The story of Mary Magdalene meeting Jesus at the empty tomb is found only in John’s Gospel. Everything about it corresponds to human nature as we know it. A weeping woman lingers by an empty tomb, wondering what has happened to the body of the one she loved. When Jesus appears on site, she doesn’t recognize that it’s him. After she does realize it’s the Lord, she grips his feet so tightly that he needs to tell her to let him go. The scene ends with the mourner becoming a missionary—running to tell others that she has seen Jesus alive.
In many ways, Mary represents all of us. The risen Christ cares about our pain. He’s present even in our darkest hour, and he doesn’t let our despair go unchallenged. The risen Christ also knows us personally. He calls us by name and always gives us what we need the most, including hope beyond the grave. Finally, the risen Christ redirects our priorities. He wants us to share him with others, not keep him to ourselves. He also cares more about grace than our status in the world.
It’s often been said that Mary Magdalene was last at the cross and first at the tomb. That’s a high honor that can’t be said about any of the men who followed Jesus. She was the first to see Jesus alive and the first to hear his voice, thus becoming an apostle to the apostles. A formerly demonized woman, Mary had been changed by Jesus. You can be, too. Indeed, the story of the risen Christ can change your story—forever.
People don’t usually look for ways to get demoted. They try to go up the ladder of success not down. But if the eternal Son of God had a birthday on that first Christmas, it was a voluntary choice for demotion. It was the ultimate pay cut. It was the ultimate story of riches to rags. And he did it willingly. The Creator willingly became part of his creation. The Master Artist willingly became part of his painting. The Eternal One willingly became part history and subject to time. The Apostle Paul’s Carmen Christi (“Hymn to Christ”) in Philippians 2:5-11 describes just how low he went. And then how high.
The song is a summary of his full journey—as represented by the Passion Sunday donkey (humiliation) and the Palm Sunday palms (exaltation). In fact, the Carmen Christi becomes the Carmen Patri (“Hymn to the Father”). But why? How does a hymn that is so radically focused on Jesus Christ end up being a hymn “to the glory of God the Father” (v. 11)? That’s the question we seek to answer in this sermon, one in which we learn that self-emptying love is what true godliness looks like. No wonder Jesus said on more than one occasion, “Those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Matthew 23:12; Luke 14:11, 18:14).
In Revelation 5, the Apostle John becomes part of the vision he receives from heaven. He weeps bitterly because a universal search is made for someone who is worthy to open the Scroll of Destiny held in God’s right hand. Alas, no one is found who can do so. That means God’s good plans for the world will be thwarted. His vision for human redemption and cosmic restoration cannot be realized. In the end, evil wins, and all hope is lost. John is devastated. But then he’s invited to see that the Lion from the tribe of Judah is able to open the scroll. He turns to look, but instead of seeing a lion, he sees a lamb—slain yet risen—who is worthy to open the scroll. The message is clear: only Jesus can bring history to its rightful conclusion. That’s why all the hosts of heaven give Jesus the same response they give to Almighty God—exuberant praise and heartfelt worship. Indeed, God’s redemption in Christ transforms our outlook from despair to worship. Thanks to Jesus, the human race is never without hope because history itself will be redeemed.
Three friends were talking in a restaurant one day when the conversation turned to dying. They asked each other what they would like said about them at their funerals. The first man said, “I’d like someone to talk about my career success and all the good things I did for people during my life.” The second man said, “I’d like someone to talk about what a great husband and father I was, and how much I loved my family and took care of them.” The third man said, “I’d like someone to say, ‘Look! He’s moving!’”
That’s the story of Easter. Jesus was dead on Friday, but on Sunday morning he was moving again. In fact, the Greek word for resurrection is anastasia, which literally means “to stand again.” Unfortunately, it’s sometimes hard to see what’s right in front of our face. That’s the story of the women who come to Jesus’s tomb on that first Easter Sunday. There’s a vitally important truth staring them in the face, but they can’t see it yet. We might not have seen it, either.
The women come on Sunday morning to finish the burial they had started Friday afternoon. The Sabbath was approaching, so they had to cut short their preparations. Consequently, they come back the following day to finish the job. When they get there, they find that the stone had been rolled away, and the tomb is now empty. Jesus’ body is gone. Verse 4 tells us they started “wondering” about this. (Who wouldn’t have?)
