Posts

Posted on

Hope in the God Who Saves

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 7. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 28, 2025.

Amen. Praise the Lord. How many of you remember the Y2K scare? It’s wild to think that was twenty-five years ago. I remember my dad, who worked for Manulife Financial, being on call all night on December 31, 1999, because old systems stored the year with just two digits. People worried that when the calendar rolled to “00,” critical computers might fail. From that anxious night to today—when computers can generate images, video, and text—it’s amazing how much has changed.

One change I’m grateful for is YouTube. I use it not only for entertainment but also for long, informative videos. Some can be heavy. One I watched was about a Mexican mother named Miriam whose daughter was kidnapped in 2014. After paying ransom and still losing her daughter, she channeled her grief into relentless investigation—disguises, patient watching, and clever use of social media—identifying everyone involved and working with police to arrest them one by one. She became a symbol of courage in the face of cartel violence and government inaction. Tragically, on Mother’s Day 2017, she was killed near her home, and her own case remains unsolved. Even though I sensed the video might end that way, it left me deflated. Some evil seems to go unpunished—at least on this side of eternity.

That’s close to how the prophet Micah sounds at the start of chapter 7. Near the end of his ministry, despite warnings and promises of hope, he looks around Judah and sees no fruit. The godly seem gone; leaders are corrupt; neighbors and friends can’t be trusted; even families fracture (see Mic 7:1–6). It’s bleak. And it feels familiar: scandals, exploitation, persecution of Christians, and countless other wrongs. Scripture says we should expect difficult times in the “last days,” with people loving self and pleasure rather than God, keeping a form of religion while denying its power (2 Tim 3:1–5). Those who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while impostors go from bad to worse (2 Tim 3:12–13).

What do we do with that? We can despair or grow cynical, or even start to wonder whether God is really in control. But God is gracious to remind His people of His sovereignty. Think of Elijah. After the dramatic victory over the prophets of Baal (1 Kgs 18), one threat from Jezebel sent him fleeing, discouraged, and ready to give up (1 Kgs 19). God met him, questioned his despair, and reminded him there were seven thousand who hadn’t bowed to Baal (1 Kgs 19:18). Elijah wasn’t alone; God was still ruling.

Micah has a similar turn. Suddenly his tone shifts: “As for me, I will look to the Lord… my God will hear me… When I fall, I shall rise… When I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me” (see Mic 7:7–8). He acknowledges Judah’s sin and the Lord’s indignation, yet trusts that God Himself will plead his cause, bring him into the light, and vindicate His people (Mic 7:9–10). Judgment would come—exile to Babylon—but God promised a remnant, a return, and ultimately a Messiah who would bring complete victory.

That victory arrived in a way no one could have scripted. The prophets dropped clues—Emmanuel, “God with us” (Isa 7:14); the child who is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isa 9:6–7)—but the fulfillment exceeded imagination. The Son of God took on flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). Everything about Jesus’ birth emphasized lowliness and surprise: the scandal of a betrothed virgin with child, a census forcing travel under foreign rule, a stable for delivery, a manger for a crib, angelic news first announced to shepherds, and wise men initially going to the royal city—not to Bethlehem. God downplayed earthly glory to reveal a greater glory: not merely Israel’s political restoration, but salvation for the world (Gen 12:3; Mic 5:2).

Micah 7 closes with this double horizon. First, the Messiah would shepherd His people and restore them, as in the days when God brought them from Egypt, showing them marvelous things (Mic 7:14–15). The nations who opposed God’s people would be humbled (Mic 7:16–17). But beyond geopolitical reversals lies the heart of the good news: God pardons iniquity, passes over transgression, has compassion, and casts our sins into the depths of the sea (Mic 7:18–20). That’s the victory Jesus secured—over sin itself—through His sinless life, atoning death, burial, and resurrection. Everyone who believes in Him receives forgiveness and eternal life (John 3:16–17).

