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The Urgency of Choosing Christ

It’s good to be back in the Gospel of Luke. Luke writes an “orderly account” of Jesus’ life not as mere biography, but to transform lives with the good news. Writing largely to Gentiles, he shows Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s story and Lord over all history. We’re in the long section (Luke 9–19) where Jesus journeys to Jerusalem—ultimately, to the cross. Today’s passage (Luke 12:49–13:9) gathers five teachings under one theme: the urgency of choosing Christ.

Jesus begins with an arresting purpose statement: “I came to cast fire on the earth, and would that it were already kindled! I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how great is my distress until it is accomplished!” (Luke 12:49–50, ESV). The “fire” evokes judgment language familiar from the prophets. John the Baptist foresaw it: the Messiah would gather wheat and “burn with unquenchable fire” the chaff (Luke 3:16–17, ESV). Scripture is clear—Jesus’ second advent will bring just judgment: “in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God” (2 Thessalonians 1:8–9, ESV).

But verse 50 anchors hope: Jesus’ “baptism” points to His cross. “Now is my soul troubled… But for this purpose I have come to this hour” (John 12:27, ESV). Judgment and mercy meet at Calvary. Those who choose Christ are saved from the fire by His finished work.

Still, that choice brings division. “Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division” (Luke 12:51, ESV). Jesus is the “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6), and in Him “you who once were far off have been brought near… For he himself is our peace” (Ephesians 2:13–14, ESV). Yet the peace with God that believers enjoy can fracture earthly ties, even within families (Luke 12:53; echoing Micah 7). In some cultures, this cost is painfully tangible; still, “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus” outweighs every loss (Philippians 3:8, ESV).

Jesus then rebukes spiritual dullness. People can read the sky and predict weather, “but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?” (Luke 12:56, ESV). His works—the blind seeing, the lame walking, the poor receiving good news—are signs shouting Messiah (cf. Luke 7:22). Hypocrisy blinds; truth is plain.

He presses the urgency with a courtroom picture: settle before judgment. “Make an effort to settle with him on the way, lest he drag you to the judge… I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the very last penny” (Luke 12:58–59, ESV). We cannot pay our sin-debt, but Christ can—and did: God “forgave us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt… This he set aside, nailing it to the cross” (Colossians 2:13–14, ESV). Choose Christ while you’re “on the way.”

Some in the crowd pivot to headlines: Pilate’s brutality, a tower collapse (Luke 13:1–4). Were the victims greater sinners? Jesus won’t play that game. Everyone dies; everyone faces God. “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3, 5, ESV). The point isn’t ranking tragedies; the point is readiness—repentance now.

He closes with a parable (Luke 13:6–9): a fruitless fig tree given one more year—one more gracious chance—to bear fruit before the axe falls. It pictures Israel in Jesus’ day, but it also preaches God’s patience to us. “The Lord is… patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9, ESV). Patience, yes—but not forever: “the day of the Lord will come like a thief” (2 Peter 3:10, ESV). Therefore, choose Christ today: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts” (Hebrews 4:7, ESV).

And choose Him for His worth, not merely to avoid hell. He is better than every alternative—“fullness of joy” in His presence; “pleasures forevermore” at His right hand (Psalm 16:11, ESV). Stir your heart by seeking Him where He reveals Himself—in His Word, among His people, at His Table. Don’t delay. Christ is worth everything.

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Stir Up and Encourage One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Hebrews 10:19-25. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on January 4, 2026.

Our confidence before God doesn’t come from a spiritual “winning streak” or perfect routines, but from Jesus. Think about confidence the way a team’s championship odds change: they move when wins are on the board. In the Christian life, the decisive win is Christ’s finished work—not our day-to-day highs and lows. He lived sinlessly, died in our place, rose in power, and now brings us into the Father’s presence.

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus… let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith” (Hebrews 10:19, 22, ESV). That is the bedrock of assurance.

Why did we ever need such confidence? Because God’s holiness and our sin create a real separation. In the Old Testament, only the high priest entered the Holy of Holies, only once a year, and only with cleansing and sacrifice (see Leviticus 16). The tabernacle curtain embodied that barrier. But when Jesus died, “the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51, ESV). By His blood, the way is open. Now we draw near with hearts made clean and bodies washed (Hebrews 10:22).

