Introduction

We’re continuing our series on friendship.

So far, we’ve focused on the positives. Who doesn’t need help learning how to be a better friend? But we also have wounds from past friendships that can make us hesitant to pursue deeper connections. It’s been said that friendship doubles our joys and halves our sorrows. But when things go wrong, it can double our sorrows and halve our joys.

So, tonight we’re going to talk about broken friendships.

Bob Dylan has a prophetic song called “Everything Is Broken.” Here’s a verse.

Broken bottles, broken plates

Broken switches, broken gates

Broken dishes, broken parts

Streets are filled with broken hearts

Broken words never meant to be spoken

Everything is broken

In this sin-stained world, everything is broken, even our friendships.

If you have a broken friendship in your life, you’re not alone. Far from it. A recent survey found that 68% of Americans have decided to end a friendship and followed through. 52% say a friend has ended the friendship with them.[1] Broken friendships are not uncommon at all. If anything, they’re far too common.

Thankfully, the Bible is not silent on this important topic. God has good news for us: We have a Savior who understands brokenness and can help us. The author of Hebrews describes Jesus as a sympathetic high priest who knows our wounds. He was misunderstood, offended, rejected, and betrayed. If anyone understands broken friendships, it’s Jesus.

Yet on the cross, Jesus died to heal every broken thing. In fact, he died to secure us as his friends, and through his friendship, he now offers his divine help to mend our broken friendships with one another. For all the grief and pain of our fractured friendships, a gospel hope flows down from heaven from the heart of our Redeemer and Restorer, our Friend of Sinners. As Ray would say, Jesus has industrial-strength grace for us. He can make our sad friendships come untrue. It takes honesty and courage on our part. It won’t be easy. But who ever said life was easy anyway?

Here’s my agenda. First, I want to show you God’s template for restoring broken friendships. Second, I want to proclaim God’s good news for your broken friendships. So, we have very practical help from Jesus and a very comforting reality from Jesus. 

God’s Template for Restoring Broken Friendships

I find it amazing how practical the Bible can sometimes be. It’s not just stories and rules; it’s real help for our real lives. As I researched this topic, I was struck by a verse in Luke 17. In it, Jesus teaches his disciples how to deal with one another when they sin against one another and lead others to sin. In the middle of this, he provides what I’m calling a template for restoring broken friendships.

Let’s look the whole passage, and then I want to zero in on one verse. Luke 17:1-4.

1 And he said to his disciples, “Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come! 2 It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin. 3 Pay attention to yourselves! If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, 4 and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him.”

In its entirety, this passage teaches us to avoid personal sin and to avoid leading others into sin. There are severe consequences for leading others into sin, as verse 2 shows us. But Jesus is a realist. He knows we’re going to sin against one another, and we’re going to be tempted to sin in return. So, in the first part of verse 3, Jesus tells us to pay attention to ourselves. We can’t let our sinful instincts take over. How many friendships have been further harmed because sin was added to sin?

Then, in the second part of verse 3, Jesus says something I find so helpful about maintaining friendships and dealing with broken ones. Look at it again.

    “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.”

This is remarkable. Jesus gives a template we can use. I like to think of it in a formula.

    Sin + Rebuke + Repentance + Forgiveness = Restored Friendship

So, there are two parts for each party. Sin and Repentance go together. Rebuke and Forgiveness go together.

Here’s what I think this is so helpful. It’s straightforward. It’s forthright and honest. Most of us, I think, tend to dance around the issues. We often over-complicate it; instead of dealing with it head-on, we hope it will go away. But sin never just goes away. It must be dealt with. Jesus knows that. Think of our relationship with him. When we sin, we feel a distance, don’t we? And what does he call us to do? A verse we love at Immanuel 1 John 1:7: “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.” Jesus calls us to be honest with him and one another so we’re free to grow. Part of that honesty is honesty toward one another when sin occurs, both personally and interpersonally.

We might not have many good examples of this, so here’s what it might look like between two Christian friends. We’ll call them the Repentant Friend and the Forgiving Friend.

Repentant Friend sins against Forgiving Friend, and Forgiving Friend lovingly confronts.

Forgiving Friend: “Friend, I hate to do this, but I love you, and I want our friendship to be free of bitterness, so we need to talk about something. Do you remember when you said that thing about me the other night at dinner? That hurt me. I’ve prayed about it and asked God to help me understand why it hurt, and I see now that it hurt me because I think it was wrong of you to say. Can you help me understand why you said it?”

Repentant Friend: “Oh, I hate to hear that. You know, I felt bad about it as soon as the words left my lips. I’ve been praying about it, too, and asking God to help me make it right. I shouldn’t have said that. That was a sin against you. I have no excuse. Thank you for saying something. I understand why you were hurt. I would have been, too. I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Forgiving Friend: “Yes, I forgive you. How could I not? Look how Jesus has forgiven me! Thank you for responding that way. I respect you so much.”

Repentant Friend: “And I respect you. Hey, let’s grab a bite to eat.”

Of course, it won’t always go that smoothly, but Jesus offers a template to help us here. It takes honesty, humility, and a lot of carefulness and restraint. It takes continually examining yourself before God to determine what you can do to make peace.

In fact, there’s this great passage in Romans 12:18 that I think about often that hits on this point. Sam and I were just talking about it the other day.

    “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”

One of the things I often talk to my staff about at work is the need to take ownership. We all have responsibilities, and we want to steward those well. So, we should always be thinking, “What else can I do?” We can’t control so much, but we can control ourselves with God’s help.

Paul is saying that we all have a part to play. “So far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” There is immense wisdom there. “What else can I do to make peace in this situation?” That’s a godly response to friendship conflict.

Now, Jesus has more for us in Matthew’s gospel. There is a passage for the Repentant Friend and a for the Forgiving Friend.

For the Repentant Friend, we have Matthew 5:23-24.

“If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.”

When we are at fault, Jesus calls us to make it right as quickly as we can. He takes that so seriously that he says we should leave our gift before the altar and go make peace. To the original audience, that would mean leaving their animal sacrifice at the temple to find their friend and make peace, then returning and making the offering. That wasn’t easy when you couldn’t text or drive. It took some effort. Today, this would mean it’s more important to reconcile with our friend than it is to go to church. So, if we are on our way to church, and we are troubled by the thought that we offended our friend, Jesus says we shouldn’t shrug that off. We should go make peace right then! “As far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”

Now, I think it’s important to note that Jesus says you should do this when you remember that your brother has something against you. In other words, you’ve actively sinned against them, and they know about it. I’ve had friends in the past who have come to me to confess a sinful thought they had about me of which I was unaware. I can’t say that was helpful. It actually complicated things. I don’t think Jesus is calling us to confess our thoughts in this passage. We can take those to God and ask for forgiveness, but here, Jesus is calling us here to make things right that we know have hurt our friends.

So, let’s imagine we’re ready to do this. What should we say to our friend?

1. Honestly confess the sin. Don’t sugarcoat it.

2. Acknowledge the wound you inflicted.

3. Apologize. Express regret, and don’t try to justify yourself.

4. Be honest about your need for repentance and desire to change.

5. Ask for forgiveness, but don’t demand forgiveness. Forgiveness is granted, not earned.

That takes humility, and that’s hard for us. But if it’s so important to Jesus that we postpone coming to the altar, he will be there to help us obey. Whatever God commands, he also grants.

Now, for the Forgiving Friend, we have Matthew 18:15.

“If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother.”

I think this is actually the harder of the two commands. When we are sinned against, it’s hard to confront our friend. But Jesus says we should. Letting it stay inside only tends to increase the pain, and the Enemy can use that to grow resentment and bitterness in us. We don’t want that.

Now, we must be careful. We need to really think it through and pray about the situation. We need to discern why we were hurt. Notice that Jesus is speaking about sin against us. Did they sin, or did our feelings get hurt? Did they say something true that we don’t want to accept because of pride? We may need to accept the offense, and ask God to forgive us and help us change.

But if, after prayer and reflection, you determine that your friend did sin, Jesus says we are to go to them. We are to take responsibility to reconcile even if we are the ones sinned against. Is that surprising? Jesus doesn’t say, “Sit and wait for them to apologize.” He says, “Go.” Why? Because going and addressing it is better for our friendship than stewing on it and talking to others about it. Going and addressing it isn’t only good for us, it’s good for our friend. If we fail to rebuke the sinner, we are only enabling them to continue in sin. Confronting is not only a healing path for you, but also for the friend. Don’t you want your friend to be healed?

When you go, Jesus says to tell him his fault. The word there is reprove. Dan Doriani says this term is used in two realms: “the realm of investigation and inquiry and the realm of proof and conviction…Investigation comes first. If the investigation uncovers a problem, the facts are essential to reproof of the sin.” [2]

In other words, we don’t come with guns blazing. We come inquisitively, hopefully, honestly. Once we know the facts, then we can rebuke if necessary.

In Galatians 6:1, Paul describes what this looks like.

“Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.”

We are to go in a spirit of gentleness because that’s how Jesus is with us. He’s our model. When did we ever feel beat up by him? His conviction is sweet, gentle, kind.

Now, if we take this important step, we must go ready to forgive. We have a good reason to, and an incredible power in the gospel. Here’s what Paul says in Colossians 3:12-13: “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”

Again, Jesus is our model. Actually, not only our model but also our power to forgive. Have we not been forgiven much? That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Forgiveness never is. It’s actually very costly. Tim Keller helps us see what it means in his book Forgiveness.

“You promise (1) not to constantly bring the sin up to the wrongdoer in order to browbeat and punish them, (2) not to constantly bring the sin up to other people in order to hurt the wrongdoer’s reputation and relationship with others, and (3) not to constantly bring the sin up to yourself—not to keep the anger hot, not to replay the video of it in order to cherish the feeling of nobility and virtue that comes from having been treated unjustly.”

I love what R.C. Sproul once said: “When I think I’m unfairly hated, I try to remember that I’m unfairly loved.” The power to do this comes from the forgiveness we have in Jesus. He doesn’t bring up our past. He doesn’t gossip. Jeremiah 31:34 and Hebrews 8:12 tell us he remembers our sins no more. We are to follow him in that.

So, that’s God’s template for restoring broken friendships.

Now, God’s gospel for when friendship breaks your heart.

God’s Good News for Broken Friendships

Some friendships are so broken and painful that we need more than a path forward; we need a place to collapse. Some of us have been betrayed, and we can’t forgive our ex-friend in part because they aren’t repentant. Thankfully, the Bible isn’t silent on this form of broken friendship either.

One of the great things about the Bible is that when our emotions get intense, God has given us the Psalms as his approved words when we’re too emotional to find the words ourselves.

I have been meditating recently on Psalm 55. It’s a Psalm of David, and although we don’t know the specific details regarding the timing or the individuals he refers to, we know he’s in deep distress. He faces an attack and cries out to God for help. He says his heart is in anguish. He’s afraid and trembling, overwhelmed by horror.

In verses 12-14, we find out the cause of such distress.

12  For it is not an enemy who taunts me—

then I could bear it;

    it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me—

then I could hide from him.

13  But it is you, a man, my equal,

my companion, my familiar friend.

14  We used to take sweet counsel together;

within God’s house we walked in the throng.

David was betrayed, and now his ex-friend was attacking him.

Eugene Peterson phrased it this way.

    This isn’t the neighborhood bully

       mocking me—I could take that.

    This isn’t a foreign devil spitting

       invective—I could tune that out.

    It’s you! We grew up together!

       You! My best friend!

    Those long hours of leisure as we walked

       arm in arm, God a third party to our conversation.

We don’t know which friend David is referring to. It doesn’t matter because the Psalms are universal. This could apply to any friend for anyone. We know it was a dear friend. Notice how he describes him, as his equal. The king’s equal! David treated him as an extension of himself, elevating him to some degree to his status and sharing his life with him. They worshiped God together, and as many of us know, that creates a bond that’s not easily broken. But this friend broke that sacred bond. He became David’s enemy, and David grieved the shock and the loss.

In verses 20 and 21, David tells us more.

20  My companion stretched out his hand against his friends;

he violated his covenant.

21  His speech was smooth as butter,

yet war was in his heart;

    his words were softer than oil,

yet they were drawn swords.

Notice the emotion. Everything he thought he knew about his friend was a lie. Some of us know what that’s like. What does God offer in those hard days? David tells us in verse 22.

22  Cast your burden on the Lord,

and he will sustain you;

    he will never permit

the righteous to be moved.

When a friend breaks your heart, and you don’t know where else to go, you can go to God. You are not alone in your suffering. Betrayal is so disorienting. You might feel like you’re sinking, but there is a rock underneath that you can rest on. He will sustain you.

That doesn’t, however, deal with the injustice done to us, does it? Yes, we have a place to collapse where we will be sustained, but our heart cries out for justice. Verse 23 speaks to that longing.

    But you, O God, will cast them down

      into the pit of destruction;

                  men of blood and treachery

      shall not live out half their days.

                  But I will trust in you.

These parts of the Psalms are difficult for us to understand until we’ve been done an injustice. We need a God who cares enough to do something about evil in this world. Our friend that betrayed us may never repent, and we may lose them forever. We will rightly be angry and sad. Some friends will do us wrong not because they hate us so much but because they hate God. They have not only betrayed us but also their Maker. They have not only lost our friendship but also his. And they will be judged for that unless they repent. If they won’t have Jesus, they will have his wrath. That’s a biblical doctrine.

But vengeance doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to God. Our part is to trust him. He will work all things out. We can leave it in his capable hands. And as we do, we can rest on his care for us. We might not feel like we’ll be okay again, but because of God, we will be.

Here’s how I know we will be.

One of the best ways to read the Psalms is to hear them as the songs of Jesus. When we go to the Psalms to find words for our emotions, we find not just words but the Word. We find Jesus himself, speaking on our behalf. David wasn’t the only one who faced betrayal. You aren’t the only one who faced betrayal. Jesus faced betrayal, too. He knows what it’s like from the inside.

We know the story of Judas, one of Jesus’s apostles, who betrayed him for thirty pieces of silver. But Judas wasn’t the only one to betray Jesus. Not even the only apostle. Peter was part of the inner circle—one of the three to whom Jesus revealed his life in the most profound ways. Peter was Jesus’s defender. He was completely committed to him. He jumped out of the boat to reach him. He drew his sword when the guards came to take him away. Yet, when it was all on the line—when Jesus was being prepared for the cross—Peter denied knowing him, not just once, but three times, even to a little girl. He was afraid, and to protect himself, he forsook his friend.

I don’t mean to pick on Peter. Mark 14:50 says that during his arrest in Gethsemane, “They all left him and fled.” No one was ever as friendless as Jesus in that moment. He stood alone to face his suffering. He faced his trial alone, with Peter’s denial the soundtrack of the night. He hung on the cross alone. He died alone. In his moment of greatest need, Jesus’s disciples didn’t see being his friend worth the cost. They betrayed him, denied him, and abandoned him.

We have abandoned him, betrayed him, and denied him, too. We do it every day. We may read Psalm 55 with pain in our hearts about the betrayals of our friends, and that’s a right reading. God gave it to us for that. But we should also read it with pain in our hearts that we have betrayed our Best Friend, Jesus. We deserve verse 23. We deserve to be cast down. We deserve the pit of destruction. But in him, we don’t get what we deserve because he is the friend cast down for us, who pulls us out of the pit of destruction.

The most significant broken friendship in all our lives is the one we broke with Jesus. But Jesus didn’t let it stay broken. John 15:13 says, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” Jesus considered the cost of being our friends worth it—even to the point of death on a cross. In his death, he reconciled us to himself. He forgave our sins and transgressions and iniquities. He saved us not only from the penalty of sin but also welcomed us into his eternal friendship.

In a world of good-till-it’s-too-hard friends, where we can’t stay awake to pray for one another, can’t show up for one another when and how we’re needed, where we sin against one another and betray one another and fail one another and deny one another and abandon one another and do all sorts of half-hearted gestures trying to prove we actually care, we have a friend in Jesus who is the exact opposite of all that.

As Jared Wilson said in his book Friendship With the Friend of Sinners:

“There is no friend truer in than Jesus…no friend so real as Jesus…no friend closer than Jesus…no friend so comforting as Jesus…no friend so unbothered as Jesus…no friend more loyal than Jesus…no friend more honest than Jesus…no friend so generous as Jesus…no friend as perfectly present as Jesus…no friend so saving as Jesus.”

Whatever friendship broke you, Jesus’s can heal you.

Not only can he heal you, but he can help you.

Maybe you’ll get a chance to forgive a repentant friend who betrayed you so horrifically. Jesus loves to reconcile people for his glory. But you might not get that chance. If you don’t, is the friendship of Jesus enough for you?

Maybe you need the forgiveness of a friend you betrayed. It weighs on you so heavily. Jesus loves to reconcile people for his glory. Maybe you’ll get that chance to apologize and ask for forgiveness and be forgiven. But you might not get that chance. If you don’t, Jesus will forgive you. Is his forgiveness enough for you?

I don’t know your exact situation. I don’t have to. Jesus does. I can offer some advice, sure. But Jesus can offer all the advice. More than that, he can empower you to do whatever it is that you need to do to attempt to restore your broken friendships. Even more than that, he will be the friend you need not only for this life but for eternity.

What I’m trying to say is that the gospel speaks a better word than our broken friendships. If we will just trust in God, we will find that his gospel tells us that when we feel friendless, Jesus is our friend. When our friends betray us, the one whom we’ve betrayed comes to our side with forgiveness and grace and mercy. In all our failing, broken friendships, we can take great solace in knowing there is a perfect Friend who can help us navigate these rough waters. He’s not sleeping in the boat. He’s at his throne of grace. He’s been through it all. He knows what it’s like, and one day, he will set everything right.

In fact, I want to close with that idea.

Conclusion

One of the best books I read last year was The Mythmakers by John Hendrix. It’s a graphic novel about the friendship of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. In the book, Aslan and Gandalf take us through the friendship of their makers. Now, I’m not sure if you know much about their friendship, but it wasn’t always strong. Tolkien was often jealous of his friendship with Lewis and didn’t like others getting close to him. They had some different theological convictions. Later in life, after a series of disagreements and offenses, Lewis and Tolkien were estranged and never fully reconciled before death. They still hung out, but they avoided the “Deep Wounds.”

Here's what I love about Hendrix’s book. He doesn’t end it with their broken friendships. Instead, he envisions Lewis and Tolkien reconciling in the twilight of their lives during a final “Golden Session,” as Lewis used to call their meetings.

It’s a beautiful picture that conveys two truths. The first is the reality of broken friendships. We hurt one another, and sometimes even the closest friends are not reconciled in this life. The second truth is that there is always hope for Christian friends, even if all we can do right now is imagine it. As Lewis reminds us in his chapter on friendship in The Four Loves, within every Christian friendship, there is a third party that unites us. It is he who gathers, he who hosts, and I will add, he who can and one day will restore all that the deep wounds took away.

We may grieve our losses now, but heaven is coming. Just as a parent grieves a lost child or a child grieves a lost parent, a friend who grieves a lost friend in Christ will find them in heaven, where sin will no longer reign and where there is an eternity to make up for lost time. Somehow, in heaven, our fractured friendships with fellow Christians will be restored, and this will only adorn God’s gospel, and we will have eternity to make up for lost time.

I think Bob Dylan was right. Everything is broken, but not forever. Jesus is alive, and he will be your Friend in the waiting, and he will be your Friend in eternity, and he will restore your broken friendships with his other friends in heaven. Let’s put our hope in that.

[1] https://today.yougov.com/society/articles/45676-americans-ended-friendship-breakups-poll

[2] Daniel M. Doriani, Matthew & 2, ed. Richard D. Phillips, Philip Graham Ryken, and Daniel M. Doriani, vol. 2, Reformed Expository Commentary (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2008), 151.

Where Are We and How Can We Help? Sharing the Gospel in Our Cultural Moment Full Document

Introduction 

      In the 5th century, as Rome was nearing the end of its grand empire, St. Augustine wrote a book called The City of God which was the world’s first attempt at telling the story of history. Augustine broke it down into two primary groups. There was the City of God, the Church, and the City of Man, the world. Rome blamed Christianity for its downfall, but Augustine told a different story to prove that Rome was itself to blame. The city of man needs no help in falling down. Through that book and in light of the revelation of Scripture, Augustine told a better story of Rome than Rome could tell of itself. He understood the culture and spoke directly to it.

      This seminar is my attempt at helping us all do the same thing today. The title is “Where are we and how can we help? Sharing the gospel in our cultural moment.” The goal is to give a brief overview of the current cultural landscape and then talk about how we, as Christians, might step into that world with a compelling gospel witness.

      This is a challenging topic on either end. It’s difficult to describe our current world briefly, and it feels almost impossible for many of us to find any way to be a bold witness for Christ. There are two challenges I want to explore. The first is expressive individualism. The second is post-Christendom. Expressive individualism provides the soil in which post-Christendom prospers. The good news is that the gospel has an answer to both.

Expressive Individualism

      Expressive individualism is an idea that sprung from the Romantic era of the late 1700s and early 1800s when thinkers launched a search for what philosopher Charles Taylor called “The age of authenticity…the authentic way of living or expressing themselves.”[1] The term “expressive individualism” is often attributed to Robert Bellah and his team of sociologists, who wrote a deeply profound and insightful book called Habits of the Heart. Over six years, from 1979-1984, Bellah and his team interviewed over 200 people to understand how and why they live the way they do—what makes them tick. Their starting point was the hypothesis that individualism is among America’s deepest values, something they noticed in the French social philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville’s analytical look in the 1830s, Democracy in America.

      Bellah and his team saw the early stages of what has today blossomed into the defining issue. We live in a day and age where the prevailing belief is that we get to define ourselves. Our individualism takes us on a journey inward to discover who we are, and then we come out and express that “true” self to the world. You can hear the spirit in the slogans behind the movement. “You be you.” “Be true to yourself.” “Follow your heart.” “Find yourself.”[2]

      We live in a cultural moment where, as Carl Trueman says in his book The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, “To put it bluntly: we are all expressive individualists now.”[3] In a lengthy article on The Heritage Foundation’s website, Trueman summarized expressive individualism this way:

      The modern notion of self…lies at the heart of current cultural conflicts, including abortion, pornography, the ethics of life and death, radical racial politics, freedom of speech, and freedom of religion. Expressive individualism holds that human beings are defined by their individual psychological core, and that the purpose of life is allowing that core to find social expression in relationships. Anything that challenges it is deemed oppressive.[4]

      As Alexis de Tocqueville observed, the United States was founded upon the idea of individualism. It led our forefathers to throw off the weight of the monarchy. One of our most treasured documents, The Declaration of Independence, screams for the right of the individual to live as they see fit. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Early Americans believed equality would be the lasting and prevailing value, but as Tocqueville perceptively noticed, individualism was to win the day.

      However, individualism is not a uniquely American way of life. It also swept through Europe, as seen in the massive social disruption, such as in the French Revolution. What began among the philosophers filtered down to the masses and changed how we lived.[5] Writing in the 1980s, Robert Bellah said something that could be written today. “We believe in the dignity, indeed the sacredness, of the individual. Anything that would violate our right to think for ourselves, judge for ourselves, make our own decisions, live our lives as we see fit, is not only morally wrong, it is sacrilegious.”[6]

      This emphasis on the self has significant implications for our current apologetical approach, and it is doubly difficult because before we can see how to help others, we must first recognize the problem in ourselves. As Trueman said, we are all expressive individualists now. No one is exempt.

The Problem of the Self

      In his book Making Sense of God, Tim Keller discusses the “problem of the self.” The ultimate question we are all trying to answer is, “Who am I? What is my identity?” He contrasts two fundamental identity-creating structures: the traditional identity and the modern identity. In a traditional identity, your community gives you your identity. In modern identities, you define yourself. In either case, Keller says, our identity consists of at least two things. “First, it consists of a sense of self that is durable…To have an identity is to have something sustained that is true of you in every setting." The second aspect of the self is “a sense of worth, an assessment of your own value.” These two things— a sense of self and worth—compose our identity.[7]

      Keller summarizes the ethos. “The modern message is: Don’t try to get affirmation from others. Affirm yourself because you are doing what you want to do. Be who you want to be, and it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks. That is the heart of modern Western expressive individualism.”[8] As Charles Taylor put it, we live in a culture “in which people are encouraged to find their own way, discover their own fulfillment, ‘do their own thing.’”[9]

      Australian pastor and writer Mark Sayers summarizes the thinking in his book Disappearing Church.

1.     The highest good is individual freedom, happiness, self-definition, and self-expression.

2.     Traditions, religions, received wisdom, regulations, and social ties that restrict individual freedom, happiness, self-definition, and self-expression must be reshaped, deconstructed, or destroyed.

3.     The world will inevitably improve as the scope of individual freedom grows. Technology —in particular the internet—will motor this progression toward utopia.

4.     The primary social ethic is tolerance of everyone’s self-defined quest for individual freedom and self-expression. Any deviation from this ethic of tolerance is dangerous and must not be tolerated. Therefore social justice is less about economic or class inequality, and more about issues of equality relating to individual identity, self-expression, and personal autonomy.

5.     Humans are inherently good.

6.     Large-scale structures and institutions are suspicious at best and evil at worst.

7.     Forms of external authority are rejected and personal authenticity is lauded.[10]

      Expressive individualism has spread across the entire Western world. It is so deeply ingrained in our thinking that we don’t even notice it as something to push against. Instead, we deeply resonate with it. But we need to see it for what it is. We need the lenses to identify it within ourselves and in the broader culture.

      To understand what a culture values, look at its art. Taylor Swift is today’s most popular musical artist. One of her biggest hits is an anthem for our age. “Shake it Off” gets at the heart of how modern people think of themselves. When the haters hate, we shake it off because no one can tell us who we are. We will prove everyone wrong. We define ourselves. No one else has the right. Life's true success is the journey from a traditional to a modern identity.

      That message has made its way even into our children’s movies. Disney does this all the time. Moana and Frozen are just two examples. Consider the song “Let It Go” from Frozen. Elsa runs away from her responsibilities after coronation day. Her traditional identity has been a burden all her life. She has a power no one can understand, and she’s tired of trying to be the good girl toeing the societal line. So, she breaks free and sings.

            It’s time to see what I can do.

            To test the limits and break through.

            No right, no wrong, no rules for me,

            I’m free!

      Elsa now has a modern identity.[11] She has gone inside herself and come out with who she really is. But she isn’t truly free at all. She can’t ever be free living that way. Why? Because any identity we form on our own can’t ultimately satisfy us.

Modern Identities

      In 2017, Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York City held a conference called Gospel Identities. Tim Keller gave the keynote lectures, and in the first session, entitled “Modern Identities,” he presented six problems.[12]

1.     The Modern Identity is incoherent. If there is nothing and no one outside of us who can tell us who we are, we are pushed deep inside ourselves, relying on our feelings to determine our identity. But our feelings are filled with contradictions. How can we decide which is the real us? When our feelings change, we have to rethink our whole lives. And what if what we chose was good for yesterday but not today? Our wants don’t make sense and don’t harmonize. We want and don’t want things at the same time. Our feelings are not a way to create an identity. They’re incoherent.

2.     The Modern Identity is fragile. In traditional identities, the family gives us our identity. We know what it means to be a part of it, to play a role. We don’t have the same freedom in that environment. We can’t do everything we want to do. But if our parents say we are great, then we are great. There is a decisive validator outside of us. But in the modern identity, we are the decisive validator. Of course, the problem is that we cannot ultimately validate ourselves. We are social beings, so we must have someone outside ourselves validate us. But if we never deputize someone to that, we will constantly look for validation from everyone and grow angry or despondent when they don’t. There is no room for disagreement because disagreement equals a lack of validation, and that’s a tragedy. With a modern identity, you can never be sure who you are. It’s fragile.

3.     The Modern Identity is crushing. Traditional identity is about fitting in. Modern identity is about standing out. You decide who you are and then go out and realize it. The problem is the pressure is crushing. We might have a hard time living up to an outside evaluator, but we can’t even live up to our internal critic. If we derive who we are from deep inside us, we will crush ourselves. We will have an identity crisis.

4.     The Modern Identity is fragmenting. Robert Bellah said, “Communities are eroding. Families, neighborhoods, and even the polity is falling apart. People are less willing to participate and do their part. They are less trusting of others, and indeed of any institutions and any authority of any kind.” The modern identity destroys community because it’s all individualistic. If you don’t affirm me, I get to walk away from you. Happiness is never sacrificed for the greater good. The modern identity does not allow for any compromise between your self-identified truest self and the needs of others. It’s totally fragmenting.

5.     The Modern Identity is exclusive. Any identity based on achievement is competitive. No one can ever come alongside you. Lines are constantly drawn to put yourself on the exclusive side and everyone else on the outside. Greatness becomes defined by not being like someone else. You find out who you are by not being like the outsiders. So, if you are a workaholic, you bolster your ego by looking down on “lazy” people. You have to, because your identity is tied up into working hard. Politics is rife with this. A Republican is not a Democrat and vice versa.

6.     The Modern Identity is an illusion. No one really lives this way. We can’t ultimately define ourselves. Everything we do comes through a cultural grid. We don’t really get who we are from inside of us. We always get it from outside. The moral grid of our culture always influences us more than we realize. For example, a man walking down the street a thousand years ago who looks in his heart and sees aggression and says, “That’s me.” And he also sees a certain sexual urge in his heart, he would never say. “That’s me.” Because a thousand years ago no one would think about their sexual urge in terms of identity. But today, that’s reversed. The modern identity is an illusion. No one truly makes themselves.

      As a result of the utter failure of the modern identity to satisfy, we live in a culture of despair. Everyone is sad and without ultimate answers. In his book, Making Sense of God, Keller says that most modern people are so unhappy that it takes years to discover how unhappy they truly are.[13] In large part, our despair stems from the individualism that plagues us. We don’t know who we are. There’s no objective standard. How do we know we've arrived if we’re all making our own way? How do we have any sense of peace that who we are and what we’re doing right now is the right thing and who we truly are? We don’t.

      What is the solution? We need a stronger identity that can make sense of our lives, won’t break under pressure, and connects us to others. We need affirmation that affirms us and assures us, and we can’t be the ones to define that. In other words, we need God to tell us who we are. There is no other way. The only ultimate answer to the problem of expressive individualism is the gospel of Jesus Christ. The only ultimate solution to a modern and traditional identity is a gospel identity where we are hidden with Christ in God, as secure as Jesus is. (See Appendix A.)

      If Carl Trueman is right about us all being expressive individualists now, the only way to fight against that is to let the gospel speak a better word. We must let Jesus be our Lord. Only he has that right. Let’s let him have the final word. We will be much happier that way.

      Not only will we be happier, but we will also be better positioned to help others. You can only really help someone if you are secure. Otherwise, your help will always be influenced by a subtext of “Do they like me?” But when you know that even if others don’t like you, Jesus does, you are free to live for Jesus alone and serve others selflessly. You no longer look to other people for validation and peace. You already have it. You can serve out of a place of rest. When we befriend unbelievers living in a world like this, we can be there with a word of hope when they inevitably struggle to find their identity. We will talk more about how we can help in a moment, but first, let’s consider another challenge facing our world today.

Post-Christendom

      Tim Keller says, “Today’s culture believes the thing we need salvation from is the idea that we need salvation.”[14] We live in a culture that lacks the foundational Christian understanding of previous generations. At the same time, we live in a culture deeply and foundationally influenced and shaped by Christian values. Our modern world has what the Scottish Professor James Eglinton calls a “love-hate relationship with Christianity,”[15] simultaneously shaped by and offended by the claims of the Church. Christianity both attracts and repels modern people. Many refer to this as a “post-Christian” culture. In his book Biblical Critical Theory, Christopher Watkin explains this paradoxical environment.

      We live at a peculiar moment in history when our culture’s assumptions and values retain a deeply Christian imprint but when the teachings of the Bible are largely unknown, misunderstood, or condemned. This makes for a strange and at times amusing situation in which society increasingly sets itself against Christianity but does so by using distinctively Christian arguments and assumptions.[16]

      Apologist Glen Scrivener argues that the Western world has been so deeply shaped by the Christian worldview that it is simply the air we breathe, though many have no idea their values spring from Christ.[17] Values such as equality, justice, compassion, consent, freedom, and even individuality find their basis in Christianity. But without the Christian understanding combined with expressive individualism, we end up with unequal equality, unjust justice, uncompassionate compassion, nonconsensual consent, and unfree freedom. Everything separated from God eventually becomes its opposite.

      Post-Christianity combined with expressive individualism makes for a very complex and paradoxical world in which you can have someone deeply devoted to the idea of sexual consent as a fundamental value but also very affirming of others’ freedom to express themselves sexually any way they want. So, on the one hand, they firmly believe certain sexual relationships are off-limits because they are fundamentally non-consensual, such as situations in which one party is influenced by the power dynamic of the relationship, compromising willing consent. On the other hand, they are firmly committed to individual expressive sexual freedom. But you can’t have both. Suppose you rightly hold to the importance of consent. In that case, you must denounce some sexual activity, but if you confirm expressive individualism, how can you deny that person’s right to express themself? There is a dissonance.

      It’s worth asking where this person got their idea of consent in the first place. It came from Christianity. In the first century, a man had total power over women. But when the Christian sexual ethic flooded the world, Paul said things like 1 Corinthians 7:4, “Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does.” Historian Kyle Harper comments. “The social assumptions of pre-Christian sexual morality, such as the casual exploitation of the bodies of [powerless] non-persons, seem incomprehensible [to us today] precisely because the Christian revolution so completely swept away that old order.”[18] The modern person deeply believes in consent but has no idea that value was born of God.

      This goes for a value like justice as well. Without the biblical social ethic, there is no modern understanding of justice. Leviticus 19:15 says: “You shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great, but in righteousness shall you judge your neighbor.” Deuteronomy 16:19 says: “You shall not show partiality, and you shall not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and subverts the cause of the righteous.” Jesus showed up and went after the powerful religious leaders, cleansing the temple they defiled with their injustice. His brother told us in James 2 not to show partiality or favoritism. Justice is a biblical idea.

      But you cannot simply say to many people, “Justice is a Christian value.” They won’t believe you. The Church, of course, hasn’t helped with this. The Church has carried out many injustices throughout history. Even today, we see so many inside the church pushing against the idea of social justice, claiming it is a Marxist ideology. What was once an obvious connection between a Christian value and a publicly shared value is now severed. People can no longer connect the dots. With no shared language for God and no obviously Christian influence, many people find it difficult to understand what we are talking about when we talk about Christianity. To many, it’s just another religion they are ready to lop off, not understanding in many significant ways that it is the branch they are sitting on.

How Can We Help?

      So, how can we help? Tim Keller asked this question in an article written a couple of months before his death called “Lemonade on the Porch – The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society.” I will discuss it in detail because it is the most compelling discussion I’ve read on the topic.

      Keller combined two similar ideas. First was the idea of the front porch. Many of us don’t even have front porches today, but historically, the front porch served as the meeting place between the home and the street. You could invite a neighbor up to the porch for a glass of lemonade and get to know them. It was a good halfway point. Not in the house, but not on the street either. The second idea was drawn from the Dutch theologian Abraham Kuyper. In the early 1900s, Kuyper discussed the European relationship between Christianity and culture.

      Kuyper argued that for centuries, the cultural institutions of European countries had a “Christianizing” effect on most people in the population. General beliefs in a heaven and hell, in a personal creator God, the authority of the Bible, the need for forgiveness of our sins, sexual fidelity within marriage—all these and more were instilled in the general populations. Genuine, born-again Christians were only a fraction of any European society at the time, but Kuyper in no way despised the nominal Christians who constituted the majority. When nominal Christians came into church to hear the gospel preached, they had been prepared for it all their lives. The message did not sound completely, utterly confusing, or radically contradictory to their moral sensibilities because they had been “on the porch” of Christianity.

      European culture was, to use Kuyper’s metaphor, a “forecourt” or porch for the church. It was a half-way place between complete unbelief on the one hand (the “street”) and fervent, heart-faith on the other (the “sanctuary”). On the porch were people friendly and respectful toward Christianity.[19]

      Kuyper went on to point out that the culture was changing. The church’s forecourt, or porch, was disappearing. “The large number of people in western societies who were unconverted but who nonetheless had traditional values and a respect for Christianity were melting away.”[20] Years after Kuyper wrote this about Europe, the United States seemed to be proving an exception. But as Keller saw in New York City, in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, Kuyper’s observations about a post-Christian Europe began to show up in America. New York is typically ahead of places like Nashville, but that gap is closing. Nashville is growing into a major city in this nation, and along with all the good that means, it also means we will experience more of the big city ethos that we see in places such as New York.

      What is the impact of this shift? Keller explains.

