Author: Chris Evangelista

Man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever - WSC
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Following the Finger of God

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 11:13-23. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on Good Friday – April 18, 2025.

We just read the familiar story of the crucifixion of Jesus, and while it would be easy to linger there, our sermon series, Journey to Jerusalem, moves us to Luke 11:14–23. Surprisingly, the themes in this passage actually echo what we just saw at the cross. Here again, Jesus performs a miracle—casting out a demon from a mute man. It’s not the first time we’ve seen this, and by now, in Luke’s Gospel, it almost feels routine. But something has shifted. The opposition to Jesus isn’t just skeptical anymore—it’s growing hostile.

Instead of marvelling or asking honest questions, some begin accusing Jesus of being in league with demons. In Luke 11:15, they say, “He casts out demons by Beelzebul, the prince of demons.” Others aren’t as aggressive but still resist belief, saying in verse 16, “while others, to test him, kept seeking from him a sign from heaven.” Both reactions still exist today. Some accuse Jesus or Christians of being harmful or deluded. Others say they’ll believe if God just proves Himself—on their terms.

We saw this same mindset at the cross. The crowd scoffed, “If you are the Christ, save yourself!” The soldiers mocked, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” It’s a mindset that makes faith conditional: “I will believe in Jesus if He gives me what I want.” Whether it’s wealth, healing, or a specific answer to prayer, the demand is the same—“Do this, and then I’ll believe.”

But Jesus doesn’t operate on our terms. Who are we to demand a sign from God? In fact, in Luke 11:29, He says, “This generation is an evil generation. It seeks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of Jonah.” Sign-seeking is not faith—it’s bargaining. And God doesn’t negotiate salvation. He gives it freely by grace, through faith. Ephesians 2:8–9 makes that clear: “For by grace you have been saved through faith… not a result of works.”

And that’s what this is—works-based belief. “I will believe when…” is just another way of earning your way to God. But faith doesn’t wait for proof. Faith says, “God is able… but if not…” Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said in Daniel 3, even if God doesn’t do what we ask, we will still trust Him.

And here’s the thing—people who demand a sign often move the goalpost. Even if Jesus had stepped down from the cross, those mocking Him would have just asked for something else. Just like Pharaoh in Exodus who saw ten plagues and still hardened his heart. If your faith depends on your demands being met, you’ll never be satisfied.

On the other end, some claim Jesus isn’t the only way—they say He’s one truth among many. That’s the spirit of postmodernism: all truths are equal, and no one can claim exclusive truth. But Jesus confronts that thinking. In Luke 11:17–19, He logically dismantles the idea that He casts out demons by Satan’s power. A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand. And by that same logic, postmodernism crumbles. If everything is true, then nothing is true.

Jesus doesn’t leave room for multiple truths. He says in John 14:6, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” That’s not a suggestion. It’s a claim. And it’s either true or it isn’t—there’s no middle ground.

Finally, Jesus closes this section with a powerful phrase in Luke 11:20: “But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you.” The finger of God—just like in Exodus, when the magicians of Egypt saw God’s power and could no longer deny it. Jesus is stronger than any enemy. He’s not just another voice in a crowd of opinions. He is the King who conquers, the Truth who saves, and the God who calls us to believe—not on our terms, but on His.

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More Than Words

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 11:1-13. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on April 13, 2025.

It’s funny how easily we can overlook what’s right in front of us just because it’s familiar. A friend of mine who’s been living in Japan for years admitted that I, as a tourist, had seen more of his adopted home than he had. I think the same could be said for a lot of us and our own city. We miss the wonder, the beauty, the significance of things simply because we’ve seen them too often. And sometimes, that same kind of dullness happens with Scripture—especially with passages we know by heart, like the Lord’s Prayer. That’s why looking at the version in Luke 11 is so refreshing. It’s a little different than the version we’re used to from Matthew 6, and that difference wakes us up to its meaning again.

