Tag: Kindness

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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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Bear with One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Colossians 3:12-15. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 7, 2025.

Resilience is an interesting attribute in dire situations. It’s something celebrated across cultures, and it’s the kind of thing people make movies about. Take the story of Louis Zamperini. His life was told in the book—and later the film—Unbroken. Zamperini was a bit of a delinquent as a youth, but he got into long-distance running and competed in the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Then World War II began. In 1941 he joined the U.S. Army Air Corps and became a bombardier in the Pacific, flying missions against Japanese-held islands. During a search-and-rescue mission his plane had mechanical failure and crashed. He and two others survived on a small life raft, fighting off sharks and nearly capsizing in a typhoon. On the 47th day they reached land—the Marshall Islands—only to be captured by the Japanese. They were tortured, malnourished, and beaten as prisoners of war for years until the war ended. Even after release, Zamperini struggled with what we now call PTSD, but eventually he attended a Billy Graham crusade and gave his life to Christ. That began a different kind of journey—a different kind of resilience.

His story is awe-inspiring, but it turns out most people actually have a high “baseline resilience.” Studies show that the majority who suffer trauma don’t end up with severe, chronic psychiatric issues; many do bounce back with family, community, and professional support, and some even find growth and meaning through what they endured. I’m not minimizing trauma—those who carry lingering effects like PTSD need care, not stigma—but for the vast majority, our God-given capacity to recover is real.

Interestingly, the opposite often shows up with things that aren’t catastrophic. For example, 80–95% of people who lose weight regain it within two years. When it comes to endurance in everyday disciplines—dieting, sustained lifestyle change—we’re not so resilient. Another area is relationships. “Cutting out toxicity” is the buzzword now—cutting off toxic bosses, coworkers, friends, even family. I read pieces after the 2024 U.S. election asking whether to invite relatives who voted for the other party to Thanksgiving. Now, there’s a difference between toxicity and abuse; abuse should never be tolerated. But on a lot of plain differences and offenses, our age seems increasingly unwilling to endure.

That is the opposite of what our passage teaches. We’re in our series on the “one another” commands; this is our eighth, since we’ve been doing one on the first Sunday each month. Today’s command is “bear with one another” (Colossians 3:12–15). Paul tells us, as God’s chosen, holy, and beloved, to put on compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another; and if anyone has a complaint against another, forgiving each other as the Lord has forgiven us (Colossians 3:12–15). We tend to hear “bear with one another” and think, “Just put up with little annoyances for the sake of peace.” But Paul ties it to real forgiveness when real hurt has happened. This is more than personality quirks. It’s learning to endure and forgive when we’ve actually been wronged.

In Romans, Paul frames it this way: “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves,” seeking our neighbor’s good to build them up (Romans 15:1–2). That implies closeness. If we truly function as a family, conflict will happen. You actually have to care to get hurt. I’d be more concerned if a church never had conflict—it might mean we’ve stopped engaging from the heart. So we must bear with the failings of others.

There are limits, though, because the aim is to build up (Romans 15:2). Some things shouldn’t be “endured.” Abuse must never be endured. And habitual, unrepentant sin must not be ignored; it destroys witness and may reveal salvation issues. Hebrews warns that if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, we face judgment (Hebrews 10:26–27). That’s why Jesus and the apostles give the church a process for discipline: not to shame, but to rescue. If we “bear with” ongoing, unrepentant sin, we may miss the chance to call someone to the gospel.

A recent example of courage here is what happened in the Southern Baptist Convention removing Saddleback Church from fellowship over theology—specifically complementarian convictions about the pastoral office. Saddleback started with solid theology, but over time some positions were revised using a hermeneutic that treats certain biblical commands as merely first-century cultural. Where does that end? If Scripture is culture-bound wherever we feel tension, what guards us from drifting on issues like the sanctity of life? The SBC chose to uphold what they are convinced Scripture teaches, even though Saddleback is a very large church. The point isn’t to relitigate that vote here, but to say: bearing with one another doesn’t mean papering over serious doctrinal or moral departures. Love sometimes looks like hard, humble clarity.

So how do we rightly bear with one another when real hurt (but not abuse or entrenched sin) is involved? Paul already gave us the clothing to put on: compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience (Colossians 3:12). Compassion and kindness mean more than gritting our teeth; they move toward the other’s good. Humility and meekness remember that today I’m bearing with your failings; tomorrow you may be bearing with mine. Patience is the bedrock of Christlike endurance.

“Above all,” Paul says, “put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony,” and “let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,” since we were called to peace in one body—and be thankful (Colossians 3:14–15). That throws us back to the first sermon in this series: “love one another.” Love is the only way the one-another commands actually happen. The problem is that love is hard, especially if we’ve absorbed a transactional view: I love you because you benefit me. When the benefit dries up, so does the love. But Jesus says the greatest love lays down its life for friends (John 15:13). Biblical love is sacrificial and others-focused. Paul’s famous description of love—patient, kind, not envious or boastful, not rude or self-seeking, not irritable or resentful; rejoicing with the truth; bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring all things—confronted a divided church (1 Corinthians 13:4–7). That’s the kind of love that makes real bearing possible.

We can’t manufacture that love. We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19–21). So we have to keep cultivating our hearts in the love of God—stirring our affections for Christ in the ways that most help us: worship, prayer, meditation, study of the Word. As we come to Advent, pick up the devotional if you haven’t. Let it help you set your heart on Christ’s first coming and long for his second. And let the peace of Christ rule in your heart (Colossians 3:15). He is the Prince of Peace, and by his death, burial, and resurrection he has made peace for us with God. Without Christ’s peace within, this kind of love will feel impossible. If you don’t know him, I invite you to come to him—let his peace rule in your heart today. And if you do know him, be thankful. This is what we remember at the Lord’s Supper: Advent’s hope, the cross’s grace, and the promise of his return. Only through the gospel can we truly love God and one another, and only with that love can we bear with one another in a way that honors Christ.