Category: Sermons

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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?

Posted on

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.

Posted on

Be Kind to One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Ephesians 4:29-32. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on February 2, 2025.

If you grew up Filipino in the 2000s or early 2010s, chances are you knew the name Manny Pacquiao. It didn’t matter if you lived in Manila or migrated halfway across the globe—if Pacquiao had a fight on, you were likely crowded around a TV with friends or family, proudly watching him take title after title. He wasn’t just a boxer; he was a symbol of pride. And in all those conversations about him, one phrase came up over and over again: “pound-for-pound, one of the best boxers of all time.” That phrase stuck with me—not just for boxing, but because it reminds me of something else that packs an unexpected punch: the book of Ephesians.

See, the phrase “pound-for-pound” exists because comparing fighters of different sizes directly doesn’t make sense. A featherweight like Pacquiao can’t be expected to go toe-to-toe with a heavyweight and win based purely on strength. So pound-for-pound is a way to measure skill, heart, and impact, regardless of physical size. And that’s exactly what makes Ephesians so remarkable. It’s short—only six chapters, about 3,000 words, maybe the length of a college essay—but the theological depth it contains makes it one of the most powerful books in the Bible, pound-for-pound. Many scholars agree it belongs right up there with Psalms, Romans, and the Gospel of John in terms of influence.

Paul’s structure in Ephesians is also simple and effective. In chapters 1–3, he lays out the Gospel—what God has done. In chapters 4–6, he turns to how we should respond—how we live in light of that truth. Ephesians 4:1 sets the tone: “Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called.” This calling should transform everything about us. We don’t live for God to earn salvation—we live for God because we have salvation.

Jesus made this clear through the parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18. The story begins with a man who owes a king an unthinkable amount of money—ten thousand talents. If we estimate one talent as two years’ wages, we’re talking about a debt of 700 million dollars. It’s a debt that can never be paid, and yet the king forgives him entirely. But then, that same servant turns around and refuses to forgive someone who owes him about three months’ wages. It’s shocking. Jesus’ point is clear: if we’ve been forgiven an impossible debt by God, how can we not show that same grace to others?

That’s what Ephesians calls us to: to walk like people who know what it means to be forgiven. Ephesians 2:8–10 says it plainly: “For by grace you have been saved through faith… not a result of works… For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works.” We don’t do good to be saved—we do good because we are saved. And that leads us to Ephesians 4:32, where Paul gets very practical: “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

But Paul doesn’t just give this one command. He sets it up through a contrast that begins back in verse 17. He describes what it looks like to live apart from God: futility, darkness, alienation, ignorance, and a hardened heart. It’s not that non-believers can’t do anything good—common grace exists. But no one can live up to the standard of a holy God apart from Christ. The general direction of life apart from God leads to self-centeredness, sensuality, and impurity. We’ve seen this play out in history—under regimes that rejected God, like Mao’s China, Stalin’s USSR, and Nazi Germany, countless lives were destroyed.

But Paul says, “That is not the way you learned Christ!” (Ephesians 4:20). We’ve been called to something better. We’ve been given a new self, created to reflect God’s righteousness and holiness (Ephesians 4:24). So when Paul says, “Be kind,” he’s not just giving good advice—he’s telling us to live out the new identity we’ve been given in Christ.

And then Paul drills down even more. He tells us to watch how we speak: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up… that it may give grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29). Corrupting talk isn’t just profanity—it’s speech that spoils, that tears down, that spreads negativity like mold in a fridge after a power outage. Instead, our words should build up, heal, and offer grace.

He continues in verse 31: “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.” Yes, anger will come, and even Paul admits in verse 26 that it’s possible to be angry and not sin. But bitterness, rage, slander, and malice—those aren’t fitting for someone who has been forgiven so much.

In the end, Paul draws a stark contrast. On one side is bitterness, wrath, and harmful words. On the other side is kindness, forgiveness, and grace. And he makes it simple for us: Walk in a manner worthy of your calling. Be kind. Forgive. Speak life. Not to earn God’s love, but because you already have it.

Posted on

Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant

Summary of my sermon, based on Matthew 25:19-21. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on January 26, 2025.

This is the final message in our series on stewardship, and I want us to reflect on where we began. Back in Colossians 1:15–17, we saw that everything is God’s. Jesus is described as the firstborn of all creation—not meaning He was created first, but that He holds authority over everything. He’s supreme over all.

And when we understand that, it changes how we live. It changes how we see everything we have. There’s a wrong way to respond to this truth—idolatry. Worshiping the created things instead of the Creator. Or thinking we can bargain with God, trade with Him like we’re equals—“God, I’ll give you this if you give me that.” That’s ridiculous, because everything already belongs to Him. Romans 11 says, From Him and through Him and to Him are all things.