In Luke 11, Jesus is responding to a personal request from one of His disciples: “Lord, teach us to pray.” It’s not a sermon to the crowds like in Matthew; it’s a conversation with someone close to Him. That context matters. It tells us that prayer isn’t just a performance or a public discipline—it’s relational. It’s intimate. And the very first word Jesus uses shows us just how intimate prayer is supposed to be: “Father.” That one word would have shocked the disciples. The God whose name was so holy it couldn’t even be spoken aloud is being addressed like a parent? This wasn’t how people talked to God. In fact, throughout the Old Testament, God is only referred to as “Father” about fifteen times, and almost always in the collective sense—as the Father of Israel. Jesus, on the other hand, refers to God as Father around 250 times in the New Testament. And each time, it carries a sense of closeness that had never been seen before.

But just because Jesus invites us to intimacy with God doesn’t mean we lose our reverence. That’s the tension we often get wrong. I remember hearing someone open a public prayer with “Hey God,” and it struck me—even as a teenager—as disrespectful. It felt like the pendulum had swung too far in the direction of casual. Then there’s the idea of calling God “Daddy,” based on the Aramaic word “Abba.” But that term was used not just by little children but by adults as well—it wasn’t baby talk; it was just the everyday word for “father.” So yes, God is close. Yes, He is familiar. But He is still God. That’s why the next line matters so much: “Hallowed be your name.” To hallow something is to set it apart, to recognize its sacredness. We’re not making God holy by saying this; we’re acknowledging His holiness. We are worshiping.

That distinction between praise and worship is subtle but important. Praise celebrates what God has done—His works, His blessings, His victories. Worship, on the other hand, is about who He is—His character, His nature. And both have their place in prayer. Praise can prepare our hearts for worship. It helps us focus on God’s character by reflecting on how His character has shown up in our lives. When we say, “Hallowed be your name,” we’re doing just that—we’re stepping into worship, affirming God’s holiness, and aligning our hearts with who He is.

Then we move to “Your kingdom come.” This is where our longing for God’s rule comes into play. It’s an act of trust—a declaration that we believe in His justice, His order, and His plan. We know His kingdom is already here in part, and we’re also waiting for the day when it will come in full. This line holds both present faith and future hope. It reminds us that we’re living in the “already and not yet” of God’s reign. And it realigns us—it pulls our eyes off our own agendas and toward God’s bigger picture.

“Give us each day our daily bread.” This is about provision, yes, but it’s also about dependence. Every day we come to God, acknowledging that He is the one who sustains us. It echoes Philippians 4:19, which promises that God will supply all our needs. Not our wants. Not our fantasies. But what we need. And the fact that Jesus tells us to ask for daily bread, not a lifetime supply, is a reminder that our relationship with God is meant to be ongoing, constant, daily.

“Forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us.” This part shifts the focus to our relationships—with God and with others. Asking for forgiveness is one thing—but Jesus links it directly to how we treat other people. If we truly understand the grace we’ve been shown, it will overflow in grace toward others. Like in the parable in Matthew 18, the one who’s been forgiven much should be the first to extend mercy. It’s a gut-check for us. Are we holding grudges while asking God for grace?

And finally, “Lead us not into temptation.” This isn’t just a plea to avoid difficulty. It’s a recognition of our weakness. It’s an honest admission that we need God’s help to stay on the path. 1 Corinthians 10:13 assures us that God won’t let us be tempted beyond what we can bear—but we still need to ask for that strength. We still need to be humble enough to say, “God, I can’t do this on my own.”

So this prayer that might feel overly familiar suddenly becomes a rich framework for how we relate to God. It’s not just a script—it’s an outline. A way to approach God with the right heart: as children who are both loved and in awe. Who trust Him with our daily needs, with our future, and with our hearts. Who come to Him intimately, but never casually. Who praise Him, worship Him, and want His name to be made holy—not just in our words, but in our lives.