The good news is they don’t stay in the dark very long. God tells them directly what happened. Two men in radiant garments give them the explanation. According to the other gospels, these men are “angels” or “messengers” from God. The whole scene reminds us that Christian faith rests entirely on hearing, believing, and resting in what God has spoken.
Without divine revelation, these women would have stared at the empty tomb for hours and debated what it could possibly mean. That’s what happens when we think Jesus is still dead. We miss it completely. Specifically, there are three things these women miss—and they’re the same things people often miss today. They miss the miracle of the resurrection; they miss the meaning of the resurrection; and they miss the marvel of the resurrection. They make three “grave errors,” but in all three cases, the gift of divine revelation gets them back on track. Specifically:
They see Jesus as a good man but not the God-man.
They see Jesus as a prophet but not the fulfillment of prophecy.
They see Jesus as a religious duty but not a real-life delight.
In love, God corrects their fuzzy vision with lenses of truth. In time, they come to see the grand reality that the resurrection of Jesus changes everything—from here to eternity. They come to see that Easter really happened, Easter really matters, and Easter really transforms. We can see it, too, for Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.
There’s a saint and a sinner on Mount Calvary. What separates them is Jesus. In Luke 23:35-43, we find Jesus hanging between two criminals—one a scoffer and one a brand-new believer. Having mocked Jesus earlier during the crucifixion (Mark 15:32), this “repentant thief” has a change of heart at some point, asking Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. Jesus responds with memorable words of grace and assurance: “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
With death approaching, the repentant thief begins to fear God and take responsibility for his own wrongdoing. Perhaps his heart was softened by the prayer of forgiveness that Jesus had prayed earlier (Luke 23:34). Showing both courage and confidence, he takes a public stand for Jesus, expressing his belief that Jesus would have a life beyond the cross. As a result, the man learns he would be spending eternity with Jesus in heaven. Nowhere in Scripture is it clearer that salvation is by grace through faith.
Throughout this series, we’re looking for both the “good news” and the “good life” in each of these sayings from the cross. That is, each statement has in it divine grace for us to receive (1 Corinthians 15:1-4) and a divine example for us to follow (1 Peter 2:21). Practical applications, then, abound from this second saying of Christ from the cross:
Jesus dies in the company of unbelievers, attracting them to God.
Believers should live in the company of unbelievers, attracting them to God.
Jesus dies refusing to retaliate for the insults and injuries inflicted on him.
Believers should live refusing to retaliate for the insults and injuries inflicted on him.
Jesus dies submitting to God’s agenda rather than to the world’s agenda.
Believers should live submitting to God’s agenda rather than to the world’s agenda.
Jesus dies speaking words of hope and encouragement to the hurting.
Believers should live speaking words of hope and encouragement to the hurting.
Jesus dies helping someone in a similar predicament as himself.
Believers should live helping someone in a similar predicament as themselves.
Jesus dies serving someone who is totally unable to return the favor.
Believers should live serving someone who is totally unable to return the favor.
Jesus dies joining God where he is at work, sharing the good news.
Believers should live joining God where he is at work, sharing the good news.
In short, the message of this second saying from the cross is twofold: Humble yourself to receive the gift of Jesus, and pattern your life after the death of Jesus. It’s still true today—what separates saints and sinners is Jesus. Thankfully, God in Christ can respond to the faintest cry in the last moments of a person’s life (cf. Rom 10:13). Including ours.
On a Personal Note
Don Francisco used to sing a gospel folk song called “Too Small a Price,” told from the vantage point of this repentant thief on the cross. Francisco came to a meeting of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes in the Towers 3 dormitory at West Virginia University back in the day when the Lord was pursuing me big time. This song, more than all the others he sang that night, bore deep into my soul, and it was instrumental in my own conversion to Christ. I’ll place a recording of it below for those who may not have heard it.
Though the agony continued there it was still too small a price To be allowed to hear those words, and to die beside the Christ. – Don Francisco
The first statement of Jesus from the cross is, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). One can hardly think of a more unlikely thing for Jesus to say, given the circumstances in which he says it. Crucifixion was designed to be maximally painful. As the ancients said, to be crucified was to “die a thousand deaths.”
