Following Pastor David Jang’s exposition of 1 Corinthians
16, this piece integratively examines the theology of the collection for the
relief of the Jerusalem church, transparency in church finances, honoring
ministers, practicing love, and the Maranatha hope within the realities of
today’s church.
One distinctive feature of preaching often associated with
Pastor David Jang (known in connection with the founding of Olivet University)
is that he does not treat Scripture as mere intellectual information. Instead,
he restores the “temperature of the event” and the “breath of the community,”
opening a path the church today can actually walk. As we follow his commentary
on 1 Corinthians 16, we come to realize anew that a passage we often skim
simply because it is “the last chapter” is, in fact, a decisive scene that
reveals the constitution of the church itself. It is no accident that 1
Corinthians—after addressing the order of tongues and prophecy and unfolding
the vast mystery of the resurrection—concludes with financial support, travel
plans, people’s names, and greetings. Rather, it is a strong declaration: the
gospel is not an idea floating in the air, but must be translated into the
language of real life, where promises and schedules, trust and money, tears and
honor are tightly intertwined. At precisely this point, Pastor David Jang reads
1 Corinthians 16 as “the chapter of practice by which the completeness of faith
is measured.” If doctrine is clear, that doctrine must come down into
responsible practice; if practice is alive, that practice must not lose the
directional sense of truth. This principle of integration is concentrated in
this final chapter.
The opening theme of 1 Corinthians 16 is the collection for
the Jerusalem church. Here, “the collection” does not remain at the level of a
sentimental gift offered when one feels moved. What Paul requests is not a
one-time surge of emotion, but a rhythm of love organized as communal
responsibility. As the nuance of the Greek expression suggests, this is not
spontaneous charity but “a collection,” “a gathering,” and above all a system
in which the body moves as one. Paul instructs the Corinthians to follow the
same principle as other regional churches: on the first day of every week, each
person should set something aside in keeping with their means. Remarkably
pastoral care is embedded here. First, it removes “sudden pressure.” If the
money were gathered in a rush after Paul arrived—driven by mood and momentum—it
could easily exhaust hearts and toss the community into unnecessary emotional
turbulence. Second, it forms “habitual good.” Love is not merely an emotion but
a discipline; charity endures when it becomes a structure of character rather
than a momentary passion. Third, the principle “according to one’s means”
reveals fairness. Paul does not enforce an identical amount. The portion
differs according to each person’s situation and prosperity, yet everyone
participates and thus shares responsibility as one body. Pastor David Jang
stresses that church giving and finances are not merely techniques for securing
an operating budget, but a “field of practical theology” where a community is
spiritually matured.
The poverty of the Jerusalem church is confirmed as a
concrete reality by various clues in the New Testament. The early church was
not an ideally radiant community only in theory; at times it was a community
that had to endure poverty, famine, and social instability while taking
responsibility for one another’s survival. That is why the meaning of the
bridge Paul builds becomes even clearer. For Gentile churches to help Jerusalem
is not a moral superiority of “those who give help,” but an act of love between
churches that have become one family in the gospel. Paul says in Romans that
Gentile churches owe a spiritual debt; that debt is not guilt, but the ethics
of solidarity expressed as gratitude in action. Pastor David Jang’s exposition
does not wrap this solidarity in sentimentality. Rather, he insists that if the
church is to remain truly “church,” it must bear concrete responsibilities—not
merely abstract confessions. Jerusalem’s tears awaken Corinth’s wallet, and
Corinth’s abundance becomes a lifeline that upholds Jerusalem’s life. In this
way, the church learns to recognize itself through one another’s lack.
When we bring this passage into today’s church, “the
collection” cannot be reduced to a single category called “benevolence
offering.” It becomes a mirror that questions how the church relates to
money—its stewardship, its transparency, and its motives of love. Paul’s
handling of the collection is strikingly careful. He does not place the funds
entirely in one person’s hands. He appoints those approved by the church and
sends them with letters. If necessary, he says he may accompany them, but even
that is kept within communal procedure. This can be read as a strong preventive
measure: the early church’s finances must not be privatized under the name of
“spiritual authority.” Pastor David Jang uses this section to lead modern
churches into serious self-examination: how transparently do we manage
finances, and by what structures do we build and preserve trust? More important
than whether offerings are large or small is whether offerings are handled
within an order of love and truth. Finances are like the bloodstream of the
church. When the blood becomes polluted, the whole body grows sick; likewise,
financial operations without love can corrode a community from within. As the
tragedy of Judas—who held the moneybag in Jesus’ disciple
community—symbolically shows, money is not merely numbers; it can become a
testing ground that reveals character. Paul’s cautious procedures, then, show a
perspective that treats church finances not only as “fuel for mission,” but as
“a training ground for holiness.”