      Suddenly, especially in the minds of younger Americans, Christians were the immoral ones, the cruel ones, the enemies of democracy, freedom, and compassion. In most parts of the country, church growth and church planting became far more difficult. Christians found themselves public targets of criticism for their views, especially on sex and gender. Then the pandemic emptied the churches. And since public services began again, most churches to this day have not yet recovered their former congregations. The American forecourt was emptying; Kuyper’s prediction was coming true even in the United States.[21]

      That means we live in a culture that is increasingly losing our Christian language, and, therefore, most unconverted people lack the fundamentals for hearing and responding to the traditional gospel presentation. Keller explains those fundamental beliefs:

      1) there is a personal God who created us and who judges us, 2) there is some kind of objective moral standard by which we are judged, 3) no one lives up to that standard perfectly and so we need forgiveness, 4) there is an afterlife, a heaven and hell.

      Those are the basic building blocks of evangelism. “If you think for a moment of these beliefs as ‘dots,’” Keller says, “then evangelism for centuries in the West has consisted of simply connecting the dots.”[22] Unfortunately, the post-Christian world can no longer connect the dots because they lack a fundamental Christian understanding. Our work just got much harder. Keller presents the problem.

      Most non-believers cannot quickly hear a gospel presentation and be asked if they want to receive Christ. Rather, like the early church and the church throughout the non-western world, congregations in the West must learn to create their own porches or forecourts where people can enter a relational process and be prepared to hear and understand and perhaps embrace the gospel… The vast majority of churches continue to reflexively work as if there was still a cultural forecourt. Their ministries and messages implicitly still assume that non-believers will be brought by friends or will simply show up in church and understand what is being preached. Some may, but this will increasingly not be so. This is a lethal kind of spiritual blindness and is a contributing factor to the decline in the church that we are seeing now in the U.S.[23]

      The punch line is this: Churches can no longer rely on the culture to provide the front porch. We must build our own. How do we do that? Keller offers some advice.

      On porches people are regularly exposed to Christianity in at least three ways: (1) They are enabled to see it. This happens when it is modeled in the lives of individual Christians, but it may also consist of visible expressions of Christianity, whether it be a service in the community (such as caring for the poor), art (such as literature, music, or theater) or in education (such as a Christian school). (2) They must be encouraged to question it. This happens when Christians in the space listen intently, patiently, and with great respect to non-believers’ doubts and questions, and respond with humility and thoughtfulness. Of course the questioning goes both ways. On porches, the powerful and unquestioned cultural narratives—“we are only intolerant of intolerance” and “you always have to be true to yourself” are patiently interrogated. (3) Finally, they must be enabled to hear it. This happens when Christianity is presented in their own language and vocabulary (instead of Christians’ insider jargon), and as answers to the questions that are most on their hearts, fulfilling their greatest aspirations and hopes better than their own intuitions and beliefs.

      Keller ended his article by teasing a second part that would include practical tips on building porches. Unfortunately, Keller didn’t live to write the second installment of the article. However, Keller’s conversation partner on this topic, James Eglinton, attempted to flesh out three practical ways to help in the follow-up article, “Lemonade on the Porch – Why and How to Build Porches: The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society.”[24] He proposed three things: hospitality, cultural apologetics, and forgiveness (to which I will add repentance). I agree with all three, and I will discuss each one, but first, I want to add another one that is the foundation upon which the others are built.

Personal Reality with Christ

      As we have seen, the only way to avoid the despair of our modern age is to deeply accept the gospel identity Jesus can give us. That includes not only a proclamation over you but also the offer of reality with Christ within you.

      To help others in any way, we must have a vibrant personal life with Jesus. He must be more than a theory for us. He must be more than a talking point, more than an argument, more than an approach to society's ills. He must be our personal Lord and Savior, deepest Friend, and nearest Companion. If we are not cultivating our relationship with Jesus, we will not be much help to our hurting and lost culture. How could we? We will draw our identity from the same wells as the world. We will suffer the same despair. We will adopt the same talking points. We will draw lines between “us” and “them.” The only way we can truly help is if we are personally walking with Jesus—if we experience reality with him moment by moment, by his grace.

Hospitality

      We live in a world where it is common to close doors instead of opening them. We define ourselves by enemies as much as our friends. Whom we fight against tells the story of what we believe. Person X believes that, so I believe this. We see this attitude most clearly in politics, where issues are defined in black and white, Republican and Democrat, but it appears nearly everywhere today. It’s impossible to be hospitable with that attitude.

      Modern identities are fragile and competitive, and so they struggle with hospitality.[25] Our mindset isn’t pure. We aren’t welcoming, especially to those unlike us. But recovering the Christian practice of hospitality can speak a powerful word to our world. Listen to author Rosaria Butterfield’s exhortation on what she calls “radically ordinary hospitality.”

      Engaging in radically ordinary hospitality means we provide the time necessary to build strong relationships with people who think differently than we do as well as build strong relationships from within the family of God. It means we know that only hypocrites and cowards let their words be stronger than their relationships, making sneaky raids into culture on social media or behaving like moralizing social prigs in the neighborhood. Radically ordinary hospitality shows this skeptical, post-Christian world what authentic Christianity looks like.[26]

      Pastor Michael Keller believes that the way to fight against the weakening cultural bonds and fragmentation we experience is to invest more deeply in joyful hospitality.

      A church that celebrates, a church that does meals for those inside the church, but also those outside the church becomes a curious space. Christians should be the best at hosting parties and celebrating others as we have every reason in the world to have joy about the coming kingdom, including present “wins” whether they are simple birthdays that highlight the created-ness of others, or milestones of our neighbors’ achievements.[27]

      Hospitality is one thing we can all do to build porches. All it takes is willingness to open the door.          

Cultural Apologetics

      According to The Gospel Coalition’s Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics, “We’re living amid the largest religious transformation in American history. Forty million Americans have left the church in the last 25 years. Many other Western countries have already seen similar declines. But that’s not the only challenge. After the fall of Christendom, believers in Western countries now face a strange mixture of apathy and antagonism toward the gospel. Many of our neighbors view Christianity as yesterday’s news but also as the source of today’s problems.”

      Hospitality is good. It can show unbelievers what Christianity looks like. But despite what you may have heard, we cannot preach the gospel at all times through deeds and only use words if necessary.[28] We must use words. But which words? Eglinton, again, is helpful. “Cultural apologetics deals with explaining the history, workings, and shortcomings of secular modernity to the people who depend on it most but think about it least: secular Westerners.”[29] Collin Hansen defines cultural apologetics as apologetics that “helps unbelievers want the gospel to be true even before they may fully understand this good news. We offer the beauty of the lordship of Christ as opposed to the ugliness of the lordship of the principalities and powers (Eph. 6:12).”[30] Ted Turnau says, “The job of apologetics is to build a bridge between hope and the non-Christian.”[31]

      Cultural apologetics proposes engagement with unbelievers using their own language and values (their culture) to show them how Christianity is the true truth, the spring from which it all flows, and to show them how it fulfills human longings. Both the Bible and church history are filled with this type of cultural engagement. Jesus used illustrations from every day life that made sense to his hearers. Peter at Pentecost and Paul on Mars Hill speak to their specific audiences in their cultural languages. Justin Martyr’s First Apology and St. Augustine’s City of God spoke to the Roman empire in their specific cultural moments. Cultural apologetics understands that every culture expresses itself in ways that lead to an opening to Jesus and his gospel. Our job is to help unbelievers connect the dots.

      Dan Strange calls this “subversive fulfillment.”[32] Keller explains it this way.

      When the gospel is rightly preached, it not only confronts but attracts. It not only appeals and compels, it offends. It says, “the plot-lines of your life will only come to a happy ending in Jesus Christ.” Subversive fulfillment is both affirming and contradicting. It challenges people, but on their own terms. And it means offering them, on gospel terms, what all human hearts rightly need—a meaning that suffering can’t take away, a satisfaction not based on circumstances, a freedom that doesn’t destroy love and community, an identity that doesn’t elude you, crush you, or lead you to exclude others, a basis for justice that doesn’t turn you into a new oppressor, a relief from shame and guilt without resorting to relativism, and a hope that can enable you to face anything with poise, even death.

      This means, first, that on the church porch we are seeking to win the respect of non-believers and to affirm some of their beliefs. We are not merely saying, “We are right and you are wrong.” Rather, we affirm some of their beliefs and reason in this way, “If you believe (rightly) this – then why do you inconsistently believe that?” And then we attract them by showing how the things they seek can only be found in Christ.[33]

Repentance and Forgiveness

      Eglinton points out that hospitality needs to be accompanied by cultural apologetics, and forgiveness holds the two together.

      The existential power of forgiveness holds together the porches of hospitality and cultural apologetics. If we have no capacity to forgive, hospitality is impossible. Forgiveness is hospitality’s constant assumption—and when hospitality has to give an apologetic for its own existence, sooner or later, it will have to talk about forgiveness. But forgiveness also has to provide its own apologetic: why forgive, rather than be indifferent to wrongs, or bear grudges, or mete out your own revenge?[34]

      In a cancel-culture world, we have lost the ability to forgive. We have lost, in many instances, even the possibility of forgiveness. We not only withhold it, but we heap condemnation on top of condemnation. The transgressor is not simply wrong; they are evil. There are no mistakes, only evil hearts proving themselves.  

      The Bible has something to say about that, doesn’t it? No one is good, not even one (Rom. 3:10-12). Yet the God of the Bible does not leave us in that hell. He brings heaven down in his Son to offer forgiveness freely and fully. That vertical reality affects our horizontal relationships. Christians must show that to the world. Other things may bring people onto the porch, but the doctrine and practice of forgiveness will get them in the house.

      The precursor to forgiveness is repentance, and that starts with us too. We will sin, and when we do, we must repent and ask for forgiveness. Instead of doubling down, we need to humble ourselves. In his book Losing Our Religion, Russell Moore says, “As the prophet Ezekiel was told to dramatically enact carrying “exile’s baggage” as a way of showing Israel their coming judgment (Ezek. 12:1-16), maybe what the church is most called to do in this moment is not, first, to preach repentance but to embody what repentance looks like so that a culture seeking forgiveness will know what the words even mean.”[35]

Conclusion

      We live in a complex world. There are no easy answers. Hopefully, through this seminar, you have a better understanding of where we are and how you can help. The goal is not to find the silver bullet answer. The goal is to be formed by Christ to live for him in this world. The goal is to let him work through us, and that begins by humbling ourselves, acknowledging our weaknesses, and trusting him for the grace to help.

      We will end with James Eglinton’s exhortation.

      The goal of the forecourt is to offer something that secular Westerners need as human beings (made in the image of God), and to an extent still partially intuit (in the confused heritage of post-Christendom), but that they cannot get to on their own.[36]

      We have news to share. We have a Savior to invite them to know. We have salvation to offer.

            There is much to do, and it may feel, at times, impossible. But with God, all things are possible, especially with the God that will step out of heaven to find us. The Church is his house, and he has welcomed us in. Now, in response, will we go out to the porch and invite others in?

[1] Charles Taylor, A Secular Age, page 473.

[2] See Trevin Wax, “Expressive Individualism: What Is It?”, https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/expressive-individualism-what-is-it/

[3] Carl R. Trueman, The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self: Cultural Amnesia, Expressive Individualism, and the Road to Sexual Revolution, page 25.

[4] Carl Trueman, “How Expressive Individualism Threatens Civil Society,” https://www.heritage.org/civil-society/report/how-expressive-individualism-threatens-civil-society

[5] See chapter 6 of Habits of the Heart by Robert Bellah.

[6] Robert Bellah, Habits of the Heart, page 142.

[7] Tim Keller, Making Sense of God, page 118.

[8] Tim Keller, Making Sense of God, page 119.

[9] Charles Taylor, A Secular Age, page 299.

[10] Mark Sayers, Disappearing Church, page 16.

[11] See Tim Keller’s talk on Modern Identities, https://gospelinlife.com/downloads/gospel-identity-conference/.

[12] Tim Keller, “Modern Identities,” https://gospelinlife.com/downloads/gospel-identity-conference/. The keynote sessions can be listened to for free.

[13] Tim Keller, Making Sense of God, page 80.

[14] Tim Keller, How to Reach the West Again, page 7.

[15] See Eglinton’s talk “The Church and Society,” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5SGaIt0-GE

[16] Christopher Watkin, Biblical Critical Theory, page 15.

[17] Glen Scrivener, The Air We Breathe, page 12.

[18] Kyle Harper, “The First Sexual Revolution”, https://www.firstthings.com/article/2018/01/the-first-sexual-revolution

[19] Tim Keller, “Lemonade on the Porch (Part 1): The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society,” https://quarterly.gospelinlife.com/gospel-in-a-post-christendom-society/

[20] Ibid.

[21] Ibid.

[22] Ibid.

[23] Ibid.

[24] James Eglinton, “Lemonade on the Porch – Why and How to Build Porches: The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society,” https://quarterly.gospelinlife.com/lemonade-on-the-porch-part-2/

[25] Ibid.

[26] Rosaria Butterfield, The Gospel Comes with A House Key, page 13.

[27] Michael Keller, “Lemonade on the Porch: Redeemer Pastors Suggestions,” https://rpc-download.s3.amazonaws.com/Lemonade_on_the_Porch_Redeemer_Pastors_Suggestions.pdf

[28] A quote often (wrongly) attributed to St. Francis of Assisi.

[29] Ibid.

[30] Collin Hansen, “What is Cultural Apologetics?” https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/what-cultural-apologetics/

[31] Ted Turnau, Popologetics.

[32] See Daniel Strange, “For Their Rock Is Not as Our Rock: The Gospel as the ‘Subversive Fulfillment’ of the Religious Other.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 56/2 (2013) 379–95.  https://www.etsjets.org/files/JETS-PDFs/56/56-2/JETS_56-2_379-395_Strange.pdf

[33] Tim Keller, “Lemonade on the Porch (Part 1): The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society,” https://quarterly.gospelinlife.com/gospel-in-a-post-christendom-society/

[34] James Eglinton, “Lemonade on the Porch – Why and How to Build Porches: The Gospel in a Post-Christendom Society,” https://quarterly.gospelinlife.com/lemonade-on-the-porch-part-2/

[35] Russell Moore, Losing Our Religion: An Altar Call for Evangelical America, page 201.

[36] Ibid.

The Intercession of Christ Full Document

Introduction

      Throughout history, Christian theologians have spoken of “the threefold offices of Christ.” Jesus is Prophet, Priest, and King. God established these three offices in Israel to bring God’s word, mediate God’s forgiveness, and rule over God’s people. Various men held these offices at various times and in various ways, but Jesus fulfilled each office finally and completely. He is the perfect prophet who brings the final word from God (Heb. 1:1). He is the perfect priest who makes the final sacrifice for sins (Heb. 10:1-18). He is the perfect king who rules justly over the world (Eph. 1:20-21).

      That could be a whole seminar in itself. Perhaps one day we will do that, but today we are zooming in on one of those offices of Christ, his priesthood, and specifically, on one aspect of that office, his intercession.

      Why this topic? I believe this is a tragically underemphasized doctrine, and without it, our spiritual lives are diminished. Let me explain by way of experience.

      You’ve been a Christian and have been for some time. Maybe a year. Maybe decades. You know at the deepest level of your being that Christ has saved you obedient life and substitutionary death and has granted you new life in his resurrection. You know the doctrine of justification and believe it. But you still have besetting sins that you can’t seem to beat. Guilt plagues you. Assurance wanes. You want so desperately to be as free as you know you should be in your relationship with God, but you feel shame weighing you down and keeping you from him. You pray, but your prayers feel listless. You seek God, but you feel as if you can’t open the door to his presence. When you consider your spiritual life, anxiety is more prominent than joy. You are discouraged and disappointed, and though you know God is for you, sometimes it’s hard to really feel it.

      How do you get out of that rut? How do you remain encouraged through all life’s valleys? How do you experience the freedom and joy that you know is available? The intercession of Christ answers those questions and relieves those worries. You are not a burden to him. You are a joy to him (Heb. 12:1). When you can’t pray for yourself, your Savior prays for you. When you feel as if the door is shut, Christ is there to keep it open. His heart beats with love, mercy, and grace for you, and it never wanes even for a second. When you feel dead inside, the living Christ is in heaven, intervening for you.

      Understanding Christ’s intercessory work assures you that your ongoing sin is mediated and forgiven. It proclaims that your relationship with God is still open and safe despite your ongoing sins and failures. It reminds you that all the benefits Christ purchased on the cross are still yours by grace. It comforts you that Christ continues his priestly work by bringing you into God’s presence. Deep reality with God is possible through Christ’s intercession.

      In our day, there has been a good and right emphasis on the justifying work of Christ on the cross. I am thankful for that. But the gospel does not end with death; it extends to new life in the resurrection, to the ascension of Jesus into heaven, to his current intercession on our behalf, and all the way to his glorious return, where he will renew and restore this broken world. If we stop only at the cross, we will have truncated the gospel to our great detriment.

      Hear what the Puritan pastor John Bunyan said about this very thing.

      “Since Christ is an intercessor, I infer that believers should not rest at the cross for comfort. Justification they should look for there; but being justified by his blood, they should ascend up after him to the throne. At the cross you will see him in his sorrows and humiliations, in his tears and blood; but follow him to where he is now, and then you shall see him in his robes, in his priestly robes, and with his golden girdle about his breast. Then you shall see him wearing the breastplate of judgment, and with all your names written upon his heart. Then you shall perceive, that the whole family in heaven and earth is named by him, and how he prevails with God, the Father of mercies, for you. Stand still a while, and listen, yea, enter with boldness into the holiest, and see your Jesus, as he now appears in the presence of God for you; what work he makes against the devil, and sin, and death, and hell, for you. Ah, it is brave, following Jesus Christ to the holiest! The veil is rent, you may see with open face, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord.”[1]

      Let’s heed Bunyan’s exhortation, and let’s follow Christ into the holiest to behold the glory of the Lord.

      To that end, I aim to do the following in this seminar.

1.     Define Christ’s intercession.

2.     Explain the benefits of Christ’s intercession.

3.     Apply the doctrine of Christ’s intercession so that we may rejoice in the truth.

The Definition of Christ’s Intercession

      Let’s being with a definition. To intercede means to intervene on someone’s behalf. It means to entreat, to argue, to plead, and to stand in the gap between two people with a view of reconciliation. Intercession is prayer but of a specific kind. There is much that is mysterious about Jesus’s intercession, but the Bible and great theologians of church history offer some clarity. Referring to Christ’s intercession, the Puritan John Owen defined it as “his continual appearance for us in the presence of God, by virtue of his office as the ‘high priest over the house of God,’ representing the efficacy of his oblation [offering], accompanied with tender care, love, and desires for the welfare, supply, deliverance, and salvation of the church.”[2]

      In other words, by virtue of his all-sufficient atoning sacrifice, Jesus stands at the Father's right hand in heaven, working and praying for us to accomplish our full salvation.

      That begs a question. Is our salvation not already secured upon the cross of Christ? Why do we need hi intercession? It is true that Jesus’s death on the cross accomplished our full salvation and justification. All in Christ have been finally and fully set right with God because Jesus paid the penalty for all his people’s sins, satisfying God's wrath for those sins in his death. Our legal standing with God is settled. We are righteous in Christ. The work is finished (John 19:30). Thus, the author of Hebrews says, “When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God” (Heb. 10:12). Sitting down represents the completion of the work. All in Christ are “perfected for all time” (Heb. 10:14), meaning no further sacrifice is necessary. We can rest assured that, by grace, God will preserve us forever.

      But the finished work of Christ on the cross does not mean Jesus no longer works on our behalf. Yes, the work of justification is finished, but the work of sanctification is ongoing, and the work of glorification is still out ahead. Though assured, they are still “in progress,” as it were, and Jesus’s intercession is God’s means by which they come to completion.

      We can think of it this way. The cross is the point of our justification, and his intercession is the ongoing application of that justification. Jesus’s intercession is one of God’s means of preserving us. As the Dutch theologian Herman Bavinck said, “In his intercession his sacrifice continues to be operative and effective.”[3] Reformer John Calvin said, “He appears before God for the purpose of exercising towards us the power and efficacy of his sacrifice. . .. Christ's intercession is the continual application of his death to our salvation."[4]

      Christ’s intercession applies the benefits of justification moment by moment, assuring us that our ongoing sins are also forgiven by the cross and inviting us to draw near to God to enjoy continual fellowship with him.

      What does this heavenly intercession look like? John Owen summarized it in three parts. First, there is the presentation of his person before the throne of God on our behalf (Heb. 9:24). Second, there is the representation of his death, offering, and sacrifice for us as “a lamb standing as though it had been slain” (Rev. 5:6). Third, there is the intercession in prayer “interceding for us with groanings too deep for words” (Rom 8:26).[5]

      Through this presentation, representation, and intercession, the blood of Jesus effectually and continually cleanses his people from all their sins and secures their place in the kingdom of God. Rather than hoping we are okay in the end, the intercession of Christ assures us that we will be because Christ is working to complete our salvation (Phil. 1:6).

      Inside the heavenly courtroom, “the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as our forerunner,” as the book of Hebrews calls it (Heb. 6:19-20), Jesus stands in God’s presence praying for us. Gavin Ortlund helpfully summarizes the content of these prayers.

      Christ prays for the salvation of the elect (Psalm 2:8), their furtherance in grace (John 17:11, 17, I John 2:1), their protection from all evil (John 17:15) and especially the accusations of Satan and devils (Zechariah 3:1-5), the restoration of broken communion between them and God (Micah 6:7, Isaiah 54:7-8), their deliverance from temptation (Hebrews 2:18), their daily cleansing and washing from the polluting effects of sin (I John 2:1, Hebrews 10:22), the sanctification and cleansing of their service and worship (Ephesians 2:18, Hebrews 4:14-16), the giving of the Spirit to them (John 14:16), their unity (John 17:20-22), and their final perseverance unto glory (Luke 22:32, John 17:24, Romans 5:10, Hebrews 7:25).[6]

      We can find the doctrine throughout the biblical storyline. It is prefigured in the Old Testament in the offerings of sacrifices and incense in the Holy Place inside the temple (Exod. 30:1-10) and on the Day of Atonement detailed in Leviticus 16. Zechariah 3:1-5 tells of the vision of the high priest standing between the Lord who defends and Satan who accuses. We find shadows in Micah 7:9, “I will bear the indignation of the LORD because I have sinned against him, until he pleads my cause and executes judgment for me. He will bring me out to the light; I shall look upon his vindication.” And we hear the prophecy in Isaiah 53:12, “Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong, because he poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and makes intercession for the transgressors.”

      In the New Testament, we see the doctrine portrayed during Christ’s earthly ministry in his high priestly prayer in John 17. It is found in Christ’s defense of Peter through prayer in Luke 22:32, where Jesus says Satan demanded to have him but that Jesus had prayed for him that his faith may not fail. We even see it as Jesus hangs on the cross. He intercedes for those crucifying him, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34). We hear it boldly stated in Romans 8:34. “Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.” The Apostle John speaks of our advocate in 1 John 2:1-2. “My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.”

      In the book of Hebrews, we find the most extensive exposition of the priesthood of Christ, which paves the foundation for his intercession. Hebrews 4:15 says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” Hebrews 6:19-20 says, “We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.”[7] And in the clearest of all verses, Hebrews 7:25 says, “Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

      Not only does Hebrews show us the priesthood of Christ more clearly than any other book, but it is also the only place we find explicit reference to Jesus as a “high priest.” The role was reserved in the Old Testament for men appointed by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins on behalf of men in relation to God (Heb 5:2). As Commentator Peter O’Brien says, “The title is applied to him ten times: he is a high priest in the order of Melchizedek (5:6, 10; 6:20), who accomplished atonement (2:17; 7:26; 8:1), and the ‘high priest of the good things that are now already here’ (9:11). Jesus is the ‘great priest over the house of God’ whom believers ‘have’ (10:21), the one whom ‘we acknowledge as our apostle and high priest’ (3:1), and who has ascended into heaven (4:14-15).”[8]

      The priesthood of Christ is wonderfully true for all of God’s people, but—this is important to note—it is only for God’s people. He does not intercede for everyone in the world. He intercedes only for the elect. The old Scottish Presbyterian minister William Symington said, “As it is unreasonable to suppose Christ to make atonement for any for whom he does not intercede, so it were preposterous to allege that he intercedes for any but those for whose sins he has atoned, or that the matter of his intercession includes anything not purchased with his blood.”[9] He intercedes not only for those who currently believe but for the full number of the elect, including those who do not yet believe but one day will. As Jesus prayed in his High Priestly Prayer, “I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word” (John 17:20).

      The intercession of risen Christ means the elect of God have the highest priestly office serving them in an endless ministry in heaven. Theologian Robert Letham summarizes the doctrine well. “Christ, having ascended to the right hand of the Father, blesses his church by his presence in heaven and by the Holy Spirit who he has sent. In this he sends us help when we need it, conveys the blessings of the covenant, and enables us to experience and enjoy union and communion with him.”[10]

      The bottom line is this. Jesus is not sitting idly in heaven, twiddling his thumbs between the resurrection and his return. He is working for his people as their Great High Priest upon his throne of grace (Heb. 4:16), advocating on their behalf and applying his atonement to their lives, moment by moment. His intercession proves how personal his love is and how tender and warm his heart is for his people. Jesus is not aloof from the reality of life. He is not unconcerned or uninvolved. He is in heaven right now, interceding on behalf of his people, and his glorious intercession grants several benefits. Let’s consider those now.

The Benefits of Christ’s Intercession

      For this point, we will go deeper into one verse, Hebrews 7:25. Aside from being one of my favorite verses in my favorite book in all the Bible, this single verse more fully explains the character of Jesus’s current priestly ministry than any other.

      The book of Hebrews is 13 chapters long, but the heart of the book is found in chapters 7-10. The heart of the heart of the book is found in Hebrews 7:25. It’s the main point the author wants to make. “Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

      Let’s consider the verse, phrase by phrase, starting with the very first word, “Consequently.” In the preceding verses, the author argues for the validity of Jesus’s priesthood. His priesthood is a better one because it is an endless one. Jesus meets all priestly qualifications and has perfectly fulfilled all the requirements. Therefore, he can perfectly fulfill the office. (For more on this, see Appendix B- Jesus’s Qualifications as Our High Priest.) The logic is this: “because Jesus is the perfect high priest, he can do the following.”

            “He is able to save to the uttermost.”

      The first thing he can do is save to the uttermost. Our default assumption is that Christ is able to save some, but not all, and sometimes, but not always. Charles Spurgeon gets up in our faces at this point in his comments on 1 Timothy 1:15, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” Spurgeon said, “Between that word ‘save’ and the next word ‘sinners,’ there is no adjective. It does not say, ‘penitent sinners,’ ‘awakened sinners,’ ‘sensible sinners,’ ‘grieving sinners,’ or ‘alarmed sinners.’ No, it only says, ‘sinners.’”[11]

      We must never put an adjective where God does not. We all have really good arguments as to why Christ cannot save us, but who are we to argue with God? He is able to save to the uttermost.

      The verb translated “to be able” is related to the powerful activity of Christ. The author of Hebrews uses the same word when referring to Jesus’s ability to help (Heb. 2:18) and his ability to sympathize with our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15). Commentator Peter O’Brien puts it bluntly, “Nowhere in Hebrews does the verb denote a mere possibility.”[12] As William Lane says, this truth is a certainty at each critical moment in our lives.[13] In other words, there is never a time when our need meets his capacity. His capacity always exceeds our needs. Super-exceeds, in fact. There is no deficiency in Jesus. He is able to do everything he desires to do. If he desires to save, nothing in this world can stop him. He can even overcome our unbelief (Eph. 2:8-9).

      His salvation isn’t reserved only for “back then” when we were good enough to deserve it. That day never existed, and it never will. We are never deserving of his salvation, and that’s perfect, because he only saves the undeserving. If you have trusted Christ before but find yourself now barely hanging on to faith, he can save you still. He will save you still if he ever saved you then. He doesn’t save sometimes, but all the time, not to the least, but to the uttermost.

      “To the uttermost” is only one word in the original Greek, indicating completeness. Another translation is “at all times.” It’s an expansive word. The more our need, the more Christ’s ability to save. There is not a time, a season, nor a second of our life that Jesus is not able to save us. As we have seen, his power is limitless.

      In his book Gentle and Lowly, Dane Ortlund explains, “We are to-the-uttermost sinners. We need a to-the-uttermost Savior.”[14] He continues, “‘To the uttermost’ in Hebrews 7:25 means: God’s forgiving, redeeming, restoring touch reaches down into the darkest crevices of our souls, those places where we are most ashamed, most defeated. More than this: those crevices of sin are themselves the places where Christ loves us the most. His heart willingly goes there. His heart is most strongly drawn there. He knows us to the uttermost, and he saves us to the uttermost, because his heart is drawn out to us to the uttermost. We cannot sin our way out of his tender care.”[15]

      This means that what Corrie Ten Boom wrote is true. “There is no pit so deep, that God's love is not deeper still.” Christ’s perfect priesthood and effectual intercession assures us he is able to save to the uttermost. We never need to fear falling through the cracks. He’s in heaven holding us tight.

            “Those who draw near to God through him.”

      The second thing he can do is bring us near to God. This call first comes to us in Hebrews in 4:16 where the author calls us to draw near to the throne of grace with confidence. Commentator William Lane points out that Greek indicates coming to God with a “bold frankness.” [16] Because of Christ’s intercession, we can bring our real selves and our real needs to God. We have what the Old Testament saints did not. Under the New Covenant, we have immediate access to God and the freedom to draw near to his throne continually because we have a perfect and eternal high priest who made a perfect and eternal sacrifice who forever stands in the presence of God and holds the door open for us to come inside. We don’t need to work ourselves up to come to him. We don’t need to feel a certain amount of guilt first. We don’t need to bring an offering or a sacrifice. All the work is done. Our only part is to come through the door of Christ.

      Without Christ’s intercession, drawing near to God would be a frightful thing. “Our God is a consuming fire” (Heb. 12:29). But because Christ was consumed on the cross for our sin, that holy fire burns for our benefit. His light shines in the darkness, welcoming us inside.

      From time to time, we may still wonder if we can come. Haven’t we compromised our access by our behavior? But the truth is that because we are in Christ, we are already in, obedient or not, because Christ’s obedience is our entry. Our drawing near is a present reality that Jesus is simply asking us to recognize. In the Old Testament, the high priest would carry the names of Israel into the presence of God upon his breastplate, identifying himself with the people (Ex. 28:10-12). Jesus does this now. Everyone whose name is written in the lamb’s book of life (Rev. 13:8) enters upon his breastplate into the Holy of Holies, in the throne room of heaven. We can draw near to God only through Christ, our high priest. There is no other way. Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).

      We have unrestricted an unhindered access to God. He will always welcome us. Tim Keller once said, “The only person who dares wake up a king at 3:00 AM for a glass of water is a child. We have that kind of access.”[17] Because of Christ’s intercession, we can come whenever we need God. Christ’s intercession grants us this access, assuring us we will never find a locked door or empty room.

            “Since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

      The key phrase is right here—he lives to make intercession. Everything depends on the resurrection. If Jesus died on the cross but did not rise, our faith is futile, and we are still in our sins (1 Cor. 15:17). But Christ did rise! And in his resurrection, he is bringing many to glory (Heb. 2:10). All that we’ve seen before this phrase is predicated on the fact that Jesus lives. Because he lives, all that we’ve seen so far is real and available to all his people.

      The Scottish pastor Robert Murray M’Cheyne once said, “If I could hear Christ praying for me in the next room, I would not fear a million enemies. Yet distance makes no difference. He is praying for me.” But even more than prayer, William Symington points out that the grammar of the phrase “includes every form of acting on behalf of another…it denotes mediating in every possible way in which the interests of another can be promoted.”[18] Our sin—past, present, and future—is covered because there is a high priest in heaven praying for us, and he will never leave. There’s never a moment when we want to come to God that he will not be there to receive us because of Christ. He lives for this. Think about that. Christ lives to intercede for you!

      Whatever you face, how can you not endure with him on your side? Whatever you feel, how can you not look up to his throne of grace and find the help you need to press on?

      Now having seen some benefits of this doctrine, let’s consider a few applications.

The Applications of Christ’s Intercession

      Whenever we approach a biblical doctrine, there is the temptation to leave it in the realm of the intellectual. But it is good to consider how the doctrine applies to our lives. How does what we now know of Christ’s intercession make our hearts burn within us (Luke 24:32)?

      Here I will make three primary applications.

            Application 1: Christ’s intercession reveals his heart for sinners.

      Though we are justified in Christ for all time when we first trust his saving work, we do not stop sinning until the age to come when we are with him in glory. Though we know the truth of God’s love, we still have low thoughts of God, disbelieving, mistrusting, and doubting him. Though we know we are saved by Christ’s works, not our own, we still fall into the old ruts of our self-salvation projects, denying the power of his life, death, and resurrection. Our fleshly desires may wane, but they do not disappear, and we continue to use God’s good gifts for improper ends. Who will save us from this body of death (Rom. 7:24)? Jesus, by the power of his intercession.

      John Bunyan wrote a whole book about Hebrews 7:25 called Christ a Complete Savior. In that book, he said,

      “Many there be that begin with grace, and end with works, and think that this is the only way…But to be saved and brought to glory, to be carried through this dangerous world, from my first moving after Christ, until I set my foot within the gates of paradise, this is the work of my mediator, of my high priest and intercessor. It is he that fetches us again when we are run away; it is he that lifts us up when the devil and sin have thrown us down; it is he that quickens us when we grow cold; it is he that comforts us when we despair; it is he that obtains fresh pardon when we have contracted sin; and he that purges our consciences when they are loaded with guilt…We are saved by Christ; brought to glory by Christ; and all our works are no otherways made acceptable to God, but by the person and personal excellences and works of Christ.”

      Christ’s intercession is there to save us from the sin that remains. God did not expect us to become perfect and never again struggle after our conversion. He factored our ongoing fight against sin into the equation and provided the intercession of Christ to preserve and encourage us. That shows how great the love of Christ is for us sinners. Why would he intercede if he didn’t care? Why would we be continually on his mind if he did not love us? As a parent loves a child and thinks about them all the time, so Christ considers us and always thinks of our good. He prays on our behalf. He takes our prayers and rewords them on the way up (Rom. 8:26). He holds the door to heaven open for us. He is more committed to our salvation than we are, and he will never leave us nor forsake us. He cares for us and sends affirmations of that care to us by his Spirit.

      The Puritan Thomas Goodwin spoke of 1 Corinthians 2:16, where Paul says we have the “mind of Christ.” You know those moments when you sense a word from the Lord, a verse of Scripture, or a reminder of the love of Christ, those seemingly invasive thoughts that remind you of God’s love? Those are Spirit-sent thoughts from Jesus himself. They are sent down from heaven to tell us what he is thinking of us and for us in that very moment. Those are holy moments with our interceding Christ.

      And in those moments when we find ourselves weak and wounded because of sin, when we long for a holy moment but fear we have blown it big-time, we must remember his intercession. We must remember his heart for sinners and sufferers, how gentle and careful he is with us. Hear Goodwin describe it.

      “Your very sins move him to pity more than to anger…For he suffers with us under our infirmities, and by infirmities are meant sins, as well as other miseries…Christ takes part with you, and is so far from being provoked against you, as all his anger is turned upon your sin to ruin it; yes, his pity is increased the more towards you, even as the heart of a father is to a child that has some loathsome disease, or as one is to a member of his body that has leprosy, he hates not the member, for it is his flesh, but the disease and that provokes him to pity the part affected more. What shall not make for us, when our sins, that are both against Christ and us, shall be turned as motives to him to pity us the more?

      The greater the misery is, the more is the pity when the party is beloved. Now of all miseries, sin is the greatest; and while you look at it as such, Christ will look upon it as such also. And he, loving your persons, and hating only the sin, his hatred shall all fall, and that only upon the sin, to free you of it by its ruin and destruction, but his affections shall be the more drawn out to you; and this as much when you lie under sin as under any other affliction. Therefore fear not.”[19]

      In other words, our sins do not turn Jesus away from us but rather move him closer to us. As a parent moves closer to a hurting child, so Christ moves closer to his hurting people. Maybe that’s hard to believe, but hasn’t Jesus always proven to be the “friend of sinners” (Matt. 11:19; Luke 7:34)? After all, Jesus knows what it is like down here. “Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things” (Heb 2:14). We always fear our sins will eventually ruin our relationship with him, but his intercession is the very proof that they can’t.

            Application 2: Christ’s intercession confirms that we have an advocate.

      Intercession is what Christ does for us always, for our general needs. Advocacy is a particular form of intercession he takes up for specific needs.

      Luke 22:31-32 shows on way this advocacy works. Jesus told Peter, “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.” He was talking about the events leading up to Jesus’s crucifixion. Peter would deny Christ three times, and perhaps Satan wanted that sin to destroy Peter. But Jesus interceded and then told Peter about it to preserve his faith through the trial.

      Consider how amazing this is. Before Peter knew about the trial, Jesus covered it in prayer. Before Peter felt the heat from the fire, Jesus prepared the extinguisher. Before Peter fell into sin, Jesus secured his salvation. Peter’s Advocate stood for him even though Peter wouldn’t later return the favor in Jesus’s hour of need.

