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.
Samuel is only 19½ month old, but yesterday he joined his mama on the chorus of “Jesus Loves Me” at bedtime, and it took my breath away. His singing is beyond adorable, and my heart may have melted into a big fat puddle of Papa-love when I heard it. The video clip was shot after the lights went off, so there’s nothing to see. But there’s plenty to hear—pure praise “out of the mouth of babes.” Could there be any sweeter or more important message than:
Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong; they are weak, but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.
💙 🙌💙 🙌💙 🙌💙 🙌💙 🙌
Nothing to see but plenty to hear.Samuel picked up all his toys, so he was allowed to watch a little TV.Levi is laser focused on those who came to see him.
All three Synoptic Gospels feature an account of the transfiguration of Jesus—that moment where Christ appears in a radiant, glorified state alongside Moses and Elijah. While John doesn’t give us the story per se, he does refer to it. Speaking of Jesus he writes, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Despite having the outward form and appearance of a mere man, Jesus in his very nature and essence is simultaneously divine. He is deity dressed in a human body.
Jesus no doubt received great encouragement from this heavenly event as he faced the cross, but it was primarily a revelation for the sake of the disciples. They needed to be prepared for the dark days ahead—days that would feature the rejection, conviction, and brutal execution of their leader. The voice from heaven assured the disciples that Jesus was indeed the Son of God, as it had once assured John the Baptist at the Jordan (Matthew 3:17) and would again assure the multitude in Jerusalem (John 12:28).
The Gospel writers came to see in this Christophany a preview of resurrection glory—both for Jesus and for his followers. In Jesus we see a glimpse of the glory to come. As the Apostle Paul writes, “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory” (Colossians 3:3-4).
I just got back from church camp where I had the privilege of sharing five evening messages with a responsive and appreciative crowd. Their favorite, by far, was a sermon called “It Is Finished” from John 19:28-30, where Jesus says, “Tetelestai!” from the cross. It’s the gospel in a single word, and I got a bit exuberant preaching it!
While I was away, Samuel and Levi kept being cute, and I missed them greatly. I gathered up a few snaps and clips upon my return, and now I have some new ones to share. I may have shown a few of their previous pictures via PowerPoint during one of my sermons. 🙂 Do you remember that picture of Bubby washing the car? And the one where he’s holding a sponge, covered in suds? The camp folks are now smitten, too!
Here’s something I’ve been eager to say for the past nine months, and now I can say it: “When are the boys coming over?” Haha! Actually, Samuel was here yesterday (and it was SO good to see him). He’s coming tomorrow, too, so I’m super spoiled. I’m thinking it’s time to establish a Friday night pizza tradition at our house, with them staying overnight and having pancakes for breakfast on Saturday morning.
Enjoy a few glimpses of my cherubs. And a song that may send your spirit soaring.
💙 🩵 💚 💙 💚 🩵 💙 💚 🩵 💙 💚 🩵 💙 💚 🩵
Tetelestai
Bonus
I made a reference to Disney’s Beauty and the Beast in one of my camp messages: “Barely even friends, then somebody bends unexpectedly.”
In the Gospel of John, Jesus performs seven significant miracles that are referred to as “signs.” These signs form the backbone of the first half of the book, and each is meant to reveal something about the person and work of Christ. One of the interesting features of the fourth Gospel is that the author hangs its key by the back door. That is, John doesn’t give us his purpose for writing in the opening paragraph as Luke does. Rather, he saves his purpose statement for the end:
“Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written so that you may believe Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:30-31).