A word Pastor David Jang repeatedly holds onto is
“orthodox,” the sensibility of orthodoxy. Yet the orthodoxy he speaks of is not
a museum of preserved doctrines, but coordinates of truth that give life.
Doctrine must be clear so that love does not lose its direction. Conversely, if
there is no practice of love, doctrine hardens into empty propositions. 1
Corinthians 16 is a highly practical theological text that shows how these two
axes move together. After speaking of the resurrection, Paul immediately speaks
of the collection. This means resurrection faith is not simply optimism about
the afterlife; it provides a reason to practice embodied love in today’s world.
The resurrection is a promise of the future and, at the same time, an ethic for
the present. Through this connection, Pastor David Jang makes a clear point:
the church must not pursue theological depth while neglecting social
responsibility and concrete care. “Knowing the Word” is verified by “living
according to the Word.” And that verification often appears in the most
seemingly secular scenes—budgets, expenditures, relief, and distribution.
Even while discussing the collection, Paul shares his
missionary itinerary. His plan to travel through Macedonia and then come to
Corinth, the possibility of staying longer and even spending the winter, his
reason for remaining in Ephesus, and his confession that “a great door has
opened, but there are many adversaries”—all reveal that ministry is not
romanticism but a realistic battle. Here we learn that mission does not endure
by bursts of inspiration alone. There are times when doors open, times to stay,
and times to leave. Planning is not the opposite of faith; it can be an
expression of faith. In Paul’s posture, Pastor David Jang reads a balanced
sense of church leadership. If a community is driven only by spontaneity and
passion, it easily tires and scatters. If only plans and structures remain,
vitality cools and withers. Paul trusts the Spirit’s guidance, yet in his
letter he speaks concretely about schedules and possible length of stay. This
warns today’s church against covering everything with “spiritual language.”
Faith is not a spell that denies reality; it is a sensibility that seeks more
accurately the path of obedience to God within reality.
In 1 Corinthians 16, an unusually large number of names
appear. Timothy, Apollos, Stephanas, Aquila and Priscilla fill the closing
lines. This tells us the church is relationship before it is organization. Paul
asks the Corinthians to ensure that when the young minister Timothy visits, he
can be among them without fear. This assumes the reality that generational
transition in leadership often carries tension and misunderstanding. Pastor
David Jang uses this to ask pointedly how the church welcomes the next generation,
how it protects the potential of younger ministers, and how a community’s tone
and words can either strengthen or crush a person’s calling. Respect is not
mere politeness; it is spiritual infrastructure that sustains the ecosystem of
ministry. The mention of Apollos also leads the church to reflect on its habit
of leaning excessively on certain individuals. The Corinthians wanted Apollos,
but Apollos says that “for now” he has no intention of going, and he will come
when the right time arrives. The leaders a church desires are not always
immediately available. Therefore, the church must not idolize people or
instantly label a person’s absence as crisis. It must learn to wait for God’s
timing and for the community’s maturity. What Pastor David Jang emphasizes here
is a healthy center: laying down fixation on leaders and holding fast to the
mission itself.
Paul’s mention of the household of Stephanas leaves a vivid
trace of the house-church tradition. In an era when dedicated church buildings
were not assumed, a household’s devotion became the church’s space and a
doorway of hospitality—the very arteries that connected believers’ lives. Paul
says they devoted themselves to serving the saints, and he urges the church to
submit to and acknowledge such people. Here, service is not merely volunteer
labor; it is a decision that sustains the community, something close to a
spiritual office. Pastor David Jang expands this scene into today’s homes and
daily life. Church life is not completed only inside a sanctuary on Sunday;
when it is embodied as the way we relate at the table, in the living room, in
workplaces, and on the street, the church becomes truly the church. When small
groups, discipleship, hospitality, care, and everyday sharing come alive, the
church becomes a gospel community of life beyond a building-centered religious
organization. In this flow, the collection expands from the movement of money
to the dedication of homes, hearts, and time.
Paul’s closing exhortations are simple but firm. After
saying, “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, be courageous, be strong,” he
adds, “Let all that you do be done in love.” What matters here is that strength
and love are never separated. Strength without love becomes violent
stubbornness; love without strength fades into powerless sentimentality. Pastor
David Jang treats this sentence like the church’s ethical compass. Being
“awake” does not mean only an inner state of piety. It includes a posture of not
fleeing from concrete issues—real pain and injustice, wounds within the
community, temptations related to money, and the burdens of mission—but
responding with responsibility. The command to do everything in love does not
demand a certain emotional temperature; it demands a motive for choices,
distributions, and decisions. Why do we spend money the way we do? Whom do we
prioritize in helping? How do we treat ministers? What kind of language do we
use toward one another? All of this is examined under the measure of love.