Two distortions erode that gift. First, “Jesus plus.” We start believing we’re accepted because of Jesus and our devotions, attendance, giving, or serving. Those are good fruits, but they are not the root. We don’t add to the cross; we respond to it. Second, trusting the strength of our faith rather than the Savior. Doubts come, trials shake us, and we worry our weak faith disqualifies us. But even “faith like a grain of mustard seed” moves mountains (Matthew 17:20, ESV). Like the desperate father, we pray, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24, ESV). Our confidence rests in Christ Himself; He strengthens and guards us.

On that foundation, Hebrews gives a clear, practical call: “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful” (Hebrews 10:23, ESV). And then: “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works” (v. 24). That little phrase “consider how” matters. It’s intentional attention, not accidental encouragement. To “consider” is to notice a brother’s burdens, a sister’s gifts, and think creatively about what would actually help them take the next step toward love and obedience.

That kind of thoughtful care requires proximity. So Hebrews adds: “not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (Hebrews 10:25, ESV). Streaming is a grace when illness, weather, or distance intervene; but as a rule, embodied fellowship is the ordinary means God uses to grow us. In the room we see each other’s eyes, hear the real tone beneath the “I’m fine,” and obey the Spirit’s nudge to pray, serve, give, or simply listen. The church isn’t a content platform; it’s a Spirit-filled people.

So what does “considering how to stir up” look like this week? Notice who seemed weary on Sunday, who rejoiced, who was missing. Act with a text, a call, a visit, a meal, a prayer, or a practical offer to help. Aim at love and good works; encouragement isn’t mere compliments, it’s oxygen for obedience.

And when we gather at the Lord’s Table, we rehearse the source of our confidence again: Christ’s body given, Christ’s blood shed—for you, for us. Communion is not a reward for the strong but nourishment for the weak who are clinging to Jesus. It recenters our assurance on His finished work, and it rekindles our commitment to “one another” life.

Come boldly—not because you’re on a roll, but because Jesus reigns. Hold fast—not because you never wobble, but because He never wavers. And look around the room—there’s someone God is asking you to “consider” this week. Encourage them toward love and good works until the Day dawns.

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Hope in the God Who Saves

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 7. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 28, 2025.

Amen. Praise the Lord. How many of you remember the Y2K scare? It’s wild to think that was twenty-five years ago. I remember my dad, who worked for Manulife Financial, being on call all night on December 31, 1999, because old systems stored the year with just two digits. People worried that when the calendar rolled to “00,” critical computers might fail. From that anxious night to today—when computers can generate images, video, and text—it’s amazing how much has changed.

One change I’m grateful for is YouTube. I use it not only for entertainment but also for long, informative videos. Some can be heavy. One I watched was about a Mexican mother named Miriam whose daughter was kidnapped in 2014. After paying ransom and still losing her daughter, she channeled her grief into relentless investigation—disguises, patient watching, and clever use of social media—identifying everyone involved and working with police to arrest them one by one. She became a symbol of courage in the face of cartel violence and government inaction. Tragically, on Mother’s Day 2017, she was killed near her home, and her own case remains unsolved. Even though I sensed the video might end that way, it left me deflated. Some evil seems to go unpunished—at least on this side of eternity.

That’s close to how the prophet Micah sounds at the start of chapter 7. Near the end of his ministry, despite warnings and promises of hope, he looks around Judah and sees no fruit. The godly seem gone; leaders are corrupt; neighbors and friends can’t be trusted; even families fracture (see Mic 7:1–6). It’s bleak. And it feels familiar: scandals, exploitation, persecution of Christians, and countless other wrongs. Scripture says we should expect difficult times in the “last days,” with people loving self and pleasure rather than God, keeping a form of religion while denying its power (2 Tim 3:1–5). Those who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while impostors go from bad to worse (2 Tim 3:12–13).