      1 John 2:1 says that if we sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. It doesn’t say we will have an advocate, but that we have an advocate. We don’t need to dial him up like we would our lawyer. He’s there when we need him, even before we know we need him, defending us against the Accuser, applying his blood to our sins, giving us his righteousness. He’s a skillful advocate who knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows our needs before we do. He is a holy advocate. He is a tender advocate. He is a sympathetic advocate. In every sense of the word, he is a perfect advocate.

      In his Systematic Theology, theologian Louis Berkhof said, “It is a consoling thought that Christ is praying for us, even when we are negligent in our prayer life; that He is presenting to the Father those spiritual needs which were not present to our minds and which we often neglect to include in our prayers; and that He prays for our protection against the dangers of which we are not even conscious, and against the enemies which threaten us, though we do not notice it. He is praying that our faith may not cease, and that we may come out victoriously in the end.”[20]

      Jesus is the advocate we need. By grace, we are “hidden in him” (Col. 3:3). He is more than our representative, he is our very life. If our life is hidden with Christ, and Christ lives forever, how can we not also live forever with him? Who can defeat his advocacy? Who can overcome the argument of his atonement? No one. Not you. Not Satan. Not even God himself, for it is his very grace that brought it about.

      The doctrine of intercession shows us how deeply God is committed to us. He’s on our side. Always.

            Application 3: Christ’s intercession assures us that we can always count on grace.

      The classical definition of grace is “unmerited favor.” With Christ our Savior serving as our Intercessor, the grace of God is multiplied to us many times over. We have the saving grace of Christ and the preserving grace of Christ. We have the justifying grace of Christ and the sanctifying grace of Christ. We have the grace of newness of life and the grace of ongoing cleansing. Whatever we may face in this life, with Christ as our intercessor, we can always count on grace.

      Hebrews 4:14-16 says we have a great high priest who is able to sympathize with our weaknesses, who in every respect has been tempted as we are yet without sin. He calls us to draw near to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

      Here’s what that means. It means that if Jesus is really a savior—if he’s not just a mentor, or a self-help guru, or an example, or merely a judge—he will get down in the mess with you, and save you in time of need because he perfectly understands you. He will be there in the grossness, the desperation, the deepest temptation, and the hottest part of the battle. He is not just a counselor for the after-party when the high has worn off. He’s the hero running into the war with you. His throne is not the bench to approach to pay your fine after the infraction. His throne is a wartime walkie-talkie that you can call when the battle gets hot. He’s there for the dark moments, the moments you don’t even like to think about. He’s there with grace and mercy. He is not aloof to your real life and your real sins. He intercedes for the real you, not the Instagram you.

      Jesus was tempted as we are but remains perfect and sinless, so he knows the real cost of holiness. And his perfection is not a platform from which he condemns but from which he saves. As Romans 8:34 says, “Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us.” When you are caught in the act, he won’t condemn you because he was condemned for you, and his intercession assures that you will remain safe in the arms of his salvation.

      Your most desperate need when you are most desperate is not to get your act together so you can come to him; it is to simply come to him and receive from his deep wells of grace upon grace. Only then will you even have a chance at getting your act together.

            The applications of this doctrine are endless. For more, see Appendix A, but we must stop now. So, we will end with this. With Jesus Christ, you are never without an intercessor that can overcome all your enemies, comfort all your wounds, advocate for all your needs, and sustain even the greatest of doubts and the weakest moments of faith. You are covered in his grace from this day until the very last. You may feel weak and unworthy, but take heart, Jesus lives for you!

[1] John Bunyan, The Intercession of Christ, pages 27-28.

[2] John Owen, Exposition of Hebrews, vol. 5, page 541.

[3] Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, vol. 3, page 478.

[4] John Calvin, Commentary on 1 John, page 243.

[5] John Owen,, Exposition of Hebrews, vol. 5, page 541.

[6] Gavin Ortlund, https://gavinortlund.com/2010/04/26/christs-intercession-exposition/

[7] I owe much of these references to Gavin Ortlund, https://gavinortlund.com/2010/04/26/christs-intercession-exposition/

[8] Peter T. O’Brien, God has Spoken in His Son: A Biblical Theology of Hebrews, page 66.

[9] William Symington, The Atonements & Intercession of Jesus Christ, page 269.

[10] Robert Letham, “The Intercessory Work of Christ,” https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/essay/intercessory-work-christ/.

[11] C. H. Spurgeon, “None but Jesus,” in The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit Sermons, vol. 7, page 108.

[12] Peter T. O’Brien, The Letter to the Hebrews, page 274.

[13] William Lane, Hebrews: A Call to Commitment, page 111.

[14] Dane Ortlund, Gentle and Lowly, page 82.

[15] Dane Ortlund, Gentle and Lowly, page 83.

[16] William Lane, Hebrews: A Call to Commitment, page 77.

[17] Tim Keller, https://twitter.com/timkellernyc/status/569890726349307904?lang=en

[18] William Symington, The Atonement & Intercession of Jesus Christ, page 262.

[19] Thomas Goodwin, The Heart of Christ, pages 155-156.

[20] Louis Berkhof, Systematic Theology, page 403.

How to Read and Apply the Bible

1After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” 2 But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” 3 And Abram said, “Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.” 4 And behold, the word of the Lord came to him: “This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir.” 5 And he brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” 6 And he believed the Lord, and he counted it to him as righteousness.

7 And he said to him, “I am the Lord who brought you out from Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to possess.” 8 But he said, “O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” 9 He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” 10 And he brought him all these, cut them in half, and laid each half over against the other. But he did not cut the birds in half. 11 And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.

12 As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell on Abram. And behold, dreadful and great darkness fell upon him. 13 Then the Lord said to Abram, “Know for certain that your offspring will be sojourners in a land that is not theirs and will be servants there, and they will be afflicted for four hundred years. 14 But I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions. 15 As for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age. 16 And they shall come back here in the fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete.”

17 When the sun had gone down and it was dark, behold, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. 18 On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates, 19 the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, 20 the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, 21 the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites and the Jebusites.”

Genesis 15

“After these things.” In Genesis 14, Abram faced two battles. One was external, fighting the enemy to rescue his nephew Lot. The other was internal, fighting the enemy to bless God. Abram won both battles, a testament to his faith in God and proof that God was fighting for him.

In Genesis 15, after rejecting the earthly goods from the King of Sodom and accepting the blessing from Melchizedek, Abram received his reward. That is not to say this event came immediately afterward. The formula “after these things” typically indicates a hard break between two events in the book of Genesis. Even still, Abram’s past plays an important role in his future, as it does for us all.

So now, in chapter 15, God comes to him to confirm the promise. This time, with a covenant. Here we have the first recorded conversation between Abram and God. Previously, we’ve seen only God’s words to Abram as Abram obeyed. Now, we enter a dialog—one of several in Abram’s life (17:18, 18:23-33; 22:11). Throughout, we see God answers the questions of Abram by assuring him with his covenant promise.

GOD ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS OF ABRAM (vv. 1-6)

Abram sees the word of the Lord in a vision. Abram here has become not merely a follower but also a seer. Later, he is referred to as a prophet (20:7). This “seeing” the word was significant and rare. It indicates God doing something spectacular, out of the ordinary, confirming the truth of his word in a radical way. The only other person to “see” the word of God was Balaam in Numbers 24. There, Balaam saw that it pleased to Lord to bless Israel. Abram sees the same thing here. Abram’s “prophet-hood” is a major deal to the original readers of this book, those wondering if God is really for them. That what God showed Abram has come to pass is no small matter. Abram would be seen not only as Israel’s father but also their first great prophet.

But for now, the focus is on the promise, not the prophet. God says, “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” Here, many questions arise. Why is Abram afraid? What is the reward? The answers to these questions come from what Abram says next. He gad grown fearful the promises of God would not come to pass. In all these days of following him, God has yet to give him a son. He’s wondered when Sarai would come to him with the good news. But nothing so far.

In other words, Abram grew afraid, as we all do while waiting on God’s promises. But Abram didn’t silently accept God’s word; he engaged God’s word. He asked questions. We see the need for faith to speak back to God, to take our doubts and our fears to the one who can handle them.

“O Lord God” is, literally, “Sovereign Lord,” a rare title of God used when pleading with him. In Abram’s pleading, he did not compromise his role as God’s servant. He didn’t ask for exceptions, for more power in the relationship. If anything, he added dependence to dependence. Verse 6 assures us that his pleading was the kind of pleading faith we see Jesus command in his teaching, such as in the parable of the persistent widow (Luke 18:7). Abram’s complaint is the complaint of faith—laying hold of God’s promises and pleading with him to bring them to pass. Only the faithful can pray such prayers. Abram had no doubt God would grant his request. He just didn’t know how God would grant it. His fear wasn’t that God wouldn’t provide but that God wouldn’t provide soon, and the waiting is so hard.

Furthermore, perhaps he misunderstood it all along. Maybe it wouldn’t be his own son. Maybe it would be a member of his household. Perhaps Eliezer would be the heir. If Abram remained childless, who else could it be? But, no, that’s not the plan of God, God assures him. The word of the Lord came, “This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir.” Then, as if putting his arm around his shoulder, God led him outside to look at the night sky. “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them. So shall your offspring be.”

God said this before, only about sand on the seashore. His promise has not changed. As Abram looks to the heavens with questions, God answers with the stars. “Yes, Abram, you will have a son. I am with you, and I will not let you down.”

Though Abram doesn’t yet hold the promised child, he holds the promise. He believed the Lord, and God counted it as righteousness. Abram went to bed that night full of trust in God. That’s the life of faith—living in between the promise and the fulfillment.

Abram couldn’t see how it would happen, but he trusted God that it would happen. That’s faith. As Bruce Waltke says, “Faith is living in imagination in God’s word when the situation by sight seems impossible.” He looked at his aged body, at Sarai’s aged body, and then again at the promise of God and placed his hope not in what he could see but what he couldn’t see. He found that no matter what the circumstances, the word of the Living God is greater than any situation may say. If God made the stars of the sky in the past, hanging them and naming them all, then he could give Abram a child in the future. Abram believed that, and it was counted to him as righteousness (15:6).

It is difficult to overstate how important Genesis 15:6 is in the landscape of the Bible. Paul quotes it in Romans 4:3, 22 and Galatians 3:6. James quotes it in James 2:23. The most urgent question in the world is this: how are we justified before God? The answer is here in Abram’s story.

We tend to think of belief as a loose hope that something will come to pass. But Abram’s  (and the Christian’s) belief is no such loose thing. It is a solid thing. Abram trusted. He considered God true and reliable. He knew God would get the job done, not only because of his ability to do so, but aslo because of his desire to bring about the promise he made. Abram’s faith was a faith in the character of God, not simply the workings of God.

And that trust was credited to Abram as faith. Therefore, Abram was justified before God. As Paul says in Romans 4:18-22, “In hope he believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, ‘So shall your offspring be.’ He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb. No unbelief made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. That is why his faith was ‘counted to him as righteousness.’”

To be reckoned righteous means to be counted as one committed to a covenant relationship with the Holy God. As we will see in the next few verses, a covenant is indeed on the mind of God. This confirmation of Abram’s justification, then, becomes the backdrop for the rest of the story. So it is with every believer—our justification by faith is the backdrop from which the rest of the story makes sense. God’s covenant with us shines brighter than any stars Abram saw that night. It is the sun standing in the middle of the sky, illuminating everything else. And we see, as Abram saw, that it was not what we brought to the relationship but what God gave to the relationship that made it work. Justification by faith, though it is our real faith, is God’s work in our heart. He takes weak people like you and me and Abram, with no ability to save ourselves and saves us by himself, for himself. Our justification means the promises of God are based solely on grace, not merit. Therefore, even in our doubts we cannot fall outside the promise of God. He does not go looking for another. He does the miracle work of faith in our heart, granting what we do not have to give us what we could never imagine. And he does that on the front-end of the relationship, on the crust of our sins and failures, so that as we go deeper with him, we see this justifying grace cover every shred of guilt and shame we carry.

If God does that at the beginning, how could we not trust him with the future? What is the promise of a child to one who justifies a former moon worshiper by showing him the stars?

GOD ASSURES HIM WITH HIS COVENANT PROMISE (vv. 7-21)

John Sailhamer points out that the opening phrase, “I am the Lord who brought you out from Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to possess” is nearly identical to the opening statement of the Sinai covenant in Exodus 20:2. These words are a refrain God speaks to his people throughout his relationship with them. These are words to Abram as much as they are to his promised seed. And, as there in Exodus, it is important to note the covenant opens with grace. “I am the Lord who brought you out.” God’s grace comes first in his relationship with his people. The covenants of God are made not to perfect people who have something to give but to imperfect people who have only need. God makes covenants with former slaves whom he miraculously rescues. He frontloads the relationship with total newness in him, complete forgiveness through Christ, and utter comfort by his Spirit. The covenant making God proves himself worthy of worship.

In Abram’s life we see the covenant isn’t a baseless promise. There are attachments. He will give Abram the land to possess. Naturally, Abram wants to know how this might happen. After all, he’s a sojourner. He’s wealthy and his herds and people are large in number, but he’s no conqueror. How can God give him this inhabited land? Who will drive away the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites and the Jebusites?

Abram complains to God, but those complaints are not acts of unfaith. A faith that questions is a faith that, in God’s hands, grows strong. As Bruce Waltke says, “Complaint and faith are not antithetical; complaint is based on taking God seriously.” Abram doesn’t understand. How could he?

So God shows him the future, making him a prophet for the seed to come. But before that, he makes a covenant to establish the promise. During ancient covenant-making ceremonies, two parties would take animals, cut them in half, and each party would walk through the separated pieces of flesh. Each was essentially saying, “If I break my promise, I’ll become like these animals.” It was an agreement to uphold their end of the deal or die.

But Abram then falls asleep. Or, rather, a deep sleep falls on Abram. He was, as it were, caught up in a vision. Abram becomes a prophet like the many Israel would have in the days to come. God appears to him with a word about the future. At the time when both parties would traditionally walk through the separated flesh together, God walks alone through the flames. It is as if God is saying, “If I break my covenant, I alone will be torn like these animals. You Abram, are not held responsible for this promise. This is mine to bring about. You are the benefactor, not the guarantor.”

Do you see the grace in this? God is not asking Abram to hold up some end of the deal. He’s not expecting Abram not to fail. He’s not waiting for Abram to complete some stipulated set of duties. God makes the promise alone, seals the covenant alone, and becomes the guarantor alone. As the author of Hebrews says, “When God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us.” (Hebrews 6:17-18) God and his promise: two unchangeable things. Abram received both.

And God’s promise to Abram was a promise beyond Abram. It was a promise to his offspring, to his seed. In the vision, Abram becomes a prophet, speaking of the future of his people. God will send them to a land that is not theirs to be servants for four hundred years. He will bring them out and give them the land he promised to Abram. All of this will happen. It is not vague promise, and the readers of this narrative at the time of its writing would look around them and see what God said to Abram had been done as it was foretold.

Abram lived inside the story God is creating for his people out in the future. In a sense, we all do. The promises of God in the Bible are not mere hopes of a better future; they are guarantees sealed by the Spirit of what is to come. No one can alter the plans of God. And he aims to prove it, even if he must do so over and over again to our wondering hearts.

The boundaries are set before the people of the land are driven away. How can this be? Because God is sovereign over them all. No one goes where he forbids, and no one leaves where he commands. The people around Abram are as under the control of God as Abram himself, though they do not know it and do not recognize it. Truly, God has the whole world in his hands.

Centuries later, Joshua would lead God’s people through the conquest of the land. But it was not to be a second beforehand. Why? Because God is patient, and he’s asking us to be so as well. Though our story may include slavery, if we look to God it will also include salvation. Maybe people are dwelling in the land that will be ours. Maybe it’s because God is giving them a window to repent. We all need that. God’s kingdom is at hand. As Jesus said, repent and believe.

And centuries from now, all the promises of God will be consummated in the coming Christ. He will bring heaven to earth, and all the tears we wept wondering if God would keep his word will be wiped away by the nail-pierced hand of Jesus. We will see him as he is, and we will be like him. All the questions of our heart will be satisfied in a moment. We will be like Abram: safe in the covenant-making God’s hands.

1 In the days of Amraphel king of Shinar, Arioch king of Ellasar, Chedorlaomer king of Elam, and Tidal king of Goiim, 2 these kings made war with Bera king of Sodom, Birsha king of Gomorrah, Shinab king of Admah, Shemeber king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela (that is, Zoar). 3 And all these joined forces in the Valley of Siddim (that is, the Salt Sea). 4 Twelve years they had served Chedorlaomer, but in the thirteenth year they rebelled. 5 In the fourteenth year Chedorlaomer and the kings who were with him came and defeated the Rephaim in Ashteroth-karnaim, the Zuzim in Ham, the Emim in Shaveh-kiriathaim, 6 and the Horites in their hill country of Seir as far as El-paran on the border of the wilderness. 7 Then they turned back and came to En-mishpat (that is, Kadesh) and defeated all the country of the Amalekites, and also the Amorites who were dwelling in Hazazon-tamar.

8 Then the king of Sodom, the king of Gomorrah, the king of Admah, the king of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela (that is, Zoar) went out, and they joined battle in the Valley of Siddim 9 with Chedorlaomer king of Elam, Tidal king of Goiim, Amraphel king of Shinar, and Arioch king of Ellasar, four kings against five. 10 Now the Valley of Siddim was full of bitumen pits, and as the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah fled, some fell into them, and the rest fled to the hill country. 11 So the enemy took all the possessions of Sodom and Gomorrah, and all their provisions, and went their way. 12 They also took Lot, the son of Abram’s brother, who was dwelling in Sodom, and his possessions, and went their way.

13 Then one who had escaped came and told Abram the Hebrew, who was living by the oaks of Mamre the Amorite, brother of Eshcol and of Aner. These were allies of Abram. 14 When Abram heard that his kinsman had been taken captive, he led forth his trained men, born in his house, 318 of them, and went in pursuit as far as Dan. 15 And he divided his forces against them by night, he and his servants, and defeated them and pursued them to Hobah, north of Damascus. 16 Then he brought back all the possessions, and also brought back his kinsman Lot with his possessions, and the women and the people.  

17 After his return from the defeat of Chedorlaomer and the kings who were with him, the king of Sodom went out to meet him at the Valley of Shaveh (that is, the King’s Valley). 18 And Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine. (He was priest of God Most High.) 19 And he blessed him and said,

“Blessed be Abram by God Most High,

Possessor of heaven and earth;

20     and blessed be God Most High,

who has delivered your enemies into your hand!”

And Abram gave him a tenth of everything. 21 And the king of Sodom said to Abram, “Give me the persons, but take the goods for yourself.” 22 But Abram said to the king of Sodom, “I have lifted my hand to the Lord, God Most High, Possessor of heaven and earth, 23 that I would not take a thread or a sandal strap or anything that is yours, lest you should say, ‘I have made Abram rich.’ 24 I will take nothing but what the young men have eaten, and the share of the men who went with me. Let Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre take their share.”

Genesis 14 holds the first war in the Bible. It’s a large one, international in scope, four against five. The four made up the coalition from the east. For twelve years, five kings from the west paid tribute to the eastern kings. But they decided those days were over. It was rebellion time.

The rebellion only makes the pages of the Bible because of Lot’s presence in Sodom. He moved from the outskirts of the city to the center sometime between chapters 13 and 14. When the rebellion came, Lot was taken captive. Then, Abram had a choice to make. He could intervene, or let Lot go. He chooses to intervene, a choice that proves his valor and leads him to a blessing.

ABRAM’S CHOICE TO RESCUE LOT (vv. 1-16)

Lot chose in Genesis 13 to take the valley near the city of Sodom. He saw the promise it held and moved away from God’s promised land to live among sinners. It is no surprise, then, that a chapter later we find Lot in deep trouble. In the midst of a war, he and his family are taken captive. Kent Hughes captures the tragedy Lot faced.

Lot and everything he possessed was carted off to who knows where. Turkey? Lot had seen agonizing deaths and rapes, the traditional wake of ancient victory. Perhaps he had lost children and loved ones. Perhaps a daughter was now the prize of some Hittite. As he trudged across the Transjordan toward Canaan’s borders, all his hopes were dead.

As Lot’s hopes died, Abram sat far away, uninvolved. Then a captured man escaped and ran Abram’s way, involving him.

Abram faced a choice. He could think, “Well, you know, Lot got himself into this mess by moving over there. He should have stayed out of the city. I love him, but I’m God’s chosen man to bring blessing to the world. I can’t risk my neck in this war. Besides, I’m a shepherd, a wanderer, not a soldier.”

But Abram didn’t think that. Verse 14 says, “When Abram heard that his kinsman had been taken captive, he led forth his trained men, born in his house, 318 of them, and went in pursuit as far as Dan.” The Hebrew language captures what our English translations can’t. Abram “drew them out.” More than merely leading forth the trained men, he drew them out as you would a sword from its sheath. These men weren’t merely drafted; they were motivated. Abram wasn’t a reluctant leader. He was the William Wallace character, putting the heart in his men, preparing them for battle. Abram, the wanderer, became Abram, the general.

Abram risked his life for his nephew Lot. He knew the choices Lot made, and he pursued him anyway. His pursuit was successful, bringing them all back. Lot was restored thanks to Abram’s valor.

What about this story makes it “Bible-worthy”? It’s a long-forgotten war. Abram was successful. Lot didn’t die. But it shows us more than mere facts about war. It points beyond itself. Abram’s actions point to another, greater, braver One. Abram rescued Lot the way Jesus rescues us. As the knowledge of our plight rises to heaven, Jesus does not sit still. He springs into action to save and redeem. It was a risk. It was painful. Jesus not only could have died; he did die. As far as Abram went, Jesus went further still. This story is here because it shows us the heart of Christ. When we get into trouble, we have someone better than a brave uncle. We have the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, the Mighty One on our side.

ABRAM’S CHOICE OF BLESSING (vv. 17-24)

On his return to the land, he met two kings on the way: the king of Sodom and the king of Salem, Melchizedek. The contrast between these two kings could not be greater. The king of Sodom ruled over a sinful people. Melchizedek was not only a king but also a priest of God Most High.

The narrative points to Melchizedek making the first move. He blessed Abram and said, “Blessed be Abram by God Most High, Possessor of heaven and earth; and blessed be God Most High, who has delivered your enemies into your hand!” As God’s priest, he did not hesitate to bless God’s chosen servant. He recognized Abram for who he truly was. He brought out bread and wine—royal fare—showing goodwill and generosity. No doubt he had heard his name in his own land. And when meeting him here, he worshiped God with him. In response, Abram gave him a tenth of everything, tithing to God via his priest.

Then came the king of Sodom. “Give me the persons, but take the goods for yourself.” Here we see that as difficult as the battle may have been to rescue Lot, the real battle is here in the Valley of Shaveh with these two kings. Derek Kidner explains:

For Abram the harder battle begins, for there is a profound contrast between the two kings who come to meet him. Melchizedek, king and priest, his name and title expressive of the realm of right and good (see Heb. 7:2), offers him, in token, a simple sufficiency from God, pronounces an unspecified blessing (dwelling on the Giver, not the gift), and accepts costly tribute. All this is meaningful only to faith. The king of Sodom, on the other hand, makes a handsome and businesslike offer; its sole disadvantage is perceptible, again, only to faith. To these rival benefactors Abram signifies his Yes and his No, refusing to compromise his call.

Such a climax shows what was truly at stake in this chapter of international events. The struggle of kings, the far-ranging armies and the spoil of a city are the small-change of the story; the crux is the faith or failure of one man.

At this distance we can see that this is no artificial judgment. More hinged on this than on the most resounding victory or the fate of any kingdom.

Here stands Abram between two kings, between two worlds. The king of Sodom represents the world and all its unfaith. The king of Salem represents the kingdom of God and all its faith. The king of Sodom doesn’t understand the things of God. What he witnesses between Melchizedek and Abram is totally lost on him. His offer of worldly goods seems far greater in worth than the blessing of a priest.

What does Melchizedek understand that the King of Sodom doesn’t? Just this: Abram’s victory wasn’t his; it was God’s. As Melchizedek blesses Abram, his praise flows not only horizontally but also vertically.

Abram, for his part, gave instead of took. True faith has that effect. When given the two choices of giving God the glory or take the spoils of war, the man of faith glorifies God. “I have lifted my hand to the Lord, God Most High, Possessor of heaven and earth, that I would not take a thread or a sandal strap or anything that is yours, lest you should say, ‘I have made Abram rich.’” Abram knew where his riches truly came from.

ABRAM’S PRIEST AND OURS 

Though his time in the Bible is brief, Melchizedek is more than his short time seems to say. He’s mentioned in only three places throughout the Scriptures: here in Genesis 14, Psalm 110, and the book of Hebrews. But his inclusion in the book of Hebrews proves his value.

Melchizedek’s titles held an unusual combination: king and priest. The law, which was given to Moses on Mt. Sinai years after this event, established the priesthood and the kingship as two distinct, mutually exclusive offices of leadership in Israel. For the two offices to be combined, the author of Hebrews says, indicates a superior priesthood.

 The author of Hebrews mentions Melchizedek in chapter 5, then picks him up again in chapter 7. In teaching his readers about the priesthood of Christ, he looks all the way back to Genesis 14 to find one who is like him. Hebrews 7:3 says of Melchizedek, “He is without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest forever.” Melchizedek is an outlier on the landscape of God’s priesthood. But he resembles the Son of God. This is the key connection that the author of Hebrews intends to draw out. Jesus, by his lineage in relation to Israel, coming from the kingly tribe of Judah, not the priestly tribe of Levi, cannot be a priest according to the law. So, he must be a priest of a different order. To make sense of this, the author went back to the Old Testament and what he found was a man named Melchizedek, mentioned only twice in the Scriptures who existed before Christ so that we could understand Christ when he came.

Hebrews 7:4-10 continues the discussion, highlighting the superiority of Melchizedek in two ways. First, he is superior to Abraham. “See how great this man was to whom Abraham the patriarch gave a tenth of the spoils!” (v. 4) Abraham is the patriarch of the entire Jewish race. Therefore, for Abraham to be submissive to someone indicates that everyone flowing from Abraham is also in subordination to him. Second, he is superior to the Levitical priests. “One might even say that Levi himself, who receives tithes, paid tithes through Abraham, for he was still in the loins of his ancestor when Melchizedek met him.” (Heb. 7:9-10) We see again how Abraham is representative of the entire Jewish race, including the priesthood. Melchizedek is superior to Levi, and therefore, to the Levitical priests.  It’s not to that Melchizedek himself is superior; it’s the office that he holds. The Levitical priesthood had its problems. The Melchizedekian priesthood resolved those problems, namely of eternity and continuity. His was a priesthood of a higher order.

This matters to the author of Hebrews because he’s highlighting the change in priesthood Jesus brought. He did what the Levitical priests could not do. There were limitations to the Levitical priesthood. Perfection was not attainable (Heb. 7:11). Therefore, the law was inadequate to do what God ultimately wanted (Heb. 7:12). Legal requirements and bodily descent cannot lead to everlasting life (Heb. 7:16). It was weak and useless (v. 18). It was insufficient to bring us as near to God as God desired (Heb. 7:19). There was no oath from God regarding this priesthood (Heb. 7:20). The priests were many in number and prevented by death from continuing in office (Heb. 7:23).

The Old Testament was pregnant with a better hope for God’s people. The Levitical system was not a system leading to perfection. It was a placeholder for the coming Son who would bring a more effective priesthood – one that his people need for all time. And, surprisingly, Abram met one like him way back in the beginning.

Melchizedek wasn’t Jesus. But the priest Abram met all those years ago was a type of the one to come—the priest he and we need, the eternal mediator between God and us. When we look to him by faith, we find in him the mercy and grace sufficient for our unfaith. We find in him the salvation we need. Jesus, the priest of a higher order, is ours. And he was Abram’s, too.

That day in the Valley, Abram found what all in Christ find to be true: our perfect priest is better than everything else. “Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them” (Hebrews 7:25).

1 So Abram went up from Egypt, he and his wife and all that he had, and Lot with him, into the Negeb.

2 Now Abram was very rich in livestock, in silver, and in gold. 3 And he journeyed on from the Negeb as far as Bethel to the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Ai, 4 to the place where he had made an altar at the first. And there Abram called upon the name of the Lord. 5 And Lot, who went with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents, 6 so that the land could not support both of them dwelling together; for their possessions were so great that they could not dwell together, 7 and there was strife between the herdsmen of Abram’s livestock and the herdsmen of Lot’s livestock. At that time the Canaanites and the Perizzites were dwelling in the land.

8 Then Abram said to Lot, “Let there be no strife between you and me, and between your herdsmen and my herdsmen, for we are kinsmen. 9 Is not the whole land before you? Separate yourself from me. If you take the left hand, then I will go to the right, or if you take the right hand, then I will go to the left.” 10 And Lot lifted up his eyes and saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered everywhere like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt, in the direction of Zoar. (This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.) 11 So Lot chose for himself all the Jordan Valley, and Lot journeyed east. Thus they separated from each other. 12 Abram settled in the land of Canaan, while Lot settled among the cities of the valley and moved his tent as far as Sodom. 13 Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners against the Lord.

14 The Lord said to Abram, after Lot had separated from him, “Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward, 15 for all the land that you see I will give to you and to your offspring forever. 16 I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted. 17 Arise, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you.” 18 So Abram moved his tent and came and settled by the oaks of Mamre, which are at Hebron, and there he built an altar to the Lord.

Genesis 12 showed us the beginning of God’s work in Abram’s life. He called him out of darkness to go to a land that he would show him later. He promised to bless him and to make him a blessing to the world. Abram believed God and went. By faith, he followed God’s call.

The next event we see is that of faithful Abram making decisions of unfaith in Egypt. He lies to save himself, forgetting that God is in control of everything. His lies save him, and even gain him wealth, but put his wife in danger. Worried about the promises of God coming to pass, Abram exchanges God’s word for his own and follows his heart into dangerous territory. He went down to Egypt a sojourner with a bright future. He came back humbled and exposed.

What would come of Abram now? Genesis 13 tells us God has more than one new beginning for his people. We see that God’s promises are not dependent upon our ability to make them come to pass; they are dependent on God alone. After Egypt, Abram saw that in a new way, and that new way led him to repentance and faith once again. That’s the path of the Christian life: faith, repentance, faith. The cycle of repentance and faith is what each of us can expect from now until the day we stand before the Lord in glory.

So in Genesis 13, we find faithful Abram returning to the land God gave him, humbling himself to give up what could be his, and finding the expansive promise of God to be the only stable thing he needs in life.

ABRAM RETURNED TO THE LAND (vv. 1-4)

1 So Abram went up from Egypt, he and his wife and all that he had, and Lot with him, into the Negeb.

2 Now Abram was very rich in livestock, in silver, and in gold. 3 And he journeyed on from the Negeb as far as Bethel to the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Ai, 4 to the place where he had made an altar at the first. And there Abram called upon the name of the Lord.

After the failure in Egypt, Abram returned a shell of who he was. Exposed and saddened, he saw himself in a new light. But God didn’t. God knew who he was when he called him. He knows who we all are when he calls us. We don’t surprise him, even if we surprise ourselves. We are all, like Abram, a mixture of self-righteous sinner and faithful follower. God knows that. Our righteousness didn’t get us in, and our failures don’t throw us out. It is God who is faithful through and through.

In his return to the Promised Land, Abram retraced his previous path as he considered the faithfulness of God. He went into the Negeb and on to Bethel. It was a pilgrimage back to his first love. It was a walk of repentance, recapturing the wonder of his previous walk with God. He came finally to the altar he built all those days before. He called on the name of the Lord, exalting him again in the land of pagans, proclaiming the goodness of the God who brought him out of Egypt.

What can we learn about this return? Simply this: God is faithful to his promises. Abram messed up in Egypt, but his mess-ups couldn’t retract the promise of God. As we saw at the end of Genesis 12, God miraculously delivered Abram and Sarai out of Egypt. As Abram sat despondently, God was working. So it is in our life as well.

As John Piper said, “God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.” That was Abram’s experience. He was aware of the promise. He was aware of his current situation. He was aware of his failure. But God was doing more than what he could see. He always is.

Piper elaborates:

Not only may you see a tiny fraction of what God is doing in your life; the part you do see may make no sense to you.

• You may find yourself in prison, and God may be advancing the gospel among the guards, and making the free brothers bold. (Philippians 1:12–14)

• You may find yourself with a painful thorn, and God may be making the power of Christ more beautiful in weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:7–9)

• You may find yourself with a dead brother that Jesus could have healed, and God may be preparing to show his glory. (John 11:1–44)

• You may find yourself sold into slavery, accused falsely of sexual abuse, and forgotten in a prison cell, and God may be preparing you to rule a nation. (Genesis 37–50)

• You may wonder why a loved one is left in unbelief so long, and find that God is preparing a picture of his patience and a powerful missionary. (Galatians 1:15; 1 Timothy 1:12–16)

• You may live in all purity and humility and truth only to end rejected and killed, and God may be making a parable of his Son and an extension of his merciful sufferings in yours. (Isaiah 53:3; Mark 8:31; Colossians 1:24)

• You may walk through famine, be driven from your homeland, lose husband and sons, and be left desolate with one foreign daughter-in-law, and God may be making you an ancestor of a King. (Ruth 1–4)

• You may find the best counselor you’ve ever known giving foolish advice, and God may be preparing the destruction of your enemy. (2 Samuel 17:14)

• You may be a sexually pure single person and yet accused of immorality, and God may be preparing you as a virgin blessing in ways no one can dream. (Luke 1:35)

• You may not be able to sleep and look in a random book, and God may be preparing to shame your arrogant enemy and rescue a condemned people. (Esther 6:1–13)

• You may be shamed and hurt, and God may be confirming your standing as his child and purifying you for the highest inheritance. (Hebrews 12:5–11)

Seeing the depth and breadth of God’s care for his people in the Bible leads us to worship him for the unseen things now in our life. Abram began to see that what he couldn’t see of God was bigger than what he could see. The promise was stronger than he imagined. The God he followed wasn’t making the plan up as he went. The road was paved, and though Abram thought the pavement would end out ahead, God proved otherwise.

This massive love of God leads us to worship, like Abram. He worshiped in verse 4 at the altar at Bethel and built a new altar in verse 18 at Hebron. The worship of God bookends Genesis 13. Abram is teaching us that it should be so in our lives as well. Yes, we may not know what God is doing in our life, but God is always worthy of worship. Whatever may look stronger in the world, God’s promise and character is stronger still.

ABRAM HUMBLED HIMSELF, GIVING UP WHAT COULD BE HIS (vv. 5-13)

5 And Lot, who went with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents, 6 so that the land could not support both of them dwelling together; for their possessions were so great that they could not dwell together, 7 and there was strife between the herdsmen of Abram’s livestock and the herdsmen of Lot’s livestock. At that time the Canaanites and the Perizzites were dwelling in the land.

8 Then Abram said to Lot, “Let there be no strife between you and me, and between your herdsmen and my herdsmen, for we are kinsmen. 9 Is not the whole land before you? Separate yourself from me. If you take the left hand, then I will go to the right, or if you take the right hand, then I will go to the left.” 10 And Lot lifted up his eyes and saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered everywhere like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt, in the direction of Zoar. (This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.) 11 So Lot chose for himself all the Jordan Valley, and Lot journeyed east. Thus they separated from each other. 12 Abram settled in the land of Canaan, while Lot settled among the cities of the valley and moved his tent as far as Sodom. 13 Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners against the Lord.

We see one result of the great wealth Abram accumulated in Egypt. There wasn’t room enough for him and Lot to coexist. Today, if you’re wealthy, your money is tied up in invisible things like stocks and other investments. A bank holds your money. But in Abram’s day, wealth was carried around from place to place, taking the form of animals and people.

The solution to the problem was to split up, Abram going one way and Lot the other. Here is another test for Abram. He has the right to claim the land he wants. He can take what God has promised him. Lot was just along for the ride. God didn’t speak to him, making him the blessing to the nations. That was Abram’s role. But it’s what Abram did about the problem that shows his repentance was real and his faith was strong. 

Beginning in verse 8, Abram says to Lot, “Let there be no strife between you and me, and between your herdsmen and my herdsmen, for we are kinsmen. Is not the whole land before you? Separate yourself from me. If you take the left hand, then I will go to the right, or if you take the right hand, then I will go to the left.”

Abram gave Lot the pick of the land. Verse 10 tells us “Lot lifted up his eyes and saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered everywhere like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt, in the direction of Zoar.” From their vantage point, Lot saw the fertile land before him, and he wanted it. So he journeyed East, just as Adam and Eve did when God cast them from the Garden of Eden. He settled near Sodom, where the author of Genesis hints at what is to come: “This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.” It was fertile but tempting and full of sin.

Do you blame Lot for taking that portion of the land? It was near the cities. It was fertile. It was well watered. It was perfect for raising a flock. It held prospects of gaining even more wealth because there would be an abundance of people and traders. He chose the obvious place.