Thus, 1 Corinthians 16 may look like a “manual for church operations,” yet at a
deeper level it is a text about “the soul of the church.”
There is a famous painting that visually evokes this
theology of love. Caravaggio’s The Seven Works of Mercy (1607) powerfully shows that mercy is
not an abstract virtue but a chain of concrete actions, by layering multiple
scenes together in a dark, city-alley-like space. Feeding the hungry, giving
drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for
the sick, visiting the imprisoned, and burying the dead—these acts interweave
within a single canvas. The message of this work resonates with the emotional
world of 1 Corinthians 16. When the church speaks of “love,” that love is not
decorative rhetoric floating in the air; it takes on substance as hands move,
feet go in search, wallets open, and time is given. This is also what Pastor
David Jang’s exposition of 1 Corinthians 16 aims toward. Love is not reduced to
one action. Only when all layers move together—economic practice in the
collection, respect for Timothy, everyday dedication like the household of
Stephanas, the faithfulness of ministry planning, the warmth of communal
greetings, and even the stern warning against a faith that does not love the
Lord—does love finally flow like blood through the body called the church.
In particular, the strong sentence in 1 Corinthians 16:22
reveals boldly that love is not optional but belongs to the essence of faith.
Paul’s severe language toward “anyone who does not love the Lord” is rooted in
his awareness of how easily loveless religion slides into self-display and
division, greed and hypocrisy. Immediately after comes the confession
“Maranatha,” placing the warning within an eschatological tension. The
confession that the Lord is coming is not a device to drive the church into fear;
it is spiritual power that keeps the direction of love aligned to the end. A
community that waits for the Lord’s return does not treat today’s choices
lightly. That waiting is not escapism; it appears as restraint and devotion
that uses the present with holiness. In this context, Pastor David Jang says
that every financial decision, project, network, and strategy of the church
must ultimately be purified by the motive of “love for the Lord.” Without love,
offerings, missions, eloquent preaching, and sophisticated systems become empty
shells. But where love is alive, even without great scale, a church can build
bright trust—and that trust opens the possibility of greater service.
The realities facing today’s church are different from
those of the early church, yet also similar. Today’s “famine” appears in new
forms: economic inequality, disasters and wars, migration and refugees,
isolation and mental illness, and the collapse of local communities create a
new “map of lack.” In such a time, the spirit of the collection in 1
Corinthians 16 does not simply mean increasing a relief budget line. It leads
to the question of how the church will build networks of international
solidarity and mutual responsibility. Pastor David Jang’s references to visions
of international cooperation such as the World Olivet Assembly (WOA) can be
understood as an attempt to apply the early church’s principle of interregional
solidarity to the present. Even if cultures and languages differ, if we are one
body in the gospel, one church may contribute financially, another with people,
another with education and theological resources, complementing each other and
walking together. What matters is not “showcase projects,” but regular,
transparent, accountable participation. Just as Paul asked for a weekly habit,
the church must build structures that make mercy sustainable without being
swayed by emotional waves. Such structure is not a cold system; it is a wise device
that enables love to run long.
Yet structure alone is not enough. The place 1 Corinthians
16 finally brings us is the warmth of relationship. Aquila and Priscilla open
their home as a church; Paul greets them in his own handwriting; they speak to
one another, “Be strong.” This scene reminds us that the church must recover
the language of family beyond administration and projects. This is also why
Pastor David Jang’s exposition carries persuasion. He binds finances and
mission, doctrine and practice, into one long breath—and yet insists that all
of it must, in the end, be love that gives life to people. The holiness of the
church is not a purity achieved by cutting itself off from the outside; it is
revealed in honesty that can love more, and responsibility that can serve
longer. 1 Corinthians 16 may look like a very practical handbook of love that
follows the majestic proclamation of resurrection, but in truth it declares
that love is the most everyday evidence of resurrection faith.
In the end, the core that Pastor David Jang draws from 1
Corinthians 16 is simple. The church does not prove love with words. The church
shows that the gospel works in reality by “operating,” “executing,” and
“sustaining” love. The collection appears as communal responsibility that does
not ignore a poor brother or sister. Financial transparency becomes a holy
procedure that protects communal trust. Respect for young ministers becomes
spiritual care that preserves the future. The dedication of households becomes
a channel that turns all of life—not only the sanctuary—into church. The
command “Let all that you do be done in love” becomes the key that translates
sentences of faith into the grammar of life. And the hope of Maranatha becomes
the final tension that keeps the church from slowing down love here and now.
This passage becomes more than an expositional outline; it becomes a spiritual
inspection asking where today’s church collapses and where it must be rebuilt.
“Love the Lord” is, in the end, the most practical command given to the church.
Only a church where love is alive can guard truth as truth, handle finances as
finances ought to be handled, honor people as people, and proclaim the gospel
to the world as the gospel.
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