Category: Sermons

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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.

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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.