So we live between Advents—remembering the first, waiting for the second. In this in-between, there will be tribulation, yet Jesus says, “Take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Don’t let the darkness make you forget the character of God. Like Micah, look to the Lord. Like Elijah, remember you’re not alone. Like Mary and Joseph, trust God’s quiet, sovereign work that often unfolds in humble places.

As our celebrations wind down and the year turns, let’s ask for grace to resist despair and keep hoping. Practice remembrance: rehearse the gospel, stay in Scripture, pray, worship, and act. And let hope move your hands—do good, seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). Christ has come. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Posted on

Never Forget His Rescue

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 6. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 21, 2025.

Like many kids who grew up in Canada, I took piano through the Royal Conservatory system. What I remember most about exams was the repertoire: fifteen to twenty minutes of music committed to memory. There’s only one way to do that—practice. Parents know the drill: “Practice, because we’re paying for those lessons!” It isn’t just music. At work there are tasks you do so often you barely think about them, and others you have to look up because you don’t do them regularly. Skill sticks with repetition; neglect leads to forgetfulness. That principle also applies to our spiritual life: if we don’t practice our faith—if we don’t remember and rehearse God’s works and ways—we forget.

Israel’s history shows this. In the wilderness, Moses kept urging the people to remember the things their eyes had seen and to keep God’s commandments (Deut 4; 8). Yet not long after entering the land, they forgot and did what was evil in the Lord’s sight (Judg 3:7). Think about all God had done: the plagues in Egypt, the Red Sea crossing, daily provision in the desert (even their sandals didn’t wear out), the Jordan River parted, Jericho’s walls falling. Still, they forgot—and forgetting led to idolatry.

Fast-forward about five hundred years to Micah. We’ve been in this little book throughout Advent. Micah prophesied to Judah while the northern kingdom was already falling to Assyria. He confronted Judah’s idolatry and the social injustice of wealthy landowners stealing the land of the poor (Mic 1–2). He called out corrupt rulers and even prophets who sold “words from God” for a price (Mic 3). Judgment would come—the land would be lost. Yet every message of judgment was paired with hope: a preserved remnant, the mountain of the Lord lifted up, nations streaming to God, weapons turned into tools, peace established (Mic 4). We even heard the promise that the ruler would come from Bethlehem (Mic 5:2). Two full cycles: judgment and restoration.

Micah 6 opens the final cycle, and we’re back in the courtroom. The Lord summons creation to hear His indictment (Mic 6:1–2). Then He asks His people a piercing question: “What have I done to weary you?” and rehearses His saving acts—bringing them out of Egypt and raising up Moses, Aaron, and Miriam (Mic 6:3–4). He reminds them of the whole Balak–Balaam episode (Num 22–24), when a pagan king hired a prophet to curse Israel and God turned the curse into blessing—deliverance Israel didn’t even see at the time. He points to Shittim and Gilgal, framing the last steps into the land (Mic 6:5). In other words: “I rescued you, led you, protected you—often behind the scenes. How did that become a burden to you?”

Israel’s response reveals how far their hearts have wandered. They try to bargain: “Shall I come with burnt offerings? Calves a year old? Thousands of rams? Ten thousand rivers of oil? My firstborn for my transgression?” (Mic 6:6–7). It’s an escalation that exposes the problem. They see God as a power to be placated, not a Lord to be loved. Worst of all, their final offer—child sacrifice—mimics pagan worship and directly violates God’s law (Lev 18:21). In trying to impress God, they prove they’ve forgotten Him.

Then comes Micah’s famous rebuttal, not plucked out of thin air but spoken into this exact moment: God has already told you what is good and what He requires—to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). It’s not a price list to purchase favor; it’s the posture of a people who truly remember the Lord. Think of Jesus’ parable in Luke 18: the Pharisee who boasts of his religious performance and the tax collector who beats his breast and prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” One trusts his offerings; the other trusts God. Only one goes home justified.