There is more to Lot’s choice than the obvious, however. Lot wasn’t just going to the place that looked the best. Something spiritual was going on. He was going to the place that touched a spiritual nerve, a sense of longing, a homesickness. Lot wanted good land, yes, but deeper than that, he wanted the Garden of Eden. He wanted paradise. We all do. The question this passage forces us to ask is this: where is paradise in this post-fall world?

When Lot goes east, he’s doing what we all do naturally. He’s searching for the thing that will make his life matter. Abram, however, gave that up. Abram saw the same land. He could have taken it. Instead, he gave Lot first choice. He must have known what Lot would choose. In giving Lot first dibs, Abram was taking the land of Canaan. Why did he do that? Because Abram knew the land of Canaan was the Promised Land, even if it looked less than promising. Lot was trying to get back into the Garden. Abram knew he was already there. Derek Kidner says, “Lot, choosing the things that are seen, found them corrupt and insecure; choosing selfishly, he was to grow ever more isolated and unloved. Abram, on the other hand, found liberation.”

We live in a world filled with the tension of choosing what is seen for what is not. What will we choose? The contrast between Abram and Lot instructs us on the nature of trusting God. Lot chose by sight; Abram by faith. Lot moved to the edges, Abram to the center. Lot found corruption and temptation; Abram found assurance and peace. Lot was spiritually compromised; Abram was spiritually alive. Lot moved in with sinners; Abram moved in with God. Lot built no altars; Abram built them all. Lot chose by sight alone, and that is always a mistake.

ABRAM FOUND THE PROMISE OF GOD WAS SUFFICIENT (vv. 14-18)

14 The Lord said to Abram, after Lot had separated from him, “Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward, 15 for all the land that you see I will give to you and to your offspring forever. 16 I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted. 17 Arise, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you.” 18 So Abram moved his tent and came and settled by the oaks of Mamre, which are at Hebron, and there he built an altar to the Lord.

After Lot separates from Abram, we hear the voice of God again. John Calvin doesn’t allow us to race over that fact. Calvin comments. “There is no doubt that the wound inflicted by that separation was very severe, since he was obliged to send away one who was not less dear to him than his own life. When it is said, therefore, that the Lord said to Abram after Lot had parted from him, the circumstances should be noted. It is as if Moses said that the medicine of God’s word was now brought to alleviate Abram’s pain. And thus he teaches us that the best remedy for sadness is in the word of God.”

God’s word was well-placed, assuring Abram as he watched Lot fade into the distance. As Lot lifted his eyes to the valley, God told Abram, “Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward.” God has Abram look all around. What does he see? Does he see paradise?

God continued, “for all the land that you see I will give to you and to your offspring forever. I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted.” The land Abram had wasn’t the choicest land. But it was God’s land—the land of promise. It was God’s gift to Abram, and he wanted him to explore it, to get to know it, to call it his own. “Arise, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you.”

So Abram walked, and he built an altar to worship God again. All of Abram’s life was worship. That’s the result of believing God’s promise. Worship flows from trusting God. And when worship becomes your attitude, any land you’re in is the land of God. It’s a sanctuary, even if it’s a little dustier than the well-watered valleys.

In Genesis 13, Lot goes to the Garden while Abram stays in the wilderness. It sounds familiar to the early part of the gospels, where Jesus is driven by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted. At one point, “the devil took him up and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time, and said to him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” (Luke 4:5-7).

Jesus faced what Abram faced: a shortcut to the kingdom of God. Jesus wouldn’t take it, and neither did Abram. Instead, they believed the word of God and placed all their hope on that sufficient promise. “You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve.” Like Jesus, Abram’s response was worship. There was an altar in Hebron to bear witness.

Unlike Abram, though, Jesus didn’t need to learn the lesson of failure before he tasted the sweetness of faith. His faith kept him from failure. And Abram, though he never saw Christ, saw the redemption he would bring that day on the mountain overlooking the valley. He knew that the promise of God was strong enough to sustain him in the chosen land. He knew God’s grace and mercy forgave his sins in Egypt. He knew what paradise looked like and he found it in the word of God, in the presence of God, in the worship of God. He knew—somehow—the promise of God sprang from the wilderness.

It is the same for us all. But what Abram saw by faith, we see now in history. Jesus came. Jesus lived and died and rose again. And like the thief on the cross, if we trust in him, when we die we go to be with him in paradise. Jesus brought the promise to pass for us all. Abram shows us how to trust in it today.

10 Now there was a famine in the land. So Abram went down to Egypt to sojourn there, for the famine was severe in the land. 11 When he was about to enter Egypt, he said to Sarai his wife, “I know that you are a woman beautiful in appearance, 12 and when the Egyptians see you, they will say, ‘This is his wife.’ Then they will kill me, but they will let you live. 13 Say you are my sister, that it may go well with me because of you, and that my life may be spared for your sake.” 14 When Abram entered Egypt, the Egyptians saw that the woman was very beautiful. 15 And when the princes of Pharaoh saw her, they praised her to Pharaoh. And the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s house. 16 And for her sake he dealt well with Abram; and he had sheep, oxen, male donkeys, male servants, female servants, female donkeys, and camels.

17 But the Lord afflicted Pharaoh and his house with great plagues because of Sarai, Abram’s wife. 18 So Pharaoh called Abram and said, “What is this you have done to me? Why did you not tell me that she was your wife? 19 Why did you say, ‘She is my sister,’ so that I took her for my wife? Now then, here is your wife; take her, and go.” 20 And Pharaoh gave men orders concerning him, and they sent him away with his wife and all that he had.

Lest we get the wrong impression about Abram from his initial obedience, Genesis 12:10-20 shows us that he was all too human, even in his redeemed state. It is so with us all. None is hero but Jesus. We are all, as Martin Luther said, simul justus et peccator, simultaneously just and sinner.

Abram’s obedience to God’s call was to be commended and imitated, but the next event we see in his life is to be condemned and avoided. Seeking relief from the famine, he goes down to Egypt. That in itself was not a problem. Though Egypt was a place to avoid in Israel’s future, it is not thus so yet. The problem with Abram’s journey to Egypt is not the going; it’s the leaving behind. He went to Egypt without seeking God’s input. He didn’t deny God. He just forgot him. How often we do the same!

In Genesis 12:10-20, we see what often happens in the life of faith: faith is often followed by famine, famine can lead us far from God, but God brings us back in his mercy and grace.

FAITH IS OFTEN FOLLOWED BY FAMINE (v. 10)

Abram was faithful to God. He followed his call, leaving his home, his family, his father’s house, and going to the land God would show him later.

Verse 10 opens the passage simply enough. “Now there was a famine in the land.” We would think Abram’s obedience would be rewarded with favor in the land. He would arrive at fertile fields, much food and water, easy passage and comfortable dwelling. But that was not so. In the life of faith, it rarely is. Faith is not about what we deserve. Faith is about trusting God. We cannot call faith that which we do only for a meager earthly reward. We call faith that which trusts God in the famine for an eternal reward to come.

Abram had true faith. That is not in question. But Abram was also a human. He sinned, even as he was justified before God. That’s who we are. We will never become perfect in this life. As long as we live, sin will cling to us, causing us to fall, though it no longer has ultimate power over us. But we can fight it, and at times, the fight is made all the harder by our circumstances, like famine in the midst of your mission.

Psalm 62:8 says “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.” What Abram is learning—and what the entire Bible is teaching us today—is that trusting God is the foundational structure from which all of life must be lived. If we don’t learn to trust God, we will fail to know anything else about life.  

Faith is trust. Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” In other words, trust. Faith is no leap in the dark. It is not a baseless hope in “something good.” Faith is standing tall and straight on the character of God. Faith is looking at God and seeing in him the promise that all will come to pass. When we look to God by faith, we look at one who never tires of us because he made us and saved us, never runs out of supply for us because our need energizes him, and never turns away from us because Jesus made us righteous in him at the cross.

So what’s going on with Abram here? First of all, nothing abnormal. Abram isn’t a model for how to handle the anomalies of life. He’s the model for how to handle the regularities in life.  God’s regular way of working is to give his people famines in the midst of their faith. The Bible says our faith is tested. The tests may not come immediately after a great act of obedience, but they will surely come. That’s why James wrote, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” (James 1:2-4). Peter said, “do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you” (1 Peter 4:12).  Proverbs 17:3 says, “The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the Lord tests hearts.” Testing will come. The Christian is to “remain steadfast under trial” (James 1:12).

We can question this method of God’s. We can wonder why he tests us. But we cannot go around the fact that Jesus, God himself, was tested in his earthly life. After Jesus’ baptism, “the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. And he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan.” (Mark 1:12-13). Jesus experienced his own famine in the midst of his mission. The author of Hebrews tells us Jesus was “made perfect through suffering” (Hebrews 5:7-10).

So though we can wonder why God works this way, we cannot get around the fact that he does. Jesus experienced it. We will too. Faith is often followed by famine. It’s what we do in the famine that determines the path forward.

FAMINE CAN LEAD US FAR FROM GOD (vv. 11-16)

The famine is more than an event in Abram’s life. The famine in the land caused a famine in his own heart. Abram experienced the deep love of God. He had the protection of God, the leading of God, the nearness of God. He knew who he was deep down and saw that God loved him anyway. He was a real Christian with a life-giving faith. He believed the gospel. I hope you do too. But it is possible for us to stop believing all of that at any moment. It’s possible to convert trust in the Lord to trust in yourself. We may still look like Christians, doing the right things, but we are far from the heart of Christ. As Abram searched for food, he strayed from God.

How did Abram’s straying happen? Francis Schaeffer helps us understand with an illustration of two chairs.

According to the biblical view, there are two parts to reality: the natural world-that which we see, normally; and the supernatural part…I would suggest that this may be illustrated by two chairs. The men who sit in these chairs look at the universe in two different ways. We are all sitting in one or other of these chairs at every single moment of our lives. The first man sits in his chair and faces the total reality of the universe, the seen part and the normally unseen part, and sees truth against this background. The Christian is a man who has said, ‘I sit in this chair.’ The unbeliever, however, is the man who sits in the other chair. He sees only the natural part of the universe, and interprets truth against that background. Let us see that these two positions cannot both be true. One is true, one is false. If indeed there is only the natural portion of the universe, with a uniformity of natural causes in a closed system, then to sit in the other chair is to delude oneself. If, however, there are the two halves of reality, then to sit in the naturalist’s chair is to be extremely naïve and to misunderstand the universe completely…

However, to be a true Bible-believing Christian, we must understand that it is not enough simply to acknowledge that the universe has these two halves. The Christian life means living in the two halves of reality: the supernatural and the natural parts…

Being a biblical Christian means living in the supernatural now, not only theoretically but in practice. If a man sits in the one chair, and denies the existence of the supernatural portion of the world, we say he is an unbeliever. What shall we call ourselves when we sit in the other chair but live as though the supernatural were not there? Should not such an attitude be given the name ‘unfaith?’ ‘Unfaith’ is the Christian not living in the light of the supernatural now. It is then Christianity that has become simply a ‘good philosophy.’

In Genesis 12:1-9, Abram sits in the chair of faith. I would argue that even in Genesis 12:10, he still resides in the chair of faith. There was nothing wrong with going down to Egypt because of the famine. He had to feed his family. But along the way, somewhere between the leaving of the land and the entering into Egypt, Abram jumped to the chair of unfaith. Why do I say that? Because in verse 11, we see a shift. The first time we hear Abram speak, it’s a word of unfaith. “Say you are my sister, that it may go well with me because of you, and that my life may be spared for your sake.”

Famine can lead us far from God. We care so much about our circumstances. Rightly so. Where we are matters. We are physical beings. Comfort and security matter. We have needs. God knows that. His trials are not ultimately threats to our comfort and security, only threats to the idols we’ve established that look like them. Our ultimate comfort is in the love of Christ. Our ultimate security is in his cross-secured salvation. But when we face a famine and then face a Pharaoh, we feel threatened. And if we turn from God’s face, we jump from the chair of faith to the chair of unfaith.

How did this happen? It’s simple. Abram didn’t deny God. Abram forgot God. When faced with the threat of Sarai’s beauty in Pharaoh’s kingdom, he didn’t consider the promises of God. He took matters into his own hands. He looked around and saw only the natural world, not the supernatural providence and protection of God. How often do we do the same?

Sarai was extremely beautiful. At sixty-five years old, she captured the eyes of those who saw her. Abram knew this, and he assumed that when the Egyptians saw her, they would plan to eliminate Abram as his competition, take Sarai, and go on with life.

So Abram devised a plan. It was a good one. He planned to have Sarai say she was his sister. That was only half-false. She was his half-sister (Genesis 20:2). If she’s his wife, eliminating him is the simplest solution. But if she’s his sister, they can’t merely remove him. They must negotiate with him. As Kent Hughes explains, “Abram was playing off the well-known custom of fratriarchy, as Nahum Sarna has explained: ‘Where there is no father, the brother assumes legal guardianship of his sister, particularly with respect to obligations and responsibilities in arranging marriage on her behalf. Therefore, whoever wished to take Sarai to wife would have to negotiate with her ‘brother.’ In this way, Abram could gain time to plan escape.’”

Abram was trying to buy time to get out. He wasn’t giving Sarai up, but he wasn’t trusting God with his marriage either. He looked at the promises of God, then looked at his situation, and decided that if something happened to him, God’s promises were compromised. So, he had to save himself. This act of unfaith—this jumping to the other chair—was a functional denial of the God who called him out of Ur. It was Abram saying, in effect, that God doesn’t exist, he isn’t ruling and reigning, he can’t control what happens in Egypt. But Abram can, so he will.

 His plan wasn’t strong enough, though. He planned for the regular Egyptians, but he didn’t plan for Pharaoh. A normal Egyptian would negotiate with him for Sarai. Pharaoh does not need to. He takes what he wants. When he hears she’s his sister, he simply takes her into his harem. Now Abram has a real problem. The promise of God is in jeopardy.

To top it off, the famine turned to riches. Pharaoh gave Abram significant remuneration for Sarai. How many of us fail in the famine? How many more fail in the surplus? Abram’s great swing in fortune must have been extremely trying. He was in a tough spot. He was rewarded in earthly goods for a spiritual blunder. He sat surrounded by riches while Sarai sat worried in Pharaoh’s harem. What a disaster.

The famine led Abram far from God, but it wasn’t the famine’s fault. It was what he did during the famine that mattered most. So it is with us all. When faced with trials, the question is not, “Is God faithful?” The question is, “Will I trust him?” In which chair will I sit when everything is on the line: the chair of faith or unfaith?

GOD BRINGS US BACK IN HIS MERCY AND GRACE (vv. 17-20)

It’s striking that the first time we hear Abram’s voice, it’s the voice of unfaith. Contrast that with his Savior, whose first recorded words int he gospels are heard firmly in the chair of faith. “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?” (Luke 2:49).

God is not placing all his plans on our shoulders. He’s placed those plans on Christ’s shoulders. As damaging to our pride as it may be, it doesn’t depend on us. It depends on God who raises the dead. We are not left to our own devices. The messes we get ourselves into have real, earthly consequences, but God has ways of releasing us from ultimate punishment. After all, it is his story we’re in, and the characters cannot ruin the storyteller’s tale.

Abram knew that, but as he entered Egypt, he made up his own plan. He thought he was saving his life, but now he had to be wondering if he’d lose it trying to save his wife.

Then God broke in. “But the Lord afflicted Pharaoh and his house with great plagues because of Sarai, Abram’s wife” (Genesis 12:17). The language points to the severity of the affliction. The household was overwhelmed. Sarai alone was untouched.

Pharaoh saw what was going on. He called Abram, rebuked him, and sent him away. Abram leaves with his wife but not before public condemnation. Abram entered Egypt a man full of hopes and dreams. He left as a man fully exposed for the sinner he is. What would come of him? Pharaoh sent him away with all his riches. Those riches, however, would continue to cause Abram trouble in life. It caused Abram and Lot to separate upon returning to the land. It’s possible Hagar, the servant of Sarai with whom Abram would have a child in another act of unfaith, came from Pharaoh. Abram experienced the reality of more money, more problems. His act of unfaith caused long-term problems. It always does.

Abram’s plan failed. Our plans always do. But God’s plan didn’t fail. It never does. The Apostle Paul tells us in Galatians 3:16 that it was not ultimately to Abram that the promises were made. They were made instead to Jesus. “Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his offspring. It does not say, ‘And to offsprings,’ referring to many, but to one, ‘And to your offspring,’ who is Christ.” Try as he may, Abram cannot ultimately thwart the plan of God. The promise would come to pass despite this and many other acts of unfaith along the way.

Abram did not deserve to be brought back. But God doesn’t treat us as we deserve. He treats us with grace and mercy. When everything is on the line and we who have believed God take the wrong road, God is there to bring us back. We will face the earthly consequences of our sin, but we will not face the ultimate consequences. Jesus faced them for us. On the cross, Jesus died for Abram’s lack of faith in Egypt. He died for your lack of faith this morning. He died for my lack of faith right now.

The Bible says we are in Christ. That means that no matter where we go, our eternal place with God is not compromised. In Christ, we are secure. In Christ, we are held. In Christ, though we prove unfaithful, God proves faithful to the end. We are sinners, yes, but we’re justified by Christ.

What is Abram’s way back? It’s the same as ours: to look by faith to God who gives us what we don’t deserve, makes promises to those who can only fail, and who saves us by himself, for himself, to himself, for the glory of himself. When we see that, we can sit forever in the chair of faith, knowing that it’s the God who reigns and rules that is in control of it all. When famines come, they need not compromise our faith. They may just build it.

27 Now these are the generations of Terah. Terah fathered Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran fathered Lot. 28 Haran died in the presence of his father Terah in the land of his kindred, in Ur of the Chaldeans. 29 And Abram and Nahor took wives. The name of Abram’s wife was Sarai, and the name of Nahor’s wife, Milcah, the daughter of Haran the father of Milcah and Iscah. 30 Now Sarai was barren; she had no child.

31 Terah took Abram his son and Lot the son of Haran, his grandson, and Sarai his daughter-in-law, his son Abram’s wife, and they went forth together from Ur of the Chaldeans to go into the land of Canaan, but when they came to Haran, they settled there. 32 The days of Terah were 205 years, and Terah died in Haran.

1 Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”

4 So Abram went, as the Lord had told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. 5 And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother’s son, and all their possessions that they had gathered, and the people that they had acquired in Haran, and they set out to go to the land of Canaan. When they came to the land of Canaan, 6 Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. 7 Then the Lord appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built there an altar to the Lord, who had appeared to him. 8 From there he moved to the hill country on the east of Bethel and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east. And there he built an altar to the Lord and called upon the name of the Lord. 9 And Abram journeyed on, still going toward the Negeb.

When Paul looked in the Old Testament for the model of faith, he didn’t choose Moses or David or Isaiah. He chose Abraham. “For what does the Scripture say? ‘Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness.’” (Romans 4:3). What was it that Abraham believed? Paul says in Galatians 3:8 that it was the gospel. “And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, ‘In you shall all the nations be blessed.’”

In Genesis 11:27-12:9, we see the beginning of Abram’s life of faith. Abram believed God’s word, followed God’s call, and exalted God’s name.

ABRAM BELIEVED GOD’S WORD (11:27-12:3)

Genesis 11:27-32 is more than a genealogy. It’s a status update on humanity. We’re at a dead end. Genesis 1-11 is the story of beginnings. It takes us from the creation of the world down to Abram’s family. As the Bible zeroes in on Abram, we find not a God-fearing family thriving in their land but a pagan family barely making it. It’s a hopeless scene. Even Sarai, Abram’s wife, is barren, and he’s an old man.

It shouldn’t have been this way. Go back far enough in Abram’s family line, and you’ll find faithful Noah. Keep going, and you’ll find Enosh, the son of Seth, who called upon the name of the Lord (Genesis 4:26). But by the time we find Abram, we see a family far from God. Joshua tells us, “Long ago, your fathers lived beyond the Euphrates, Terah, the father of Abraham and of Nahor; and they served other gods” (Joshua 24:2). Somewhere along the way, Enosh’s kids stopped calling upon the name of the Lord. 

The once-bright future is now a darkening present, and no one can do anything about it. Commentator Walter Brueggemann says, “The barrenness of Sarah is an effective metaphor for hopelessness. This text tells us there is no foreseeable future. There is no human power to invent a future. The human race and human history have just hit a dead end. It’s over. And then God speaks, and there’s hope again.”

Genesis 12:1 shows us what happens when God speaks to a man. Before God speaks, deadness and darkness; after God speaks, life abundant. Abram’s redemption—like every believer’s—began with God speaking. No one comes to saving faith apart from God’s effective call.

We see that call in verse 1. In the midst of darkness, God speaks to Abram and calls him into his marvelous light. But it isn’t easy. God’s call is to go, to leave, to follow God wherever he leads. It is a call to abandon his father’s gods and place his faith in him alone.

The Bible gives us the facts here, but we can imagine this wasn’t an easy decision for Abram. Terah, Abram’s father, took his family away from Ur to the land of Canaan. But they stopped in Haran and settled there. That was a problem. The land of Haran was not the land the Lord had for his people. They needed to go onward. It was time for Abram to leave his country, his family, his father’s house. It was time to follow God. Terah took him only so far. But God’s call on Abram’s life was to go further. He says simply, “Go.” The King James version says, “Get thee out.” The language is strong. God is saying to Abram, “Your father won’t go, so you go. Get yourself out of here. Now.”

The call wasn’t an easy one. God called him away from everything he knew without telling him where he would end up. As John Calvin says, the call was, “I command you to go forth with closed eyes, and forbid you to inquire where I am about to lead you, until, having renounced your country, you shall have given yourself wholly to me.” The call was void of specifics. It was a naked call. It was the kind of call that caused Abram to rely wholly upon God. And even in the face of hopelessness, that’s a scary thing. Sometimes the miserable life you know is better than the unknown life you fear.

Tim Keller helps us see the internal struggle Abram must have faced. His family descended from the faithful, and though his father never heard the word of God, Abram did. Nominal belief no longer worked.

    Abram basically is having a conversation, and he’s saying, “Well you know, God, I’ve come halfway. This is as far as Dad and everybody else wants to go. You know, Nahor and all the guys … I just can’t get them … They like it here, and they don’t want to go any farther. I’ve come halfway.” So what is God saying? “Then come yourself.”

Keller goes on to apply this to us all.

    [God] is saying, “It’s not good enough to be part of a Christian ethos.” It’s not good enough for you to say, “Well I’m in a Christian family, and I’ve always joined a church,” or “I’m from Scotland, and I feel at home in a Presbyterian church,” or “I’m Italian, and I feel at home in a Roman Catholic church,” or “I’m Mississippian, and I’m at home in a Southern Baptist church.” It’s not enough to be part of the ethos. It’s not enough just to be part of the environment.

    “Yes, of course, I feel very good around Christians…” Have you met God yourself? Have you gotten out yourself? Have you encountered him yourself, in your own self? Has it penetrated you as an individual? Have you made the personal commitment? Do you see that? That’s the first thing. It’s personally radical. You can’t come in on anybody else’s coattails. It has to be your faith.

How does one’s faith become one’s own? By believing God’s word at the deepest personal level. When what God says stops becoming a theory and becomes a reality, when you stop thinking about obeying and begin to obey, when you forsake your plans for your life and accept God’s, you know you’ve stepped across the line from unfaith to faith. When you hear God’s word as a word for you, you step over the line of unbelief into belief. That’s what Abram does in Genesis 12:1-9. He steps over the line. Abram becomes a believer.

Of course, verses 2 and 3 show us God’s call isn’t only sacrificial; it is also promissory. It always is. The gospel is not merely a call away from sin; it’s a promise of righteousness. The gospel is a message of what God has done in Christ for his people. And though Abram didn’t hear the good news of what God did in Christ, he heard the news of what God would do for him. God calls Abram from three things, but he isn’t asking him to abandon those good things forever. He will restore them in himself with a three-fold promise. In leaving his country, he was leaving part of his identity. But God promised to make of Abram a great nation. In leaving his kindred, he was leaving his name behind. But God promised to give Abram a great name. In leaving his father’s house, he was leaving any blessing he could receive. But God promised Abram he would be a blessing. God called him away from the lesser to give him the greater. That is the normal way of God. Yes, he calls us away, but he gives abundance in himself.

The abundance of God comes in part in this life, but in fullness only later. When we step over the line from unbelief to belief, we’re stepping into a hope that extends beyond this world. We’re stepping into an eternal hope. Abram realized this. Though he trusted God’s promises, he didn’t live to see them come to pass entirely. Hebrews 11:39 says, “And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised.” Abram was made into a great nation, but he didn’t see it. He was given a great name, but he didn’t hear it. He was a blessing to the world, but he didn’t know it. Such is the life of faith—following God to the Promised Land when that land cannot be seen, trusting God for a great name when you’re despised, hoping for a home as aliens in the world.

Still, God’s call goes forth, and we all stand where Abram stood wondering if we should follow.

ABRAM FOLLOWED GOD’S CALL (12:4-5)

The text is to the point, “So Abram went.” Hebrews 11:8-10 says, “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to received as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations.”

The life of faith is the life of a pilgrim. This world is not our home. We are journeying onward to God’s celestial shore. Kent Hughes comments on this reality.

    That idea is radical because it challenges “the dominant ideologies of our time which yearn for settlement, security and placement” (Brueggemann). Everything around us tells us to hunker down, save everything, hedge ourselves about with every protection. Our natural desires are for more comforts. Our culture celebrates great homes and dynastic families. But God’s Word says otherwise, instructing us to “seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory” (Colossians 3:1–4).

Abram went because the Lord told him to do so. Believing God’s word led Abram to follow God’s call. As we’ve said, the call was mysterious. God said, “Go to the land that I will show you.” He gave no details. He rarely does. The call of God to follow and obey is never as specific as we wish.

Imagine explaining to everyone where he’s going. “I don’t know.” What will you find when you get there? “I don’t know.” What will come of you in the new land? “I don’t know.” What did Abram know? He knew God and that he must be good. That was it. The rest was waiting—waiting on God to make good on his promises, to prove himself true to his word.

Following God is waiting on God. And Abram proves that waiting on God is hard but ultimately worth it. As Ray Ortlund says, “The life of Abraham shows us how God builds waiting into our lives. He makes us promises, and then he keeps us waiting, to deepen us. A major way we ‘bear the cross’ is by accepting God’s excruciating delays. We hate waiting. But he really is worth the wait. So, okay.”

Abram waited a long time. His waiting started the second he believed God for the very first time. The waiting continued as he started walking. Verse 4 is not as shocking to us as it would have been to the original readers. That Abram left his country, his kindred, and his father’s house is unremarkable to us. We live in an age and culture where leaving those things is easy. But in Abram’s day, it was scandalous. The family was everything. Leaving wasn’t an option. Unless God called.

And at the age of seventy-five, Abram traveled a route of 800 miles. It wasn’t short or easy. In all, he made three moves in the first nine verses of chapter 12. He went from Haran to Canaan, from Canaan to Bethel, and, finally, from Bethel to the Negeb.

Traveling from Haran to Canaan, he passed through to the place at Shechem. Shechem would become a familiar crossroads for the people of God. Located in central Palestine, it was the place of decision for Israel throughout their history. Derek Kidner comments, “Here the Israelites would be assembled to choose between blessing and cursing (Deut. 11:29, 30), here Joshua would give his last charge (Josh. 24), and here the kingdom of Solomon would one day break in two (1 Kgs 12).”

And here Abram stood, far from home, in a foreign land among foreign people, clinging to the word of God. He came to the Oak of Moreh, a place where pagan prophets would listen to the oracles of their gods sending their messages in the rustling of the leaves. Abram knew the true voice of the true god. He knew the emptiness of pagan worship and the fullness of Yahweh worship. He followed God this far. And now he faced a choice: would he keep following the God who called him out of darkness or would he find a home among the pagans? Would he praise the gods of the land or would he praise the name of the one true God? God was faithful thus far, but how far does the goodness of the Lord extend? We all have the same choice. In pagan places, who will we worship? When everything is on the line, who will we follow?

ABRAM EXALTED GOD’S NAME (12:6-9)

“Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness” (Romans 4:3). As Psalm 33:1 says, “Praise befits the upright.” So it is only right that standing in the middle of a pagan place, Abram exalted God’s name. Why? Because in the middle of Canaan, Abram heard God’s voice again (12:7)—the same voice that called him away from home in the first place. He heard the word of God and believed God’s word. In response, he exalted God’s name. That’s how it always goes. As we hear God’s word, he gives us the grace to believe his word and to worship him. Praise isn’t merely obligatory. It is fitting. It is beautiful. It is the only right response to God’s gracious word.

God’s word to Abram was a promise. “To your offspring I will give this land.” It’s as if he’s saying to Abram at that moment, “Yes, it appears this land belongs to pagans. Yes, it appears they have a culture here, a stronghold on the land. But, no, it will not last forever. I have other plans for this land. It will belong to your offspring. Trust me.”

So, in response, Abram built an altar. Then he left and went to Bethel, and he built an altar there as well. Kent Hughes says that as Abram journeyed from place to place “the only architecture that remained from Abram’s life were altars.” How beautiful! Abraham left this world without ever having a home, but he left this world with altars everywhere to his God. What will remain after we leave? Only in God’s providence could the pilgrim become the builder—and not in an inconsequential place, either. Abram, the pilgrim, built altars to God in the very places pagans lived and worshiped! The faith he had surpassed any fear. God’s fame ruled his heart. Praise befitted him because God made him upright in his righteousness.

We who are righteous should follow Abram’s example: to build altars to God in pagan places. Yes, it may look hopeless. But God is on his throne. Everything is going his way. And he has purposes for this place far beyond what we can think or imagine. This is God’s world, and one day everyone in it will worship him. Why not start now?

When Abram reached Bethel, 12:8 says he “called upon the name of the Lord.” Martin Luther translated it as “preached.” As Abram journeyed to the Promised Land, he preached the good news of the God who called him. No one was wondering who this wanderer praised. Yes, God had promised to make Abram’s name great, but Abram’s response is to make God’s name great. He was more concerned with God’s glory than his own.

How did all of Abram’s life become worship, and how can it become so in yours? Tim Keller says, “You’re not a Christian until you’ve taken your hands off your life.” In other words, as long as you cling to the life you want to live, you’ll never live the life God wants you to live. You’ll never learn to worship until you stop pretending to be your own God. You’ll never follow the God who calls if you don’t let go of the life you want. Abram had a life. He had a country. He had a family. He had a responsibility to his father’s house. But when God called, he followed.  Keller says, “Abraham didn’t just live life. Life didn’t just happen to him. He didn’t just go with the flow of events. He happened to life…What made Abraham great was the call of God.” He took his hands off his life. He listened to the call of God. What could Life do to a man like that? What can Life do to a man like you, living under the call of God?

But this is only the beginning of Abram’s journey. As he goes, he will learn again and again to take his hands off his life. The life of faith is learning to trust God. Trusting God doesn’t come in theoretical concepts but in the warp and woof of life. We learn to trust God as we follow him. When we’re faced with pagan worship and choose to exalt God’s name, we learn to trust him. When we get bad news and hope in the eternal promises of God, we learn to trust him. When we are despised and disparaged, left with a bad reputation and sullied name but look to the one who blesses, we learn to trust him.

Radical obedience doesn’t come all at once. It comes step by step as we follow God in the small things that lead to big things. We wonder how Abraham obeyed God in Genesis 22, taking Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice him according to God’s command. He obeyed then because he obeyed in the beginning. His faith didn't start in the few days before the mountain trek. It started way back in Ur when God called and he went. Sacrifice wasn't uncommon to him. And it shouldn’t be to us.

The New Testament uses Abram over and over again as the model for true faith. No, he wasn’t the perfect man. Jesus was. And it was to him that he looked. Jesus himself said, “Your father Abraham rejoiced that he would see my day. He saw it and was glad.” How did he see it? By faith.

By faith, Abram believed the word of God. By faith, he followed God’s call. By faith, he built altars in pagan lands. By faith, he exalted God’s name. By faith, he lived his life. Life didn’t just happen to him. He happened to life. Why? Because God happened to Abram, and God is Life. Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life (John 14:6), and whoever comes to him he will never cast out (John 6:37). Abram went to him. And his life is proof that all who come to Christ are never let down. What’s keeping you from coming to him today?

In the parable of the persistent widow, Jesus shows us why we should pray—God is not an unjust judge, but the righteous Father who loves his elect and will bring justice. In the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, Jesus shows us how we should pray—not with pride, comparing ourselves to others, but in humility, needy for God’s mercy. Putting the two together, Luke aims to show us that we both ought to pray and never lose heart and that there is a certain heart that knows how to pray, and a heart that doesn’t.

The Pharisee and the Tax Collector - Luke 18:9-14

9 He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: 10 “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a Tax Collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this Tax Collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.’ 13 But the Tax Collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Two Different Prayers

The two men in Jesus’s parable are worlds apart. The Pharisee was the model citizen. He was Bible-saturated, law-abiding, tithe-giving, just, true to his wife, and righteous before men. The Pharisees owned the best reputation in Israel. The Jewish historian of the time, Josephus, described them as “a certain sect of the Jews that appear more religious than others, and seem to interpret the laws more accurately.” No one looked at the Pharisee and saw a problem that needed to be corrected. No one, that is, except Jesus.

The Tax Collector, on the other hand, was the opposite of the Pharisee. If the Pharisee was the model citizen, the Tax Collector was the criminal avoiding arrest. Commentator Kent Hughes describes the Tax Collector. “In today’s culture, the closest social equivalent would be drug pushers and pimps, those who prey on society, who make money off others’ bodies and make a living of stealing from others.” He didn’t have one shred of righteousness in himself. He couldn’t look to what he was or what he did and thank God for any of it.

When compared, the Pharisee is obviously the better person. We would want him as out neighbor. We would turn to him if we needed help. We wouldn’t mind walking by him on the street. The Tax Collector, on the other hand, is someone we’d avoid. We’d shudder to see him approaching our house. We’d disassociate ourselves with him. We often forget the difference between these two persons. Those of us who have heard so much bad about the Pharisees forget that many of them were the kinds of guys we’d want our kids to look up to. Make no mistake, the Pharisee was the good guy, the Tax Collector the bad guy. 

But we only see the outside of a man. God sees the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). In this parable, Jesus redefines goodness and badness, not based on the outward actions but on the inward relationship to God. He uses these two opposites to reveal what we miss when looking only at the outside.

Jesus told this to “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt.” Because of that, I believe he’s talking to all of us, for which of us is sinless in this area? We all trust in ourselves to some degree and treat others with contempt, or we have done so in the past. These words, therefore, are words for us all to heed. 

What was wrong with the Pharisee? Often, it is assumed this Pharisee was a legalist. I’m not sure he is. Legalism is one who tries to earn his salvation by his good deeds. The Pharisee doesn’t do that. He believes his good deeds are given to him by God. He says as much in his prayer, “God, I thank you…” He’s recognizing that God is the one who gave him his righteousness. The problem with the Pharisee is not legalism. It is that he looked to and trusted in that righteousness—his righteousness—for salvation. He didn’t believe he earned it, but he was very proud of his righteousness. And that was his problem before God. He believed God’s gift of his personal righteousness—making him the way he was—was all he needed to be justified before God.

But is that how we are justified? Are we righteous before God because he gave us the ability to do good things? Or are we righteous before God because Jesus is righteous before God and we are in him? It comes down to one question: whose righteousness is it that saves?

The Pharisee believed his righteousness what the key. Notice, aside from addressing God at the beginning of his prayer, he spends the rest of the time talking about himself. He trusted in himself that he was righteous. He wasn’t happy that he was making progress. He thought he’d already arrived. The thing about trusting in oneself for righteousness is that it always leads to treating others with contempt. When we believe our goodness is what makes God smile, we see everyone else’s faults and treat them accordingly. It’s only when we see ourselves as sinners, righteous in Christ alone, that we can be free from the contemptuous outlook of the Pharisee.

The Tax Collector, on the other hand, was banking everything on the righteousness of God. He wouldn’t enter the temple. There were societal reasons for this, but Jesus is highlighting his humility. Even if he was welcomed in, he didn’t feel as if he belonged. He stood far off, away from others, not as the Pharisee but with deep sorrow for his sins. His prayer is simple. He does not refer to anyone else. He is not boasting about his righteousness because he has none. He is not explaining his badness. He is pleading for mercy. He calls himself who he truly is, “a sinner.” He would not even lift his eyes toward heaven—significant for his time since prayers were offered standing upright and looking to the skies. He beat his breast in grief. In fact, in the Greek, his plea is for more than forgiveness. Literally, his plea for mercy is a plea to “be propitiated.” He wasn’t asking for anything less than God’s anger to be removed from him. He knows what he deserves, and he pleads for what only God can give.