As such, this gracious prayer is spoken from inside the vortex of a living hell on earth. Jesus does not defend his innocence or curse his enemies; rather, he prays for those who are torturing him. Indeed, he is practicing what he preached about forgiveness, which is noteworthy because he has the power to stop the entire ordeal. But the removal of our sin is more important to Jesus than the removal of his own suffering, so he endures the pain.
Mercifully, a great exchange is taking place here at Calvary (1 Peter 3:18; 2 Corinthians 5:21). “Bearing shame and scoffing rude / In my place condemned he stood.” God didn’t sweep our sins under the rug; he swept them onto Christ. Jesus takes our place and dies our death. What Jesus is really praying here is, “Father, forgive them, and condemn me. Charge their wrongdoing to my account, and I will pay the cost.” In the cross of Christ, then, we see what God has done about what we have done. For God to take our part, he had to take our place. And he does so in Christ.
Moreover, though immersed in agony, Jesus died believing in the goodness of God despite the wickedness of man—as revealed by the fact that his first word from the cross is, “Father.” His steadfast faith is the kind of faith we need to extend forgiveness to others, too, which is always difficult. We tend to attribute other people’s faults to their character, and our own faults to our environment. The cross challenges that perspective, for as Jesus himself taught us to pray, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” When we don’t forgive others, we tear down the very bridge we need to walk on to connect with God. Forgiving those who’ve wronged us is actually the key to not being victimized or controlled by them any longer.
In the end, if the murder of the Son of God is forgivable, then your sin—whatever it may be—is forgivable, too. So, accept your acceptance from God, and then forgive others as Christ forgave you—gracefully and extravagantly.
Luke 15 contains three of the most famous parables Jesus ever taught: the parable of the lost sheep; the parable of the lost coin; and the parable of the lost sons. Or if we put the emphasis where Jesus puts it, we might call them: the parable of the seeking shepherd; the parable of the seeking woman; and the parable of the seeking father.
According to Jesus, God is graciously seeking the lost. But “lost” here does not mean just unbelievers; believers are in view, too. The sheep strays from the flock it was already a part of. The coin is lost at home, not out on the streets. The son leaves the family he had lived in for years. So, God is also seeking to recapture those who already know him but have strayed from him. If that weren’t enough, we also discover in Luke 15 the unbridled joy that erupts in heaven when a wayward person is restored.
While each parable is worthy of detailed study, this sermon looks at the chapter as whole, surveying the broad themes common to each: human folly; the value of human beings (even when lost); the costly search of the rescuer; and heaven’s joy when that which is lost is found.
Quite interestingly, there is something about the “neck” in each of these stories, a detail that is often overlooked. The shepherd finds the lost sheep and puts it around his neck. The woman finds the lost coin and (presumably) puts it back in her necklace where it came from. The father sees his lost son and “fell on his neck, and kissed him” (Luke 15:20, KJV). The neck is the place of honor, intimacy, and embrace.
As Jesus Christ is God in human flesh, these parables constitute “God explaining God to us.” And one of the great truths we learn here is that God refuses to be God without his people living in his embrace. Indeed, these parables expound to us the love and grace of God unlike anywhere else in Scripture.
Every major character in the Christmas story receives the same angelic message: “Do not be afraid.” Zechariah, Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds—all of them hear the words: “Fear not.” When Christmas happens, heaven announces, “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” That’s good news because fear is universal. It’s also debilitating. It shuts people down and keeps them paralyzed in their thinking. Very often it prevents them from stepping into the future God has for them.
But, whether it’s fear of disappointment, the fear of inadequacy, the fear of rejection, or the fear of the unknown, God can help us overcome our fears. Indeed, the only thing we have to fear is God himself. King Herod didn’t have that fear. And that’s why he’s the only figure in the Advent story who doesn’t hear the reassuring words, “Fear not.”
But those who do fear God can overcome their fears. They can surrender the lie that stands behind the fear. They can submit to the truth that contradicts the fear. And they can seek the Lord, who alone is to be feared.