In short, Jesus did miraculous signs not to dazzle us but to deliver us. Consequently, John selects seven signs from a much larger number known to him to form the central core of Jesus’ ministry before his death, burial, and resurrection. They can be understood as divine endorsements of his authority, even as they clearly mark him out as “the incomparable Christ” who brings salvation to his people. The seven signs are:
Changing Water into Wine (John 2:1-11)
Healing the Royal Official’s Son (John 4:43-54)
Healing the Disabled Man at the Pool (5:1-18)
Feeding the Five Thousand (6:1-15)
Walking on the Water (6:16-25)
Healing the Man Born Blind (9:1-12)
Raising Lazarus from the Dead (11:1-44)
This series looks at the miracles of Jesus not merely to study history but to consider what God may be wanting to do among his people today. Believers can never command miracles to take place, but we can be open to them. As the Apostle Paul said, “My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power” (1 Corinthians 2:4). A full and genuine demonstration of the Spirit’s power is what the church needs today.
A dear family friend got me tickets to see His Only Son for my birthday. We went to the theater yesterday afternoon, and I intentionally sat next to my son during the showing. Whenever I preach on Genesis 22, I place a picture of Andrew on the pulpit just to remind myself the story is historically true, not pious fiction. This event actually happened, and it’s no fair that preachers jump ahead to Hebrews 11:19 prematurely. We have to wrestle first with what God asked Abraham to do before coming to some sort of resolution.
Does it really need to be said that I sobbed though half the film? I would do a slight rewrite of the ending (as noted below), but other than that, the movie delivered. What exactly it delivered I’m still trying to process, but I sat motionless for a good long while after the film ended. Maybe it was the story more than the production that got to me.
Either way, it was a good start to Holy Week after a great Palm Sunday celebration yesterday morning. For the next three nights, as is my custom, I’ll watch Jesus of Nazareth, parts 1, 2, and 3. Thursday night is our Maundy Thursday service, and then on the following afternoon, we’ll watch The Passion of the Christ before the evening Tenebrae service. That will be Friday. But Sunday’s coming.
A Reflection on Genesis 22
In watching Jesus carry the wood of the cross to the place of execution, Christians naturally think of the story of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22. God said to the patriarch, “Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about.” Abraham obeyed God, and Isaac quietly carried the wood up the mountain, preparing to be slaughtered by his own father.
In many ways, the story is disturbing, repugnant, and infuriating. We want to know what it was that drove Abraham up the mountain to take the life of his beloved son. We want to know why Isaac was so passive and compliant in the whole affair. And we want to know why God intervened at the last possible moment, possibly traumatizing Isaac even further.
The entire episode is a bit more comprehensible when we understand that covenants often involved the exchange of firstborn sons. But sending Isaac to live in God’s household would necessitate his death. That’s hard to take. Likewise, for God to send his Son to live in Abraham’s household would necessitate an incarnation. That’s hard to believe.
In any event, it was precisely because Isaac’s life was on the line that something even more horrendous than child sacrifice was at issue—namely, the possibility that God could be a liar. After all, Isaac was the child of promise, so if he died, God’s trustworthiness would die with him. Isaac has to live—or be resurrected—if all nations of the earth are to be blessed through his line. Abraham knew this, as the New Testament tells us in Hebrews 11:17. Abraham was convinced that God cannot lie, so he raised the knife.
Just then an angel of the Lord called out from heaven, “Abraham! Abraham! Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you revere God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” Abraham looked up, and there in a thicket was a ram caught by its horns. He took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in the place of his son.
Amazing.
Genesis 22 is a story about the costly sacrifice of a father, the willing submission of a son, and the gracious provision of the Lord. “He will provide,” said Abraham. The Hebrew literally says, “The Lord will see to it.” (Notice the future tense in English, and the imperfect tense in Hebrew.)
A lost key to the story is that God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son as a burnt offering “on one of the mountains I will tell you about.” In some way, then—unbeknownst to us—God told Abraham something about that mountain. But what did God tell him on the journey to Moriah? What did Abraham hear? What did God show him? Did Abraham see the obedient Son of God bearing the wood of the cross to Golgotha—the incarnated Son for whom there would be no substitute this time?