What do we do with that? We can despair or grow cynical, or even start to wonder whether God is really in control. But God is gracious to remind His people of His sovereignty. Think of Elijah. After the dramatic victory over the prophets of Baal (1 Kgs 18), one threat from Jezebel sent him fleeing, discouraged, and ready to give up (1 Kgs 19). God met him, questioned his despair, and reminded him there were seven thousand who hadn’t bowed to Baal (1 Kgs 19:18). Elijah wasn’t alone; God was still ruling.

Micah has a similar turn. Suddenly his tone shifts: “As for me, I will look to the Lord… my God will hear me… When I fall, I shall rise… When I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me” (see Mic 7:7–8). He acknowledges Judah’s sin and the Lord’s indignation, yet trusts that God Himself will plead his cause, bring him into the light, and vindicate His people (Mic 7:9–10). Judgment would come—exile to Babylon—but God promised a remnant, a return, and ultimately a Messiah who would bring complete victory.

That victory arrived in a way no one could have scripted. The prophets dropped clues—Emmanuel, “God with us” (Isa 7:14); the child who is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isa 9:6–7)—but the fulfillment exceeded imagination. The Son of God took on flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). Everything about Jesus’ birth emphasized lowliness and surprise: the scandal of a betrothed virgin with child, a census forcing travel under foreign rule, a stable for delivery, a manger for a crib, angelic news first announced to shepherds, and wise men initially going to the royal city—not to Bethlehem. God downplayed earthly glory to reveal a greater glory: not merely Israel’s political restoration, but salvation for the world (Gen 12:3; Mic 5:2).

Micah 7 closes with this double horizon. First, the Messiah would shepherd His people and restore them, as in the days when God brought them from Egypt, showing them marvelous things (Mic 7:14–15). The nations who opposed God’s people would be humbled (Mic 7:16–17). But beyond geopolitical reversals lies the heart of the good news: God pardons iniquity, passes over transgression, has compassion, and casts our sins into the depths of the sea (Mic 7:18–20). That’s the victory Jesus secured—over sin itself—through His sinless life, atoning death, burial, and resurrection. Everyone who believes in Him receives forgiveness and eternal life (John 3:16–17).

So we live between Advents—remembering the first, waiting for the second. In this in-between, there will be tribulation, yet Jesus says, “Take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Don’t let the darkness make you forget the character of God. Like Micah, look to the Lord. Like Elijah, remember you’re not alone. Like Mary and Joseph, trust God’s quiet, sovereign work that often unfolds in humble places.

As our celebrations wind down and the year turns, let’s ask for grace to resist despair and keep hoping. Practice remembrance: rehearse the gospel, stay in Scripture, pray, worship, and act. And let hope move your hands—do good, seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). Christ has come. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

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Never Forget His Rescue

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 6. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 21, 2025.

Like many kids who grew up in Canada, I took piano through the Royal Conservatory system. What I remember most about exams was the repertoire: fifteen to twenty minutes of music committed to memory. There’s only one way to do that—practice. Parents know the drill: “Practice, because we’re paying for those lessons!” It isn’t just music. At work there are tasks you do so often you barely think about them, and others you have to look up because you don’t do them regularly. Skill sticks with repetition; neglect leads to forgetfulness. That principle also applies to our spiritual life: if we don’t practice our faith—if we don’t remember and rehearse God’s works and ways—we forget.

Israel’s history shows this. In the wilderness, Moses kept urging the people to remember the things their eyes had seen and to keep God’s commandments (Deut 4; 8). Yet not long after entering the land, they forgot and did what was evil in the Lord’s sight (Judg 3:7). Think about all God had done: the plagues in Egypt, the Red Sea crossing, daily provision in the desert (even their sandals didn’t wear out), the Jordan River parted, Jericho’s walls falling. Still, they forgot—and forgetting led to idolatry.