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Sweeter Than Honey: Delighting in God’s Word

Summary of my sermon, based on Psalm 19-7-11. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Peel on March 30, 2025.

Wes Huff’s appearance on the Joe Rogan podcast earlier this year was nothing short of remarkable. A Ph.D. student at Wycliffe College and part of Apologetics Canada, Wes went toe-to-toe with Joe Rogan for three hours, defending the Christian faith and clearly articulating the Gospel to an audience of millions. It’s hard to grasp the sheer size of that platform—over six million views on YouTube alone, and similar numbers on Spotify. To put it in perspective, that’s more than a hundred Skydomes full of people, all hearing a clear, thoughtful, and respectful explanation of the Christian faith. In a time when Christians have been increasingly mocked in the public square—like when Richard Dawkins told a crowd to “mock them, ridicule them, in public”—this was a powerful moment.

What made the interview even more compelling was the focus on one of the most commonly criticized aspects of Christianity: the reliability of the Bible. Critics like Dawkins often argue that the Bible can’t be trusted because we don’t have the original manuscripts and because the copies we do have contain hundreds of thousands of “errors.” That’s not something we need to deny—it’s true. We don’t have the originals. What we have are thousands of copies, and among those are an estimated 400,000 to 500,000 textual variants. That might sound alarming until you understand what those variants actually are and why they exist.

The truth is, most of those differences are tiny—spelling errors, word order changes, skipped or duplicated words. Back then, everything was copied by hand. Imagine trying to copy the entire Gospel of Mark by hand without making a single mistake. You’d probably miss a word or two. And yet, despite all that, none of these variants impact the core doctrines of our faith. The teachings about Jesus, the nature of God, salvation, and the Church remain absolutely intact. Even the few major variants—like the debated ending of Mark’s Gospel—are well documented and clearly noted in most Bibles today. They’re not hidden, and they don’t undermine the central truths of Christianity.

And here’s where things get even more fascinating. The reason we have so many variants is because we have so many manuscripts. Thousands of them. The New Testament is, by far, the best-attested work of ancient literature in human history. We have around 5,800 Greek manuscripts, and if you include Latin and other translations, that number climbs to about 24,000. By comparison, we have only 210 copies of Plato’s works, with the oldest one dating 1,300 years after the original was written. Homer’s Iliad has about 1,700 copies, and the oldest is from 400 years after the original. But with the New Testament, the earliest manuscript fragment—called P52—is from just 30 years after the Gospel of John was written. That’s extraordinary.

Wes Huff actually gave Joe Rogan a replica of P52 during the interview. It’s just a small scrap of papyrus with a few lines from John’s Gospel, but it’s hugely important because it helps scholars confirm the accuracy of other, later manuscripts. Think of it like polling a few thousand people to predict an election—the sample is small, but if it matches the broader data, you can trust the results. P52 isn’t alone, either. We have other early fragments like P104, a piece of Matthew’s Gospel dated to around 150 AD. Then there’s the Codex Sinaiticus, the oldest complete New Testament we have, from around 330 AD. Even that is only about 240 years removed from the originals, which is still incredibly close by ancient standards.

But all this evidence—the variants, the sheer volume of manuscripts, the early dating—it doesn’t just prove reliability. It also shows just how valued the Bible was. Psalm 19:7–8 says, “The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul… the precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart… the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.” That’s why there were so many copies. People wanted to read the Scriptures. They used them, shared them, traveled with them. Just like my old, worn-out Bible I carried with me during a summer at Capernwray Harbour—eventually it just fell apart from use. That’s likely what happened to the original writings of Paul, Peter, and the rest. They were passed around so much, used so heavily, they simply didn’t survive. But before they wore out, they were copied again and again.