The Pharisee was condemned. The Tax Collector justified. Be warned, Jesus says, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

We are not justified because God gives us our own personal righteousness. We are justified because God gives us Christ’s righteousness. It comes down to this: where are you looking? Are you looking away from yourself to Christ? Or are you looking from Christ to yourself? The direction of your gaze makes all the difference.

Our Prayer Life

In Jesus’s day, public prayers were often offered in the temple. But private prayers were offered too, and in this parable, we see two private prayers. Jesus focuses on this because who we are in our private prayers is who we really are. Our prayers can reveal what we believe is the origin of our salvation. Does God grant us his righteousness and save us on that basis or does he grant us our own righteousness and save us on that basis? The Pharisee obviously believed the latter. The Tax Collector was banking on the former. 

The Pharisee was grateful God made him so well. He not only obeyed the law, he super-obeyed it. The law commanded one fast, on the Day of Atonement, but this guy fasted twice a week, the law required tithing ten percent of one’s income, but this guy tithes even his herbs. He thanked God for making him this way, but his righteousness was not the reason for his righteousness. In fact, it made him unrighteous. His goodness clouded his ability to see Jesus’ goodness on his behalf. As William Plummer said, “He glances at God, but contemplates himself.” We can do the same anytime our prayers are made of who we are rather than who God is.

This parable drives us to one big evaluation of our personal prayer life. When we approach God, are we like the Pharisee or the Tax Collector?

The Doctrines of Imputation and Federalism

If we are like the Pharisee, how can we change? 

Right doctrine helps. Is God our divine helper, granting us the ability to become good, or is he our Divine Savior, granting us his goodness? If God gives us our own personal goodness and accepts us based on that, it makes sense for us to look down upon others. But if God gives us righteousness through his Son, and only through his Son, then we have no right to look down upon others. We are all equal. We all need the righteousness of Christ.
The gospel tells us not that God gives us our own personal righteousness but that he gives us Christ’s righteousness. The theological term is imputation. Imputation means to attribute something to one’s account. This is what God does to us with Christ’s righteousness. John Piper clarifies.

"Imputation" is different from "impartation." God does "impart" to us gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit, so that we have them and they are in us growing and they are ours. But all of that gracious impartation through the Spirit is built on an even more firm foundation, namely, imputation - the work of God outside of us: God's own righteousness, not imparted to us, but imputed to us. Credited to us, as Romans 4:6 and 11 say. Put to our account. Reckoned to be ours.

The Bible tells us of three imputative events throughout history. First, Adam imputes his sin to all mankind. Second, God imputes the sins of the elect to Christ. Third, God imputes the righteousness of Christ to the elect. 

Paul explains this in Romans 5:12-21.

12 Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned— 13 for sin indeed was in the world before the law was given, but sin is not counted where there is no law. 14 Yet death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over those whose sinning was not like the transgression of Adam, who was a type of the one who was to come.

15 But the free gift is not like the trespass. For if many died through one man's trespass, much more have the grace of God and the free gift by the grace of that one man Jesus Christ abounded for many. 16 And the free gift is not like the result of that one man's sin. For the judgment following one trespass brought condemnation, but the free gift following many trespasses brought justification. 17 For if, because of one man's trespass, death reigned through that one man, much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man Jesus Christ.

18 Therefore, as one trespass led to condemnation for all men, so one act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all men. 19 For as by the one man's disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man's obedience the many will be made righteous. 20 Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, 21 so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

We see here imputation at work. Adam imputes sin to mankind, God imputes the sins of the elect to Jesus, God then imputes the righteousness of Jesus to the elect. This helps us see the importance of another theological term, federalism. Federalism means one person acts as a representative for one or more persons. In the biblical view, God has appointed two representative heads: Adam and Jesus. Sin came into the world through Adam. Righteousness came into the world through Jesus.

Some people struggle with the idea of federalism, especially when it comes to accepting Paul’s words in verses 12-14. It’s hard for some to accept that they inherited sin. Some people believe man is basically good, and from time to time does bad things. But that’s not what the Bible says. Because Adam sinned, we are all born in sin. The theological term is Original Sin. Our Original Sin is a birth defect, and no amount of scientific or meritorious effort can change that which with we were born. Sin stained us from the womb because of our federal head, Adam.

But federalism works to our advantage, if we trust in Christ. Sure, it’s a bummer that we’re born into sin because of Adam. It may seem we don’t even get a fair shake at life. But give us enough time, and we would sin our way out of God as well, especially now that we have the law to show us what sin is. We don’t merely miss the mark with our sin; we stomp on top of the law on our way to sin. Whether we are born sinners or not, no one can look at his life now and declare righteousness apart from God. So, to be represented by Adam helps us understand from where we came. Adam was a terrible representative, yes, but he is our representative, and to deny that truth is to put ourselves in more danger, not less. Federalism is to our advantage because if it’s true that in Adam we all sinned, then it can also be true that in Jesus we are all made righteous.

Commentator Douglas Moo says, “The universal consequences of Adam’s sin are the assumption of Paul’s argument; the power of Christ’s act to cancel those consequences is its goal.” Paul has labored to prove the universality of sin. Now he is working to show the universal character of justification for those who believe. If sin condemns all in the church through one man, it makes sense that through one man all are justified. If Adam got us into the war, Jesus got us out. 

Adam, as the first man, represented all humanity to follow. The result of his life is, therefore, universal and inescapable. In Adam, all die. But in Christ, all live. Paul calls the benefits of Christ the “free gift.” He mentions this free gift five times in verses 15-17. The point is exactly what it sounds like: the righteousness of Christ is both free, meaning we don’t have to do anything to earn it, and it is a gift, something we receive. Some gifts are a result of hard work. (Think of a Christmas bonus for employees at a company.) But other gifts are given because of love. (Think of a Christmas gift to a child in a home.) The righteousness of Christ is of the latter kind. God gives the full benefits of Christ’s perfect record to his children because he loves them. All we must do is receive the free gift with the empty hands of faith.

It would be appropriate to compare ourselves in Adam to a poor family that has made ruin of life. We started out well, with plenty of money in the bank, a beautiful house on a hill, abundant resources, and friends abounding. Then, out of sheer defiance, we decided we didn’t need what got us here anymore. We didn’t get there on our own, but we decided we could make it her on out on our own. We left the one who provided it all to blaze our own trail. In doing so, we cut ourselves off. In an instant, we lost the money. Over time, we lost the house. In the end, we found ourselves on the streets, wandering from town to town just trying to survive. As the generations were born, they didn’t realize the plight. They were born into this family. It just seemed to fit. Then one day a generous donor comes and says he understands what has happened to us and he would like to make it right. He aims to restore all that we squandered. He says he came into some money and it was more than he needed. He wants to share it. So, he gets out his pen and checkbook and writes the check to cover all the debts plus enough to meet every need from here on out.

We are in this family that squandered and lost it all. And then Jesus comes and begins to make all things new. He tells us of his righteousness, shows us his holiness, and grants us his forgiveness. In a moment of realization that came from somewhere outside our own heart, we believe him, give up our rags and follow him.

That’s what happened to the Tax Collector. He went home justified because his Federal Head, Jesus, imputed his righteousness to him. And the Pharisee went home unjustified because he thought the gift of God was his own personal righteousness. But he was wrong. We aren’t saved because we are good. We are saved because Jesus is, and in grace, God gives us his goodness.

Be careful, then, how you pray, for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.

The Jews believed in limiting prayer as to not weary God. Daniel’s example of three times a day (Daniel 6:10) was considered the maximum. But as he talks about his second coming, Jesus speaks against that belief. God cannot be wearied. Jesus says the days ahead are going to be hard, especially for those who follow a crucified and risen savior. They’re going to run into opposition, hardship, and trials of every kind. But they won’t be left alone, and Jesus will come again to restore it all. Whatever they face in the days ahead, God will bring vengeance in the end. But the waiting will be difficult, and we’ll want to pray the same thing repeatedly, “Lord, how long?” Jesus says that’s ok, and, furthermore, don’t ever give up on that prayer. We don’t have to limit our prayers. Instead, we ought always to pray and not lose heart. Jesus invites us to bother God in prayer because our prayers, as it turns out, don’t bother God at all.

But our prayers don’t all receive an immediate answer. And our prayer for God’s return, where he’ll bring final justice to the earth will be one of those delayed-answer kinds of prayers. We want things done at a certain time and in a certain way, but God operates the world on his economy. As Peter tells us in 2 Peter 3:8, “Do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”

But God’s delay should not lead to our failure to pray. Rather, Jesus is telling us we should always pray but we should do so with patience, trusting God knows best. We must tap into the child-like ability to ask the same thing a million times but do so with the wisdom of an adult who knows, sometimes, it’s best not to answer immediately.

The Parable of the Persistent Widow – Luke 18:1-8

1 And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. 2 He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected man. 3 And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Give me justice against my adversary.’ 4 For a while he refused, but afterward he said to himself, ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, 5 yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.’ ” 6 And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge says. 7 And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? 8 I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

We Ought Always to Pray

Jesus uses the story of a wicked man—a judge—and a helpless woman—a widow. The judge “neither feared God nor respected man.” He thought only of himself and did only what was to his advantage, an ironic thing for a judge who should be about justice in every way. But the widow cared not for the judge’s feelings. She cared not for his selfishness. She cared not for even his godlessness. She cared for justice, and she knew he was the only man in town who had the power to set right the wrong done to her. But she had no standing in the community, no husband to fight on her behalf, no money to bribe him with. All she had was her request. And so, with that request, she went, and she went, and she went. She went until he became tired of her. Then, desiring to be rid of her, he gave in. He granted her request, giving her justice. If the unjust judge would do that for a widow, won’t God do that for his elect?

Jesus is making a “how much more” point. If the unrighteous judge who neither fears God nor respects man will grant justice, how much more will God grant justice to his elect? As Leon Morris says, “If a wicked man will sometimes do good, even if from bad motives, how much more will God do right!”

God is not uncaring. He is not unconcerned. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do or simply doesn’t want to think about the situation. God knows everything. He sees everything. But God doesn’t answer us according to our wishes. He answers according to his wisdom, and, sometimes, his wisdom requires a delayed response. Sometimes, the work God must do takes place over a long period of time. Sometimes, God asks us to labor in prayer for a long season for the work he has planned.

It seems odd to compare God to an unjust judge, but Jesus does so for a very important reason. We are tempted to distrust God when our prayers are not immediately answered. We think maybe he is an unjust judge, even if we’d never admit that to ourselves. It shows up in our prayer life. When we give up on the prayer of justice, we give in to thinking God isn’t for us. We believe we’re lower than the widow in this story, and God doesn’t care about justice.

We ought always to pray, Jesus says, because in our praying, God acts. The world may look gloomy and dark, but God is at work in it now, saving more and more, preparing for the return of Christ. In the in-between time of Christ’s first and second comings, the trials of his saints are hard, but they are coming to an end. God will grant his people justice. Let’s not fail to pray about it.

So how do we pray such a thing when it feels as if God is unwilling to answer? David shows in Psalm 13.

1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

    How long will you hide your face from me?

2 How long must I take counsel in my soul

    and have sorrow in my heart all the day?

How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

3 Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;

    light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,

4 lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”

    lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

5 But I have trusted in your steadfast love;

    my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.

6 I will sing to the Lord,

    because he has dealt bountifully with me.

David feels like the widow, voiceless before the judge. The first two verses are filled with both sorrow

and dismay that God would not answer. David considered it a personal offense, as if it was a friend shunning him rather than a distant judge delaying his response. He has real, urgent needs. God cannot remain silent forever. It was always this way with David. As Derek Kidner says, “Awareness of God and the enemy is virtually the hallmark of every psalm of David; the positive and negative charge which produced the driving-force of his best years.”

The enemy constantly surrounded David, and in their midst, he had a choice to make. He could trust God’s promises or not. Verse 5 gives us the answer, he would trust God’s steadfast love. Kidner comments, “However great the pressure, the choice is still his to make, not the enemy’s; and God’s covenant remains. So the psalmist entrusts himself to this pledged love, and turns his attention not to the quality of his faith but to its object and its outcome, which he has every intention of enjoying.”

David faced the same problem we all face: will God bring justice? So David did what David does, he prayed. Before Jesus showed up to tell us we ought always to pray, David was praying. He turned his doubts into prayers, letting his prayers rise on the wings of faith to find the bountiful dealings God has with man. God will not only grant what we need, he will do so in a way far beyond what we could ask or think.

Of course, David prayed similar prayers throughout his life. Psalm 13 was not the only one. The biblical model is consistent prayer for God’s provision. It, apparently, even stretches beyond this life into the heavens. Revelation 6 tells of the opening of the seven seals. When the fifth seal is opened, John says, “I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, ‘O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?’ Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been.” (Revelation 6:9-11)

The heavenly saints are following Jesus’s call to always pray. Their prayer is the same as the widows: they want justice. As Leon Morris says, “The first Christians found a problem in the fact that God does not punish sin here and now. They saw part of the answer in the cross. The cross does not mean the abolition of judgment. It means that people will be judged by their attitude to the sacrificial love of God shown on Calvary. But the cross also shows that God has no truck with evil. Finally, it will be totally overthrown. God waits and the number of martyrs grows to its completion. But the final destruction of evil is certain. It is not a question of ‘Whether?’ but of ‘When?’.”

So Jesus commands us to always pray because God hears our prayers, and he will not disappoint. The end of the age is coming, and the justice we long for will come, and, in fact, as God always does, it will come in greater measure than we can ask or think. It is not a matter of ‘if’, only a matter of ‘when.’ God is not an unjust judge. He’s far better.

We Ought Not Lose Heart

William Still pastored a church in Scotland for 52 years. During an early season of his pastorate, he met regularly with a group of pastors to pray for revival. Over the course of three years, they met weekly and offered up prayer to God that he would pour out his Spirit on their land. They went about their days with their eyes open, awaiting God’s answer. Why would he not grant their request? At the end of the third year, they all felt a collective release of their burden, though none of them visibly saw any signs of revival. They had been the persistent widow, approaching God’s throne regularly, and now, it seemed to them, God was saying, “that’s enough.” But he didn’t answer.

Nearly twenty years went by and the pastors continued preaching the gospel and shepherding their churches. A new generation had risen, and many began coming into their churches, longing for the gospel. Older men, too, had been coming in droves—men in their 40s and 50s, with gospel vigor. William Still and his fellow pastors realized something as they heard the stories of these men. Those many years ago, as they met for prayer, God was hearing and answering. Many of these men were born during those years. The older men were converted during those years. It took around twenty years for Still and his fellow pastors to see God’s answer, but he had heard and had responded with a “Yes.” But it was a yes they couldn’t see for a couple of decades.

What are you praying for right now? What request is constantly before the Lord? He’s not required to answer it simply because we bring it, but are you bringing anything? Too often, our prayers are too little, too infrequent, and too mild. God loves a bold pray-er. He loves to hear grand prayers, prayers that reach out beyond our sphere of influence. He loves prayers for world-wide justice, for global evangelization, for his name to be spread far and wide. God longs to grant the glory-filled prayers of his people. But, Jesus knows, we are tempted to give up on prayer. We are tempted to throw in the towel, move on, to simply stop. Jesus urges us to do no such thing. If God granted William Still’s prayers for the revival of his part of Scotland, why would he not grant our prayers for revival of our land, or of our country, or of our world? In fact, he will, even if it takes until the end of the age for the “yes” to come. It may look as if he will never come back, but he will. In God’s timing, Jesus will return to set all things right, to restore the universe, to make all things new. Are we praying to that end?

The widow had no rights before the judge. She had no money for a bribe, no husband for support, no social status for influence. She had only a request, and that was enough for her. If such a woman could have her request granted, how much more will God’s elect children have their requests heard? If the poor, outcast widow could not lose heart, how is it that we could? Jesus tells us to persevere. Do not grow tired of praying, for God hears his children’s voices.

The problem Jesus is confronting is not the issue of God’s silence in the face of small matters or issues of preference. God cares about the entirety of our lives, but Jesus is not addressing what we do with silence in temporary decisions. He is addressing how we make it through the time between Jesus’s first and second comings. His disciples are wondering what to do to endure till the end. And the answer Jesus gives is, “Pray, and keep praying.”

We all know how difficult it is to continue in the same direction for a long period of time. God knows too. But what we encounter as we wait on God is the same thing saints have encountered throughout the ages. Abraham was brought to the Promised Land without the promised child. He tried to help God out a few times, but that didn’t work. So he had to wait. He and Sarah grew old—so old that when God came to them with the promise of a child, they both laughed. But in the course of time, God’s promise proved true. No matter what Abraham did to compromise it, God stayed true to his word. And in the end, Isaac was born.

David was anointed King of Israel years before he ascended to the throne. He worked in the house of Saul, dodging spears as Saul became angry and envious. David was driven into the desert, hiding in caves. One day, as Saul searched for his enemy, he came down to David’s cave to relieve himself. David could have killed him then, but he stayed his hand. On another occasion David stood above Saul’s sleeping body with a spear in his hand but gave the order not to kill. He would not touch God’s anointed king, even if he was the heir. God would bring him up in due course. Time was not his to control. It was God’s.

The widow had no rights before the judge. But we are not like the widow before the unjust judge. We are like children before the Father. We are like Abraham and David, whom God protected and provided for. We are God’s elect, his chosen people. Though our prayers be long and labored, though they be stretched across times and seasons, though we grow tired and impatient, we should not lose heart because God is for us, and if God is for us, who can be against us?

We Ought to Have Faith

The widow’s persistence proved her faith. She believed that in the end, justice would be granted. Her faith drove her before the judge’s bench. Jesus calls us to have the same kind of faith. What do we need from the Lord? We long for justice. We long for his name to be glorified. We long for the end of suffering. We long for the provision of his mercy and grace. So since we long, we should pray. And we should never stop praying, even when the road gets hard. God is not worse than the unjust judge who finally granted this widow’s request. He is far better. Shall not the judge of the earth do right (Gen. 18:25)? The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether (Ps. 19:9). He is righteous in all his ways (Ps. 145:17). He exercises loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness in the earth, for he delights in them (Jer. 9:24).

So Jesus ends this parable with a question. “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” What is this faith that Jesus asks about? Surely it is not something we do. If it’s in our hands, we will fail, and Jesus will find no one to bring home when he returns. Faith does not spring up from within; it is placed deep inside from without. God himself grants it. Jesus is not saying otherwise. He is simply asking us what faith does. Faith holds on to the promises of God’s goodness. Faith never gives up. And faith never gives up because God never lets us go. Augustine said, “If faith fail, prayer perishes.” Faith and prayer are joined together. The faithful pray and faith fuels prayer. Our prayer lives are good indicators of our faith, and Jesus is using this question to further spur us on to pray and not give up. Faithful Christians never give up on God because God never gives up on them.

Think of this: Jesus came to earth to show us how God’s story ends—with resurrection, restoration, renewing! He tells us beforehand that the latter days will be difficult. He tells us we will be prone to giving up. He tells us we must keep pressing on. He urges us to always pray! Why? Because it’s good for us to bang our head on a wall? Because he delights to see us wrestle with things larger than us? No! He urges us to pray because, in the praying, we are entering into the Father’s heart. We are pleading with God for God’s vision. We are asking for what God is going to grant. Jesus will come again, and no matter how dark the night is right now, the light has come into the world, and one day, he will come again. We should all be like the widow: needy, persistent, and faithful.

We are not left without an example of such faithful prayer. Jesus himself is our model. Look at the way he prayed to the Father in John 17.

1 He looked toward heaven and prayed:

“Father, the hour has come. Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you. 2 For you granted him authority over all people that he might give eternal life to all those you have given him. 3 Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. 4 I have brought you glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do. 5 And now, Father, glorify me in your presence with the glory I had with you before the world began.

6 “I have revealed you to those whom you gave me out of the world. They were yours; you gave them to me and they have obeyed your word. 7 Now they know that everything you have given me comes from you. 8 For I gave them the words you gave me and they accepted them. They knew with certainty that I came from you, and they believed that you sent me. 9 I pray for them. I am not praying for the world, but for those you have given me, for they are yours. 10 All I have is yours, and all you have is mine. And glory has come to me through them. 11 I will remain in the world no longer, but they are still in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one. 12 While I was with them, I protected them and kept them safe by that name you gave me. None has been lost except the one doomed to destruction so that Scripture would be fulfilled.

13 “I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them. 14 I have given them your word and the world has hated them, for they are not of the world any more than I am of the world. 15 My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. 16 They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. 17 Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. 18 As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. 19 For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified.

20 “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, 21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— 23 I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.

24 “Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.

25 “Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. 26 I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.”

Jesus didn’t pray this in a corner of the world. We don’t have to wonder if he really prayed this way. He prayed this at the last supper with his apostles. He wants us to know that the prayer of the widow was the prayer of the Son. How much more then should it be our prayer as well?

Jesus was the most faithful man to ever live, and his faith caused him to pray. But notice who he prays for: he prays for us. He prays that we will continue to know the Father and the Father’s love. Truly, he prays the Father’s love becomes our love. And with a love like that, Jesus will find faith when he returns.

In Matthew 11:28-30, Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” He longs for us to bring our greatest troubles and lay them on his shoulders. But Jesus also said some difficult things—some things that make us wonder how his yoke is easy and his burden is light.

For example, Jesus talked about our relationship with money quite often, always in radical terms. Eleven of his thirty-nine parables are about our handling of money. Tim Keller says that at least 28% of the time Jesus opened his mouth, he spoke about money. His words land on us differently. For some, we feel conviction. We know we don’t steward our money well, and we may even feel condemnation. Others of us harden our heart. We love our money more than we think, and when someone speaks to it, we find resistance. Jesus knows this. But Jesus is never afraid to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted, and he can’t do either if he never speaks to us the hard things in shocking ways.

But here’s the wonderful truth about the hard things Jesus says. When we listen and accept his teaching, we find the freedom we’ve longed for, and the joy we never knew was possible. This kind of faith if risky. But in following Jesus, we leave what we’ve known to follow the man who died for us. If he did that, surely, he knows best.

So how do you relate to money? Is it merely a means to an end, or is it an end in itself? Do you guard it closely or spend it liberally? What does your money say about what you believe about security, about comfort, about God?

The Parable of the Dishonest Manager - Luke 16:1-13

1 He also said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was wasting his possessions. 2 And he called him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Turn in the account of your management, for you can no longer be manager.’ 3 And the manager said to himself, ‘What shall I do, since my master is taking the management away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. 4 I have decided what to do, so that when I am removed from management, people may receive me into their houses.’ 5 So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he said to the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ 6 He said, ‘A hundred measures of oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and sit down quickly and write fifty.’ 7 Then he said to another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He said, ‘A hundred measures of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and write eighty.’ 8 The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light. 9 And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings.

10 “One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much, and one who is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much. 11 If then you have not been faithful in the unrighteous wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? 12 And if you have not been faithful in that which is another’s, who will give you that which is your own? 13 No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.”

The Purpose of Money

The 20th-century Presbyterian leader, J. Gresham Machen said Christians can do three things when encountered with the culture around them, which includes our handling of money. Machen said we could run from the culture, give in to the culture, or consecrate the culture, bringing it under Christ’s redemption.

This helps us understand the overarching point Jesus is making. What are we to do with our money? We are to use it wisely. Let’s not run from it, trusting in a theology of poverty to gain righteousness. Let’s not give in to it, trusting in a theology of prosperity as proof of God’s love. Let’s consecrate it to the Lord and use it wisely, making friends for ourselves.

So how do we do that? Surprisingly, Jesus uses a story of a manager doing under-the-table deals. In doing so, he makes friends for himself as he nears a time when he’ll really need them. He’s using money as more than a currency for material goods. He’s using it as relational currency. Jesus then tells his disciples to be like that: to use money to make friends for themselves. That sounds problematic, doesn’t it? It sounds manipulative, as if he’s telling us to become liars and cheats. But surely Jesus isn’t telling us to do something wrong. No, he’s not. But this parable is one of the most difficult parables to interpret. So let’s walk through it now.

There is a rich man who employed a manager. This manager controlled all the rich man’s affairs. He spent his money, invested his money, managed his land and assets. Over time, the rich man got word (presumably from his friends in the community) that the manager wasn’t doing his job well. He was wasting his master’s possessions. Jesus uses the same word for waste as he used in the parable of the prodigal son for what the younger son did with his money. He mismanaged it. So the boss called him to account. The story was filled with tension. The manager said nothing in response, and as the master asked him to turn in the books, he fired him. The manager’s silence was a guilty plea. He made no defense. But he still had the books in his possession because he hadn’t brought them with him to the meeting. So, he quickly devised a plan to buy friends for himself before the books are out of his hands. He knew he couldn’t do manual labor, and he didn’t qualify to beg for money, so he needed a plan to find another job in his field. What will he do without a steady income? He looked for someone else who would “bring him into his house,” giving him another job at another estate.

The manager wasted no time. He went out and settled debts with people who owed his master. He cut their debt in half, requiring only that they repay instantly. They accepted the terms, happy to climb out from under the weight of their obligation. As manager, he had full authority to do this. They think something must have changed since the terms of the contract changed so drastically, but the manager had the right to do this as he worked on on behalf of the master. This favor of reduced debt was welcome. And one day soon, the manager would need the favor returned.

Jesus is not saying what the manager did was good. It was sinful. Instead of repenting and pleading for mercy before his master, he added sin to sin. He changed the terms of the contracts. He lost money for his master to gain friends for himself.

And his plan worked. You can imagine the joy in the community as debts were reduced and settled one by one. What can the master to do at this point? When he saw the books and what the manager did, he had two options. Kenneth E. Bailey explains them.

First, legally he can go to the village and explain that the reductions were not authorized, the steward had been fired at the time he made them, indeed he had no legal right to do anything, and the original amounts must be paid in full. But such an action would turn the party in progress that was praising his generosity into a gripe session attacking him as unreasonable and unfair. Or, second, the master can remain quiet, pay the price of this clever rascal’s salvation and continue to enjoy his reputation as a generous man, which is enhanced by this ruse but not created by it. He is a generous man because he dismissed the steward but did not jail him. Furthermore, he could have sold the steward and his family as slaves to recoup his losses, yet he did not. His generous nature led him to refrain from both actions.

Though the manager didn’t repent before him, he trusted the mercy of his master to not imprison him, sell him, or kill him. And in the end, the master was impressed with his shrewdness. He didn’t only make friends for himself, he made friends for the master too. He rewound the bad feelings of crushing debt and played a new song of relief. For actions that should have led to more trouble for the manager, he’s instead commended. T.W. Manson says of the master’s attitude, “There is all the difference in the world between ‘I applaud the dishonest steward because he acted cleverly’ and ‘I applaud the clever steward because he acted dishonestly’…we must take the purport of the speech to be: ‘This is a fraud; but it is a most ingenious fraud. The steward is a rascal; but he is a wonderfully clever rascal.’” Tom outsmarted Jerry once again. Robin Hood stole from the rich to make friends with the peasants. The risk yielded a reward, and the master paid the price.

After Jesus tells this story, he then says to his disciples, “For the sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings.”

What? How is what the manager does a model to God’s children? He thinks his life through. He’s reached the point of realization that unrighteous wealth has let him down. He sees there are more important things, more urgent things. So he gets to work wielding the sword of money for a different purpose: to make friends. Money never lasts. Its entire purpose is to be used up. But friends can last forever. They keep giving even when the bank account is dry. If secular people understand that wealth can be used in a variety of ways, one of which is to gain influence and friendships among others, Christians need to be even more aware of money’s usefulness. Money is a terrible master, but in the hands of the Master, it can be of great worth.

Ray Ortlund opens up the heart of this parable in his sermon on the passage.

What Jesus understands, what nearly everyone understands, but what we Christians tend not to understand, is the shrewd and wise and smart use of money – to win friends, to earn people’s good will, to serve them and help them and gain influence among them. Does that embarrass you? Does it seem like an ulterior motive? It isn’t wrong, as long as there are two other motives that the Bible also alerts us to. Our ultimate motive with money, as with all things, is to honor God – that is, to make his presence wonderfully obvious here in this God-denying and God-insulting world. Our next motive, beneath God, is to love others, to show them that they matter to God, because they don’t believe that, not enough to be set free by it. So we owe them living proof that God is love. But here in Luke 16 the Lord himself calls us to a third motive as well. Smart Christians use their money to increase their circle of friends – for the glory of God, for the benefit of others, but also this: “… make friends for yourselves.”

When we think about it, it does make sense. Don’t you want to live now in such a way that, at your funeral, people will weep? Of course you do. Well, extend your thinking one step further, beyond the grave. When you walk into heaven, fully qualified by the righteousness of Christ alone, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be greeted by friends and rejoiced over and thanked? Here in verse 9, Jesus is talking about heaven in a very concrete way – “… they may receive you into eternal dwellings.” Do not think of heaven in a mystical way. Eternity in heaven is very connected with this life on earth. People you know, people you influence for Jesus in this life, will recognize you. They will welcome you. They will say to you, “Thank you for caring about me, opening your home to me, providing a church for me. You rearranged your life to move over and make room for me. Thank you for sending that missionary to my part of the world. You made the difference for me and my people. What you did was how God got through to me.” So, how can we live right now such that ripples of impact flow out into people’s lives for eternity? Are we thinking about that? Are we budgeting for that? Isn’t this clear biblical reality enough to start a new revolution of gospel generosity sweeping over our wealthy city today, starting with us?

In grace, Jesus has entrusted so much to us. What are we doing with it? The unrighteous are clever. Are we? The unrighteous plan and devise and take risks. Do we? If not, why not? How can the unrighteous be more active in the world than we who have all the Father’s riches at our disposal?  The world has schemes; we have scripture. The world has mountains of money; we have Christ’s immeasurable riches. The world has worldly wisdom; we have the wisdom of Jesus. How far is the kingdom advancing in our sphere? Push hard, Jesus says. The unrighteous know how to do this. Do we?

Using Money

When you think about using money, what goes through your mind? Do you think if you had more money you’d give more away? Well, what do you give now? Do you give sacrificially? If not, what will change when more  deposits into your account?

We all know that ministry is costly, and that cost is provided through sacrificial giving of God’s people. It demands our time and our comfort. We open our homes and confess our sins and rearrange our schedules. But too often, we keep our wallets shut. We are like the dishonest manager, wasting the master’s money. We must see that we are stewards of money that isn’t ours. What if we were like the manager, being called to account, how would our spending habits change? Why not do that now?

God is not surprised that ministry is costly. He has placed us in this world that operates inside economies with stock markets and housing bubbles and material needs. Jesus’s disciples lived in the world as well, and when he looks at how they use their money he sees a problem. They have the right eternal perspective when it comes to salvation, but their eternal perspective isn’t showing through on their use of temporary resources like money. They’re living in light of heaven but missing an opportunity to bring earth up to heaven. God has given them the most valuable resource in the world (himself) and in response, they’re using the temporal resources ineffectively. They need to learn to be smart, to be shrewd, to be wise in the ways of the world.

Jesus is telling us not to be financial morons. Let’s not remove ourselves from the world and let’s not pour our heart into the world. Let’s consecrate the world to God. Let’s use what he’s given as he would want us to use it, because we are all stewards of money that is not ours. We are all the manager in this parable. We have all mismanaged the master’s possessions, and he is calling us all to account. Are we even thinking through what to do next? Or are we so out of touch that we don’t even care? How can God ever give us more if we are unwilling to do as much as we can with little?

Francis Schaeffer understood how to use what little God gave him. His ministry started with just his family moving into a small chalet in Switzerland. It grew from there into a worldwide ministry impacting thousands of lives. But it was costly. In one place, he wrote about the cost of running his ministry.

It’s a costly business to have a sense of community. L’Abri cannot be explained merely by the clear doctrine that is preached; it cannot be explained by the fact that God has been giving intellectual answers to intellectual questions. I think those two things are important, but L’Abri cannot be explained if you remove the third. And that is, there has been some community here. And it has been costly.

In about the first three years of L’Abri all our wedding presents were wiped out. Our sheets were torn. Holes were burned in our rugs. Indeed once a whole curtain almost burned up from somebody smoking in our living room. All races came to our dinner table. Everybody came to our table. It couldn’t happen any other way. Drugs came to our place. People vomited in our rooms…. If you have been married for years and years and had a home or even a room and none of this has ever occurred, if you have been quiet especially as our culture is crumbling around us, if this is so – do you really believe that people are going to hell? We fight the liberals when they say there is no hell. But do we really believe people are going to hell?

Schaeffer understood the urgency of his day. He saw that God was soon calling everyone to account. And he, for one, was going to do something about it. So he got to work, spending what he had for the sake of others.  God used him, and there will be hundreds of people in heaven who will one day walk up to him and say, “I’m so grateful for what you did for me. God used you to get me here. Thank you.”

Who will say that about you? What friends are you making?

Our Path Forward

What’s our path forward? It’s not easy to discern, is it? This parable is about as clear as a muddy window. But Jesus doesn’t leave us with a question mark for too long. He provides the answer in himself. What does it mean to make friends for yourself? Look to Jesus. How did he do it?

Jesus said, “I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings.” Jesus doesn’t say money might fail us. He says it will fail us. Everything in this world ultimately does. Everything breaks. Everything dies. Everything rebels against us. So if we put our hope in things here below, we will be disappointed. It’s a matter of when, not if.

So when it fails us, we can look to the one who made friends of unrighteous wealth. What did Jesus do? He took up the unrighteous wealth of flesh. He entered the dumpy town of Bethlehem. He rested his head on a common rock, one he created centuries before. He let dust get on his feet. He washed the dirty feet of his apostles. He walked the bloody road to Calvary. He died upon the cross. He used all the unrighteous things the world gave him to make us his friends. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.” (2 Corinthians 8:9).

Jesus Christ knew how to use what God gave him. He emptied all he had to turn his enemies into his friends. He was the ultimate steward of God’s riches, and he poured them all out on us in his life, death, and resurrection. He not only reduced our debt by half, he paid it in full. He paid the highest cost himself, so that out the reward for his suffering, he could call us to lay our burdens upon him and find rest. Our response to that saving love cannot be to huddle up and retreat from the world. It cannot be to rush head-first into the world’s ways. It must be, for the sake of Christ, to consecrate it all to God. We must use what we have been given for the advancement of his kingdom. We must make friends for ourselves, because in doing it in the power of the Spirit, God uses us to make friends for himself. And one day, we will enter eternity and find others there who will welcome us because we welcomed them. They will welcome us into the eternal dwellings. And who knows, they might be there with us as we meet Jesus face to face for the first time. What dollar do you have that isn’t worth that?

We sin because we are sinners, and everyone is a sinner. But depending on the perspective, not everyone looks like one. Sin is deceptive. We learn to be self-justifiers, self-righteous, and self-affirming. But to be those things is to walk the path away from God. That is a path Jesus came to save us from.

In chapter 15 of his gospel, Luke tells the tale of two groups of people. Group One, the tax collectors and sinners, are evil and know it. Group Two, the Pharisees and scribes, are evil and don’t know it. Group One knows they don’t deserve Jesus but they seek him out anyway. Group Two thinks they’re better than Jesus so they judge his every move. They run him up the scales, weighing his actions against their many laws. He measures up to better than a sinner but worse than a Pharisee. He’s an in-between, not as bad as he could be, but far from perfect.

Group One is always welcomed by Jesus. He never shoos them away, hurrying to the next event. He lingers with them, asking for a drink of water from a well, entering their home for dinner, attending to their various illnesses. And Jesus’s patience with this group angers Group Two. But Group Two is always welcomed by Jesus as well. They, however, don’t really want him around. To them, he’s an interloper, a problem, a nuisance. He receives sinners and eats with them. He intentionally dirties himself in their presence, taking upon himself their filth. But what they don’t see is that the same Jesus who eats with sinners talks with the Pharisee. He comes into their space, enters their world, and calls all equally to repent and believe. Jesus receives all. Only one group, however, receives Jesus.

So Jesus takes his chance to show the heart of God to those who don’t know they need him. He tells them stories to sneak past their guarded hearts. And in so doing, he reveals to us today the massive heart of Christ for sinner and saint, for tax collector and rule-follower. He shows us how big the love of God really is.

The Parable of the Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin – Luke 15:1-10

1 Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”

3 So he told them this parable: 4 “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? 5 And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6 And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ 7 Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

8 “Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? 9 And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ 10 Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

The parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the lost coin are basically the same story. In each, something is lost, searched out, and found. Jesus is making a simple point. He came to search and find the one. He came to restore that which was lost. Charles Spurgeon put it this way, “The truth here taught is just this—that mercy stretches forth her hand to misery, that grace receives men as sinners, that it deals with demerit, unworthiness, and worthlessness; that those who think themselves righteous are not the objects of divine compassion, but the unrighteous, the guilty, and the undeserving, are the proper subjects for the infinite mercy of God; in a word, that salvation is not of merit but of grace.”

Since salvation is not of merit but of grace, God’s heart toward sinners is different than our heart often is. He’s not waiting for them to turn their lives around, he’s out there searching for them to bring them home. He’s on the move, even if they’re stuck in a cave or lost in the floorboards. He is not content on merely finding the lost one, he rejoices over its restoration. God searches for and finds the lost, one by one, until all his children are tucked safe in their eternal rooms. Then, he throws a heavenly party. Who would spend such time on one sheep or one coin? It seems excessive, doesn’t it? God’s love is like that: excessive, extravagant, lavish.