So we defined stewardship this way: bringing glory to God through the careful and responsible management of what He has entrusted to us. That includes our gifts, our time, our resources, our lives. And the key passage that shaped this whole series was 1 Peter 4:10–11. “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another… in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ.”

Last week, we looked at Ecclesiastes 3 and Isaiah 46. The idea that time just “happens” to us doesn’t hold up when we realize God is the one directing it. He holds time in His hands. He’s sovereign over all of history and also the details of our lives. That challenged us to ask: are we stealing time from God? Are we giving too little? Or maybe giving too much, and neglecting the other good things He’s given us to enjoy?

So today, to close the series, we’re going to look at where stewardship is heading. And for that, we turn to the Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25. Now, this parable is part of a much bigger section in Matthew where Jesus is teaching about His second coming. It’s His final discourse—His last big teaching block—and it begins with the disciples asking, “When will these things happen? What are the signs of your return?”

Jesus does answer that question. He talks about the signs—tribulation, the Gospel reaching all nations, the Abomination of Desolation—but then He says in Matthew 24:36 that no one knows the exact day or hour. Not the angels, not even the Son, but only the Father.

So Jesus shifts the focus. Instead of just looking for signs, He wants us to be ready. And that’s where our parable comes in. It’s a picture of a man going on a journey, entrusting his property to his servants—five talents to one, two to another, and one to another, each according to their ability.

Now let’s pause and talk about what a “talent” is. It’s hard to pin down. Some say it’s a large sum of money, others give dollar estimates that range from thousands to millions. But a safe estimate is to compare it to wages. If one talent is roughly two years’ wages, then we’re talking about $70,000 per talent, give or take. That means the one with five talents received about $350,000. The point is—it was a lot.

And this parable teaches us a few critical truths about stewardship. First, because it’s set in the context of Jesus’ return, we realize stewardship is eschatological. In other words, how we manage what God has given us is shaped by the fact that Jesus is coming again. We don’t know when, so we should live ready—always managing what we have with that day in mind.

Second, we see that each servant was given according to ability. That doesn’t mean the one with more is necessarily more capable. We see this in the world all the time—wealth passed down from previous generations, not always to people who know how to handle it. I shared the story of the Nut Rage incident in Korea. Someone with lots of wealth and power, clearly more than they could handle. So the point here is not how much we have, but what we do with what we’ve been given.

Because when we look at the two servants who invested their talents, the master’s commendation to both was exactly the same. “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much.” So God’s not looking for a certain amount of return. He’s looking for faithfulness.

But then there’s the third servant. The one who buried his talent. He had a distorted view of his master. “I knew you to be a hard man,” he said. And that fear led him to do nothing. And here’s what we need to see: a distorted view of God’s character will lead to unfaithfulness. It gives us excuses. But the master responds by calling him wicked and lazy. He didn’t expect a big return—but at the very least, he could have earned interest. But this servant didn’t even try.

That’s why knowing God’s character matters. And it’s why right doctrine matters. Because churches and believers who twist God’s character tend to stop being fruitful. We see that in churches that have embraced worldly ideologies. I mentioned one pastor who claimed Jesus would say, “Blessed are those who end pregnancies.” That’s a gross distortion of God’s heart, and that church has been rapidly shrinking for decades. Because you distort who God is, and people stop being transformed.

So what do we do about that? We gather kindling. Remember that from the first message? Kindling are the little pieces of wood that start the fire. We gather kindling when we read Scripture, pray, worship—those spiritual disciplines that help us know God.

And we do that in community. Growth happens in community. That’s why our church prioritizes Growth Groups. Hebrews 10 says we should stir one another up to love and good works—not neglecting to meet, but encouraging one another all the more as we see the Day approaching.

Now I know this is a different approach to stewardship. Most sermons on stewardship talk about money—about tithing. But stewardship is bigger than that. Tithing, especially the 10% rule, isn’t really a New Testament command. What God wants is generosity. 2 Corinthians 9:7–8 says each one should give what he’s decided in his heart—not under compulsion—for God loves a cheerful giver.

So the point of this whole series has been to give that bigger context. Stewardship isn’t just about what we put in the offering plate. It’s about how we live, because everything belongs to God—our time, our resources, our very lives.

And the more we know Him—the more we seek Him through His Word and through His people—the more faithfully we’ll steward what He’s entrusted to us. And then, when Christ returns, we will hear those beautiful words: Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your master.