Fast-forward about five hundred years to Micah. We’ve been in this little book throughout Advent. Micah prophesied to Judah while the northern kingdom was already falling to Assyria. He confronted Judah’s idolatry and the social injustice of wealthy landowners stealing the land of the poor (Mic 1–2). He called out corrupt rulers and even prophets who sold “words from God” for a price (Mic 3). Judgment would come—the land would be lost. Yet every message of judgment was paired with hope: a preserved remnant, the mountain of the Lord lifted up, nations streaming to God, weapons turned into tools, peace established (Mic 4). We even heard the promise that the ruler would come from Bethlehem (Mic 5:2). Two full cycles: judgment and restoration.

Micah 6 opens the final cycle, and we’re back in the courtroom. The Lord summons creation to hear His indictment (Mic 6:1–2). Then He asks His people a piercing question: “What have I done to weary you?” and rehearses His saving acts—bringing them out of Egypt and raising up Moses, Aaron, and Miriam (Mic 6:3–4). He reminds them of the whole Balak–Balaam episode (Num 22–24), when a pagan king hired a prophet to curse Israel and God turned the curse into blessing—deliverance Israel didn’t even see at the time. He points to Shittim and Gilgal, framing the last steps into the land (Mic 6:5). In other words: “I rescued you, led you, protected you—often behind the scenes. How did that become a burden to you?”

Israel’s response reveals how far their hearts have wandered. They try to bargain: “Shall I come with burnt offerings? Calves a year old? Thousands of rams? Ten thousand rivers of oil? My firstborn for my transgression?” (Mic 6:6–7). It’s an escalation that exposes the problem. They see God as a power to be placated, not a Lord to be loved. Worst of all, their final offer—child sacrifice—mimics pagan worship and directly violates God’s law (Lev 18:21). In trying to impress God, they prove they’ve forgotten Him.

Then comes Micah’s famous rebuttal, not plucked out of thin air but spoken into this exact moment: God has already told you what is good and what He requires—to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). It’s not a price list to purchase favor; it’s the posture of a people who truly remember the Lord. Think of Jesus’ parable in Luke 18: the Pharisee who boasts of his religious performance and the tax collector who beats his breast and prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” One trusts his offerings; the other trusts God. Only one goes home justified.

Micah 6:8 is a call to action, yes—but it’s also a call to repentance and reliance. On our own we can’t meet God’s standard. Jesus says, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt 5:48). That command drives us to grace. How can we do justice without first being justified by faith and having peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Rom 5:1)? How can we love kindness without knowing that God’s kindness leads us to repentance (Rom 2:4)? How can we walk humbly with God unless we’re following the One who humbled Himself to the point of death, even death on a cross (Phil 2)?

So how do we keep from forgetting? The same way Moses coached Israel: remember, rehearse, obey. Immerse yourself in Scripture. Practice your faith daily. Not as leverage to “get God” to do what you want, but as gratitude and dependence—because apart from Him we drift. Our world is full of distractions—endless deals, notifications, even good gifts like family and community. Enjoy them, but let them point you back to the Giver. Let this season re-center you on Jesus: Simeon’s words still ring true—our eyes have seen God’s salvation, a light for the nations and the glory of Israel (Luke 2).

And let remembering spill into doing. As a church we’re giving a special “Happy Birthday, Jesus” offering this year toward our benevolence fund to meet needs in our community. It’s one small, concrete way to enact Micah 6:8—justice with kindness, flowing from humble hearts that haven’t forgotten grace.

Church, resist the impulse to bargain with God. Instead, receive His mercy again, and then live it out. Practice your faith so you don’t forget. Do justice—not to earn love, but because you are loved. Love kindness—not to look righteous, but because you’ve been shown mercy. Walk humbly—not to impress God, but because He walks with you. This is what the Lord requires, and this is what Christ enables.

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Bethlehem’s Unexpected King

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 5. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 14, 2025.

We’re back in our Christmas series, “God With Us: Advent in the book of Micah.” Micah is one of the “minor” prophets—minor only in length, not in importance. Case in point: Micah 5:2 is one of the best-known prophetic verses of Christmas. We’ve already met it this season because it’s tied to the Bethlehem (peace) candle.

