Category: Sermons

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A Test of Our Hearts

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 12:13-21. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on August 17, 2025.

This morning we turned to Luke 12:13–21. Let’s read together. “Someone in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.’ But he said to him, ‘Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?’ And he said to them, ‘Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.’ And he told them a parable, saying, ‘The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, “What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?” And he said, “I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God said to him, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.’” (Luke 12:13–21, ESV).

Here we see a man come to Jesus with what seems like a fair request. He wanted Jesus to settle a family dispute over inheritance. But notice how Jesus responds. He doesn’t get into the legal details. He doesn’t play the role of arbitrator. Instead, he takes the opportunity to warn the crowd: “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness.”

Why? Because Jesus knows the deeper issue isn’t about inheritance—it’s about the heart. Covetousness. Greed. That subtle sin that convinces us life is found in more possessions, more wealth, more stuff. But Jesus says plainly, “One’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

To drive this home, Jesus tells a parable. A rich man’s land produced so much that he ran out of space to store it. His solution? Tear down the barns he already had and build even bigger ones. His reasoning? “This way I can store up everything for myself and then sit back, relax, and enjoy life.” On the surface, it almost sounds wise. Isn’t this what many of us dream of? Working hard, building security, retiring comfortably, and enjoying the fruit of our labor?

But then comes the shocking twist. God says to him, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” What a powerful reminder. All of the man’s planning, all of his storing, all of his comfort and security—it vanished in an instant. His barns stayed full, but his soul was empty.

Notice something in this parable: the man thought only of himself. In just a few short verses, he refers to himself repeatedly—“my crops, my barns, my grain, my goods, my soul.” Not once does he mention God. Not once does he think of others. His world was centered entirely on himself.

That’s why Jesus calls him a fool. Not because he planned ahead, but because he lived as though life was all about possessions, as though wealth was the ultimate treasure, as though his soul could be satisfied with bigger barns. But death exposed the truth—none of it mattered.

And Jesus closes with this piercing line: “So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” That’s the heart of the message. Being “rich toward God.”

So what does that mean? It means recognizing God as the giver of everything we have. It means being generous, using our resources for the good of others and the glory of God. It means storing up treasures in heaven, where moth and rust cannot destroy. It means, as James reminds us, holding our plans loosely and saying, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:15, ESV).

And it also means remembering that Jesus is more than someone who settles disputes. The man in verse 13 wanted Jesus to fix his inheritance problem. But Jesus came for something far greater. He came to free us from sin, from greed, from the lie that life is found in what we own. He came to give us true life—life eternal.

This parable confronts us with a sobering question: are we living for bigger barns, or are we living to be rich toward God? Our possessions will one day be left behind. But Christ offers us a treasure that can never be taken away.

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Daring to Draw Near

Summary of my sermon, based on Hebrews 4:14-16. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on August 10, 2025.

Hebrews 4:14–16 is one of the richest invitations in Scripture: “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

The word “dare” might make us think of childish games or thrill-seeking stunts, but in the Christian life, daring takes on a holy meaning. To “dare to draw near” is not reckless—it’s courageous faith. It’s coming boldly before God because Jesus, our great High Priest, has made the way open.

In the Old Testament, the high priest was the mediator between God and Israel. Only once a year, on the Day of Atonement, could he enter the Holy of Holies to offer a sacrifice for the sins of the people. The regulations were strict: he had to be from the line of Aaron, be without physical defect, and follow detailed purity laws. Even then, before stepping into God’s presence, he had to atone for his own sins through an elaborate, bloody ritual. If he entered carelessly or unworthily, he would die in the presence of a holy God.

But Jesus is different. He is called the “great” High Priest because He did not just offer a yearly sacrifice—He offered Himself once and for all. His death, burial, and resurrection completed the work forever. As Hebrews 10:12 says, “When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God.” There is no need for repetition; His work is finished.

Even more, Jesus is not a distant priest. He knows our struggles. He was tempted in every way, yet without sin. He knows hunger, exhaustion, loneliness, betrayal, grief, and physical pain. He faced the schemes of the devil and the sting of abandonment. When we bring our burdens—whether guilt from past mistakes, physical ailments, mental battles, or spiritual struggles—He understands. He doesn’t merely offer mercy from afar; He offers it with the compassion of one who has walked our path.

Because of this, we can pray boldly. Prayer can be hard—our minds wander, our words fail—but we are not left without help. We can use the prayers of faithful believers from the past, the written words of saints who poured out their hearts to God. Tools like “The Valley of Vision” or daily liturgies can guide us. We can also use practical reminders, like praying in concentric circles—starting with family, then our church and workplace, then the wider world.