It was a private conversation, and we’ll never know the details, but God gave Abraham enough information to go up that mountain and obey him completely. Jesus would be part of a similar story himself, and Abraham had gotten a preview of it. No wonder Jesus said to his contemporaries, “Your father Abraham rejoiced at the thought of seeing my day; he saw it and was glad” (John 8:56).
Perhaps if Abraham had been standing at the foot of the cross and had seen Jesus die right in front of him—and this would be my slight re-write to the movie’s ending—he would have looked up to heaven and spoken God’s words back to him: “Lord! Lord! Now I know that you revere me, for you have not withheld from me your Son, your only Son, Jesus, whom you love.”
The story shows how the hardest thing God could ever ask of us is the very thing he did for us—he gave us his only Son. That Son was a descendant of Abraham through Isaac, and all families of the earth are blessed through him. God kept his word. Again.
“What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31-32).
The Israelites were commanded in Exodus 20:13 not to “kill” (KJV), or, as it says more precisely in the NIV and ESV, “You shall not murder.” The Hebrew word here is רָצַח (rāṣǎḥ), which means to take the life of another so as to cause their death. It can refer to accidental murder, manslaughter, premeditated murder, or governmental execution. The point of the law is to ensure that no Israelite—acting on his own—would decide that he had the right to take someone else’s life.
No penalties or qualifications are attached to the sixth commandment, but the issue is addressed more fully in cognate laws beyond the Decalogue (Exodus 21:12-14; Numbers 35:16-24, 30-34; Deuteronomy 19:4-7, 11-13). These laws call for the death penalty for first-degree murder (i.e., intentional homicide, or murder with malice aforethought), and lesser penalties when the murder was determined to be accidental or unintentional.
Such a person could flee to a city of refuge—thus protecting him from revenge killings by the families of the fallen—until the death of the high priest; then he could go free. On the other hand, if a man is convicted of intentional homicide, his punishment is unequivocal: he is to face the death penalty, and no ransom is to be accepted as a substitute (Numbers 35:31-32). This ruling harkens back to Genesis 9:6: “Whoever sheds the blood of a man, by man shall his blood be shed; for in the image of God was man made.”
Together these laws indicate that it was absolutely forbidden in Israel to plan someone’s death and then carry it out. To do so was to forfeit one’s own life. The reason for the ultimate penalty in this case is that human beings are made in the image of God. To murder a person with malice aforethought is tantamount to killing God in effigy. That’s why God’s people are to regard human life as sacred.
Clearly, the God who issued these laws views every human being—rich or poor, slave or free, male or female, Israelite or non-Israelite—as having supreme value. He loves and cherishes every human being. He does not want any person to murder another person. Indeed, every human being is so valuable to God that there is no conceivable payment that could adequately compensate for the murder of one of them. Thankfully, God takes motives and intentions into account. Accidents happen, even accidental murder, and those cases receive lesser penalties.
Now, murder goes much deeper than deliberate acts of terminating someone’s life. Jesus said in Matthew 5:21-22, “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment.” By that definition, most people have committed murder. Was Jesus just using “preacher’s hyperbole” to make a point, or was he wanting his followers to take a new look at where murder really begins? Unjustified anger, he says, is murder begun. All, then, need divine grace.
Quite significantly, Moses committed murder. King David arranged a murder. And Saul—before he became Paul—encouraged murder. Yet all received forgiveness from God and ministries beyond their misconduct. That’s because there is one payment in this world that’s enough to compensate for lost human life—the blood of Jesus Christ, which was shed for us on the cross for us. With the death of this high priest, sinners can be released by faith in him. “The vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives.”
A Chinese man once traveled across the United States for six months. When asked what impressed him most about America, he answered, “The way parents obey their children.” That, of course, is exactly backwards, but in many homes today, parents are not in charge. Their children rule the roost, and that’s a problem. Societal chaos is often the result, and we’re seeing this very dynamic play out across our nation today. Children should be taught to honor parents, just as the fifth commandment insists.