Even Paul encouraged this. In Colossians 4:16, he tells the church, “Have this letter read also in the church of the Laodiceans.” The Word was meant to be shared. And God, in His wisdom, chose to preserve His Word not through a single pristine original locked away in a vault, but through an abundance of handwritten manuscripts, lovingly copied and spread across the ancient world. That’s not a weakness—it’s a miracle.

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Balancing Service & Reflection

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 10:38-42. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on February 23, 2025.

The story about the renovations at Morningstar has always stuck with me. Before they changed anything, it looked just like you’d expect a Baptist church to look—choir seats up front, a baptistry behind the stage, nothing flashy. But Morningstar was famous for their Christmas and Easter musicals, and at some point they decided to upgrade their entire auditorium to better support those productions. One major part of the plan was to install this huge 18-foot screen at the back of the stage. It wouldn’t just be for Sunday mornings—it was meant to be a dynamic backdrop for all their dramatic presentations.

They spent a year or two raising funds and finally began construction in January 2011. Funny enough, that was right after I started my internship there. Every week, they’d make progress on the renovations, while we held services with massive white tarps cordoning off the stage area. Every Saturday night, I’d have to set up the temporary stage for Sunday morning, which gave me a front-row seat to all the behind-the-scenes conversations.

One discussion in particular still echoes in my memory. It was about this load-bearing pillar that they discovered behind the old stage. It hadn’t shown up on any of the original plans, but once they tore things down, there it was—right in the way of the projector they needed to use for the giant screen. The projector had to be a specific distance from the screen to work properly, but the pillar blocked the spot where the projector needed to go.

So, they were faced with a choice. Either change the projector setup—make the screen smaller or move the projector to the front—or re-engineer the pillar, which would cost an extra $20,000–$30,000. I’ll never forget when the construction foreman looked at the plans and said, “From what I understand, this screen and that projector are what this whole project is about… so I think you only have one choice—you need to fix the beam, not the projector.”

That moment hit the pastors hard. They realized they had lost sight of the main point. The whole renovation centered around that screen and that projector. It was necessary. And so, they did what had to be done. They adjusted the pillar and kept the vision intact.

That same kind of moment shows up in our passage from Luke 10. Jesus visits the home of Martha and Mary. Martha, being a good host, gets busy with preparations. Mary, on the other hand, sits at Jesus’ feet and listens to Him teach. Martha eventually gets frustrated and complains—“Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to serve alone?” But Jesus doesn’t scold Martha for serving. Instead, He gently redirects her focus. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

This isn’t about a right or wrong choice. It’s about priorities. Service is good—our church wouldn’t function without it. People set up chairs, prepare meals, run the tech… and Scripture is clear that we are called to serve. But the passage isn’t saying don’t serve—it’s asking, what’s the main thing? What is necessary?

When we get caught up in our tasks—whether they’re good things or not—we risk losing sight of Jesus. We become anxious, overwhelmed, maybe even resentful, like Martha. And in that moment, Jesus gently reminds us: keep your eyes on Me. Choose the better portion.

The amazing thing is that Martha seems to have learned from this. Later, in John 11, when her brother Lazarus dies, it’s Martha—not Mary—who runs out to meet Jesus and confesses her faith in Him. “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.” That’s one of the great declarations of faith in the Gospels—right up there with Peter’s own confession.

It’s a beautiful full-circle moment. Martha, who was once distracted by service, becomes someone who understands who Jesus truly is. And Mary, who once sat in stillness, eventually serves Jesus in a profound way—anointing Him in preparation for burial.

So, maybe the real question isn’t whether we serve or reflect—but are we serving from a place of reflection? Are we remembering the main thing? Because when Jesus is our portion, our source, and our goal, our service becomes more meaningful. It becomes an act of worship. It keeps us grounded in joy, not overwhelmed with duty. Choose the better portion—because when Jesus is first, everything else falls into place.

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Outdo One Another in Showing Honour

Summary of my sermon, based on Romans 12:9-13. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on March 2, 2025.