The sinners and tax collectors gathered around must have understood Jesus was referring to them. They were the lost sheep, the lost coin. Jesus had come looking for them, and they had been found! How many in the crowd had dined with him? How many had he healed? How many had received his smile, felt his touch, been warmed by his presence? And yet it was not to this group that Jesus directed his parables that day. He was not instructing the sinners. He was instructing the self-righteous Pharisees and scribes. The sinners and tax collectors had been found by Jesus, but the Pharisees and scribes were still running from him.

They knew the law, but they did not know God. They looked at the letter and found rules to obey without seeing the heart to love. They ventured into the world with their Sunday best, shirt starched as stiffly as possible, Bible in hand, with a smile ready to produce. But their hearts were far from God because their hearts trusted in their good deeds rather than God’s good grace. Their mind was too occupied with obedience to see need. They were too full of themselves to be needy for Christ. They were lost and needed to be found. But they didn’t know it.

And Jesus was asking them a simple question: how far does God’s grace go? How far does his love stretch? How deep does it plunge? To the worst sinner? To the deepest depravity? To the best Pharisee? To the smartest scribe?

In each of these parables, Jesus includes two characters. The first is that which is lost. The second is the one who seeks. The lost must be found. But in each instance, the lost do not know they are lost. We have no indication the sheep understood his plight. He had no awareness of danger. He thought he was fine. The coin has no ability to see, it cannot understand, it doesn’t think. Each is lost, and each matters so much that the seeker leaves much to find the one.

The one who seeks wastes no time. The shepherd abandons the ninety-nine to look for the one. The woman sweeps the house over to uncover the coin. Time is not mentioned. Cost is not counted. All that matters is the one being returned to the many. And when it is, a party is thrown. It is not the sheep who stayed or the coins in the bank that were the cause of the party. It was the sheep that wandered, the coin that was lost. And everyone was invited to rejoice.

The Pharisees and scribes don’t know how to rejoice. Instead, when they see sinners coming to Jesus, they blame Jesus for being too lenient, not for being too gracious. They miss the wonder of his mercy thinking they deserve the party instead.

What about you? Can you rejoice in bad people being made good in Christ? Is there a certain test, designed by you, administered by you, and graded by you that one must pass to be included in God’s kingdom? The Pharisees and scribes had such a test, and Jesus couldn’t even pass it. Would your test exclude Jesus as well?

Jesus is calling the self-righteous to account in these stories. He’s showing us what his brother, James, said years later, “Judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” (James 2:13).

The Parable of the Prodigal Son – Luke 15:11-32

11 And he said, “There was a man who had two sons. 12 And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them. 13 Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. 14 And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. 16 And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.

17 “But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! 18 I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.” ’ 20 And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. 21 And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. 23 And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. 24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.

25 “Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. 27 And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.’ 28 But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, 29 but he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!’ 31 And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.’ ”

Two Ways to Live

The parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin prepare us for the parable of the prodigal son. Here, something again is lost. But we gain more insight. The lostness of the younger son is no accident. It is willful. He sins his way out of the house. But this story is about more than the son who left and came back. It’s a story also about the son who stayed and never entered. It’s a story in two parts, with two different ways of living, both taking us far from the Father’s heart.

The first way to live is seen in the younger brother. His is the way of rebellion. He leaves home, demanding his share of the inheritance early, a shocking request of his father, and to anyone else who heard. An inheritance is given at death, not during life. As the younger of two brothers, he would have been entitled to one-third of the father’s land and possessions. He’s basically saying to his dad, “I wish you were dead. I want my share now. I’m leaving.” And perhaps the most shocking thing of all is that the father gives it to him.

The younger brother’s way of living is what Tim Keller calls “self-discovery.” He says, “This paradigm holds that individuals must be free to pursue their own goals and self-actualization regardless of custom and convention. In this view, the world would be a far better place if tradition, prejudice, hierarchical authority, and other barriers to personal freedom were weakened or removed.”

The second way to live is seen in the older brother. His is the way of self-righteous obedience. It is not obedience out of love for another, but selfish obedience hoping to gain something from another through good works. This way of living despises the father just as much as the rebellious life, but it doesn’t look like it. Outwardly, it is composed, obedient, good. But inside, it is a storm of manipulation and selfishness. This way of living doesn’t care about the father. It cares about the father’s stuff, just like the rebellious life. “Give me what I’ve earned,” it says, even though earning has never been the father’s intention.

Tim Keller summarizes the two kinds of living for us.

What did the younger son want most in life? He chafed at having to partake of his family’s assets under the father’s supervision. He wanted to make his own decisions and have unfettered control of his portion of the wealth. How did he get that? He did it with a bold power play, a flagrant defiance of community standards, a declaration of complete independence.

What did the older son most want? If we think about it we realize that he wanted the same thing as his brother. He was just as resentful of the father as was the younger son. He, too, wanted the father’s goods rather than the father himself. However, while the younger brother went far away, the elder brother stayed close and “never disobeyed.” That was his way to get control. His unspoken demand is, “I have never disobeyed you! Now you have to do things in my life the way I want them to be done.”

The hearts of the two brothers were the same. Both sons resented their father’s authority and sought ways of getting out from under it. They each wanted to get into a position in which they could tell the father what to do. Each one, in other words, rebelled—but one did so by being very bad and the other by being extremely good. Both were alienated from the father’s heart; both were lost sons.

Do you realize, then, what Jesus is teaching? Neither son loved the father for himself. They both were using the father for their own self-centered ends rather than loving, enjoying, and serving him for his own sake. This means that you can rebel against God and be alienated from him either by breaking his rules or by keeping all of them diligently.

It’s a shocking message: Careful obedience to God’s law may serve as a strategy for rebelling against God.

The Younger Brother

The younger brother is rebellious. His actions in the story are very bad, without any justification to lessen the offense. He essentially tells his father he’s dead to him, and he wants his stuff so he can go far away from his dull life. And the father gives him what he wishes.

Let’s not let the weight of that pass over us. The father would have had most of his money wrapped up in land. To give the son what he demanded meant he must sell a portion of his land. Handing his money to the son meant watching another man move onto his old property. Who knows how long it took him to gain it? Had it been in the family for centuries? What would it cost him socially?

The younger son does not care. He cares only about getting out of this dumpy town and getting to the big city. He wants to spend his inheritance living life his way. So he does. And it’s a disaster. He goes through the money relatively quickly and finds himself in a pig sty longing for the kind of food the pigs have. His way of living didn’t pan out the way he hoped. Our fantasies of wild living never do. Sin is painful, even if at the beginning it feels good.

Eventually, the younger brother comes to himself. His senses become ordered rightly, perhaps for the first time in his life. His desires are altered, his wants unhinged and rehung. He wakes up and sees how far he’s come. The mud of the sty becomes too much, and he begins walking home.

In his desire to get out of his father’s house, he risked every relationship at home for the false joy of living life on his terms. But it didn’t work. He had some laughs. He enjoyed some good times. But in the end, it brought him lower than the unclean animals. He ran as far as he could, and it still wasn’t far enough. The memories of his father’s house wouldn’t fade. Now, he knows he can never be a son again, but he understands. If only he can be a servant, he will be glad. He rises and goes. He wants to see his father.

What was the sin of the younger brother? Was it squandering his inheritance on wild living? Was it spending everything his father gave? Yes, those are sins for sure. But those were symptoms of another, deeper sin: the sin of wanting to be his own god. The younger brother’s deepest, most damning sin was his insistence on living without God. But in grace, the father would not allow his son’s sins to keep him from being his son. He covered them with his very own robe, bringing him back without even hearing his plea for mercy. He runs to him—a no-no for men of his stature in that day. He welcomes him home and throws a party. He was lost, and now he is found.

The Older Brother

The older brother would never do such a dishonorable thing to his father. But that’s not because he doesn’t want the same thing the younger brother wants. He’s just too cowardly to be so bold. His sins are subtle. He works long hours in the office, brings home enough atta-boys to keep his self-esteem high. But all the while, the same selfish desire for the father’s things rages inside. He’s awaiting his time to take hold, gladly accepting the role of the responsible one until the day draws near. The older brother is no better than the younger brother on the inside, though on the outside he appears obedient and loving. His sin is the same: he wants to be his own god. We see this in his conversation with the father as the party goes on inside.

Why did he serve his father? It wasn’t out of love for him. It was out of love for himself. His obedience was merely the gateway to the father’s things, not the pathway to the father’s heart. He was playing a game, one we all play at some time or another. We fall in line, doing what we must, paying our dues until the time comes at which we can grasp what we’ve always wanted. What we do is not done for the joy of doing it for the father. It’s done for the joy that will come when the father finally hands us his stuff. Tim Keller uses a story to illustrate this point.

Once upon a time there was a gardener who grew an enormous carrot. So he took it to his king and said, “My lord, this is the greatest carrot I’ve ever grown or ever will grow. Therefore I want to present it to you as a token of my love and respect for you.” The king was touched and discerned the man’s heart, so as he turned to go the king said, “Wait! You are clearly a good steward of the earth. I own a plot of land right next to yours. I want to give it to you freely as a gift so you can garden it all.” And the gardener was amazed and delighted and went home rejoicing. But there was a nobleman at the king’s court who overhead all this. And he said, “My! If that is what you get for a carrot—what if you gave the king something better?” So the next day that nobleman came before the king and he was leading a handsome black stallion. He bowed low and said, “My lord, I breed horses and this is the greatest horse I’ve ever bred or ever will. Therefore I want to present it to you as a token of my love and respect for you.” But the king discerned his heart and said thank you, and took the horse and merely dismissed him. The nobleman was perplexed. So the king said, “Let me explain. That gardener was giving me the carrot, but you were giving yourself the horse.”

It is possible to serve others—even God—in order to serve ourselves.

The Father’s Heart

There is a striking change in this parable when compared to the other two. In the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin, each lost thing is sought out. In the parable of the prodigal son, that element is missing. The younger son leaves home, and the father watches him go. No one goes looking for him. He comes home of his own accord.

Who should have searched for him? I believe that’s a question Jesus is raising. The Pharisees and scribes stood there with all the knowledge of the Bible without any of the evangelistic zeal of the Bible. They left the sinners to themselves when they held the good news of God’s grace and mercy at their fingertips. Why would they not reach out? Probably for the same reason the elder son wouldn’t. They didn’t want God as much as they wanted his stuff—in this case, the stamp of righteousness.

Jesus did not have to engage the Pharisees and scribes. He could have ignored them, left them, refused to speak to them. But he didn’t. Instead, he called them to repentance, not seeking that any should perish. But they wouldn’t listen. They had hardened their heart and would not yield to the Father’s wooing through his Son. Instead, they packed up their things and went to a foreign land. They refused to enter the party, wondering how those people could ever get in. They turned down the Father’s offer for the devil’s pledge.

As all grace does, the father’s grace to the older son is meant to push him into the house. But the son refuses. He doesn’t want to have a heart like his father’s because his heart has room only for himself. It’s not about what others deserve or don’t deserve as much as it’s about what he deserves and therefore what others cannot have.

These three parables show us one overarching truth: God loves sinners. And because he does, he sends his Son into the world to seek out and find the lost. Without God’s initiating love, we have no hope. We will either run from him in rebellion or stick close to him in self-righteousness, but we will never have salvation on our own. We may live within his walls but unless God comes to us in love and changes our heart we will never truly be home.

But Jesus is the shepherd looking for his lost sheep. He is the woman sweeping the house for the lost coin. He is the true elder brother leaving the father’s house to come look for the prodigal. He reaches all the way to the lowest, dirtiest sin, and all the way to the highest, ugliest self-righteousness. This parable is telling us one thing. When Jesus gets involved, no one stands a chance. He can clean anyone, from the self-righteous scoffer to the pigsty-dwelling rebel.

Healing of a Man on the Sabbath – Luke 14:1-6

1 One Sabbath, when he went to dine at the house of a ruler of the Pharisees, they were watching him carefully. 2 And behold, there was a man before him who had dropsy. 3 And Jesus responded to the lawyers and Pharisees, saying, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath, or not?” 4 But they remained silent. Then he took him and healed him and sent him away. 5 And he said to them, “Which of you, having a son or an ox that has fallen into a well on a Sabbath day, will not immediately pull him out?” 6 And they could not reply to these things.

Jesus taught in the synagogue and, in Jewish custom, was invited to the home of the leading Pharisee for dinner. Following the script, Jesus attended. But he was watched closely by this group of legalists, and as he approached the house, he found a man with dropsy, a disease causing fluid build-up in the body tissue. He was swollen, with failing organs, and in intense pain. Jesus went to him, turned to the Pharisees and asked a question: “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath, or not?” They remained silent. What can they say? If they say no, they prove to be unmerciful. But if they say yes, they violate their own law. They were trapped, and wholly dependent on whatever Jesus did next.

We are always in the same corner—dependent on Jesus’s next move. And here, something was rumbling beneath the surface. This was not only about physical illness that needed healing. It was also about spiritual sickness that required the Savior’s touch. The Pharisees saw the man with dropsy as a test. Jesus saw him as a need. The Pharisees wanted to see what Jesus would do so they could trap him. Jesus wanted to see what the Pharisees would do so he could teach them. The Pharisees saw a problem. Jesus saw an opportunity. Pride uses people. Humility serves them. And that is the spiritual sickness Jesus diagnosed at the doorstep. The Pharisees were sick but they didn’t see it. They felt fine, but the disease raging in their heart was more dangerous than dropsy. It wouldn’t only cut them off from human relationships on earth. Left unattended, it would cut them off from God in eternity.

The Parable of the Wedding Feast – Luke 14:7-11

7 Now he told a parable to those who were invited, when he noticed how they chose the places of honor, saying to them, 8 “When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, 9 and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. 10 But when you are invited, go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. 11 For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Notice the shift here. No one seems to be thinking of the man with dropsy, or of the miracle that just occurred. Instead, they’re worried about where they’ll sit at the dinner. They’re worried about what people think of them, who honors them, who respects them. And Jesus sees it all, recognizing it for the spiritual sickness it is. Pride is not a character flaw. It is an accusation about the goodness of God. It is saying to God, “Yes, your gifts are good, but I deserve more. I can’t wait around for your blessing to spring out of the low place. I want it now, so I’ll take the high place on my own.” But to do that is to cut the cord of blessing and begin living life on your own. And we know that never works out well.

That’s why we need the gospel to orient us at every moment, even at a dinner party. The gospel of Christ, when believed wholeheartedly, does not lift a man above others, it humbles him to the proper place among others. That’s hard to grasp. We are so like the Pharisees. We long to be exalted, and we deeply fear we never will be. So, when we have an opportunity, we squeeze our way into the front of the line, worried that if we don’t do it, no one ever will. We start conversations, not out of love for others but out of love for ourselves, hoping they’ll be able to help us climb to the top. We mill around the high places, wishing to be noticed, and, at the very least, to be included when it matters most. We all know pride comes before the fall. But that never stops us. We exalt ourselves and await greater exaltation.

As Jesus walked to the head of the table, everyone rushed to their seat. He saw the side-eyed glances, heard the huffed breath of frustration, felt the pressure rise in the room. He saw what they couldn’t. Their pride was running the show. Everyone was drunk on himself, angling for what they believed they deserved. They didn’t think again about the man with dropsy. They didn’t care that the Messiah was among them. They cared only for the honor they could attain, not for the honor they could bestow on another. And so, they were all on a path to disappointment that night. But even more, they were on the road to perdition.

Jesus saw the danger. Pride rages in the heart like a fire, burning down anyone standing in the way. It’s only goal is self-exaltation. But that is not the way we are to live. It never satisfies. When we are prideful, no matter how much others honor us, it will never be enough because in our mind we are worthy of so much more. It also never works. When we try to gain importance, we lose it. Someone of greater importance arrives and we hang our head as we take a lower seat. Even our most common events in life, such as a dinner party, are watched by the Lord, and he knows our heart. Who can love another or receive love from another when the only thought is who will win in the end? When what others think of you is all that matters, love is undercooked, and the dinner is sickening.

The kingdom of God is an upside-down kingdom. Up is down. Down is up. Humility exalts. Pride degrades. In our sin, we believe honor comes from what we do or who we become. So, when the opportunity arises, we throw ourselves at it. But honor can never be taken. It can only be received. What we think we’re doing in seeking honor will bring shame, and what we do in seeking the low place, away from the spotlight, will often return honor. Taking the low place gives room to be brought up. But taking the high place gives room only to go down.

As we walk into a room, there are two ways to think. One way is to think selfishly. It’s the “here I am” posture, where you’re just waiting for everyone to notice you. You think only of yourself, getting the highest seat at the table near the host, receiving dinner first, telling the funniest joke, receiving the warmest reception, noticing all the ways others are honored above you. The “here I am” posture is exhausting. It was the default posture of the Pharisees.

The other way is the “there you are” posture, where you’re looking for someone to bless. You think of others before yourself. You find the one who seems lost at the event and strike up a conversation. You sit at the low place because you want the high places for others. You are patient as the meal is served. You listen more than speak. You engage more than react. You honor all without expecting anything in return. The “there you are” posture is life-giving. It is the default posture of Jesus.

It’s hard to think of only yourself when you’ve set your mind to think of others. Though no one can see our heart as we walk in the room, over time, everyone will find it out. What we say, how we act, what we expect to receive will come out in how we treat everyone else. And if we think only of ourselves, everyone sees the ugliness inside, and we are shamed. Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. The world sees this as upside down. But in the kingdom of God, it’s right side up.

True and False Humility

In Philippians 2:3-11, the apostle Paul shows us how this works, using the life of Jesus as exhibit A.

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

There is a difference between a person who appears to be humble and a humble person. There is true and false humility. The person who appears to be humble is only a different strain of the posturing people at this party. He is the one who sits at the low spot and awaits the place of honor, playing the game of humility when the end goal is exaltation. This is what the wicked do. They use the things of God as currency in the economy of their ego. But a humble person does no such thing. A humble person will sit at the low spot not expecting a place of honor, but so that he can honor those with and above him. He takes his place below because he understands he is no better than another. He takes his place among his brothers, not lording himself over them. He counts others more significant than himself, looking not to his own interests but to the interests of others.

We can see the difference in Jesus Christ. If he was merely appearing to be humble, he wouldn’t have come as a baby. He would have come on his white horse. He wouldn’t have submitted himself to shame. He would have come as a warrior, slaying his enemies. He wouldn’t have been patient with his apostles. He would have been hard with them for not recognizing him for who he was. He wouldn’t have endured the cross. He would have crucified his enemies. He wouldn’t have become nothing. He would have demanded everything. But Jesus didn’t merely appear to be humble. He was humble. And because he was, he endured the cross to save all of us self-exalting hypocrites. He emptied himself to make us full. He took the form of a servant to wash our feet. He was born as a man to save mankind. He obeyed to the point of death to undo the disobedience we’ve walked in forever. And because of all that—because he humbled himself—God highly exalted him. And if we are ever to find humility, we must look for it in Jesus Christ’s example. His gospel tells us we already have all the honor we need. God approves of us. “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32).

We already have all we need. When we believe the gospel, we become before the Lord merely servants of his cause. In the summer of 1966, Doug Nichols was working for Operation Mobilization, stationed in London. Each year, they hosted a large conference, and this year, he was working the clean-up crew. Tim Challies tells the rest of the story.

One night at around 12:30 AM he was sweeping the steps at the conference center when an older gentleman approached him and asked if this was where the conference was being held. Doug said that it was, but that just about everyone had already gone to bed. This man was dressed very simply and had just a small bag with him. He said that he was attending the conference. Doug replied he would try to find him a place to sleep and led him to a room where about 50 people were bunked down on the floor. The older gentleman had nothing to sleep on, so Doug laid down some padding and a blanket and offered a towel for a pillow. The man said that would be just fine and that he appreciated it very much.

Doug asked the man if he had been able to eat dinner. It turns out that he hadn’t eaten since he had been traveling all day. Doug took him to the dining room but it was locked. He soon jimmied the lock and found some cornflakes and milk and bread and jam. As the man ate, the two began to talk. The man said that he and his wife had been working in Switzerland for several years, where he had a small ministry that served hippies and travelers. He spoke about his work and spoke about some of the people he had seen turn to Christ. When he finished eating, both men turned in for the night.

Doug woke up the next morning only to find out that he was in big trouble. The conference leaders came to him and said, “Don’t you know who it was that you put on the floor last night? That’s Francis Schaeffer! He’s the speaker for this conference! We had a whole room set aside for him!”

Doug had no idea that he was sleeping on the floor next to a celebrity, that he had told a man to sleep on the floor who had a profoundly important ministry. He had no idea that this man had helped shape the Christian church of that day, and really, the church of our day. And Schaeffer never let on. In humility he had accepted his lot and been grateful for it.

Francis Schaeffer was one of the most well-known Christian leaders in the world. He already had the honor of speaking at the conference. But when he walked in that night, he did not look for the suite upstairs. He took what he was given because, to him, the mat on the floor was the proper place for a servant. And he was exalted in the end, both at the conference and in the story. This is a testament that the gospel doctrine Schaeffer preached was the gospel culture he lived. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

When You Give a Feast – Luke 14:12-14

12 He said also to the man who had invited him, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. 13 But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, 14 and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”

By this point, everyone at the party is offended by Jesus. He turns his attention now to the host. The guests were greedy honor grabbers, but the host is no better. Each person was invited for a reason, and the reason wasn’t love for them. It was love for himself. He was seeking the very thing they were all seeking: honor. He would receive it as each person walked through the door and subtly fought for a position next to him. The host may have looked forward to the meal, but his real appetite was for honor.

So, Jesus tells him not to invite his friends or brothers or relatives or rich neighbors to his party. If he does, they might invite him in return. That doesn’t sound bad, does it? In many places, inviting the host to your place is considered a kind gesture. It shows that you’re grateful for the invitation and want to bless in return. But if your party is filled with the movers and shakers of your world, an invitation to another’s party can be simply a selfish move, attracting attention from the right people to further your agenda. This was, apparently, what the Pharisee was doing here. He was more concerned with flattery than honor.

We are almost unable to think long-term. We think primarily in short-term gains and losses, hoping short-term gains turn into long-term success. And so, when the host crafts his guest list, he does it with the hopes of being repaid very soon. Because of that, his guest list includes all those who can do something for him. But Jesus says to think about short-term repayments is to forget the long-term repayments of great value. The true repayment comes far out in the future, even in the resurrection.

The point of this parable is to get us thinking, as all of Jesus’s parables do. Of course, Jesus isn’t commanding us to never eat with our friends, family, or neighbors. Instead, he’s asking a very pointed question: when was the last time you did something for someone that can do nothing for you? Furthermore, when was the last time you did something for someone that can do nothing for you, especially when it will cost you something for which you can never be repaid?

If we serve God only in the public square, where the trumpet sounds our good deeds, calling all to praise us, beware. It’s possible we’ve received all the reward we will ever get. But if we serve God in the alleys and side-streets, sitting in the dirt with those who need a friend, we may not be seen by others, but we will be seen by God, and his rewards are more precious than gold. 

Jesus’s Invitation

Jesus brought to this party more than anyone could have expected—all of it offensive. From the healing at the doorstep on the Sabbath to the parables offending both the guests and the host, Jesus was the ultimate party pooper. But, from time to time, we need such party-pooping. There are dynamics at play in us and in others that we’re so used to we can’t even see them. And it is grace when they’re revealed for what they really are.

If Jesus threw the party who would he have invited? That’s how the story wraps up, with a parable we’ve already considered in previous weeks, the parable of the great banquet. A man throws a great banquet and invites many. But when the time comes, the many don’t arrive. They all have excuses. So he sends his servant out to invite the poor, crippled, and lame. And they come. Those who refused before can’t find a seat at the table if they change their mind. They missed their chance.

Here’s the point: if we don’t humble ourselves before the Lord, accepting what he has offered, we will find ourselves on the outside looking in when we had a chance to be inside as the party went long into the night. Our pride will rip our ticket in two only to find that what we long for is inside the banquet hall.

What kind of people does Jesus invite to his party? Everyone, but few will come. The ones who will are the ones who are happy just to be included. They are those who can give nothing because they have nothing. They are those who find the door shut in their face, who see others cross the road when they approach, who rarely have the privilege of meeting another person’s eyes with love. They are the forgotten, the outcast, the down-hearted. They have none of this world’s honor. They own all this world’s shame. Their life is a mess, and they have nothing left to give. So when Jesus comes, they run to the man who told them all they ever did. And they find the Christ.

What do you make of yourself? Do you hold yourself in high regard, expecting the high place of honor at the table? Or do you see yourself rightly, as merely a servant happy to be involved? Do you see yourself to be as poor, pitiful, needy as you truly are, or has your inflated ego ballooned to such a size that you cannot see around it? If the Son of Man were to walk past you in shabby clothes, would you even want to be near him? Or would you pass to the other side as the rich man comes strolling down the sidewalk?

At this party, Jesus is making an invitation to guest and host alike. Will you come to the party I’m throwing? It’s not the kind you’re attending now. The rules are different. A man with dropsy might be there too. But don’t worry, he won’t sit next to you. He’ll be at my right hand. Will you still come?

It may be that God leads you to a dinner party where everyone is so full of pride that your ego can’t find a seat. Then Jesus will walk in the room and show you what’s really going on, and you’ll gladly take a seat at the end of the table just for the privilege of dining with Christ. It is a grace that Jesus teaches us to be humble, and an even greater grace that he keeps us when we’re not.

The Parable of the Barren Fig Tree - Luke 13:1-9

1 There were some present at that very time who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2 And he answered them, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? 3 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. 4 Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? 5 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” 6 And he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. 7 And he said to the vinedresser, ‘Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?’ 8 And he answered him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. 9 Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”

William Earnest Henley penned the following poem in 1875.

Out of the night that covers me,

      Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

      I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

      Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

      How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

      I am the captain of my soul.

That’s a ridiculous poem. But it is very famous and well-loved by many because they believe they are the captain of their soul. Our culture looks upon such people as brave, courageous. But we are not as in control of our lives as we like to think. We are, no matter what we do, fragile, always a breath away from death. And when tragedy strikes and people die in a sudden, shocking manner, we see we aren’t ultimately the master of our fate or the captain of our soul. We cannot stop the death that is coming for us, no matter the circumstances. And especially when death is tragic, as we saw in Las Vegas this past weekend, many wonder: who sinned? Why did it happen to them? What did they do wrong?

That’s the context of the parable of the fig tree. Jesus is answering questions about how to interpret tragic events. When disaster falls unexpectedly, how do we think about them? What should the response be? Jesus uses it as an opportunity to teach us about the constant need for repentance. What do we do in the face of tragedy? Repent.

Who is the captain of your soul? That is the question Jesus is asking. William Earnest Henley got the answer wrong. He was not his own master. If he was, he would still be alive. But death comes for us all. And in death’s dark night, what will be your response? What is it now, while the daylight still shines? If it’s not repentance, you’re doing it wrong.

What Repentance Is

Martin Luther opened his 95 Theses with, “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent,’ he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” Repentance, to Martin Luther and to Jesus, was not one part of the Christian life, relegated to the first of many steps in the Christian’s path to glory. It was, rather, the ground upon which one walked to glory—not merely a stone to be climbed at the beginning but the pebbles leading the way.

The Westminster Shorter Catechism defines repentance as “a saving grace, whereby a sinner, out of a true sense of his sin and apprehension of the mercy of God in Christ, does, with grief and hatred of his sin, turn from it unto God, with full purpose of and endeavor after new obedience.”

Repentance is not only turning from your sin. It is turning to God. It’s not just feeling sorry. It’s being convicted, becoming inwardly humbled and visibly reformed. It’s a directional change in your life from sin to God.

It’s one of the foundations of Christianity, mentioned over 60 times in the NT. Jesus’ first words in his ministry were “Repent, and believe the gospel” (Mark 1:15). You can’t understand Christianity without it.

Repentance is three things. It is turning from sin, turning to God, and believing the gospel. Let’s consider each briefly.

Turning from Sin

We can never begin to repent unless we first see our need to repent. Our need to repent is seen most clearly when we see our sin clearly. When confronted with the ugliness inside, we see a need for righteousness that we cannot achieve on our own merit. We see the stain of sin, the guilt of sin, the brokenness of sin, and we want with all our heart to turn from it.

We do not sin in generalities. We sin specifically. Therefore, it helps to be specific with our sin in repentance. Repentance begins when we see the specifics, when we stop generalizing and begin specifying. When we begin using I and my in relation to our sin, we step onto the road to repentance. Personalizing our sin creates sorrow over it, and we start hating our sin when we see what it does to our relationship with God. You’ll never turn from a sin you don’t hate.

Sin is always first against God. Every sin you’ve committed is because you loved something else more than God. And it doesn’t all happen at once. We sin step by step, smaller to greater. The earlier we repent, the safer we will be. That’s the point Jesus is making. When bad things happen, use them as an opportunity to repent. See your need before God and turn from sin.

Turning to God

If we think of repentance as only turning from sin, we won’t ever do it. We can’t. It’s too ingrained, too powerful, too alluring. What we need is a power greater than our sin. 19th-century pastor, Thomas Chalmers said we need the expulsive power of a new affection. We need a greater love to drive out our love of sin. And there is no greater love than God’s love.

We need to understand God’s heart toward sinners. King David understood this well, and he records it for us in Psalm 51. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love and abundant mercy.” He’s not demanding something from God but pleading something from God. He pleads God’s own promises using covenant language, God’s “steadfast love”—the love he promised to have for his people for all time. He pleads for God’s abundant mercy, the kind of tenderness a mother has with her child. In David’s fall into sin, he pleaded for God to be God to him. He turned to God to find the remedy for his sinful heart. The lower we go in repentance, the clearer we see God. Sin clouds our vision. Repentance cleans the window. In repentance, we position ourselves under the grace of God, waiting on him to pour it out. Old Testament scholar Bruce Waltke comments, “Standing in the deep, dark hole of his sin, David looks up and sees stars of God’s grace that those who stand in the noonday sunlight of their own self-righteousness never see.”

Repentance is often view negatively. It is the thing we do when we sin or something bad happens. But Jesus doesn’t want us to repent only in the bad times. He wants us to repent in the good times too, because in the good times, we often attribute the goodness to ourselves. We think we’ve done something right, something deserving. But that is dangerous as well. We are not worthy of one single good thing in our life. If something good happens, it is because the Lord is being gracious and merciful to us. So, when something bad happens, repent. When something good happens, repent. We’re never free from the need to repent. We must always turn to God.

Believe the Gospel

In repentance, God doesn’t abandon. He heals. But it’s not painless. In C.S. Lewis’s book, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, there is a selfish boy named Eustace. He loved his treasures more than anything else, and one night he falls asleep with a gold bracelet on his arm, so happy to have it. He transforms into a dragon, becoming an outward manifestation of his inward selfishness and greed. He’s driven from humanity and in a moment of loneliness begins to cry. Aslan, a great lion, the Jesus figure, arrives. He offers to help Eustace remove his dragon-ness by removing the dragon skin. Eustace tries himself but to no avail. Aslan offers to help.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off...

Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off — just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt — and there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me — I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again...

After a bit the lion took me out and dressed me...in new clothes.”

To repent is to be de-dragoned, to be de-sinned. In repentance, we’re not asking God to be anything he isn’t. Aslan wasn’t unwilling to clean. It was Eustace who wanted to do things on his own. When Eustace finally asked for help, it flooded in. In repentance, we’re asking God to be all that he promises to be to us: heart-cleanser, spirit-renewer, Holy Spirit-giver, joy-restorer, life-upholder, sin-remover. When God washes us in his grace, we get our humanity back, we transform from dragon to boy. He blots out our iniquities, cutting it out of the official record book and throwing it away. He keeps us and recreates us. The bones that are broken don’t just mend, they dance. As soon as we admit to ourselves who we are and what we’ve done, we feel God drawing near. We see his truth coming down to us, teaching us things that we could not otherwise know.

Repentance itself is a grace. You may not see what you need to repent of right now. But in God’s timing, he will reveal it. The prime mover in your relationship with God is God, and he loves you too much to let you remain unrepentant. God created you; he loves you; he’ll bring you back to himself. And if you build your life on repentance before God, no matter what happens—good or bad—you will find yourself coming continually back to God in humility, and if some tragedy befalls you, you will have the pure conscience of one who lived open before God, honest with him about who you are and who he is. Repentance always moves us close to God. That’s why we must do it constantly. The gospel alone compels us to repent and has the power to change us. Only in the gospel do we have a message that says, “I know you’ve sinned, but your sin can’t keep my love from you because I paid the penalty for it.” We can deny our sin, we can beat ourselves up over our sin, or we can believe the gospel that God’s love has covered our sin. The greatest power for change is always love.

The Reality of the Fig Tree

Until we understand repentance, we will not understand the parable of the fig tree. After answering the questions of the crowd regarding the two tragedies (Pilate’s murder and the Tower of Siloam), Jesus reinforces his message with the parable of the fig tree.

A man plants a fig tree in his vineyard, but it never produces fruit. He comes year after year, for three years, to harvest and finds nothing each time. So, he says to the vinedresser, “Cut it down.” But the vinedresser asks for another year to cultivate fruit. If it fails another year, he’ll cut it down. The parable is short. It’s simple. But what is it telling us?

We can see the truth of the parable by looking back at the truth of Israel in the Old Testament. In fact, the fig tree imagery was used throughout. Hosea 9:10, for example, says, “Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on the fig tree in its first season, I saw your fathers. But they came to Baal-peor and consecrated themselves to the thing of shame, and became detestable like the thing they loved.” Israel failed to bear fruit as they should. They even bore some fruit, but they failed to bear what they should have.

Israel’s lack of fruitfulness was not due to any lack in the provisions of God. They were not planted in the wrong spot, as it were. They were planted by streams of living water and yet still found a way to fail. God gave them every spiritual advantage. He gave his word, his covenant promises, his sacrificial system, his prophets and kings and priests. And yet Israel failed to bear fruit. Now, in the presence of Jesus, Israel stands side by side with the Messiah. Will they finally bear the fruit they should?

This barren fig tree was a problem for the owner of the vineyard. It was taking up space. That space could have been used for another tree, another plant, something that would bear fruit and bring prosperity to the owner. As it was, the fig tree was using the ground, the soil, and the vinedresser’s time that could be better used elsewhere. After all, what good is a fig tree without figs? Should he not cut it down and use the resources for some other purpose?

In the same way, what good is a man without an open heart toward God? What good can come of an unrepentant sinner? Should not God cut the man down and spend his resources elsewhere? The logic is sound, and Jesus uses this to send a message to his audience. “Do not worry about what sins these people had,” Jesus says. “Instead, worry about your own heart before God. Are you fruitful in repentance? If not, perhaps God will cut you down as well, and use the space you’re taking up for some other purpose. Do not look at these tragedies and wonder about their souls. Look at these tragedies and wonder about your own soul. Repent, for you know not when God will end your days.”

This is a sobering message—one we must not ignore. Jesus is not saying we do not matter. We are image bearers, his creation. But as his creation, we must do what he has commanded: love him and love our neighbor. This parable drives us to an evaluation of our own life. Are we fruitful? Are we bearing the good fruit of repentance? Are we growing, changing, sprouting forth new chutes? Or are we scrawny, fruitless, barren? It is not wrong to do such searching within. Many Christians avoid introspection because they feel it may lead to self-condemnation or poor self-esteem. Indeed, it may. But understanding ourselves as we truly are is not anti-Christian. A lack of looking within is anti-Christian. To go along assuming you’re fine and nothing in your life needs to change is anti-Christian. Christians should seek to live a life fully pleasing to God (Colossians 1:10). How can we do that if we never evaluate our heart before the one whom we are to please?

Of course, it is possible to focus so much on yourself that you become a motionless paralytic in your Christian life. We are sinners, that is true. But a Christian is a redeemed sinner. God is at work in our life, and to refuse to accept his growth strategy for us is to lop off our own limbs. We are not in control of our growth—God is—but we must not hinder his work of grace in our life. We must stay low before him in repentance.

When you look at your life, do you see fruit? If so, what do you see? If not, why not? What’s going on in your life that hinders fruitfulness? What do you need to repent of?

The Lesson of the Fig Tree

There is a very important aspect of this parable. Our focus on repentance is right. It is, after all, Jesus’s main point. But we must not look at this parable as a hopeless, merely terrifying example of what may happen. We must also see the grace and mercy residing within. Notice: the vinedresser is given another year to work fruit out of the fig tree. He gets to work, putting manure around it, cultivating it for fruit. Time remains. What will happen with it?

We are all fruitless to some degree, are we not? Even if we are doing well in one area, there are other areas of failure, or fruitlessness. But God is not calling us to account right now. We have this moment before him. What will we do with it? He may call us to account five minutes from now, but right now we’re here, alive, with an opportunity to live for him.