And yet, while all that is true, this command from God is not primarily directed toward young children. That’s an application of the command, as Paul teaches in Ephesians 6:1-3, but the fifth commandment is addressed primarily to adults, as are all of the Ten Commandments. That’s clearly the case, for example, with the fourth commandment, which prohibits making one’s sons or daughters work on the Sabbath. The same is true for the seventh commandment about adultery. Such regulations can only apply to adults.
Like so many other laws in the Mosaic corpus, this command serves to protect those who are disadvantaged in society. The social reality in the ancient Near East was that aging parents became less and less “useful” to their children as they grew older. As a result, they tended to become less valued by their adult children. Aging parents would gradually need more and more help because of physical weakness, mental challenges, increased sickness, loss of physical abilities, drops in income, etc. The fifth commandment calls for such individuals to be helped. In fact, the word honor can mean:
providing financial support for a person
showing a person respect; treating a person with dignity
verbally expressing one’s respect or esteem for a person
elevating a person to a position of respect and admiration
In short, God wanted Israel to be a good place for people to grow old. The same is true today in Christ’s church: God’s people are to honor and cherish their family. But what about those cases where a parent is extremely difficult or even wicked—an abuser, a physically agressive alcoholic, or an emotionally absent parent? How can God expect his children to honor such a parent? This message seeks to offer some guidance on thorny questions like these.
In the end, Jesus died obeying the fifth commandment. From the cross he said to his mother, who was standing next to the Apostle John, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to John he said, “Here is your mother” (John 19:26-27). At the very end, he tended to family obligations as well as his own personal calling, seeing to the care of his mother after he’s gone. Quite significantly, Jesus died bringing people into new relationships at the cross. John is Jesus’ substitute with respect to family caring. Jesus is John’s substitute with respect to sin bearing. Do you know Christ by faith as your sin-bearing substitute?
On September 21, 1956, a test pilot by the name of Tommy Attridge shot himself out of the sky. It was a classic case of two objects trying to occupy the same space at the same time—one being his Grumman F11F-1 Tiger jet, and the other being a gaggle of his own bullets. Attridge was test-firing his 20mm cannons while flying at the speed of Mach 1.
At one point he entered a shallow dive, and at 13,000 feet he pulled the trigger on his guns for a 4-second burst. He fired again for a few seconds to empty the belts. Eleven seconds later, at 7,000 feet, he caught up to his own bullets and was struck by them. He had overtaken and then passed through his own gunfire! The plane crash landed into some trees, but Attridge was able to escape, relatively unharmed. It was the aerospace equivalent of a tiger biting its own tail.
What a great metaphor for workaholics who are so driven they can never take a break. They never slow down, never go on vacation, and never take time to smell the roses. Despite all the time-saving devices in our modern world, they still don’t have time to get everything done they want to accomplish. So, they fly through life at Mach 1 with their hair on fire. But there’s a price to be paid for moving through life too fast—namely, physical exhaustion, mental weariness, emotional distress, spiritual disillusionment, or good old-fashioned burnout.
Thankfully, God understands the human need to rest and re-charge. In fact, the fourth commandment teaches us that God’s people are to rest in peace before they die. Quite significantly, the Sabbath law is the longest commandment of the ten, and it’s the most unique. It took Israel out of sync with the heavenly bodies, out of sync the Egyptian workweek, and out of sync with the entire known world. It was simultaneously oriented toward God, others, and oneself. In that sense, it aligns with Jesus’s teaching that the greatest command is to love God with all one’s heart and one’s neighbor as oneself.
Most surprisingly, the Sabbath was a “mini suspension of the curse.” Keeping it meant not having to sweat from the brow or handle thorns from a cursed earth. Implementing it is to experience God’s grace in the midst of life’s fallenness. No wonder Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). Like Father, like Son. God wants his people to have a safe landing. In this life and the next.
