Category: Books of the Bible

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Serve One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Galatians 5:13-15. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on July 6, 2025.

When you hear the word “freedom,” what comes to mind? For many people, it’s economic freedom—having enough money to do whatever you want. Whether it’s traveling, taking up hobbies, or just relaxing on a beach, freedom often looks like having no obligations. And while that kind of freedom sounds appealing, it’s often just a dream. In reality, we carve out little moments of freedom—like weekends or holidays—tiny escapes from the things we must do. But this leads to a misunderstanding: that freedom is simply the opposite of obligation. That’s why Galatians 5:13 is so important. Paul writes, “You were called to freedom.” And that very first line pushes against our assumptions. Freedom, according to the Bible, is not something we naturally have. Nor is it something we fight for. It’s something we’re called to—by God.

This brings us to our One Another series. If you’ve been with us since January, you’ll remember that we’ve been working through the “one another” commands of the New Testament—23 in total, though some are repeated. We began with “love one another,” which is repeated more than any other. It’s foundational, the “one command to rule them all.” And it directly connects to today’s command in Galatians 5:13: “through love, serve one another.” Paul goes on in verse 14 to say, “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” But that’s not the only “one another” command in this passage. In verse 15, Paul gives a warning: “But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another.”

So what does it mean to be called to freedom? First, it means that freedom doesn’t equal doing whatever we want. Even our most celebrated freedoms—like freedom of speech—have limits. Just try yelling “bomb” on a plane and see how far that freedom goes. Freedom always comes with boundaries. And in Scripture, being “called” to freedom emphasizes that it comes from God. Galatians 1:15–16 tells us that God, by his grace, set Paul apart and called him. In 1 Corinthians 1:24, the message of Christ crucified is foolish to the world, but to those who are called, it is the power and wisdom of God. True freedom is a gift we receive when we are called by God and come to know Christ.

This is why Jesus says in John 8:36, “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” And Romans 8:1–2 says that we are free from the law of sin and death. But that doesn’t mean we’re free to sin. In fact, Romans 6:16 warns that if we present ourselves to sin, we become slaves to it. Freedom in Christ isn’t the freedom to do whatever we want—it’s the freedom to obey God. It’s the freedom to live in love and righteousness. That’s why Paul says, “Don’t use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh.”

Now here’s the warning. Even though we are free from the penalty and power of sin, we still live in a world where the presence of sin is real. That’s why Paul warns us not to bite and devour one another. Because when we do, we’re not acting in freedom—we’re acting like the enemy. 1 Peter 5:8 describes the devil as a roaring lion seeking someone to devour. And when we gossip, manipulate, and turn on each other, we’re reflecting his work—not God’s. That’s why Paul tells us again: use your freedom to serve one another in love.

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Being Mothers of the Word

Summary of my sermon, based on Deuteronomy 6:6-7. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on May 11, 2025 (Mother’s Day).

Last week, Elder John Greg preached on God’s call to Moses from the burning bush and described it as Moses’s origin story. But today, I want to rewind even further and look at the very beginning of that story—Moses’s birth and childhood. I want us to see how someone like Moses grew up to become a man of such faith that he would rather be mistreated with the people of God than enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. That’s what Hebrews 11:24–25 tells us: “By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God.” But where did that faith come from? How did Moses even know he wasn’t Egyptian? How did he know enough about the God of Israel to make such a costly choice?

To answer that, we go back to Exodus 1. Pharaoh had commanded that every Hebrew baby boy be killed, but the Hebrew midwives, Shiprah and Puah, feared God and refused. Then in Exodus 2, Moses is born. His mother hides him for three months, and when she can no longer hide him, she places him in a basket and sends him down the Nile—technically obeying Pharaoh’s command to cast him into the river. His sister follows the basket, watching over it until Pharaoh’s daughter finds it. And when the princess opens the basket, she knows immediately that this is one of the Hebrew babies. That’s when Miriam, Moses’s sister, bravely steps forward and suggests finding a Hebrew woman to nurse the child—and of course, she goes and gets their mother, Jochebed.

That’s where everything changes. Pharaoh’s daughter not only agrees but offers to pay Jochebed to raise her own son. God’s providence is so evident here. And although Jochebed is not named in Exodus 2, we find her name later in Exodus 6:20. It’s Jochebed who gets to nurse Moses, to raise him in his earliest years, and to teach him who he really is. Before he ever returns to Pharaoh’s household and receives an Egyptian education, Moses learns that he is a child of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He learns to trust in the God of Israel. And those early lessons are what shaped his identity and formed the faith we see described in Hebrews 11.