We don’t often think that way, do we? We see some moments as opportunities to live for God, but, by and large, we see the ordinary moments as stepping stones to the next big thing. We even have phrases (which I hate), “killing time” or “wasting time,” as if we have any to kill or waste. Every second of our life is a second to either live for God or not. What are you doing with the time you have? If God came now to examine your branches, would he find fruit or would he command the saw?

Let not the weight of this parable pass over you. Feel it. Let it sink in. Repent. The window of our life is not open forever. One day, death will make its dreadful call to our house. He will enter and unapologetically remove us from this world. But that time has not yet come. What will we do with the time that remains?

God is patient with us. He gives us time to think through our life. He warns us, giving us minds to understand and ears to hear his word. But we must act. We must respond to him. We cannot go through our life with the knowledge we’ve been given through the Bible and remain unchanged. We should seek to live before the Lord, fully pleasing to him.

Of course, we must remember that we cannot create fruit on our own any more than the fig tree can command itself to bear figs. But we can respond to the working of our vinedresser. We can allow him to do his work in our life.

What is Jesus doing in your life right now? Whatever it is, it probably isn’t easy to endure. Our sin makes God’s work in our heart feel painful. We create idols that God must kill. We have sin that must be surgically removed. The work of grace is wonderful, but it hurts. And even when we believe things are going well, God doesn’t stop at “good enough.” He aims for glory, and he’s bringing us there, step by step, throughout this life. That means even the branches with fruit may be cut off if God sees fit. His work is the work of the Divine Vinedresser, and he knows what he’s doing. We are merely the tree. We don’t know what’s best for us. But God does. So, in his grace and mercy, he will take measures that seem harsh to us but, in the end, are glorious.

In John 15, Jesus told us,

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.

Every branch that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. That means that no matter what the Divine Vinedresser finds when he comes to us, we will not remain the same. He will cut us down completely or cut fruitful parts away, but we will not remain unchanged. Therefore, every single moment before the Lord is a moment of repentance. And when he takes even the fruitful branches away, we can be certain that his purposes are good. He’s giving us more time to live for him and to bear more fruit. So we accept his work with gladness and ask the Lord to search our heart that we may live in openness before him all our days. After all, we are merely a fig tree, planted in this world by the owner of it. We have no right not to bear fruit for him. We have every advantage to produce what is pleasing in his sight. And, the best news of all, even when we mess it up, the Divine Vinedresser is there to cultivate in us what he longs for us to be. We are never hopeless. We are never alone, without help. We are always in the presence of the one who can mend our broken heart, prune our branches, till our soil, and feed our soul.

In Christ, our soul has been conquered by his grace. Our head is bowed before his mercy. Our fears are stilled by his love. We are not the master of our fate nor the captain of our soul. We are instead the tree planted in his field, his to do what he sees fit. There is no better place to be.

The Parable of the Rich Fool - Luke 12:13–21

13 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” 14 But he said to him, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?” 15 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.” 16 And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, 17 and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ 18 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. 19 And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” ’ 20 But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ 21 So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.”

In his sermon on this passage, Bishop Hugh Latimer began by repeating the phrase, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness” three times. Then, he said, “What if I should say nothing else?” Tim Keller begins his sermon on this passage with the reading of the text, followed by “This is God’s word…unfortunately.”

Obviously, this passage is hard for us to hear. Especially for Western, wealthy ears, this message is not only hard but vital. What we do with these words will set us on the course toward the kingdom of heaven or away from it.

Talking about money is never easy in the church. Maybe in other parts of the world it’s different, but in America, talking about money in the church is something pastors know they should do, but often rarely do. There may be one Sunday a year set aside to address it, and even that is a struggle. But Jesus talks about money a lot. In fact, eleven of Jesus’s thirty-nine parables were about our handling of money. Tim Keller says that at least 28% of the time Jesus spoke, he talked about money. But money is a topic most of the church in America ignores from the pulpit and Bible study.

Today, we can’t ignore it.

Our life on earth does not last long. When we’re young, we like to believe we have many years to sort everything out. But the reality is, we have almost no time at all. Our life is a breath. Neglecting to put first things first is not merely a misappropriation of our priorities; it is a denial and rejection of the call of Christ. If we do not listen to God now, we cannot be assured we will listen to him later. “Later” may never come. God may call us to account tonight. Therefore, our time to make a dent in church history is right now, today.

So, who is Jesus talking to?

In Luke 12, Jesus speaks to his disciples as a crowd of many thousands gathers around to listen. He tells them to beware the leaven of the Pharisees, not to fear or be anxious, to acknowledge Christ before men. Then, a man from the crowd butts in to ask a question. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” But Jesus doesn’t answer him. Instead, he responds, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?”

The parable of the rich fool is not a response to the man who asked this question. Jesus didn’t tell the man—or the crowds—the parable. Notice verse 15 says, “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.” Jesus doesn’t respond to the man with a bit of wisdom. He uses the man’s folly as the opportunity to teach his disciples. Jesus was not going to judge his case; he was going to teach his people. This wasn’t a word for the crowds, but they gathered around, trampling on one another to listen in.

So, what does Jesus tell them? And in the story, what is he telling us? He’s telling us three things: take care, be aware, be rich.

Take Care

This parable is launched out of an example of covetousness. Jesus warns us to take care, to be on guard, because we tend to make our lives about the abundance of possessions. We don’t mean to, but it seeps in. We begin thinking the next thing is the final thing, but it never is. It’s only one more thing in the line of many others. Over time, we cram our lives so full of the stuff of the world that we begin to call wants needs and needs become expectations.

We know at the intellectual level that possessions do not make up the most important part of our life. But that knowledge doesn’t do anything to stop us. It’s not a knowledge problem, after all. It’s a heart problem. What we’re seeking when we seek possessions is the security that only comes from Christ, and until we bank all our hope on Christ’s storehouses of grace, we will stuff our lives—even build larger storehouses—with things of the world. And we will do it in the name of responsibility. We will do it in the name of prudence. We will do it in the name of care. But what is it that we’re taking care of? Jesus says it’s not our heart, and that’s the problem.

When Jesus tells his disciples that a man’s life doesn’t consist in the abundance of his possessions, he’s saying that a man does not exist in his possessions. This man from the crowd is asking Jesus to divide his brother’s wealth with him and in so doing asking Jesus to give him what he believes to be his life. But Jesus won’t do it because that’s not his job. His job isn’t to be a judge between two men and their money. His job is to tell us what life really is—what it truly consists of. It’s not the money that grants one a full life. It’s Jesus who does that.

Then he tells them a parable, calling them to a life of taking care. There was a rich man who was highly successful. His fields yielded much more than he needed to get by. They produced a hundred-fold, you might say.

He must have taken care of the land. He seeded when he needed to seed. He fertilized when he needed to fertilize. He harvested when he needed to harvest. It wasn’t only the planting and the watering, it was the caring for the field that yielded such a crop. But he ignored the more important things of life. Thinking life consisted of the things he could make, sell, and own, he exchanged the glory of the immortal god for stuff. He took care of his stuff and ignored the heart that wanted the stuff. Take care, Jesus said. Be on guard, Jesus warned. One’s life does not consist of what he has but in what he is.

The rich man knew what he had. He didn’t know who he was. He saw his wealth and understood his life to be one of protecting it. But it was not his possessions that defined him. It was his heart toward them that did that. And Jesus says his heart is like a wild field, captured by the weeds choking the life out of everything good. But he can’t see it. He’s too busy taking care of his stuff to take care of his heart. His work of building bigger sheds distracts him from doing the soul-work required to build God’s kingdom.

His possessions comprised the whole of his life. He lost sight of who he was because all he could see was what he had. And what he had, though he believed it gave him ultimate security, was the most dangerous thing in his life. It would have been better for him to lose it all, for in losing it, he may have gained the world. He thought he existed in his possessions, but Jesus said he existed in who he was before God. And it’s who he was that sat behind the column of his stuff that obstructed his view. He saw in part. Jesus says we must see in whole. We must take care because to fail to do so is to miss out on the life God intends to give.

Be Aware

If we are to take care and be on guard, we must be aware of what’s going on inside. Our heart will lie to us. We must ask God to reveal what’s truly going on. What is the narrative in our head? Who’s doing the talking? Who is getting the advantage in your plans for the future? Who is honored in what you one day will accomplish? If we aren’t aware of what or who we’re working for, we will find it was all a grand rouse to boost our own ego, our own estate, our own platform. We will find ourselves working for dying things when the opportunity to receive living things stood before us.

The parable drives to a sharp conclusion. This man spent his time thinking about himself, building for himself, and talking to himself. But his life was cut shorter than he imagined. He didn’t even finish his work, and the Lord called him to account for his life. The rich man did all the talking in the beginning and middle, but in the end, it is God who speaks, “You fool!” The rich man wasn’t aware God was watching, listening, hearing his conversations to himself. He probably thought himself wise for planning ahead. But God saw him as a fool. Why?

The rich man was a fool not because he had wealth but because he loved his wealth. He was rich but not toward God. To live a rich life not directed toward God is to be a fool. No matter the wealth, a time is coming soon when it will all be left behind and only what we did for God in this world will be taken with us.

The rich man was blinded by his wealth. It consumed his thoughts and his time. Money and possessions can do that to us. It’s not easy being rich. It requires a lot of work not only to gain it but to keep it. And when our minds are focused on the things of the world, we can begin to forget that the world isn’t all that exists. There is a spiritual realm, and it’s the spiritual realm that matters in the end. We focus on what we can see, but the Bible calls us to focus on what we can’t see.

The fool says to himself, “I’m doing well. I have enough, and I’m getting more. The real problem in my life is what to spend my money on.” But the wise man says to himself, “I’m doing well. God, thank you for this opportunity to live for you. I want to steward what you’ve given well, and I need your help to do that. How can I live not rich toward myself but rich toward you?” The fool seeks to enhance his own life. The wise seek to enhance the lives of others.

We all tend toward foolishness. If we didn’t, Jesus wouldn’t have used this opportunity to tell the parable. He would have moved on. Luke wouldn’t have recorded it. Since we bend toward selfishness and building our lives on the abundance of our possessions, Jesus gives us this story to make us aware of what’s really going on inside. We are always talking to ourselves. Do we realize it? It’s our internal dialogue that is so dangerous because no one else can hear it. No one else knows what we really think, what we really say, what our longings really are. But God does. What does he hear?

Be Rich

God is not against rich people because they are rich. Too often, rich people are against God because they are rich. Their money blinds them to their spiritual poverty because their physical needs are all exceeded with comfort and security. As the bank account grows, the need for God decreases. When all the world’s toys and gadgets can be added with the click of a button, what do you not have that is required for a good life?

But the same can be said for poor people. God is not for poor people because they are poor. Too often, poor people are against God because they are poor. Their lack of money blinds them to the spiritual fullness available because their physical needs are so lacking in comfort and security. As the bank accounts near zero, faith in God’s provision subsides. What all the world’s toys and gadgets are desired above God himself, it doesn’t matter what you have, you’ll never have the good life. You’ll have a shell of it, an empty bucket to fill with things that rust and rot.

This parable is less about being rich or poor as it is about being a certain kind of rich—a kind of rich that we can all be, if we have ears to hear.

After deeming the rich man a fool, and showing God’s calling him to account, Jesus ends the parable with the words, “So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” Everyone not rich toward God is a fool. It’s a simple as that.

Very few rich people are unintelligent. It’s often their intelligence that gains them wealth. They can play the stock market, start businesses, run companies. But if they cannot use their money wisely in God’s eyes, though the world may call them smart, they are fools in eternity.

The rich man in this parable had a problem: he was rich and getting richer. His fields were already fruitful, and they produced more than he imagined they would. It was this excess that consumed him. What would he do with the extra that came in? His storehouses weren’t big enough. He must build more, he decided. But he had other options before him. What’s so striking about this parable is his internal dialogue. He talks to no one else. This is common to us but was uncommon in his time. In a community-based society, every decision one makes is discussed with friends and family before acting. But this man apparently either had no one to talk to or chose to talk only to himself. Either case was a tragedy.

What should he have done with his surplus? St. Augustine says, “He did not realize that the bellies of the poor were much safer storerooms than his barns.” Augustine’s teacher, Ambrose, said, “The things that we cannot take away with us are not ours…Compassion alone follows us.” The rich man should have invested his surplus into the people around him, not into his barns. But he didn’t. He believed his surplus gave him the life he needed, but it instead ripped his life from him. He thought he was growing full when he was starving.

Charles Spurgeon said one way you know that Jesus Christ is precious to you is that nothing else is. He’s not saying nothing matters, only that Jesus matters above everything else. All we have is seen through the lens of what Christ Can do with it. We open our bank accounts and see money not for our use but for Gods. We enter our homes at the end of the day and see a dinner table not merely for our retreat but for our neighbor. We lay in our bed at night and feel not only the warmth of the covers but a pricking of our heart for the cold. Our jobs become platforms from which to serve. Our homes become outposts of heavenly retreat. Our cars become vehicles ready to be muddied with the boots of the poor rather than luxury sedans protected from the slightest scuff. All we have becomes to us a resource to be used for the advancement of the kingdom. To do otherwise isn’t merely an oversight; it’s to live a foolish life.

If one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions, to elevate our possessions above God is idolatry. He can call us to account at any moment, and in his grace, he’s giving us this parable to do it before he does it. He’s waking us up to a spiritual reality that we call a normal life and giving us an opportunity to repent and believe. We can be two kinds of rich. We can be either rich toward ourselves, or rich toward God, but we can’t be both.

Being rich toward God is not giving all your money away so that you become a burden to others. Rather, it is stewarding what you have well so that your needs and the needs of others are met. Notice, the rich man was rich before the field yielded extra. The extra was not his; it was for others. He just didn’t see that. Do you?

The Rich Fool of Heaven

In the parable of the rich fool, Jesus lets us listen in on his conversation with his disciples. But in his life, he sent an unmistakable message to the watching world.

When Jesus came to earth can began his public ministry, many of the Jews believed he was the Messiah that was finally going to set the world right. They believed he would establish the kingdom of God in Jerusalem and reign from a throne like his father David. They believed he would overthrow Rome and put God’s house in order. But he didn’t do that—at least not yet.

Instead, Jesus became the fool from heaven. He didn’t build any storehouses on earth to keep his wealth. He had no earthly wealth. He didn’t speak to himself as if he was the only one that mattered. He spoke to his Father in great dependence, not moving a muscle without talking to him. He didn’t look out at what he had built in his short life-time and think, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”  He didn’t lay up any goods to last many years. Instead, he poured himself out.

Jesus became a different kind of rich fool—the rich fool from heaven. He left the heavenly riches his Father had lavished on him to give his life for fools of every kind who could never find him on their own. He left the crown for the cross, the throne for the grave, everlasting life for temporary death, praise for shame, justification for condemnation, righteousness for wickedness. He left is all for us.

Jesus came to us rich fools on earth to become the rich “fool” of heaven. But the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of man (1 Cor. 1:25). Jesus left his home to do the work of his Father, and instead of building storehouses for his wealth on earth, he left by way of the cross because in his Father’s house are many rooms. He will come again and take us to that place (John 14).

Because of Christ, we can become fools in the world because the rich fool of heaven staked it all on grace. And he won. We can trade our riches for his, and though it may look like failure here on earth, the reward in heaven will be as big as Christ is.

The Parable of the Good Samaritan

25 And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” 27 And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”  

29 But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. 34 He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.” 

Go, and Do Likewise

Luke 10:25-37 contains two conversations. The first occurs in verses 25-28. The lawyer asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds with his own question. “Lawyer, what does the law say you must do?” The lawyer answers with God’s word from Deuteronomy 6:5. Jesus responds, “Do this, and you will live.” These questions are both about what one must do to inherit life.  

The second conversation takes place in verses 29-37, and it expands on the first. The lawyer asks Jesus another question. “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus responds, once again, with a question, “Which of these proved to be a neighbor?” The question is set up by the parable. The lawyer answers, “the one who showed mercy proved to be the neighbor.” Jesus responds, “You go, and do likewise.” In other words, to inherit eternal life (by the way, how can one inherit anything? Inheritance is given, not gained) all the lawyer must do is love God and his neighbor without fail for the entirety of his life. Go, and do that, Jesus says. 

Of course, the lawyer can’t do this. No one can. The Bible says our sinful heart is inherited, and therefore the only path out of sin is through Jesus Christ, the new Adam (Romans 5:12-21). If we are to inherit eternal life, it can’t be anything that we do. It must be done for us. Try as we may, we can never attain the righteousness required to reach everlasting life.  

Is Jesus contradicting that teaching? Is he saying if we do good deeds we will gain heaven? Hardly. He’s reinforcing the teaching. The lawyer should see that he could never live up to such a high standard. But instead of falling on his knees before Christ and asking for mercy, he rises once again to ask another question. “Fine. I see the requirement. Who then is my neighbor that I must love? Let’s settle that, and I’ll be on my way.”  

This question was one of self-justification. Luke tells us as much in verse 29, “But he, desiring to justify himself…” Justification is the entryway into eternal life. The lawyer knew he couldn’t stand before God in his sin. So if his sin is shed and justification achieved through loving God, which he obviously does, then all he has to do is love his neighbor as himself, which he probably does. Then, he can waltz into everlasting life like he owns the place.  

Or can he? 

A few Old Testament texts would have given the lawyer an idea of who this neighbor may be. Leviticus 19:18 says, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against the sons of your own people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.” So, is the neighbor the one “among your people?” Leviticus 19:33-34 says, “When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong. You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” Is he the stranger come in among God’s people? He could be either. And this lawyer knows that, and he’s loved both of those people.  

So when Jesus answers the lawyer with the parable of the good Samaritan, it is not only a surprise, it’s a scandal. The Samaritans and Jews did not get along. They were not sons of Israel or strangers dwelling among them. They were outsiders, made that way by their own doing. They were people of Israelite and foreign descent. Therefore, the Jews saw them as disobedient to God’s law and condemned. And the Samaritans had no love in their heart for the Jew either. They used a different Pentateuch as their Bible. They worshipped on a different mountain. They had not only ethnics lines, but religious as well.  

So, the lawyer was surprised, and probably a little confused. Go and love my neighbor who may be my enemy? The lawyer may have thought, “Wait, what about God’s word in Psalm 139:21-22? ‘Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord? And do I not loathe those who rise up against you? I hate them with complete hatred; I count them my enemies.’ Aren’t there some lines, Jesus?”  

Lines, yes, of course. We draw them all the time. But what we draw in permanent marker is erasable in God’s hand.  For whom did Jesus come? For his friends or his enemies? The answer provides the insight. 

Who Is My Neighbor 

The lawyer, seeking to justify himself, asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” He was attempting to limit his love. Jesus aimed to broaden it. And so, he told a story. 

There was a man going down from Jerusalem who fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and left. We don’t know who this man is, but traditionally, it has been assumed he is a Jew. That would make sense given Jesus’s radical intent. It wasn’t uncommon for violence to spring up on the Jericho road. It was one of the most dangerous roads in the history of the world. But it was a direct route to Jerusalem, so it was often traveled. And here goes this man, probably Jewish, down this dangerous road, and he falls among robbers. Robbers didn’t make it a habit of beating people who didn’t resist. Most likely, this man resisted the robbery. Thus, he was beaten and left for dead.  

Then, along comes a priest. 

The priest would have been coming from Jerusalem, his priestly duties finished for the time being. God’s law forbade him from touching a dead man. It would make him unclean and require a week-long process of ceremonial purification—no doubt an unwelcome prospect to a tired man longing for home. 

It would have been the priest’s duty to care for this Jewish man. But as it was, he could not determine his ethnicity. He was stripped and beaten. So, instead of reaching down to help, he refused to touch him at all, passing instead to the other side of the road. He saw and did nothing. For the priest, the risk versus the reward was too high.  

Then, along comes a Levite. 

The Levite is in the same boat as the priest, although to a lesser degree. They functioned, basically, as assistants to the priests. Kenneth Bailey, in his book, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes, says perhaps the Levite was merely following the priest’s precedent. 

This particular Levite probably knew that a priest was ahead of him on the road and may have been an assistant to that same priest. Since the priest had set a precedent, the Levite could pass by with an easy conscience. Should a mere Levite upstage a priest? Did the Levite think he understood the law better than the priest? Furthermore, the Levite might have to face that same priest in Jericho that night. Could the Levite ride into Jericho with a wounded man whom the priest, in obedience to his understanding of the law, had opted to ignore? Such an act would be an insult to the priest! 

Instead of doing the right thing, the Levite followed his priestly leader in doing the wrong thing. It is never a good idea to ignore the opportunity to love that God sets before us just because others have passed by. But the Levite saw, and did nothing, passing to the other side. 

Then, along comes a Samaritan.  

It’s not the priest or the Levite who stops to help the fallen man. It is a Samaritan. We don’t understand the shock value of this because we simply don’t have a group of people we hate as much as the Jews hated the Samaritans. Everyone listening would have expected the third man to be a Jewish layman. A Jew helping a Jew made perfect sense if he could tell he was a Jew. But Jesus doesn’t say that. Instead, he includes a Samaritan—so shocking that the audience probably gasped. 

The Samaritan’s cost was high. He had to use all his available resources. Oil and wine were often used together for medicinal purposes, but they were not cheap. He used his own clothes to wash him and bind him—cloth, no doubt, to be used for other things. He set him on his own animal, meaning he’d have to walk slowly through the most dangerous road in the world. It was slow, energy-zapping, and resource-draining.  

But he didn’t stop there. He carries the wounded man into a village, to an inn, where other Jews would have seen him. What must they have thought as he walked beside his beast holding a wounded Jew? Upon his arrival at the inn, he gave the innkeeper a promise to repay any expense related to the wounded man. Who knows how long it would take to heal? It could mean he’d lose everything. Helping required much, yet he did all he could, doing what the priest and the Levite should have. He undoes the robbery of the thieves by spending his own money on his restoration. Why? He had compassion. The Samaritan doesn’t merely love his neighbor; he loves his enemy. 

The lawyer wants self-justification. “Fine,” Jesus says, “Go, and do likewise. Do this, and you’ll live.” 

But can he do it? Can we? 

Our Jericho Road 

Each of us is traveling down some road. It may not be the dangerous way to Jericho. If it is, then you can feel the need. Every person along the way needs something. But most of us don’t travel down treacherous paths. We travel instead down newly paved streets with cool air conditioner blowing in our face. We drive into our garages and walk into our homes much of world would find astonishing. We sit down on our couch at the end of the day and let the images of consumeristic propaganda tell us the lies that more stuff will lead to more joy. We fall to sleep from the light of our smartphone as we allow the enemy to sing the demented lullaby that world isn’t ok, but it’s out there, not in here. We become like Hezekiah, sleeping easily. “Why not, if there will be peace and security in my days?” (1 Kings 20:19) 

We are more like the priest than we want to believe. We serve God during the day, in the light of the temple, and on the way home with our private thoughts, we focus our love on ourselves. We have as many reasons for not stopping as the priest did. It’s been a long day. We need the rest. It will put us off course. And so on. 

We are the Levite, too. Seeing the failures of others but not recognizing them as such. The norm of our leaders becomes to us the way of our life. We feel no guilt because there is no guilt to be felt—not from above, anyway, and isn’t that what really matters? 

And too often, we are not the good Samaritan. We pass by the other side instead of bending down low to raise up high. We want to love, but we haven’t yet put ourselves in the place where love is the only path forward. Ignoring need, or even helping from afar is not the way to love, it’s the veneer of love, ready to crack at the slightest unpredictable movement. Love can only be real when it becomes part of the foundation—steady, constant, upholding, immovable. 

So, what is our path forward? Why did Jesus tell such a parable? Well, he told it because a lawyer wanted self-justification, and used his opportunity with Jesus to get it. But Jesus doesn’t use this opportunity with this man to ease his conscience. He troubles it instead. A troubled conscience can be a gift from God, cracking the veneer of love to show the truth behind the wall. Do we love the people God loves? Do we serve the “least of these,” or do we pass by the other side? It will cost us. Are we willing to pay the cost? The Scottish pastor of the 1800s, Robert Murray M’Cheyne, puts it bluntly. 

“I fear there are some Christians among you to whom Christ cannot say ‘Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you.’ Your haughty dwelling arises in the midst of thousands who have scarce a fire to warm themselves at and have but little clothing to keep out the biting frost, and yet you never darkened their door. You heave a sigh perhaps at a distance, but you do not visit them. Ah my dear friends, I am concerned for the poor, but more for you. I know not what Christ will say to you on the great day. You seem to be Christians, and yet you care not for his poor. Oh, what a change will pass upon you as you enter the gates of heaven! You will be saved, but that will be all. There will be no abundant entrance for you. ‘He that soweth sparingly shall reap sparingly.’ 

And I fear that there may be many hearing me who may know well that they are not Christians, because they do not love to give. To give largely and liberally, not grudging at all, requires a new heart. An old heart would rather part with its life-blood than its money. Oh my friends, enjoy your money. Make the most of it. Give none of it away. Enjoy it quickly, for I can tell you, you will be beggars throughout eternity.” 

The True Good Samaritan 

Many have wondered (and you may have as well) why Jesus didn’t refer to himself in his answer to the lawyer. After all, Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). When the lawyer asked how to inherit eternal life, why would Jesus not say, “Come to me”? 

This lawyer was not a civil lawyer. He was a theological lawyer. He knew God’s law. And he came to Jesus with a test, not a request. His motives were not pure. He tried to bring Jesus down. And in his attempt to lower Jesus, Jesus set the bar of righteousness higher. 

Jesus asked him a question the lawyer would know the answer to. Jesus had summarized the law in Matthew 22:37-39 the same way. Perhaps this lawyer knew that. At any rate, Jesus affirms the lawyer’s answer from Deuteronomy 6:5 and then tells him, do this, and you’ll live. The lawyer answers Jesus with the law of God. Jesus didn’t point to himself directly in his response to the lawyer because the lawyer wasn’t trying to point to Jesus in his question. He was trying to trap Jesus. So, Jesus traps the lawyer. He affirms his checklist of righteousness and adds to it an overwhelming requirement: love this much. Jesus drives the lawyer beyond the simple answer into the heart of God’s true answer—the law is not what we can do. Rather, it is what only God can do in us by his Spirit. Jesus didn’t point to himself as the way to eternal life because the lawyer wasn’t looking for the way of the Messiah. He was looking for the way of the theologically precise rule follower.  

But of course, if we have eyes to see, Jesus did, in fact, point to himself. He did it indirectly. He calls the lawyer to self-sacrificial love, and in doing so, calls him to himself, for only in Christ can such sacrificial love take root and grow. 

In this parable, who is the good Samaritan?  

The lawyer isn’t.  

We aren’t.  

Jesus is.  

He didn’t pass us by. He couldn’t pass us by. He looked upon a dying world and not only stopped to help us as he was passing through, he passed through for the very reason of saving us. Without his passage, there is no hope. Without the blessed Savior bending down and pouring oil and wine on us, putting us on his back, carrying us to an inn where we are provided for and paying the full cost of our healing, we are left for dead in the ditch, and no one else is coming by. He’s the Great Helper. He’s the one with great Compassion. He’s the Great Binder of Wounds. He’s the Great Healer. He’s the Great Provider. He’s our Great God. He’s everything we needed when we were wounded by our own sin, lying in a pool of our own blood completely unconscious of what our true state was. He came. He helped. He lifted us up and placed us in the Great Inn of his Father because he is the Great Neighbor. Because Jesus went and did likewise, we can now come and be healed by his love.  

And through his mercy and grace, in the power he provides, we can go and do likewise. But we cannot do it on our own. We cannot do anything to inherit eternal life. All we can do is die to the life of doing so that we may rise with Christ to the life of love. Most love isn’t the doing of anything. Most love is about presence, not action. It’s about being with, not doing for. And until we’ve seen the great work of Christ and realize his presence with us by his Spirit, we will never have the love for our neighbor to be the good Samaritan. We will always count the cost, always weigh the options, always pass to the other side, because we cannot bear the call. But when we come to Christ with our wounds, and he binds us up, we have a new power within, giving us new eyes to see real needs. And we press on with the Spirit-given love where we can “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). 

Without Christ, the true good Samaritan, we have no hope. Without him, we can do nothing. Without him, we cannot go and do likewise. We must have him, and he must come to us.  

Jesus’s work doesn’t remove this call to go and do likewise; it frees us from the condemnation of failing to do it, and gives us the power to go. Jesus Christ is the engine behind all true acts of mercy. We see that we do this because the Lord our God has shown mercy to us. The gospel tells us that Jesus has saved us from our wretchedness. He's saved us from our selfishness and sent us out into the good works that he’s prepared beforehand (Ephesians 2:10). In Christ, we are propelled into a new world that isn’t like the old. It’s full of mercy and grace, and we have the privilege of serving the least of these. Let us no longer do it out of a sense of duty or obligation. That never drives us to true service. Only love can. And love has come down to us in Christ. In the fullness of his joy, then, and to the praise of the glory of his grace, let us go and do likewise. 

Jesus Christ is coming back. It’s an inevitability. He will come in person, with glory and power, to end the present age and usher eternity into being. The dead will rise. The wicked will be judged. The “how long, O, Lord” cries will turn into victory shouts. The tears will be wiped away. Heaven will come down to earth, and all things will be made new. 

But that hasn’t happened yet, and it’s this delay of Christ’s return that Christ himself addresses before he begins the first leg of his journey beyond earthly life. His people are to wait and ready themselves. They are not to be slothful, but work as if the day is tomorrow, because, who knows, it could be. 

The Parable of the Ten Virgins – Matthew 25:1-13

1 “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. 2 Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. 3 For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, 4 but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. 5 As the bridegroom was delayed, they all became drowsy and slept. 6 But at midnight there was a cry, ‘Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ 7 Then all those virgins rose and trimmed their lamps. 8 And the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ 9 But the wise answered, saying, ‘Since there will not be enough for us and for you, go rather to the dealers and buy for yourselves.’ 10 And while they were going to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the marriage feast, and the door was shut. 11 Afterward the other virgins came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ 12 But he answered, ‘Truly, I say to you, I do not know you.’ 13 Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.  

There are two ways to live: foolish or wise. Matthew, more so than the other New Testament writers, pits these two groups against one another many times. In the parable of the ten virgins, he does so once again. The girls are split into two groups, with five comprising each party. One group is wise. The other is foolish.  

Weddings in our day are a grand event. But ours pale in comparison to the first century. It was a very grand affair, lasting much longer than today’s weddings. The bridegroom would travel to his bride’s home (or wedding location), which could take days. The bride’s party would go out to meet the bridegroom. Torches were used to create an impressive procession as the bridegroom arrives, usually at night. There was much waiting and great anticipation, and it’s this waiting that Jesus focuses on. We can wait wisely or foolishly, and Jesus tells us to be wise. To do so, we must both be ready and prepared. 

Both groups were ready. But not all were prepared. They had their torches and took their place awaiting the bridegroom. They even all slept. But before that, five of the girls brought extra oil for their lamps and five did not. The five who did were wise. The five who didn’t were foolish. When the bridegroom came, they proved they were unprepared to meet him. They ran off to buy more oil, missing their chance to walk with him, and finding a closed door upon their arrival. 

As Christians, we live in the “already-but-not-yet” of the kingdom. Jesus has already come, inaugurating the Kingdom, but he hasn’t come again to fully establish it, ending this present world. This parable is about living in this in-between time, how we live awaiting the second coming of our Savior.  Matthew spends multiples pages and many words recording Jesus’s teaching about the last days. Throughout, he urges them to watch, to be ready, and to be prepared, because they never know when it will happen. This is one reason the early church lived with such anticipation regarding the second coming of the Lord. They never knew when it could happen.  

So, in this parable, we find the bridegroom representing Jesus, the virgins representing us, and the marriage feast the end of the age. Are we ready for the bridegroom? Do we even know? 

Very few Christians today live with urgency and awareness of the coming kingdom. It has been thousands of years since Christ ascended into heaven. The delay has been long, and we find it hard to believe he will be back soon. So, we go about our lives, becoming far too interested in things on earth. It’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we’re not prepared. We’re there. We’re waiting. We have our lamp. But we have no oil. We have whatever was given to us at the start, but we haven’t reached out beyond to find what we need for the future. We lack preparation, thinking someone can help us out when the time comes. And it’s this attitude that Jesus confronts in this parable. We should live as people who are prepared for his arrival. We may sleep, but when he rouses us, we must be ready to meet him and go with him into the feast.  

Readiness is a life-long pursuit. It's not glamorous or easy. It’s moment by moment, one day at a time, through trials and tribulations. It’s not something anyone else can do for us. It was not wrong for the five wise virgins to deny the five foolish virgins a bit of their oil. In the procession, it would be an embarrassment for the torches to run out before arriving. Better to have five good, strong torches than ten dim. After all, they were ready. It was not their responsibility to bring enough for others, only enough for themselves. Jesus is saying it’s up to us to be ready and prepared. How we prepare shows how much we love him—or don’t love him. It proves what we think about his return.  

So, how do we prepare? Unfortunately, Jesus doesn’t tell us. He just tells us to be ready. But we do know salvation, according to Christianity, is not about works. We are saved by faith alone, in Christ alone, apart from all our works. This brings glory to God, because it is wholly his work that saves us.  

But salvation, according to Christianity, is also not a state of beinglessness. We passively receive the grace of God but must actively respond to it. The Christian life is, therefore, a life of active-passivity. It is one where real people do real things in response to real grace received, by the power of real love from above. So, to prepare, we must be responding to the grace of God. We must put on Christ and walk in him.  

Perhaps it helps to see how we should be prepared by looking at how five of these virgins weren’t. In other words, the lack will help us see the way. 

John Piper helps us understand the problem.   

Five of them did not take seriously their calling to give light, and they neglected the only means by which they could do what they were called to do. They took no oil. They only had lamps. Their job was to provide light, and they had lamps without oil. Candles without wicks. Torches without fire. Light bulbs without electricity. The outward form of religion and no internal power. They liked their position, otherwise they would have left. But they did not have a passion to use the necessary means to fulfill their point of their position. Light! Their foolishness was to think that the mere form of a religious lamp would be sufficient. Or, perhaps, that the power to light a lamp could simply be borrowed at the last minute. In fact, it can’t be borrowed at all. 

Do you see what they lacked? They lacked the seriousness for which the task required. They took their lamps, but they didn’t take what the lamp needed. It wasn’t that they couldn’t get it. They wouldn’t get it.  

In his earthly life, Jesus had the same spiritual resources we have today. He had the Scriptures, the Holy Spirit, and prayer. He used them. And by using them, he saved the world. The Father has given us the same resources, and what he requires of us is to come to him with all he provides. The lamps are useless without the oil, just as oil without a lamp is useless. But together, they light the way. What we need to be prepared is to use the gifts God has given us in Christ, by the indwelling of his Holy Spirit.  

If we aren’t using God’s gifts, we may reach the end of our days, or the return of Christ, with a lack that we cannot cram in. We can’t get back the wasted time, the spurned gifts, the neglected hours. We are left in that moment with only what we’ve decided to take along with us—and that decision was made a long time ago. These virgins did not decide to take no oil that night. They decided during the day, and it was the decision of the past that ruined the present and damned the future. What we do with our life now matters for what we will be able to do in the future. This is not works righteousness. This is godly wisdom. It is the one who sows who will reap a harvest. It is the one who works who will see a reward. It is the one who invests who will return a profit. But those who neglect the call of Christ find themselves lacking at the time of his coming. But that need not be the case! He’s provided the way. Let’s walk in it. 

If we fail to walk with the Lord all our days, we will reach the end and hear the words, “I do not know you.”  The warning is clear. Temporary zeal cannot replace life-long faithfulness. Just as the lamps required regular filling of oil, so too our souls require regular filling of the gospel. We must use all the means of grace God grants. We must know Christ personally, living in reality with him.  We cannot merely rest in our association with those who do. No one can have faith for us. And the longer the wait, the more we need faith. In the gospel, he’s given us the lamp, are we tending it or neglecting it? 

The Parable of the Talents – Matthew 25:14-30

14 “For it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property. 15 To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. 16 He who had received the five talents went at once and traded with them, and he made five talents more. 17 So also he who had the two talents made two talents more. 18 But he who had received the one talent went and dug in the ground and hid his master’s money. 19 Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. 20 And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me five talents; here, I have made five talents more.’ 21 His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 22 And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me two talents; here, I have made two talents more.’ 23 His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 24 He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, 25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here, you have what is yours.’ 26 But his master answered him, ‘You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I scattered no seed? 27 Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest. 28 So take the talent from him and give it to him who has the ten talents. 29 For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. 30 And cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’  

Jesus tells another parable, in case we don’t get it the first time. The Lord loves us deeply, and he provides for us immensely, but he doesn’t coddle us. He tells us like it is, with power and authority. We are to work for him while he’s gone. We are not to be idle. Idleness proves we don’t love him. Hard works proves we do. 