Whatever method we use, the heart of it is this: Jesus has opened the way. We can dare to approach the throne of grace with confidence, knowing we will find mercy and help in our time of need. The One who receives us there knows exactly what we are going through—and He will never turn us away.

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Welcome One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Romans 15:7-13. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on August 3, 2025.

When I arrived at Capernwray, I felt like a fish out of water. Most of the students were from small towns in rural Alberta—white, small-town kids who’d never lived in a city. I was one of only three Asians and definitely the only one from a big city. They nicknamed me “Big City Brown Bear.” Everything about me—from my clothes to my taste in music—set me apart. And yet, despite the differences, I felt completely welcome. Why? Because we all had one thing in common: our faith in Jesus Christ. And when Christ is the center, most differences fade into the background.

That’s how it should be in the church. But the truth is, we often argue about small things—things that shouldn’t divide us. That’s why Paul says in Romans 15:7, “Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” If it were easy to get along, Paul wouldn’t have had to say this. So what was going on?

To understand, we have to look back to Romans 14. There Paul writes, “As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions” (v.1). That phrase “welcome him” is the same verb Paul uses in 15:7. The issue in Rome wasn’t false teaching—it was disagreement over things like food. Some believers felt free to eat anything. Others, whom Paul refers to as “weak in faith,” ate only vegetables.

Why the restriction? Some think they were avoiding meat sacrificed to idols, like the situation Paul addressed in 1 Corinthians 8. But in Rome, the issue likely had more to do with Jewish Christians trying to keep kosher. Because they had been cut off from the Jewish community for following Christ, they couldn’t get kosher meat—and so they stuck with vegetables. These believers were already being marginalized by their own people. And now, some Gentile Christians were judging or even despising them for their dietary convictions.

Paul is clear: this should not be. “Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another?” (Romans 14:4). He reminds both groups that “the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit” (v.17). In other words, don’t let food or tradition cause division. Focus on what truly matters—life in the Spirit.

What’s remarkable is how gracious Paul is here. In his letter to the Galatians, he’s angry because some were insisting that Gentiles follow the Jewish law to be saved. That, Paul says, is a false gospel. But in Romans, the Jewish Christians weren’t trying to impose their views—they were simply trying to live according to their convictions. And the Gentiles were misjudging them. So Paul urges both groups to stop judging and start welcoming.

Romans 15:7 drives the point home: “Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you.” Christ didn’t wait until we had perfect theology or the right lifestyle. He welcomed us in grace. And that’s how we’re to welcome others—especially when they see things differently. Paul continues, explaining that Jesus came as the Jewish Messiah to confirm God’s promises, “in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy” (v.9). Then he quotes four Old Testament passages—one each from the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings—showing that Gentiles were always meant to join the Jews in worshiping God.

So what does this mean for us? It’s easy to divide over minor issues—especially convictions that aren’t essential to the Gospel. Protestants have split into countless denominations, often over secondary matters. Even within churches, we can be tempted to look down on each other for our choices—what we listen to, watch, or how we raise our kids. But we’re called to something better.

We need discernment. Paul isn’t saying ignore sin—there’s still a place for lovingly confronting what’s wrong. But he is saying don’t turn personal convictions into dividing lines. Instead, pursue what leads to peace and mutual upbuilding.

That’s why Paul ends with this prayer: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13). Joy, peace, and hope—those are the marks of a church that truly welcomes like Christ.

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Called for an Attitude

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 12:1-12. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on July 27, 2025.

Back in 2012, a lot of people were caught up in the “end-of-the-world” predictions tied to the Mayan calendar. Some even thought it might be the day of the rapture. That might sound odd because the Mayan prophecy had nothing to do with Christianity, yet some believers connected the two. Opportunists even profited from that fear. One man, Bart Centre, started a company called Eternal Earth-Bound Pets USA. His pitch was simple: if the rapture took place and Christians disappeared, their pets would need care. For $135 upfront—plus $20 per additional animal—atheist employees promised to collect your pets within 24 hours. To ensure they wouldn’t be “raptured” themselves, those workers were even asked to say something blasphemous against the Holy Spirit.

That detail points us to a serious topic: What does it mean to blaspheme the Holy Spirit? Jesus calls it “the unforgivable sin” in Luke 12:10: “And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but the one who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven.” For centuries, Christians have wrestled with this verse. Some—like John Bunyan—feared they had committed it, though he eventually realized he hadn’t. Others, like Puritan John Child, were consumed by guilt and despair.