The command to “fear God” is found throughout the Scripture, but what exactly does that expression mean? Are people supposed to live in sheer terror of the Almighty? Are we to dread his perpetual frown as a divine commentary on our souls? Are we to view ourselves as criminals on the run, with God as the cosmic policeman in hot pursuit of us?
Misconceptions abound when it comes to this important topic. What’s often missing from the discussion is that a major biblical motivation for fearing God is his surprising grace and forgiveness (Psalm 130:3-4; Jeremiah 33:8-9). That’s part of the biblical record, too, and it’s one that teaches us, paradoxically, that fearing God diffuses all other fears.
Shiphrah and Puah were two Hebrew women who understood this reality. These midwives refused to throw the Hebrew baby boys into the Nile despite the direct command of the king of Egypt to do so. Why? “The midwives … feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do; they let the boys live” (Exodus 1:17). Quite significantly, the book of Exodus preserves the names of these two courageous women, but it does not preserve the name of the Pharaoh. Was it Rameses II? Amenhotep II? We’re still not sure. It was the author’s way of commending these women while scorning the dictator.
The biblical record also teaches us that the end of all fear is the perfect love of God as fully displayed in Jesus Christ (1 John 4:16-18). He took our punishment on the cross, says John, and we no longer need to fear that punishment when we trust him for our salvation.
After getting wedged between the Red Sea on one side, and Pharaoh’s army on the other, Israel begins to panic. Their situation seems hopeless, so they begin to grumble. In response, God tells his people to “move on” from their faithless talk and unbridled fear (Exodus 14:15). But how can they do that? What is the process by which God gets us un-stuck from the fear-ditch we sometimes find ourselves in?
It begins with realizing that God leads his people into difficult situations in the first place. He has his reasons for doing so, and they usually involve a much bigger purpose than we can fathom. At such times we’re invited to present ourselves to the God who is already present to us. When we do that, we’re in a better position to watch him work on our behalf like a master craftsman.
Indeed, the more we trust God with our fears, the more we will participate in his plan to recapture the world. Will you learn to trust God with your fears and participate in that plan?
Fear is universal. And it’s not all bad. Good fear protects us from danger and prevents us from hurting ourselves. We need it to stay safe. But that’s not the only kind of fear we experience in life. Bad fear paralyzes us from doing what we ought to do and provokes us to doing what we ought not to do. Sadly, this kind of fear is far more common. And its cost is too high for any of us to pay.
Bad fear distorts our identity, steals our joy, and limits the progress God has for us. And that’s not the half of it. Worst of all, living in fear is a slam on God’s character. As John Ortberg has said, “Fear has created more practicing heretics than bad theology ever has, for it makes us live as though we serve a limited, finite, partially-present, semi-competent God.”
Ultimately, the antidote to living in fear is to trust God one promise at a time. If Immanuel (“God with us”) has come, then we can step into the future God has for each of us with these encouraging words ringing in our hearts: “Fear not!”
Prophecy. Persecution. Tribulation. Antichrist. Hope. Perseverance. Victory. The book of Daniel features all these realities and more. In the second half of chapter 2, God shows the young prophet something only God himself can know—namely, another man’s dream. The dreamer was King Nebuchadnezzar, and the contents of his dream was the unfolding of history from Daniel’s day. God also gave Daniel the dream’s interpretation, and he passed it onto the king, who came to see that Daniel’s God “is the God of gods and the Lord of kings and a revealer of mysteries” (Daniel 2:47).
A fascinating aspect of the Book of Daniel is that it’s written in two different languages. It starts and ends in Hebrew, which was the language of the Jews, and the middle section is in Aramaic, which was the language of the nations. When we look at the Aramaic section as a whole, we discover the stories are arranged chiastically. That is, they have thematic correspondences front to back. (See notes in the sermon PowerPoint file). Chapters 2 and 7, then, are intentionally matched.
What that means is chapters 2 and 7 speak of the same prophetic vision, albeit from two different perspectives. Chapter 2 gives us the kingdoms of this world from a human perspective—precious metals growing stronger over time. Chapter 7 gives us the kingdoms of this world from a divine perspective—freakish monsters growing more destructive over time. The dazzling statue in Nebuchadnezzar’s dream can be understood as follows:
The head of gold = the Babylonian Empire (605–539 B.C.)
