Tag: Grace and Mercy

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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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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?