A quick catch-up. Micah’s message moves in cycles of judgment and hope. In chapter 1 we saw God’s terrifying judgment over Israel and Judah’s idolatry. Chapter 2 zoomed in on a particular sin: social injustice—wealthy landowners stealing land from the poor, which also attacked God’s plan for the land to symbolize Israel’s special place with Him. Yet chapter 2 ended with a first glimmer of hope: God would preserve a remnant. Chapter 3 exposed corrupt rulers and even bought-and-paid-for prophets; the judgment climaxed with the loss of the land itself. Then came the stunning reversal in chapter 4: the mountain of the Lord lifted high, the nations streaming to Him, and lasting peace (Mic 4:1–4). Still, Micah 4:9–10 warned of labor pains first—exile and suffering—followed by redemption. And 4:11–13 lifted our eyes all the way to the end of the age.

Into that context, Micah 5 opens. Verse 1 anticipates the humiliation of Judah’s king under siege—fulfilled in Zedekiah’s collapse during the Babylonian conquest (2 Kgs 25). Verses 1 and 3 echo the labor-pains image from 4:9–10: there will be real pain before joy is born. Right between those pains sits the promise: “Bethlehem Ephrathah” (Mic 5:2). For us that sounds obvious; for Micah’s audience it was shocking. Bethlehem was an insignificant little town—so small it isn’t even listed among Judah’s 120 towns in Joshua 15. Yes, David came from Bethlehem and God promised David an everlasting house (2 Sam 7), but David’s royal sons were born and reigned from Jerusalem. No one expected the Messiah’s arrival to arise from a tiny, no-name place like “house of bread.”

And that’s exactly the point. This is God’s modus operandi. He loves to use what is weak and lowly to shame the strong, so no one can boast in His presence (1 Cor 1:27–29). Bethlehem’s smallness magnifies the greatness of the One who comes from there.

Micah then uses shepherd imagery: the Ruler will “stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the LORD… and he shall be their peace” (Mic 5:4–5a). If “the LORD is my shepherd” (Ps 23), and the coming King is the Shepherd of God’s flock, then we are being nudged to recognize that the Messiah is God Himself come near—Immanuel (Isa 7:14). What was mystery to the prophets has been revealed to us in Christ: the Word became flesh (Jn 1), the Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep (Jn 10), and His peace guards our hearts (Phil 4:7). This is the already and the not yet of Advent: in His first coming Jesus truly accomplished salvation; in His second coming He will consummate it. So we celebrate His first Advent and, with patient hearts, we wait for the second (Jas 5:7–8).

The rest of Micah 5 widens that hope. In 5:5b–6, “Assyria” functions as a cipher for the enemies of God’s people across time: the Messiah delivers His people when the invader treads within our borders. In 5:10–11, God tears down horses and chariots—the ancient symbols of security—to teach us that our real safety is in Him. For us that means our ultimate security isn’t in bank accounts, careers, or health metrics but in the love of God in Christ from which nothing can separate us (Rom 8:37–39). In 5:12, He exposes the futility of sorceries and fortune-tellers; today’s versions have glossier packaging—“inside tips,” algorithmic hype, spiritualized self-help—but true wisdom is found in Christ alone (1 Cor 1:25). In 5:13–14, He uproots idols and sacred pillars; our idols may be good things turned ultimate—family, work, reputation, even ministry—but the new heart He gives enables us to worship the Creator above every created thing (Ezek 36:26). And 5:15 reminds us there is an ultimate, righteous victory in the Messiah. Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ; so be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord (1 Cor 15:57–58).

So, what should we carry into this week of Advent? First, don’t miss the quiet glory of Bethlehem. God delights to work through what the world overlooks. If your life feels small or your contribution hidden, remember where the Savior’s story began and let that free you to be faithful where you are. Second, let the Shepherd-King be your peace. Bring Him your anxieties and fractured thoughts and ask Him to rule in your heart with His peace. Third, live the already/not-yet tension well: trust Him as your security, seek His wisdom in His Word, turn from subtle idols, and labor in hope—because none of it is in vain.

Praise the Lord that the victory began in that tiny town two thousand years ago. May we not let the season’s noise distract us from the season’s news: the Son of David, born in Bethlehem, is our Shepherd, our Peace, and our King. Come, Lord Jesus.