The chest and arms of silver = the Medo-Persian Empire (539–331 B.C.)
The belly and thighs of bronze = the Grecian Empire (331–63 B.C.)
The legs of iron and feet of clay = the Roman Empire (63 B.C.–476 A.D.)
Surprisingly, Daniel says the colossal image is going to collapse because all nations of the world are built on a foundation of clay. In fact, the mere touch of a tiny stone is all it takes to shatter it. That stone—“a rock cut out of the mountains without hands”—will strike the statue on its feet of iron mixed with clay and smash the world’s empires, but the rock that struck the statue will become a huge mountain and fill the whole earth (Daniel 2:34-35).
This sermon shows that Daniel’s rock is none other than Jesus Christ, and the mountain filling the whole earth is the kingdom of God he brings. Moreover, the entire dream corresponds to the apocalyptic vision of Daniel 7, which Jesus quotes and applies to himself while standing before Caiaphas, the high priest, while on trial for his life. Jesus is the “son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven” (Daniel 7:13).
The message of Daniel 2 and 7 is clear: earthly kingdoms will come and go. Some of them may wield great power. They may even persecute the people of God for a time, but God’s people should remain loyal to him, come what may, because his “rock” is more powerful than all earthly kings. Indeed, earthly kingdoms are “bad dreams” that inevitably collapse and disappoint. God’s kingdom is a hope-filled reality that grows and blesses.
Daniel shows that vibrant faith can not only survive but thrive in a hostile, pagan world, provided one has great confidence in the final victory God. That victory is sure, for as it says in Revelation 11:15: “The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever.” Amen.
While in Babylon, Daniel and his three friends walk the same tightrope every believer has to walk today in a fallen world—avoiding isolation on the one hand, and avoiding assimilation on the other. They did it well. In fact, in Daniel 2 these remarkable Jewish teens continue living out the command God previously gave the exiles—to live for the good of a bad city (Jeremiah 29:4-7). They did this by serving their unbelieving neighbors and helping them flourish.
In many ways, Daniel 2 gives us a collision between the wisdom of this word and the wisdom of God. Nebuchadnezzar is the portrait of a man who faces life with worldly wisdom. Daniel, however, is the portrait of a person who faces life with godly wisdom. Quite significantly, this collision is not a fistfight. It’s not a heated debate. It’s not a military battle. It’s a ministry.
Specifically, Daniel has a ministry to a man in crisis. And in that ministry to his royal neighbor, the wisdom of God is displayed. The lesson for us today is instructive: God’s faithful people can help connect faithless people to God.
Nebuchadnezzar’s problems are not unlike our neighbors’ problems today. For example, some of our neighbors may be consumed with worry, anxiety, and insecurity (v. 1). Some may seek professional help for their deepest troubles (vv. 2-4). Some may become suspicious of the world’s best experts (vv. 5-9). Some may hear the world’s experts admit their own limitations (vv. 10-11). Some may grow increasingly insecure and perhaps even violent (vv. 12-13).
Daniel’s ministry to the king is anchored in his knowledge of who God is. Indeed, he has a lofty view of Yahweh, which is helpful to God’s people today when we seek to help our neighbors who are in crisis. Specifically:
Because God is gracious, his people can approach a neighbor’s crisis with wisdom and tact (vv. 14-15).
Because God is missional, his people can view a neighbor’s crisis with a sense of divine purpose (v. 16).
Because God is all-knowing, his people can take a neighbor’s crisis to him in prayer (17-19a).
Because God is sovereign, his people can praise him in the midst of any crisis (vv. 19b-23).
Because God is revealing, his people can offer wisdom for a neighbor’s crisis when needed (vv. 24-28a).
Because God is good, his people can serve neighbors in crisis even if they believe differently (vv. 28b-30).
By the time Nebuchadnezzar leaves the stage in the book of Daniel, he comes to recognize that Yahweh is the Most High God of the universe. May that likewise be the result of our ministry to the people around us today.