The world has its own way of defining honor—bravery in battle, sacrifices made for others, accomplishments that inspire awe. Just think of Telesforo Trinidad. Most of us had never heard his name, but the US Navy did something extraordinary in his memory. They decided to name a warship after him—one of their most powerful destroyers. Why? Because in 1915, after surviving a deadly boiler explosion aboard the USS San Diego, he ran back—twice—into the fire and smoke to rescue two fellow sailors. And he did this not in the heat of combat but during peacetime. That’s the kind of gallantry that earned him the Medal of Honor, an award given only to those who go above and beyond the call of duty. His story reminds us that true honor often looks like self-sacrifice and courage, even when no one is watching.

That’s the kind of example that easily earns respect. When someone risks their life or achieves something extraordinary, we naturally want to honor them. But in the Kingdom of God, things work differently. As followers of Christ, we’re not just called to recognize those moments of greatness—we’re called to outdo one another in showing honor. That’s not just about giving credit where it’s due. It’s about a radical kind of love that seeks to lift others up whether or not the world thinks they deserve it. Romans 12:10 tells us, “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.” It’s not a suggestion; it’s a command. It’s how we love genuinely, with the kind of affection that sees each other as family.

Paul doesn’t just say, “Love one another”—he says to do it with brotherly affection. That’s the love you have for your family. You don’t love your kids because they always behave. You love them because they’re yours. In Christ, we’ve been adopted into the same spiritual family. Ephesians 2:19 says we’re no longer strangers but members of the household of God. That means our love for one another should be deep, genuine, and rooted in shared identity. And if we love like that, then honoring each other becomes an extension of that love. It’s not something we tack on—it’s how love expresses itself.

And then there’s that fascinating word: outdo. Paul could’ve said “honor one another,” and left it at that. But he ups the ante. He says we should try to outdo each other in this. In other words, if someone honors you, you try to go even further in honoring them back—not to boast, but because Christ has loved you so deeply that you can’t help but overflow it onto others. It’s not a competition of pride, but a pursuit of humility. It flips the world’s values upside down. Where the world wants to be better than, Scripture calls us to be better at lifting others up.

Of course, it’s easy to show honor to someone who seems worthy of it. Think of the benefits Medal of Honor recipients receive: higher pensions, free education for their kids, even a tradition where they’re saluted by generals. But the real challenge is this: how do we honor someone who doesn’t seem worthy? What if someone hasn’t done anything particularly impressive? Or worse—what if they’ve hurt you or disappointed you?

That’s where Philippians 4:8 comes in. Paul says to focus on whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and praiseworthy. That means we look for the good in others—even when it’s hard to find. And when someone truly is in the wrong, honoring them might mean lovingly confronting them. James 5:19–20 tells us that turning someone back from sin is a way to save them and cover a multitude of sins. In that moment, your honor isn’t about flattery or praise. It’s about loving them enough to help them return to truth.

Peter doesn’t leave room for exceptions either. “Honor everyone,” he writes in 1 Peter 2:17. Everyone. Not just the people you like. Not just Christians. Not just the ones who seem honorable. And yes, that includes even the emperor—most likely Nero at the time—a man known for his cruelty. That’s how upside down God’s Kingdom is. We show love and respect because God made people in His image, not because they’ve earned it.

Now let’s be honest. That kind of love isn’t natural. When we’re hurt, we want to withhold honor. But the gospel reminds us that we didn’t deserve honor either. We infinitely dishonored God. And yet, Romans 5:8 says that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” He honored us in the most profound way—by laying down His life. If God can show us that kind of mercy, surely we can extend a measure of it to others.

To love like this, to honor like this, requires grace. It means letting go of our pride. It means dying to self. But when we do it, we don’t just reflect kindness—we reflect Jesus. We become ambassadors for Christ, showing the world a different way to live. So let’s outdo one another—not in achievement, not in accolades, but in showing honor.