Micah 6:8 is a call to action, yes—but it’s also a call to repentance and reliance. On our own we can’t meet God’s standard. Jesus says, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt 5:48). That command drives us to grace. How can we do justice without first being justified by faith and having peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Rom 5:1)? How can we love kindness without knowing that God’s kindness leads us to repentance (Rom 2:4)? How can we walk humbly with God unless we’re following the One who humbled Himself to the point of death, even death on a cross (Phil 2)?

So how do we keep from forgetting? The same way Moses coached Israel: remember, rehearse, obey. Immerse yourself in Scripture. Practice your faith daily. Not as leverage to “get God” to do what you want, but as gratitude and dependence—because apart from Him we drift. Our world is full of distractions—endless deals, notifications, even good gifts like family and community. Enjoy them, but let them point you back to the Giver. Let this season re-center you on Jesus: Simeon’s words still ring true—our eyes have seen God’s salvation, a light for the nations and the glory of Israel (Luke 2).

And let remembering spill into doing. As a church we’re giving a special “Happy Birthday, Jesus” offering this year toward our benevolence fund to meet needs in our community. It’s one small, concrete way to enact Micah 6:8—justice with kindness, flowing from humble hearts that haven’t forgotten grace.

Church, resist the impulse to bargain with God. Instead, receive His mercy again, and then live it out. Practice your faith so you don’t forget. Do justice—not to earn love, but because you are loved. Love kindness—not to look righteous, but because you’ve been shown mercy. Walk humbly—not to impress God, but because He walks with you. This is what the Lord requires, and this is what Christ enables.

Posted on

Bethlehem’s Unexpected King

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 5. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 14, 2025.

We’re back in our Christmas series, “God With Us: Advent in the book of Micah.” Micah is one of the “minor” prophets—minor only in length, not in importance. Case in point: Micah 5:2 is one of the best-known prophetic verses of Christmas. We’ve already met it this season because it’s tied to the Bethlehem (peace) candle.

A quick catch-up. Micah’s message moves in cycles of judgment and hope. In chapter 1 we saw God’s terrifying judgment over Israel and Judah’s idolatry. Chapter 2 zoomed in on a particular sin: social injustice—wealthy landowners stealing land from the poor, which also attacked God’s plan for the land to symbolize Israel’s special place with Him. Yet chapter 2 ended with a first glimmer of hope: God would preserve a remnant. Chapter 3 exposed corrupt rulers and even bought-and-paid-for prophets; the judgment climaxed with the loss of the land itself. Then came the stunning reversal in chapter 4: the mountain of the Lord lifted high, the nations streaming to Him, and lasting peace (Mic 4:1–4). Still, Micah 4:9–10 warned of labor pains first—exile and suffering—followed by redemption. And 4:11–13 lifted our eyes all the way to the end of the age.

Into that context, Micah 5 opens. Verse 1 anticipates the humiliation of Judah’s king under siege—fulfilled in Zedekiah’s collapse during the Babylonian conquest (2 Kgs 25). Verses 1 and 3 echo the labor-pains image from 4:9–10: there will be real pain before joy is born. Right between those pains sits the promise: “Bethlehem Ephrathah” (Mic 5:2). For us that sounds obvious; for Micah’s audience it was shocking. Bethlehem was an insignificant little town—so small it isn’t even listed among Judah’s 120 towns in Joshua 15. Yes, David came from Bethlehem and God promised David an everlasting house (2 Sam 7), but David’s royal sons were born and reigned from Jerusalem. No one expected the Messiah’s arrival to arise from a tiny, no-name place like “house of bread.”

And that’s exactly the point. This is God’s modus operandi. He loves to use what is weak and lowly to shame the strong, so no one can boast in His presence (1 Cor 1:27–29). Bethlehem’s smallness magnifies the greatness of the One who comes from there.

Micah then uses shepherd imagery: the Ruler will “stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the LORD… and he shall be their peace” (Mic 5:4–5a). If “the LORD is my shepherd” (Ps 23), and the coming King is the Shepherd of God’s flock, then we are being nudged to recognize that the Messiah is God Himself come near—Immanuel (Isa 7:14). What was mystery to the prophets has been revealed to us in Christ: the Word became flesh (Jn 1), the Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep (Jn 10), and His peace guards our hearts (Phil 4:7). This is the already and the not yet of Advent: in His first coming Jesus truly accomplished salvation; in His second coming He will consummate it. So we celebrate His first Advent and, with patient hearts, we wait for the second (Jas 5:7–8).