Believers are resident aliens in this world. Three times in 1 Peter, the followers of Christ are called “strangers” or “aliens.” The Apostle Paul concurs, reminding the Philippians that their “citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). In other words, the believer’s primary residence is not planet Earth. Someday we’re going home to a world of heavenly perfection.
As great as that truth is, it creates a challenge for the people of God. How do we interact with the world while we’re here? What is our relationship to unbelievers supposed to be until we finally go home? This issue has always been a struggle for the covenant community.
When Daniel and his three friends were aliens in Babylon, they faced a similar challenge. They discovered quickly that the art of being a believer in this world is to love God and love your neighbor—in that order. King Nebuchadnezzar tried to shape their thinking, their identity, and their convictions. But the four teens from Israel resisted a secular brainwashing at Babylon University. They refused to allow themselves to be intoxicated by the glamour that comes from eating at the king’s table while trying to guard their own hearts against personal compromise. They survived in a culture that was hostile to their faith by drawing some lines in the sand and refusing to cross them.
But there’s a way to draw those lines and a way not to draw them. Daniel didn’t lead a march, a sit-in, or a protest rally. He didn’t engage in hate speech. He didn’t walk around Babylon with a placard saying, “Thou shalt not eat non-kosher food,” or “Prepare to meet thy God.” Instead, he practiced cooperation without compromise. Daniel was sympathetic to the king’s official and didn’t want him to lose his head because of his faith. So, Daniel wound up cutting a deal—and it was a deal that God honored.
One can’t help noticing that Daniel had a genuine respect for the unbelievers around him. He wasn’t a religious snob with a holier-than-thou chip on his shoulder. There was an ease with which he moved in secular circles. He wasn’t edgy around people who didn’t share his faith. He wasn’t uncomfortable around people who worshiped idols. He didn’t treat them like they had spiritual cooties. Rather, he was kind and deferential to them. He also accommodated them—but only in so far as his own faith would allow him to do so. God was always his first loyalty.
Jesus, of course, was the ultimate resident alien. He didn’t arise from within the human race; he came from outside it. That’s what Christmas is all about. In his life and ministry, Jesus was totally loyal to his heavenly Father. He never compromised, and he never sinned. Yet he moved freely and easily among the people who were far from God, leading them to see more clearly his truth and love for everyone.In his death on the cross, Jesus became alien-ated by bearing in his own body the sins of the world in himself. He did that so that everyone could become undefiled by faith, and believers could someday go back home with him.
Spiritually speaking, much has changed in America during our lifetime. From a Christian perspective, some of these changes are sad, revolting, depressing, and even scary. As a nation, we’re far from God, and the church at large is in a funk because of it. Older evangelicals especially can’t believe the changes they’ve witnessed. It is depressing. Like Israel in exile, we’re tempted to lament the situation, curse the darkness, and “hang up our harps on the poplar” (Psalm 137:2). But while these reactions are understandable, it’s vital to remember that God has a plan for his people even in spiritually dark times. Especially in dark times.
Jeremiah 29:4-11 provides some much-needed encouragement. This famous passage of Scripture is often ripped from its context, but the context is vital to understanding its message and contemporary relevance. The “plans” that God has for his people are not individual recipes for success, but plans for effective corporate witness and an eventual end to the exile. “But until then,” says God, “don’t run from the pagan culture; settle down in it. Live among your neighbors and love them. Help them flourish. Seek their welfare. Live for the good of a bad city.”
In other words, his marching orders for believers are to live out the wisdom of God in their neighbors’ midst, captivating them with the reality of who God is. The unbeliever’s eternal destiny is God’s business, but the believer’s business is to be a good neighbor and stay loyal to God in the process. It’s to be in the world but not of it.
And because God is “beautifully sneaky,” he’s always up to something good in the midst of something bad. Magi attended the birth of Christ precisely because the nation of Israel went into exile. Had the covenant people stayed in their familiar and comfortable land, the messianic prophecies never would have reached the Gentiles. But they did, and that’s likely how the Magi knew to connect the astronomical phenomenon with the birth of the new king. God’s love is truly for the whole world.
And so it is today. It’s the scattered church that can plant seeds for the harvest. When a culture is spiritually dark, God’s people can graciously turn on the light. That’s part of what it means to be “excellent in exile.” The book of Daniel shows us how.
