Category: Journey to Jerusalem

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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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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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Being Godly Neighbours

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 10:25-37. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on February 23, 2025.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is often used to teach us about loving our neighbor—showing kindness, grace, and mercy. And sure, that lesson is definitely in there. But that’s not really the main point Jesus was making. The real message becomes clear when we look at the context. That’s why we can’t just read a few verses on their own. We need to see what’s happening around them to fully understand God’s word.

So, why did Jesus tell this parable in the first place? Let’s rewind a bit and check out Luke 10:25–27. A lawyer stands up and asks Jesus, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” This wasn’t just a casual question. Luke tells us the lawyer was testing Jesus. That makes a big difference. And by “lawyer,” we’re not talking about courtroom drama and legal battles. In that time, a lawyer was someone who was an expert in Jewish law—religious, civil, ceremonial—all of it.

These lawyers were like scholars, pastors, and politicians all rolled into one. They knew the law inside and out. And they often belonged to groups like the Pharisees or Sadducees, which were kind of like political parties with different interpretations of the law. Pharisees focused on purity and religious practices like synagogue gatherings and personal devotion, while the Sadducees were more temple-focused and politically connected, even working with the Romans.

Here’s something important to notice. The lawyer asks Jesus about eternal life—something the Sadducees didn’t even believe in. So we can reasonably assume this guy was a Pharisee. And Pharisees were very concerned with salvation. They studied the scriptures because they believed that’s where eternal life was found. But as Jesus pointed out in John 5:39–40, they missed the whole point of scripture—it’s meant to lead us to Him.

So here’s this Pharisee testing Jesus, probably trying to see how much He really knows. But Jesus, in typical Jesus fashion, flips the question back on him. “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” And the lawyer answers with Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18: love God with everything you’ve got, and love your neighbor as yourself.

That was actually a pretty common understanding of the law back then. Jesus Himself used the same two verses when asked what the greatest commandment was. And it makes sense—if you love God and love your neighbor, everything else falls into place. Jesus even says in Matthew 22:40, “On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.” So when the lawyer gives that answer, Jesus says, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”

But this is where things start to unravel. Because really, who can love God perfectly? R.C. Sproul put it this way—no one has kept that commandment for five minutes, let alone a lifetime. If you truly loved God with your entire heart, soul, strength, and mind, you wouldn’t sin. But as Romans 3:23 says, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

So the lawyer is probably realizing something in that moment. He might have looked righteous on the outside, like many Pharisees did, but inside, he knew he couldn’t live up to this standard. The Pharisees were known for adding oral traditions to the law, creating fences to keep people from getting too close to sinning. But these fences sometimes ended up contradicting the law itself. They created a fake appearance of righteousness without the substance.

Jesus called them out for that in Matthew 23:27–28, saying they were like whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside, but full of death inside. Maybe this lawyer saw himself in that. Maybe Jesus’ response exposed something in him. And instead of admitting it, he tries to justify himself. Luke 10:29 says, “But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’”

He’s trying to narrow the commandment. He wants Jesus to give him a manageable list of people he’s responsible for loving. But Jesus wasn’t going to let him off that easy. Instead, He tells the story of the Good Samaritan.

A man is beaten and left for dead. A priest walks by. A Levite walks by. These are the guys who should have helped. They were the religious leaders, the people with authority and responsibility. But they pass by on the other side. And then comes the twist—Jesus introduces a Samaritan.

To Jesus’ audience, this would have been shocking. Samaritans were despised. They were seen as unclean, racially mixed traitors who had their own distorted version of Judaism. The animosity between Jews and Samaritans ran deep, going all the way back to the Assyrian exile. For centuries, they avoided each other. So the idea that a Samaritan would be the hero of the story would’ve been unthinkable.

But that’s exactly what Jesus does. The Samaritan sees the beaten man and is moved with compassion. He goes out of his way to care for him—binding his wounds, taking him to an inn, and covering all the expenses. That’s not just kindness. That’s sacrificial love. That’s grace and mercy in action.

And with this story, Jesus redefines what it means to be a neighbor. The question isn’t “Who is my neighbor?” The better question is “Am I being a neighbor?” The answer Jesus gave exposed the lawyer’s attempt to limit God’s command. And it leaves us with the same challenge—if the one you hate the most is the one God calls you to love, what are you going to do?

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Mission That Depends on God

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 10:1-24. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on February 16, 2025.

As Jesus sends out the seventy-two in Luke 10, we’re reminded that just as they were called, empowered, and sent, so are we. It’s not just the original twelve disciples or trained preachers who are expected to carry this message—every believer is part of God’s plan to bring the Gospel to the world.

Jesus made it clear: the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. That truth still stands today. We live in a world full of people searching for hope, peace, and truth. Yet so often, we hesitate to speak the name of Jesus, unsure of what to say or afraid of how we’ll be received. But we’re not alone, and we’re not expected to go in our own strength. Jesus gave his disciples authority—and that same spiritual authority is extended to us through his Word and Spirit.

At the same time, we must recognize that sharing the Gospel is not optional. It’s part of who we are as Christians. Evangelism isn’t just for the specially gifted; it’s for all believers. Whether we feel confident or not, we are called to prepare ourselves so we can share the good news clearly and boldly. Whether through structured tools like “The Four Spiritual Laws,” “Romans Road,” or “Way of the Master,” or simply learning to articulate our testimony and the Gospel story, we are responsible to be ready.

And let’s not fall into the trap of thinking we can “just live out the Gospel” and not speak it. That popular quote—“Preach the Gospel at all times; use words if necessary”—while often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, doesn’t line up with the biblical model of evangelism. The Gospel is a message that must be declared, not just demonstrated. Our lives should reflect Jesus, yes—but the power to save comes through the Word proclaimed.

Jesus warned that the mission wouldn’t be easy. He said he was sending his followers out like lambs among wolves. That image isn’t just poetic—it’s real. Evangelism often invites resistance and even hostility. But still, we go, not because we are strong, but because Jesus is worthy. He equips us, and he sustains us.

That’s why prayer is such an essential part of the mission. Jesus instructed his followers to pray earnestly for laborers. That prayer applies to all of us. We pray that more people would be raised up for Gospel work—and we pray for ourselves, that we would have the boldness and opportunity to share. Gospel ministry is not powered by personality or strategy alone—it is a Spirit-led work that begins with prayer.

Some are called to full-time evangelistic or missionary ministry. And yes, Scripture affirms that these workers are worthy of their wages. Sadly, we’ve seen that truth abused by prosperity preachers and televangelists. But in its right context, it’s a good and biblical thing for faithful evangelists and missionaries to be supported financially. As a church, supporting Gospel workers should be part of our regular worship and giving. It’s not just a nice thing to do—it’s essential kingdom work.

Rejection is also part of the journey. Not everyone will respond to the Gospel with joy. Jesus told his followers to shake the dust off their feet when towns rejected them. He also gave a sobering warning: those who reject the message of Christ face a judgment more severe than Sodom. That’s not meant to scare us—it’s meant to motivate us. Eternity is real, and separation from God is the most terrifying outcome imaginable.

But the message doesn’t end in judgment—it ends in joy. The seventy-two returned with stories of victory, of demons cast out and hearts changed. Jesus celebrates their success but reminds them of the deeper source of joy: that their names are written in heaven. That’s the true treasure. We rejoice not just in the fruit of ministry but in the grace of our salvation. We serve not to earn anything, but because we’ve already been given everything.

So let this be our focus: we are God’s people, saved by grace, called to proclaim the Gospel, equipped with power, and destined for eternity with him. Let us prepare, let us pray, and let us go.