A Gospel (n.) never speaks to one man about another; it does not say “some of you will know the tree by its fruits” but means: you are the tree.
The Gospel (n.) says “Be it unto you according to your faith” — the mildest word and the most severe: it is certain it will be to you as you believe, but whether you believe, no one can tell you; to the irresolute it would be a judgment.
The Gospel (n.) is not the law; it saves not through severity but through mildness — yet a mildness that will not deceive you, and therefore has severity in it.
The Gospel (n.) is preached at the foot of the mountain, the Law on its summit amid thunder; so close does the heavenly come, and all the more heavenly for it.
The Gospel (n.) excludes no one, not even the happy: its invitation to the weary is a requirement that everyone, however fortunate, know what it is to labour and be heavy laden.
The Gospel (n.) is like a mother telling a hungry child who scorns the small plate, "eat this first and we'll find more": the child is full before half is eaten, for the Gospel's aim is not to scold but to be followed.