The rest of Micah 5 widens that hope. In 5:5b–6, “Assyria” functions as a cipher for the enemies of God’s people across time: the Messiah delivers His people when the invader treads within our borders. In 5:10–11, God tears down horses and chariots—the ancient symbols of security—to teach us that our real safety is in Him. For us that means our ultimate security isn’t in bank accounts, careers, or health metrics but in the love of God in Christ from which nothing can separate us (Rom 8:37–39). In 5:12, He exposes the futility of sorceries and fortune-tellers; today’s versions have glossier packaging—“inside tips,” algorithmic hype, spiritualized self-help—but true wisdom is found in Christ alone (1 Cor 1:25). In 5:13–14, He uproots idols and sacred pillars; our idols may be good things turned ultimate—family, work, reputation, even ministry—but the new heart He gives enables us to worship the Creator above every created thing (Ezek 36:26). And 5:15 reminds us there is an ultimate, righteous victory in the Messiah. Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ; so be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord (1 Cor 15:57–58).

So, what should we carry into this week of Advent? First, don’t miss the quiet glory of Bethlehem. God delights to work through what the world overlooks. If your life feels small or your contribution hidden, remember where the Savior’s story began and let that free you to be faithful where you are. Second, let the Shepherd-King be your peace. Bring Him your anxieties and fractured thoughts and ask Him to rule in your heart with His peace. Third, live the already/not-yet tension well: trust Him as your security, seek His wisdom in His Word, turn from subtle idols, and labor in hope—because none of it is in vain.

Praise the Lord that the victory began in that tiny town two thousand years ago. May we not let the season’s noise distract us from the season’s news: the Son of David, born in Bethlehem, is our Shepherd, our Peace, and our King. Come, Lord Jesus.

Posted on

Bear with One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Colossians 3:12-15. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 7, 2025.

Resilience is an interesting attribute in dire situations. It’s something celebrated across cultures, and it’s the kind of thing people make movies about. Take the story of Louis Zamperini. His life was told in the book—and later the film—Unbroken. Zamperini was a bit of a delinquent as a youth, but he got into long-distance running and competed in the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Then World War II began. In 1941 he joined the U.S. Army Air Corps and became a bombardier in the Pacific, flying missions against Japanese-held islands. During a search-and-rescue mission his plane had mechanical failure and crashed. He and two others survived on a small life raft, fighting off sharks and nearly capsizing in a typhoon. On the 47th day they reached land—the Marshall Islands—only to be captured by the Japanese. They were tortured, malnourished, and beaten as prisoners of war for years until the war ended. Even after release, Zamperini struggled with what we now call PTSD, but eventually he attended a Billy Graham crusade and gave his life to Christ. That began a different kind of journey—a different kind of resilience.

His story is awe-inspiring, but it turns out most people actually have a high “baseline resilience.” Studies show that the majority who suffer trauma don’t end up with severe, chronic psychiatric issues; many do bounce back with family, community, and professional support, and some even find growth and meaning through what they endured. I’m not minimizing trauma—those who carry lingering effects like PTSD need care, not stigma—but for the vast majority, our God-given capacity to recover is real.

Interestingly, the opposite often shows up with things that aren’t catastrophic. For example, 80–95% of people who lose weight regain it within two years. When it comes to endurance in everyday disciplines—dieting, sustained lifestyle change—we’re not so resilient. Another area is relationships. “Cutting out toxicity” is the buzzword now—cutting off toxic bosses, coworkers, friends, even family. I read pieces after the 2024 U.S. election asking whether to invite relatives who voted for the other party to Thanksgiving. Now, there’s a difference between toxicity and abuse; abuse should never be tolerated. But on a lot of plain differences and offenses, our age seems increasingly unwilling to endure.