Even though Moses eventually returns to the palace, he never forgets who he is. Exodus 2:11 says, “One day, when Moses had grown up, he went out to his people and looked on their burdens.” Did you catch that? His people. Jochebed planted that in his heart. That’s why, later in life, he chose to suffer with his people rather than enjoy the palace’s comforts. That’s also why Hebrews 11:23 says, “By faith Moses, when he was born, was hidden for three months by his parents… they were not afraid of the king’s edict.” She’s not named here either, but we know who that was. That was Jochebed. She’s part of the Hall of Faith.

And today, on Mother’s Day, we tell this story not just to honour biological mothers like Jochebed but also the many women who act as motherly figures in the lives of others. Women like the midwives Shiprah and Puah, who feared God. Women like Miriam, who watched over her baby brother and spoke up boldly. Even Pharaoh’s daughter, who took a Hebrew baby as her own, defying her father’s deadly command. God used each of them to raise up the man who would lead Israel out of slavery.

And so we turn to our passage this morning from Deuteronomy 6:6–7: “And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children…” These verses were given to all of Israel, not just to mothers. But Proverbs 6:20 reminds us, “My son, keep your father’s commandment, and forsake not your mother’s teaching.” Mothers and spiritual mothers alike have a high calling. We are to store God’s word in our hearts like Psalm 119:11 says, teach it diligently like Deuteronomy commands, and display it prominently in our lives and homes. Because the faith that leads someone like Moses to make the hard choice begins in the home.

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Responding to God’s Presence and Revelation

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 11:24-36. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on Resurrection Sunday – April 20, 2025.

Despite all the miracles Jesus performed—like casting out demons—there were still some who accused him of working with Satan, or Beelzebul. Others weren’t satisfied and kept asking for more signs to prove he was the Messiah. These responses mirror what we see in our world today. Some people see Jesus as just one of many spiritual options. Others want to believe—but only on their own terms, when their personal standards of “proof” are met. But Jesus addresses both responses with clarity and boldness, especially when he talks about the “sign of Jonah.”

Jesus makes it clear that this generation’s demand for signs is evil. They weren’t seeking the truth—they were shifting the goalposts, never satisfied. So he gives them one sign and one sign only: the sign of Jonah. Just as Jonah spent three days in the belly of a great fish before being spit back out, Jesus would be buried for three days before rising again. This, he says, is the ultimate sign that he is who he claims to be.

And of course, we know what happened. Jesus was crucified, buried, and on the third day, he rose again. That’s the heart of the Gospel we celebrate on Resurrection Sunday. That’s the sign he gave—a supernatural event that no amount of skeptical reasoning can erase. And yet, the world still tries. From the earliest days, people have come up with alternative theories: maybe Jesus’ body was stolen, maybe it was a mass hallucination, maybe he never really died. But none of those explanations hold up. Roman soldiers knew how to execute. Hallucinations don’t appear to 500 people at once. And no one dies for something they know is a lie—yet that’s what happened to many of Jesus’ followers.

So what’s really going on with these objections? It’s not about evidence. It’s about the heart. People reject the resurrection not because it’s unbelievable, but because they don’t want to believe. And that’s why Jesus brings up the Queen of Sheba and the people of Nineveh. They responded to far less than what Jesus offered. The Queen of Sheba traveled great distances just to hear Solomon’s wisdom—and ended up praising Yahweh. The Ninevites repented at Jonah’s preaching, even though Jonah was reluctant and flawed. And yet Jesus, who is greater than Solomon and Jonah, stood before them—and they refused him.

So Jesus draws the line. He is the light, and his message is like a lamp. It’s not meant to be hidden—it’s meant to shine, to give light to all who will receive it. And those who open their eyes to that light will be full of it—full of truth, full of life. But those who keep their eyes shut, who refuse to believe unless every demand is met, will remain in darkness.

This is where Jesus lands the point. Be careful that the light in you isn’t actually darkness. The resurrection isn’t just a nice idea or a hopeful story—it’s the sign. The one sign we’re given. And the proper response isn’t more demands, more debate, more delay. The proper response is faith. Receive the message. Accept the light. And let it fill you.

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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.