From the start, we must say this parable is not about works righteousness. The work doesn’t come before the call. The call comes before the work. But the work is vital, and it is proof of the call. So, let’s lay down our ideas of works righteousness. Let’s not let those thoughts muddy the living waters Jesus is speaking to us now. 

So, we have three servants who are given three different amounts—all of them very large sums of money. Each is given his amount based on his ability. God knows what we are capable of, and he graciously gives us gifts of which we are to use for advancement. He knows our limitations. He made us that way. He’s like a good coach, happy with the player who lives up to his potential, even if he never becomes a superstar. Two of these servants double the money, proving they’re good servants, always about the Master’s business. The third buries it in the ground, proving he’s a bad servant, concerned only for himself. He doesn’t lose anything, but he doesn’t gain anything either. And in that, he fails.  

The parable of the ten virgins taught us to be prepared for the bridge groom’s arrival. As he delays, we must be ready whenever he comes. The parable of the talents teaches us what to do as he delays—how we should work and serve as we wait. We must work diligently on his behalf now. We aren’t guaranteed a great investment opportunity later on. And if we fail to do what we should, we will find ourselves unprepared when he arrives. 

The Lord is not looking for us to make a big splash in the world on our own. He’s giving us his gifts and asking us to steward them well. If we make a splash, that’s great. If we don’t, at least we tried with what he gave us. Ultimately, it’s up to him what happens. We are his responsibility. All he asks of us is to do the best with what we’ve been given. 

We all admire the first two servants. And we should. They lived their life in the in between time well. They grew the Master’s estate. But the third servant is the focus. He doesn’t do anything, and that’s a real threat to all of us. We are at risk of burying what the Lord has given in the ground because we take him to be a harsh master, and no matter what we do, we feel as if we can’t win. Try and lose? Condemned. Try and win? He takes it. So, why try at all? Just maintain the status quo and give back to him what he gave you. But that is not the Christian life. It’s the non-Christian life—blaming God no matter what the outcome. 

The word “talent” often throws us off course in interpreting this parable today. We think of talents as abilities or gifts. But a talent in Jesus’s time was a weight of money. A denarius was a day’s wage for a common laborer. A talent was about six thousand denarii, depending on the type of metal it was made of. All three men were given huge sums of money. Undoubtedly the first two servants have greater skill and talent than the third, but Jesus gives a great sum to all, expecting all to return more than he gave. 

And here we must understand something. We are not independent beings. We are slaves, bound to someone. And when we came to Christ, we did not come as an employee able to negotiate his salary and benefits nor as a union worker able to strike when we want. We came as slaves to sin looking for redemption. And when we came to Jesus, he brought us under a different kind of slavery—slavery to righteousness. As Paul says in Romans 6:16-18, “Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one you obey—whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you have come to obey from your heart the pattern of teaching that has now claimed your allegiance. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.” 

Our slavery to Jesus means we don’t have the right not to work on his behalf. We don’t have the right to say no to him. Instead, we have the opportunity to work on his behalf. And even if that means suffering, we have an eternal weight of glory awaiting. 

Do you see the implications? All who have been saved by Christ belong to Christ, not in that we are associates but in that we are slaves to him, our Master. If we follow the third servant and fail to do what he asks of us, we will show not only that we don’t care about his word but that we don’t love him at all. We will prove what our heart really believes—that God is not good, and we can’t trust him. 

The third servant’s talent is taken from him and given to the first servant. Furthermore, the relationship between the master and servant is severed. The message is clear. As we await Jesus’s return, we should not be passive. We should be about our Master’s business, seeking to advance his cause. It will be hard. All life-giving things are. But it will be worth it because Jesus is worth it. If we listen to him, do what he asks, and follow, we will have a great life. It will be like receiving a bag of money and having to figure out what to do with it. It’ll be full of joy because the King has a glorious purpose for it all. As you work, you’re working on behalf of him, and joy fills your heart, even in times of suffering. But if you sit it out and play it safe, you’ll perhaps have an easier go of it here and now, but the “not yet” of the Kingdom is coming, and your life of ease will shame you on that day. 

To our modern ears, this talk of slaves and masters sounds hard and worldly. But Jesus isn’t asking us to bring the world into the Kingdom. He’s asking us to take the Kingdom into the world. Why? Because the Kingdom of God is heaven coming down to earth. It is the greatest joy one could ever gain. It is the ultimate hope of all our longings. It is the presence of Jesus. 

In his physical absence, Jesus is asking his followers to be heralds of his good news. He’s asking us to use all the resources he’s given to advance his kingdom. He’s asking us to raise our voice and shout to the watching world, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). 

As Matthew nears the end of his account of Jesus’s public ministry, he records three more parables. Jesus has reached Jerusalem. The Jewish leaders approach, questioning him. So, he speaks to them in stories to reveal who they are and what they’re doing.

The Parable of the Two Sons

28 “What do you think? A man had two sons. And he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ 29 And he answered, ‘I will not,’ but afterward he changed his mind and went. 30 And he went to the other son and said the same. And he answered, ‘I go, sir,’ but did not go. 31 Which of the two did the will of his father?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly, I say to you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes go into the kingdom of God before you. 32 For John came to you in the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him. And even when you saw it, you did not afterward change your minds and believe him.

As Jesus enters Jerusalem on his way to the cross, he encounters the Jewish leaders. They don’t like him. Jesus is a threat to their authority. He teaches with power. He heals effectively. He has baffling insight and wisdom. And on top of it all, he claims to be the Messiah. Their pride can’t handle this combination. Before them stands Jesus, the Son of God, and instead of bowing down to him, they interrogate him.

Jesus knew his Bible, so he was not surprised to meet such opposition from the leaders of God’s people. It was always this way—God would send a messenger and Israel would persecute them. Claiming to be on God’s side, they’d prove otherwise by their actions towards God’s mouthpiece. Without fully realizing what they were doing, their violence toward the prophets was a foreshadowing of the violence toward God himself in Jesus Christ. That’s why Jesus dies with the words, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

What we do with God’s word is a pointer to what we would do with God himself. If we treat his word as worthless, disgusting, imposing, violating, or offensive, then we will also treat God himself that way. When, for example, something like the Nashville Statement seeking to reaffirm biblical values on sexuality meets such outrage from within Christianity, we must begin to think how we would react to Jesus if he were here today.

When saying what the Bible says about a topic creates such debate, we must wonder how the wider church views the Bible—if the God presented there is the God known to the masses. Or, perhaps, we’ve created a new God, one that has the semblance of holiness but is disguised as an angel of light. How we treat God’s word is how we treat God. The only thing preventing us from killing him is that the first century Jews already did.

And here is Jesus, standing before them, on trial before he goes to trial, the prophet before his hard-hearted congregation. The old saying, “actions speak louder than words,” would be an apt title for this parable. This parable shows us the importance of doing what is right, not merely talking about doing what is right. The Jewish leaders talked a good game, but no matter how much they studied the playbook, they always ran the wrong play. The Divine Coach had them on the field, and they trusted their intuition more than the Coach’s word.

The parable of the two sons is the setup for the next two parables, but before we move on, we must be sure to understand this one. This parable teaches two primary lessons on two different levels.

Lesson one, level one: the one who listens and obeys God is the one who does God’s will.

Lesson two, level one: the one who listens but disobeys God is the one who fails to do God’s will.

Lesson one, level two: anyone can come to Jesus, all you must do is listen and obey.

Lesson two, level two: whoever comes to Jesus must truly want to listen and obey, not merely pretend to.

Level one is what we see in the story itself. Level two is what we see in Jesus’s words after the parable. The Christian life, from beginning to end, is comprised of listening to God’s word and walking in obedience to it. We won’t be perfect, but what we do with what God says will prove how we really view God. We may say we follow him, but our arrival in the vineyard is the only ultimate proof that we actually do.

Since Adam and Eve sinned and lost their home in the Garden of Eden, the world has been inhabited by sinners, the nation of Israel not excluded. Some were easier to spot. They were the tax collectors, extorting their fellow citizens on behalf of Rome. They were the prostitutes, violating their bodies and the bodies of others for money. Sin consumed their daily life, unable even go to work without marring their soul. They were the wicked, outcast, despised. But they also repented and believed Jesus when he came to them. It was not hard for others to see their sin, and it was not hard to see it themselves. Their problem was not knowledge of sin but what to do with that sin. They’d been banished and left to their own devices. So, when the Physician comes, they ask for healing.  Their response to the gospel was the proper one, even if their life before showed no openness to God. This group comprised lesson one. They initially refused to listen to God, but later changed their mind. Jesus came to them, and they decided to stick around.

But there was another group of sinners in Israel. They didn’t look the part. They were those who read the Bible and prayed and went to the temple for feasts and sacrifices. They were the ones who appeared close to God. But their heart betrayed them. When God came to them, they didn’t draw near. The tax collectors and prostitutes begged for mercy; the Pharisees and scribes thought they already had it. And in their arrogance, they found themselves not fighting for God but fighting against him. It is never enough to make promises to God, or to say you believe, or to memorize the right words. What ultimately matters is that our heart truly desires God. The outside can be clean, but as Jesus said, it could be merely a whitewashed tomb.

Jesus didn’t have to engage the Jewish leaders—he knew who they were even if they couldn’t see it—but he engaged them anyway because God’s word of grace goes out to all, even to the God-haters. Anyone who repents can have God. Jesus was giving them a chance to see themselves and to repent of their sin. But they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do it. All they had to do was obey his voice, but what went out pure as the newly fallen snow, fell to their dirty heart and became a mud so thick they couldn’t wash it off. Not only couldn’t they, but they also wouldn't even try. Instead, they plotted in their heart against the Son who came to save. They listened to the Father and said, “Sure, I’ll go,” then turned their back and plotted murder.

Which way are you turning? How you respond to the Word of God is how you respond to God. Not everything in the Bible is easy to accept, but if we refuse it as an outdated interpretation or backward view of life, we will find ourselves walking out of the presence of God and into the presence of Satan. We will side with the enemy and post ourselves in the fortress of defiance. But the gospel goes even there. God never stops shooting his arrows of light. The question is, what kind of target is he going to find? One of flesh, easily penetrable, or one of stone, impenetrable? When Jesus sends his armies of grace, let’s wave the white flag.

The Parable of the Tenants

33 “Hear another parable. There was a master of a house who planted a vineyard and put a fence around it and dug a winepress in it and built a tower and leased it to tenants, and went into another country. 34 When the season for fruit drew near, he sent his servants to the tenants to get his fruit. 35 And the tenants took his servants and beat one, killed another, and stoned another. 36 Again he sent other servants, more than the first. And they did the same to them. 37 Finally he sent his son to them, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ 38 But when the tenants saw the son, they said to themselves, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and have his inheritance.’ 39 And they took him and threw him out of the vineyard and killed him. 40 When therefore the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?” 41 They said to him, “He will put those wretches to a miserable death and let out the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the fruits in their seasons.”

42 Jesus said to them, “Have you never read in the Scriptures:

       “ ‘The stone that the builders rejected

has become the cornerstone;

       this was the Lord’s doing,

and it is marvelous in our eyes’?

43 Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people producing its fruits. 44 And the one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and when it falls on anyone, it will crush him.”

45 When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they perceived that he was speaking about them. 46 And although they were seeking to arrest him, they feared the crowds, because they held him to be a prophet.

The parable of the two sons was the soil from which the parable of the tenants grew. It was the necessary first step. What we do with God’s word is what we do with God.

When God created the world, he gave Adam and Eve everything they needed for flourishing. But what God provided soon appeared lacking to them. So, they sinned and found themselves in the wild world beyond the Garden. When God brought Israel out of slavery and into the Promised Land, he gave them everything they needed for flourishing.  He provided land flowing with milk and honey, gave them his law to show them the way, showered his love and grace and mercy from above. He was with them, appearing as a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. He made his dwelling place among them, in the inner court of the temple. What did they lack? Apparently, to them, a lot.

Israel wandered far further than around the desert. They wandered in their heart, attaching their affections to other gods, other nations, other idols. They turned from the One who set them free to that chains that would bind again. And they did it happily. They were crazy, and Jesus wants to show them how crazy they were. So, he tells them a parable, explaining more fully what their ancestors have done and what they’re about to do.

This parable is allegorical. The owner of the vineyard represents God. The tenants represent Israel. The servants represent God’s prophets. The events of the story seem, as a standalone, outrageous. Why would the tenants kill the servants? He’s merely doing the job of the owner. In fact, he’s doing the job of any good servant, collecting the fruit of the vineyard, which doesn’t belong to the tenants but the owner. But what sounds outrageous in the parable is the very outrageous life Israel has lived. When boiled down to a simple story, it reveals the human heart as extraordinarily wicked.

But perhaps the most extraordinary detail is the owner who keeps sending servants. He keeps losing what, I would imagine, were good, hard working people to this band of evil tenants. This tells us something of the heart of God. We see God as short-tempered and impulsive. We read the Old Testament, for example, through the lens of our confused, one sitting read-through instead of the lens of God’s long-suffering patience.

For example, in a famous passage of Joshua 10, Israel is fighting the Amorites, and God causes the sun to stand still, giving his armies enough time to destroy the entire nation. Many people have a problem with that. In fact, the New Atheists often use these bouts of genocide in the Old Testament as proof against the goodness of God. But what happens in Joshua 10 is not before God’s word in Genesis 15:16. God tells Abraham in a dream that his people will be slaves in a foreign land, but he will bring them back to the Promised Land one day. That day is not yet, however, because “the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete.”

What we perceive as impatience in God is actually long-suffering of which we are unable to imagine. And here, in this parable, Jesus is reminding the Jewish leaders of God’s patience not with the wicked nations but with his chosen nation. Israel’s iniquity is not yet complete. But the finish line is approaching. The clock is running out, and in a last-minute hail-mary pass, the Father is sending the Son. Surely, they will respect him.

But, of course, the tenants do not respect the Son. Instead, they see their chance at finally attaining ownership themselves. The rebellion reaches its fever pitch as they slay not merely another messenger but the beloved son. What Jesus tells as a story is about to happen in real life in a matter of days. And Jesus knows it’s coming! Oh, the patience and grace and mercy of Christ! To stand there, telling the story of his impending death to the very ones who are to commit the murder. How great the love of God for the world!

But the love of Christ had no impact on his audience. They heard the message—it was not unclear. And instead of repenting, they listened as Jesus pronounced woes upon them. Their response was a greater desire to kill him, but they feared the crowds because they held him to be a prophet. And a prophet he was, but not merely. He was the Son.

The Parable of the Wedding Feast

22 And again Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying, 2 “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son, 3 and sent his servants to call those who were invited to the wedding feast, but they would not come. 4 Again he sent other servants, saying, ‘Tell those who are invited, “See, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding feast.” ’ 5 But they paid no attention and went off, one to his farm, another to his business, 6 while the rest seized his servants, treated them shamefully, and killed them. 7 The king was angry, and he sent his troops and destroyed those murderers and burned their city. 8 Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding feast is ready, but those invited were not worthy. 9 Go therefore to the main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find.’ 10 And those servants went out into the roads and gathered all whom they found, both bad and good. So the wedding hall was filled with guests.

11 “But when the king came in to look at the guests, he saw there a man who had no wedding garment. 12 And he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?’ And he was speechless. 13 Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot and cast him into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ 14 For many are called, but few are chosen.”

Though our Bible breaks the narrative into a new chapter, Jesus has not yet left his audience. He speaks to them again in parables, this time with the parable of the wedding feast. He’s still talking to the Jewish leaders, teaching them through this story what may happen at the end of their life if they refuse to accept his invitation.

My oldest son, Jack, was five-years-old, he attended a wonderful Christian preschool that takes the Bible seriously. At the end of the year, every five-year-old and their parents are invited to a special year-end party: the marriage supper of the lamb. The children and relatives dress in white. They gather in a room, with a throne before them, and each child, when called by name, comes and lays his or her crown at the feet of Jesus. Then, with the joy and playfulness of a child, gives Jesus a high five or fist bump. There is joy and wonder. There is singing and rejoicing. There is hope and longing. They’re invited, and as only a child could, they go with unhindered joy.

But for those who’ve grown up in the world, the sense of innocent wonder is reduced to cynical critique. Invitations are not accepted with wholehearted joy; they’re evaluated against the next best option. And here in this parable, Jesus is showing us the inevitable end of our world. It’s a great party the Father will throw for the Son. To be included in that will be, truly, the greatest honor of which anyone could ever want. But here and now, the invitation is going out. Will we accept?

As Jesus made clear in the parable of the sower, his gospel seed is spread far and wide on all kinds of soil. Even the hard path receives a showering. But the hard path is unable to accept the seed because it has hardened itself again it. The soil is ruined. These Jewish leaders are the ruined path. But that doesn’t stop Jesus from sowing.

Here in this parable, Jesus is spreading the seed, showing the kind of heart the King has. He sends out invitations to the wedding feast and those who receive it RSVP no. The king, giving them the benefit of the doubt, offers the invitation a second time, thinking perhaps there was a misunderstanding. Everything is prepared. Come!

But the guests paid no attention. They weighed the options and chose another path. This was not only rude, it was unheard of. Who would refuse an invitation into the king’s home? Dan Doriani puts it this way.

To sense the depth of this insult, imagine receiving an invitation to an intimate event hosted by the president or prime minister of the nation. This is neither a publicity stunt nor a photo opportunity, but an entire day with government leaders, including an hour with the president or prime minister himself, discussing policy. We accept the invitation and arrange to go. But when the day comes, we change our mind. It is a beautiful day for a round of golf or a long hike with a friend, so we skip the flight. Suppose that the president’s staff is tracking the flights of all his guests and learns that we are not on the appointed flight. Thinking the best, a staffer calls and says, “We see that you missed the flight. I have reserved a seat on the next flight from your airport. It is scheduled to leave in an hour, but the plane will wait for you.” If we still do not come, what must the president think? If we choose golf or a hike over a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet with the president, he must be dismayed as he concludes that we think nothing of him and scorn his office.

There is a dismay in Jesus’s tone. Why would the guests not attend the wedding feast? How are their reasons valid for ignoring such a generous offer?

On the heels of the parable of the two sons—where the word of the owner is ignored—and the parable of the tenants—where the messengers are killed—Jesus is saying to the Jewish leaders, “How can this be?” How can you who’ve been waiting for the Messiah ignore him, reject him, and refuse him when he stands before you? What else are you waiting for?

In the parable of the wedding feast, it’s not merely a refusal of the offer. Some are angry the king would invite them at all. They seize the servants and kill them. The king is, justifiably, very angry. So he sends his troops to destroy them. Is Jesus’s message not clear?

Isaiah 5 helps us understand his meaning. God has prepared a vineyard named Israel. But they have born no fruit. God asks, “What more was there to do for my vineyard, that I have not done in it? When I looked for it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild grapes? And now I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard. I will remove its hedge, and it shall be devoured; I will break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down. I will make it a waste; it shall not be pruned or hoed, and briers and thorns shall grow up; I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah are his pleasant planting; and he looked for justice, but behold, bloodshed; for righteousness, but behold, an outcry!”

Some religious people are like these Jewish leaders or this barren vineyard. They appear to be on God’s side, but when the day of the invitation comes, they refuse to accept God on his terms. No matter how gracious he is, they will not enter his presence. He is not what they expected, and in their sin, he becomes to them not only insignificant but repulsive.

But others will come, and it is to those Jesus turns to at the end of the parable. These people can’t believe the offer. “Me? To the King’s house?” But they come, even though it’s beyond their wildest dreams. This parable, then, is not that different from the parable of the two sons. The Jewish leaders won’t come, but the unworthy will.

So we are back to the beginning. What will we do with the word of God? Will we heed his word or merely pretend to? God is granting us time to decide. But the time is coming to an end. There will be a reckoning. We may think we can sneak in—go in the back door, as it were. This parable shows us that cannot be the case. Once the party begins, a man finds his way inside. But he isn’t dressed for the occasion. He’s missing the proper garment. His stay is short. He’s thrown out. He missed his chance. He was called but not chosen.

His plight is easy to understand. He missed his chance. Game over. No more coins. But the others accepted the invitation, come to the party, and wore the garment—the sign that they belonged. How did they receive it and what does it represent? Let’s work backward because it’s in the representation that we find the path to receiving.

The wedding garment can represent one of two things according to the book of Revelation. It can be the righteousness of Christ (Rev. 7:9-14) or it can be the righteous deeds of the saints (Rev. 19:8).  In other words, Revelation presents it as both. How can this be?

Think back to the parable. The invitations go out. The first group refuses to come, but the second comes. The second hear the invitation and accept. But they do more than just that. They come to the party. They change their plans. They rearrange their life. They dare to believe that they, of all people, are invited to dine with the King. They come, and in coming, they prove who they are. They’re the invited.

To be a true believer in Christ we must not only accept the invitation, but we must also come to commune with him. Our coming is the proof that the invitation has indeed come and has been accepted. In other words, the wedding garment of those at the feast is given through the righteousness of Christ, but you have to put it on, and in the putting on it becomes the righteous deeds of the saints. The garment proves that you are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that you should walk in them (Ephesians 2:10).

Salvation is by grace alone, accepted by faith alone. Jesus invites us. All we do is show up. He provides the rest: the garment, the meal, the party, the enjoyment, everything. He even provides the desire to come. But we must come. And herein lies the true message of these parables: God’s final invitation has come in Christ. Will we come to the party?

Days after Jesus died on the cross, Peter said to few other disciples, “I am going fishing.” They said, “We will go with you.” So, they boarded a boat, like they had many times before, and picked up the job they left years before. Their Lord had died, so they might as well go back to fishing. They set out to the Sea of Tiberias and caught nothing all night.

In the morning, a voice came from the shore. “Children, do you have any fish?” “No,” they replied. “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some,” the voice said. So, they did, and their net grew full. John recognized the voice. “It is the Lord!” Peter threw himself into the sea and headed for shore. Could it be?

As Peter arrived winded from his swim, he found Jesus there with a charcoal fire. Fish and bread were spread out. Breakfast was ready. He looked at Peter and said, “Come and have breakfast.” They sat down and dined with the risen Christ.

The Apostle John’s record of these events near the end of his gospel account shows us the depth of God’s forgiveness. For Peter, something more was going on than a simple meal. A story of redemption was playing itself out. There was one other time that John mentions a charcoal fire. It's when Jesus is in the court of the High Priest before his crucifixion (John 18). The servants and officers make a charcoal fire to warm themselves in the cold night. It is there before that distinctive smell where Peter denies his Lord.

Luke tells us that after the third denial, the Lord looked at Peter, and Peter went out and wept bitterly (Luke 22:61). And here is Jesus again before Peter with the smell of charcoal in the air. But, this time, there are no tears. There is no denial. There is no impending death. It is only Jesus bidding Peter, and the rest, to come and have breakfast.

Jesus and Peter had a hard conversation after that. But Jesus granted Peter forgiveness because he paid for his sins. He was now free to love him. No matter how hard the night was, Jesus was there in the morning inviting him into his presence.

Peter’s life is a testimony to the mercy of God. He’s a bold sinner. Of all the apostles, he’s the one in whom we see the dirtiest side. It is he who denies the Lord. It is he who Paul confronts in Antioch. It is he who speaks on Satan’s behalf, rebuking the Lord when he should have walked with him. And here, in Matthew 18, we have Peter asking Jesus a question. “How often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Peter is trying to see how far forgiveness must go, and in so doing shows us that even in our most generous thoughts, we cannot grasp the depth and breadth of God’s call to forgiveness. We need the Lord himself to show us.

To explain forgiveness, Jesus doesn’t just tell us a story. He tells us our story. He shows us his redemption for our sin. He breaks into our experience and does something in our heart. Then, in grace, he sends us out to show mercy to others. He forgives us, and in so doing, gives us the power to forgive others. When we do, we follow him into the hard things of the world and bring redemption. When we don’t, we prove how little of his forgiveness we understand. 

The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant - Matthew 18:21-35

21 Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” 22 Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.

23 “Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. 24 When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. 25 And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. 26 So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ 27 And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. 28 But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, ‘Pay what you owe.’ 29 So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ 30 He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt. 31 When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. 32 Then his master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. 33 And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?’ 34 And in anger his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. 35 So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.”

The Problem of Forgiveness

In Matthew 18, Jesus is teaching his disciples what life is like in the family of faith. He’s showing us how gospel doctrine creates a gospel culture. It includes some hard things because all life-giving things are hard. Among them is this act of forgiveness.

Jesus’s answer to Peter’s question is extreme. How many times should we forgive our brother who sins against us? Not seven times, but seventy-seven times. This is one of the many extreme things Jesus says in Matthew 18. He tells us to cut off our hand and gouge out our eye if it causes us to sin. We must become like children to enter the Kingdom of God. He says we will temptation will come, but those who lead others into temptation would be better off drowning in the sea. So, when he answers Peter’s question, his reply is as radical as the rest of his teaching. Apparently, we are to be radical with forgiveness toward others because God is radical with it toward us. Just as there are no limits to the actions we should take in avoiding sin, so also there should be no limits to the extent of our forgiveness of a brother.

Theoretically, forgiveness is wonderful. Realistically, it’s nearly impossible. When sin comes charging at us, harming us in ways we could have never imagined, and the sinner is there before us, unable to undo the damage, how can we grant forgiveness? Even more, how can we do it again and again and again. This parable isn’t about one-time forgiveness. It’s about life-long forgiveness. And that’s where the trouble really comes.

Peter’s question comes after Jesus instructs us how to handle those who sin against us. In other words, how to conduct church discipline. First, we are to go alone and tell him his fault. If he repents, great, you’ve gained a brother. If he doesn’t repent, take someone else, so others witness his unrepentance. If he is still unyielding, bring him before the church. Then, and only then, if he refuses to repent even before the church, you are to cast him out. Dan Doriani helps us understand what Peter is asking Jesus in light of this teaching.

The process of church discipline raises two questions. First, if it does not work, will we have the stomach to continue? Second, if it does work, are we then required to forgive the offender? When Peter asked, “How many times shall I forgive my brother?” (Matt. 18:21), he was proposing the second question. The second question has a corollary: if we forgive, must we “forget”? Must we act as if it nothing happened? We can enlarge Peter’s question in this way: “I understand that if my brother sins against me, I must confront him. I also know how to proceed if he refuses to listen. But what if the first step works, so that he listens? I presume I must forgive him. But what if he offends me repeatedly? How many times do I have to forgive? Up to seven times?” (18:21).

Do you see the problem Peter sees? If the brother does repent, that’s wonderful, but there is still the matter of forgiving him. The onus moves from him to you. Now that what you hoped has occurred, it’s your turn to do the hard heart work of forgiving. And no matter what we believe about the need for forgiveness, the act is always harder. Especially, as in Peter’s example, when the sin is repeated. Here in the parable of the unforgiving servant we have a problem: the problem of forgiveness. And inside the church, forgiveness isn’t optional. Forgiveness is required.

Radical Forgiveness

We can break the parable into three scenes. First, verses 23-27.

23 “Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. 24 When he began to settle, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents. 25 And since he could not pay, his master ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. 26 So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ 27 And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt.

The story, like all of Jesus’s parables, has an easily understandable plot. A king is trying to balance his books and, therefore, settling debts. He calls a man who owes him ten thousand talents. This man is a slave, given the fact that when he can’t repay, the king plans to sell him and his family, probably both as a punishment and to regain some of the lost money. The servant, of course, cannot pay such a large sum. So he begs for forgiveness.

It’s important here to understand how large the sum was. A talent was worth six thousand denarii. A denarius was a day’s wage for a common laborer. Therefore, the math tells us one talent was worth about twenty years’ wages. Ten thousand talents, then, would equal 200,000 years’ wages. Obviously, that’s an incredible amount of money, one this servant could not repay.

But the servant asks for time to repay the debt. How he accrued it we are not told. Regardless, we can see that his request for patience to repay is ridiculous. No one could pay such a debt. He’s at the end of his rope. He’s begging for patience, hoping that the king gives him time to make it up. But he doesn’t. The king does something far greater instead. He forgives him entirely and releases him. In this first meeting between the servant and king, the king grants radical forgiveness.

This forgiveness is meant to sound radical. Jesus is showing us the kind of grace and mercy he shows towards those who’ve racked up a massive debt against him. To understand the shock and scandal of this radical forgiveness, we need to understand the shock and scandal of what God does in forgiving our debts against him, for this is the point of the parable. We become forgiving people to the extent to which we understand God’s forgiveness of us.

You and I are sinners from birth. We can thank Adam for that fallen condition. It doesn’t take us long to prove our sin, either. As we grow, our sin begins to feel normal. It becomes a part of who we are, how we think of ourselves, what we expect from ourselves. But normalcy of sin doesn’t make sin less than it is. Sin is treason against the King. It is an offense to the God who created us. It is a serious matter. Alexander Maclaren defined sin this way. “Sin is rebellion, the uprising of the will against rightful authority - not merely the breach of abstract propriety or law, but opposition to a living Person, who has right to obedience. The definition of virtue is obedience to God, and the sin in sin is the assertion of independence of God and opposition to His will.”

Our sin is not a small matter between God and us. It is the issue that separates us. It is the problem in our life. It is the limiting factor in us attaining holiness, finding God, reaching heaven. It is the core issue of our life. And unless our sin is dealt with—unless our sin is forgiven—we can find no way around it, we cannot clean it up, we cannot undo it. We are broken. We need a Savior.

Throughout the Bible, when people find themselves before the Lord, they always find themselves soiled with sin in his presence. For example, Isaiah pronounces woes on himself (Isaiah 6:5). Before God’s holiness, we find nothing good in us. We cannot stand before him. We need a massive cleaning from God, or we will have no way to stand before him when he calls us to account. Fleming Rutledge says, “From beginning to end, the Holy Scriptures testify that the predicament of fallen humanity is so serious, so grave, so irremediable from within, that nothing short of divine intervention can rectify it.”

And divine intervention we have in Jesus Christ. What we receive in Christ’s justification on the cross is not mere forgiveness of sins. It is a restoration of the relationship. It is a setting right. On the cross, in his death, Jesus pays the penalty for our sins on our behalf. What he does, then, is bigger than forgiving our iniquity. He is paying the penalty for our sins in his perfection, trading his goodness for our evil. That great exchange grants us a right standing before God. We become as Jesus is because he became as we were.

Radical Unforgiveness

In the parable’s second scene, the servant goes from his forgiveness from the king to oppression of another servant.

28 But when that same servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii, and seizing him, he began to choke him, saying, ‘Pay what you owe.’ 29 So his fellow servant fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ 30 He refused and went and put him in prison until he should pay the debt.

We should find this repulsive. Jesus wanted us to. But more than that, he wanted us to see our own heart before God’s forgiveness. Are we just as repulsive? What do we do with the forgiveness God has granted? Do we, in turn, forgive others? Or do we still expect justice? How forgiving are we?

This parable pushes us to a deep evaluation of our own heart. We can be so unforgiving of those who sin against us. So much of our unforgiveness we’re unaware of. But like poison, it will ruin us. When we withhold forgiveness, we are saying to the world that Jesus’s grace is sufficient to clean us, but not good enough to clean others.

Are we going from Sunday service to a troubled Sunday night dinner with the family? Are we harboring unforgiveness towards someone who can never undo their sin? Are we expecting something from others that we hope no one ever expects of us? Are we willing to forgive, or do we just talk about the idea of forgiving?

Whatever we say about our view of forgiveness, what we really believe shows up in how we act toward others. We will either let them go with a smile in our heart or we will throw them in jail with bitterness in our heart. There is no such thing as moderate forgiveness. There is radical forgiveness or radical unforgiveness. Which are you? 

Judgment of Unforgiveness

In the third scene, the servant’s actions reveal his true heart to the king.

31 When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their master all that had taken place. 32 Then his master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. 33 And should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?’ 34 And in anger his master delivered him to the jailers, until he should pay all his debt. 35 So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.”

Earlier in the story, Matthew records Jesus’s words in 6:14-15, “If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” James says it this way, “Judgment by God is without mercy to those who have shown no mercy. But mercy triumphs over judgment.” (James 2:13). No matter how you slice it, the Bible makes it clear: if we are to be forgiven, we must also forgive others.

We see it here in the parable as well. The other servants witness this gross injustice and run to tell the king what they’ve seen. The king summons the servant once again, but this time mercy has run out. It’s time for judgment.

No one listening or reading this parable looks upon the king as the one in the wrong. He is just to condemn the servant for his unforgiveness. If we live our lives in unforgiveness, we alone will be surprised to stand before the King and be judged. Everyone else will see what we said we believed was only a nice thought we had, not a reality we lived.

Our Forgiveness

The entire purpose of this parable is to answer Peter’s question, “How many times should I forgive my brother who sins against me?” Jesus’s answer is, forever. This means our forgiveness must be real, from the heart, and abiding. How can we do this?

Tim Keller helps us understand.

“Most of the wrongs done to us cannot be assessed in purely economic terms. Someone may have robbed you of some happiness, reputation, opportunity, or certain aspects of your freedom. No price tag can be put on such things, yet we still have a sense of violated justice that does not go away when the other person says, “I’m really sorry.” When we are seriously wronged we have an indelible sense that the perpetrators have incurred a debt that must be dealt with. Once you have been wronged and you realize there is a just debt that can’t simply be dismissed— there are only two things to do.

The first option is to seek ways to make the perpetrators suffer for what they have done. You can withhold relationship and actively initiate or passively wish for some kind of pain in their lives commensurate to what you experienced. There are many ways to do this. You can viciously confront them, saying things that hurt. You can go around to others to tarnish their reputation. If the perpetrators suffer, you may begin to feel a certain satisfaction, feeling that they are now paying off their debt.

There are some serious problems with this option, however. You may become harder and colder, more self-pitying, and therefore more self-absorbed. If the wrongdoer was a person of wealth or authority you may instinctively dislike and resist that sort of person for the rest of your life. If it was a person of the opposite sex or another race you might become permanently cynical and prejudiced against whole classes of people. In addition, the perpetrator and his friends and family often feel they have the right to respond to your payback in kind. Cycles of reaction and retaliation can go on for years. Evil has been done to you— yes. But when you try to get payment through revenge the evil does not disappear. Instead it spreads, and it spreads most tragically of all into you and your own character.

There is another option, however. You can forgive. Forgiveness means refusing to make them pay for what they did. However, to refrain from lashing out at someone when you want to do so with all your being is agony. It is a form of suffering. You not only suffer the original loss of happiness, reputation, and opportunity, but now you forgo the consolation of inflicting the same on them. You are absorbing the debt, taking the cost of it completely on yourself instead of taking it out of the other person. It hurts terribly. Many people would say it feels like a kind of death.

Yes, but it is a death that leads to resurrection instead of the lifelong living death of bitterness and cynicism. As a pastor I have counseled many people about forgiveness, and I have found that if they do this— if they simply refuse to take vengeance on the wrongdoer in action and even in their inner fantasies— the anger slowly begins to subside. You are not giving it any fuel and so the resentment burns lower and lower. C. S. Lewis wrote in one of his Letters to Malcolm that “last week, while at prayer, I suddenly discovered— or felt as if I did— that I had really forgiven someone I had been trying to forgive for over thirty years. Trying, and praying that I might.” 1 I remember once counseling a sixteen-year-old girl about the anger she felt toward her father. We weren’t getting anywhere until I said to her, “Your father has defeated you, as long as you hate him. You will stay trapped in your anger unless you forgive him thoroughly from the heart and begin to love him.” Something thawed in her when she realized that. She went through the suffering of costly forgiveness, which at first always feels far worse than bitterness, into eventual freedom. Forgiveness must be granted before it can be felt, but it does come eventually. It leads to a new peace, a resurrection. It is the only way to stop the spread of the evil.

When I counsel forgiveness to people who have been harmed, they often ask about the wrongdoers, “Shouldn’t they be held accountable?” I usually respond, “Yes, but only if you forgive them.” There are many good reasons that we should want to confront wrongdoers. Wrongdoers have inflicted damage and, as in the example of the gate I presented earlier, it costs something to fix the damage. We should confront wrongdoers— to wake them up to their real character, to move them to repair their relationships, or to at least constrain them and protect others from being harmed by them in the future. Notice, however, that all those reasons for confrontation are reasons of love. The best way to love them and the other potential victims around them is to confront them in the hope that they will repent, change, and make things right.

The desire for vengeance, however, is motivated not by goodwill but by ill will. You may say, “I just want to hold them accountable,” but your real motivation may be simply to see them hurt. If you are not confronting them for their sake or for society’s sake but for your own sake, just for payback, the chance of the wrongdoer ever coming to repentance is virtually nil. In such a case you, the confronter, will overreach, seeking not justice but revenge, not their change but their pain. Your demands will be excessive and your attitude abusive. He or she will rightly see the confrontation as intended simply to cause hurt. A cycle of retaliation will begin.

Only if you first seek inner forgiveness will your confrontation be temperate, wise, and gracious. Only when you have lost the need to see the other person hurt will you have any chance of actually bringing about change, reconciliation, and healing. You have to submit to the costly suffering and death of forgiveness if there is going to be any resurrection.”