That is the opposite of what our passage teaches. We’re in our series on the “one another” commands; this is our eighth, since we’ve been doing one on the first Sunday each month. Today’s command is “bear with one another” (Colossians 3:12–15). Paul tells us, as God’s chosen, holy, and beloved, to put on compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another; and if anyone has a complaint against another, forgiving each other as the Lord has forgiven us (Colossians 3:12–15). We tend to hear “bear with one another” and think, “Just put up with little annoyances for the sake of peace.” But Paul ties it to real forgiveness when real hurt has happened. This is more than personality quirks. It’s learning to endure and forgive when we’ve actually been wronged.

In Romans, Paul frames it this way: “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves,” seeking our neighbor’s good to build them up (Romans 15:1–2). That implies closeness. If we truly function as a family, conflict will happen. You actually have to care to get hurt. I’d be more concerned if a church never had conflict—it might mean we’ve stopped engaging from the heart. So we must bear with the failings of others.

There are limits, though, because the aim is to build up (Romans 15:2). Some things shouldn’t be “endured.” Abuse must never be endured. And habitual, unrepentant sin must not be ignored; it destroys witness and may reveal salvation issues. Hebrews warns that if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, we face judgment (Hebrews 10:26–27). That’s why Jesus and the apostles give the church a process for discipline: not to shame, but to rescue. If we “bear with” ongoing, unrepentant sin, we may miss the chance to call someone to the gospel.

A recent example of courage here is what happened in the Southern Baptist Convention removing Saddleback Church from fellowship over theology—specifically complementarian convictions about the pastoral office. Saddleback started with solid theology, but over time some positions were revised using a hermeneutic that treats certain biblical commands as merely first-century cultural. Where does that end? If Scripture is culture-bound wherever we feel tension, what guards us from drifting on issues like the sanctity of life? The SBC chose to uphold what they are convinced Scripture teaches, even though Saddleback is a very large church. The point isn’t to relitigate that vote here, but to say: bearing with one another doesn’t mean papering over serious doctrinal or moral departures. Love sometimes looks like hard, humble clarity.

So how do we rightly bear with one another when real hurt (but not abuse or entrenched sin) is involved? Paul already gave us the clothing to put on: compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience (Colossians 3:12). Compassion and kindness mean more than gritting our teeth; they move toward the other’s good. Humility and meekness remember that today I’m bearing with your failings; tomorrow you may be bearing with mine. Patience is the bedrock of Christlike endurance.

“Above all,” Paul says, “put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony,” and “let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,” since we were called to peace in one body—and be thankful (Colossians 3:14–15). That throws us back to the first sermon in this series: “love one another.” Love is the only way the one-another commands actually happen. The problem is that love is hard, especially if we’ve absorbed a transactional view: I love you because you benefit me. When the benefit dries up, so does the love. But Jesus says the greatest love lays down its life for friends (John 15:13). Biblical love is sacrificial and others-focused. Paul’s famous description of love—patient, kind, not envious or boastful, not rude or self-seeking, not irritable or resentful; rejoicing with the truth; bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring all things—confronted a divided church (1 Corinthians 13:4–7). That’s the kind of love that makes real bearing possible.

We can’t manufacture that love. We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19–21). So we have to keep cultivating our hearts in the love of God—stirring our affections for Christ in the ways that most help us: worship, prayer, meditation, study of the Word. As we come to Advent, pick up the devotional if you haven’t. Let it help you set your heart on Christ’s first coming and long for his second. And let the peace of Christ rule in your heart (Colossians 3:15). He is the Prince of Peace, and by his death, burial, and resurrection he has made peace for us with God. Without Christ’s peace within, this kind of love will feel impossible. If you don’t know him, I invite you to come to him—let his peace rule in your heart today. And if you do know him, be thankful. This is what we remember at the Lord’s Supper: Advent’s hope, the cross’s grace, and the promise of his return. Only through the gospel can we truly love God and one another, and only with that love can we bear with one another in a way that honors Christ.