Tag: Parables of Jesus

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A Test of Our Hearts

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 12:13-21. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on August 17, 2025.

This morning we turned to Luke 12:13–21. Let’s read together. “Someone in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.’ But he said to him, ‘Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?’ And he said to them, ‘Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.’ And he told them a parable, saying, ‘The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, “What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?” And he said, “I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God said to him, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.’” (Luke 12:13–21, ESV).

Here we see a man come to Jesus with what seems like a fair request. He wanted Jesus to settle a family dispute over inheritance. But notice how Jesus responds. He doesn’t get into the legal details. He doesn’t play the role of arbitrator. Instead, he takes the opportunity to warn the crowd: “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness.”

Why? Because Jesus knows the deeper issue isn’t about inheritance—it’s about the heart. Covetousness. Greed. That subtle sin that convinces us life is found in more possessions, more wealth, more stuff. But Jesus says plainly, “One’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

To drive this home, Jesus tells a parable. A rich man’s land produced so much that he ran out of space to store it. His solution? Tear down the barns he already had and build even bigger ones. His reasoning? “This way I can store up everything for myself and then sit back, relax, and enjoy life.” On the surface, it almost sounds wise. Isn’t this what many of us dream of? Working hard, building security, retiring comfortably, and enjoying the fruit of our labor?

But then comes the shocking twist. God says to him, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” What a powerful reminder. All of the man’s planning, all of his storing, all of his comfort and security—it vanished in an instant. His barns stayed full, but his soul was empty.

Notice something in this parable: the man thought only of himself. In just a few short verses, he refers to himself repeatedly—“my crops, my barns, my grain, my goods, my soul.” Not once does he mention God. Not once does he think of others. His world was centered entirely on himself.

That’s why Jesus calls him a fool. Not because he planned ahead, but because he lived as though life was all about possessions, as though wealth was the ultimate treasure, as though his soul could be satisfied with bigger barns. But death exposed the truth—none of it mattered.

And Jesus closes with this piercing line: “So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” That’s the heart of the message. Being “rich toward God.”

So what does that mean? It means recognizing God as the giver of everything we have. It means being generous, using our resources for the good of others and the glory of God. It means storing up treasures in heaven, where moth and rust cannot destroy. It means, as James reminds us, holding our plans loosely and saying, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:15, ESV).

And it also means remembering that Jesus is more than someone who settles disputes. The man in verse 13 wanted Jesus to fix his inheritance problem. But Jesus came for something far greater. He came to free us from sin, from greed, from the lie that life is found in what we own. He came to give us true life—life eternal.

This parable confronts us with a sobering question: are we living for bigger barns, or are we living to be rich toward God? Our possessions will one day be left behind. But Christ offers us a treasure that can never be taken away.

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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?