimed faithfully, even if the preachers were compromised. It was never a blank check for every motive or every method. To rejoice in evangelism without asking whether it forms disciples is to rejoice in shadows.
And for those of us outside — for those who have grown weary of the spectacle and the applause — there is another path. It is slower. It is less visible. It may not trend or scale. But it is faithful. It looks like conversation around the table, like prayers whispered in hospital rooms, like lives given in service to neighbors. It looks like Christ himself, who chose the form of a servant rather than a stage (Phil. 2:5–7).
So let the church in its institutions do what it will. But for those in the wilderness, let us take up the quieter work: proclaiming Christ with sincerity, embodying him with humility, and walking with others long enough for discipleship to take root. In the shadow of an institution scrambling for relevance, we can bear witness to a gospel that does not need a stage, only a life.