So what does this actually mean? And could someone commit it accidentally?

The best place to start is context. Luke 12 begins with Jesus warning about hypocrisy: “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy” (v.1). Hypocrisy spreads like yeast in bread—it puffs up, but it also creates holes. You might hide those gaps for a time, but Jesus says: “Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known” (vv.2–3). Judgment Day will expose everything—both sin and good works (1 Timothy 5:24–25). That reality is why Jesus urges His followers to fear God rather than people: “Do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him!” (Luke 12:4–5).

This isn’t a call to panic but to reverence. God’s power is like Niagara Falls—awesome, overwhelming, and not something to treat lightly. Yet Jesus immediately reminds us: “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows” (vv.6–7). The same God who judges sin also cares deeply for those who trust Him, enough to send His Son as our Savior.

From there, Jesus explains that we must not only fear God the Father but also acknowledge God the Son: “Everyone who acknowledges me before men, the Son of Man also will acknowledge before the angels of God, but the one who denies me before men will be denied before the angels of God” (vv.8–9). Denying Christ is hypocrisy in action—professing faith inwardly but refusing to stand for Him outwardly. Without Christ as our advocate (1 John 2:1), we have no defense on Judgment Day.

Then comes the difficult verse: “And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but the one who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven” (v.10). Why is insulting Jesus forgivable, but blaspheming the Spirit is not?

Other Gospels help explain. In Matthew 12 and Mark 3, Jesus gives this warning after the Pharisees claim He casts out demons by Satan’s power: “He has an unclean spirit” (Mark 3:30). Calling the Spirit’s work “evil” is an extreme, deliberate rejection. But Luke’s broader context points to a more general truth: resisting the Spirit’s conviction is unforgivable because it leaves a person unwilling to repent. Jesus said in John 16:8, “When he comes, he will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment.” If someone continually rejects that conviction—attributing God’s work to Satan or dismissing it entirely—they close the door to salvation.

In other words, the “unforgivable sin” is not a careless word; it’s a hardened heart that permanently rejects the Spirit’s call to repent and trust Christ. If you’re worried you’ve committed it, that very concern is evidence you haven’t.

This passage closes with a promise: “And when they bring you before the synagogues and the rulers and the authorities, do not be anxious about how you should defend yourself or what you should say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say” (Luke 12:11–12). Those who fear God rather than man will find courage, not despair.

Romans 8:38–39 sums it up: “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

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Called Out of Darkness

Summary of my sermon, based on 1 Peter 2:9-11. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto (Family Camp) on July 20, 2025.

Being chosen by God is not like being the best option in a lineup. It is not like a trainer in a game looking for the strongest fighter. We often think of choice as selecting what is most valuable or most useful. That is how life usually works—we look for the best job, the best school, the best home, and we teach our children to make good choices. But when we read passages like 1 Peter 2:9, we have to be careful. “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession…” It sounds like we must be special. It sounds like we are chosen because we are better. But then Peter explains why God chooses: “that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.” The choosing is not because of what we are; it is about what he does.

We are called out of darkness, not because we were shining gems hidden in a cave, but because we needed mercy. Verse 10 says, “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” Mercy means we are not getting what we deserve. And grace—the other side of salvation—means we are receiving what we do not deserve. We needed mercy because before a perfectly holy God, none of us measures up. Even our best efforts fall short. Isaiah 64:6 describes our righteous deeds as polluted garments. Romans 3:23 says, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and Romans 6:23 adds, “the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

God’s choosing is not about our worth. It is about his grace. He sent his Son, Jesus Christ, who met God’s perfect standard and then took the punishment we deserved. Isaiah 53:5 says, “he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.” Romans 5:8 reminds us, “but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” That is what it means to be chosen. It means we are loved despite our failures, saved by mercy, and transformed by grace.

If that is true, then being chosen changes how we live. We cannot claim God’s mercy and then live as though nothing has changed. Peter calls believers “sojourners and exiles” because this world is no longer our home. We are passing through, heading toward eternity with Christ. While we are here, we are called to “abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul” (1 Peter 2:11). Sin still surrounds us and tempts us, but sanctification—the ongoing work of God in us—calls us to fight against it. We will not be perfect in this life, but we are expected to grow. Our choices reveal who we belong to—sin, or Christ.

And as we live as sojourners, we are not meant to hide from the world. Verse 12 says, “Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God.” We are called to live visibly, to show mercy because we have received mercy, to demonstrate grace because grace was given to us. We are not chosen to boast about ourselves. We are chosen to proclaim his excellencies, to be witnesses in a world that still needs the same mercy we were given.