“Prince of Peace” (2025 Christmas Eve Message)

*Madonna of the Meadow, Giovanni Bellini (1505)

2025: Year in Review
Almost every December, major magazines and news organizations publish a “Year in Review.” The Associated Press just has done that for 2025. It begins this way[1]: from battlefronts in Ukraine to the destruction in Gaza, from political upheaval to extreme weather. Wildfires, floods, earthquakes, and hurricanes left deep scars across many communities. Yes, there were moments of resilience and hope, but the dominant headlines are clear: war and conflict, political division, violence and fear, economic anxiety, and climate disasters. In other words, the biggest news of the year tells us one thing: the world is still longing for peace. We want peace. We talk about peace. We march for peace. We negotiate for peace. And yet, the gap between our longing and our reality remains painfully wide.

Peace Promised (Isaiah 9:2-7)
About 2,700 years ago, when peace was promised through the prophet Isaiah, Israel was living in dark times both within and without. Externally, the nation was under threat from powerful neighboring empires. Assyria was rising. War could break out at any moment. The people were anxious and afraid. Internally, things were not well either. Leaders were corrupt. Faith was shallow. Justice was weak. Many felt hopeless and powerless. They wondered if God had forgotten them. It sounds familiar. There is a clear parallel between the world Israel lived in and the world we live in today. We, too, feel uncertain and anxious in a world that feels too big to fix.

Into that darkness, and at the most unlikely time, God promised “peace.” God did not promise a new army, a stronger king, or a better system. God promised a child. A baby. “For a child is born to us, a son is given to us… and his name shall be: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” God’s way of bringing peace begins not with power, but with presence. Not with force, but with a person – Jesus, the Prince of Peace. And What God promised, God fulfilled.

Peace Came (Luke 2:8-14)
When the time had fully come, Jesus came to us. He was born in Bethlehem – in a particular time, in a particular place. Peace entered the world quietly, humbly, personally. The angels announced peace to ordinary people – to lowly shepherds: “Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy for all the people! Today, your Savior, the Lord Messiah, was born in the town of David.” Suddenly, a great choir of angels filled the sky, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in heaven, and peace on earth!” Peace is not the absence of trouble, but the presence of Christ, the Prince of Peace. The shepherds’ circumstances did not change, but their hearts did. After encountering Christ, they returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen (Luke 2:20). Peace entered their lives quietly and personally.

Giovanni Bellini captures this truth beautifully in his painting Madonna of the Meadow. Mary holds the Christ child at the center of everyday life. Around her, life goes on. A farmer works hard in the field. Another rests, weary. Nearby, a bird struggles with a snake, showing how life can feel like a constant battle. Above them, a dark crow sits on a bare tree, reminding us that sorrow and death are never far away. The trouble remains. The life is still hard. Work and weariness. Joy and pain. Life and death existing side by side. And yet, at the center, the baby sleeps in peace. This shows us something important: Peace does not mean our problems disappear. Peace means Jesus is with us. When Christ is at the center of our lives, even in hard and tiring days, we can have real peace. And that peace would one day be secured, not in a cradle, but on a cross.

Peace Accomplished (Ephesians 2:14-18)
After about 33 years later, Mary once again held Jesus on her lap – this time, taken down from the cross. Michelangelo’s Pietà shows us how Jesus secured peace for us. Ephesians 2 tells the story this way:

“He tore down the wall we used to keep each other at a distance… Christ brought us together through his death on the Cross… He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near.” (cf. vv. 14–18)

One philosopher described humanity’s natural state as, “the war of all against all.” The Bible’s view is not very different. When sin entered the world, it brought sickness, brokenness, sorrow, hostility, and death. We became at odds with God, with others, and even with ourselves. This became our default condition. We have tried to achieve peace, but we could not. So Jesus did for us what we could not do for ourselves. On the cross, by his blood, he made peace with God and peace with one another. “It is finished,” Jesus said. Peace accomplished.

Peace Possible (Philippians 4:4-7)
Because peace is accomplished, it can now be experienced. Peace is not something we achieve; it is something we receive as God’s gift, because of the finished work of Christ.

The life of Horatio Spafford shows us that real peace is possible, even in the worst storms. He was a faithful Christian and a successful lawyer in Chicago. His life was full—family, work, and blessing. Then everything collapsed. His young son died. Soon after, the Great Chicago Fire destroyed nearly everything he owned. Hoping for healing, he sent his wife and four daughters on a ship to Europe, planning to join them later. Days later, a telegram arrived with two devastating words: “Saved alone.” The ship had sunk. All four daughters were gone. As Horatio crossed the same sea to meet his grieving wife, he prayed and wept. And there, in the deepest sorrow, God gave him a peace beyond words. Out of that moment came the hymn we still sing: “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll… it is well, it is well with my soul.” Peace did not come because the pain was gone. Peace came because Christ was present.

This is the peace the gospel offers us. Not a pain-free life, but a guarded heart. Not answers to every “why,” but a faithful God who abides with us. Scripture tells us how we receive this peace: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” We come humbly. We turn back to God. We pour out our hearts before Him. We ask, we trust, we give thanks, even through tears. “And the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Peace was promised. Peace came. Peace was accomplished. And tonight, peace is possible. The peace of Christ be with you. Amen.

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[1] “2025: Year in Review,” The Associated Press (Dec 16, 2025), https://vimeo.com/1147278858?fl=pl&fe=cm

“Mighty God, Everlasting Father” (Isaiah 9:6; Romans 8:15-18)

 

Awe
The person of our Lord Jesus Christ is deep and wide. He is rich and complex. As followers of Christ, each time we mediate on God’s Word, we see wonderful things in it, and we discover that Christ becomes a little bigger and a little greater to us. It reminds me of Lucy’s experience with Aslan (the Christ figure) in C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, as she gazes once again into his large and wise face.

"Welcome, child,” Aslan said.
“Aslan,” said Lucy, “you’re bigger.”
“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.
“Not because you are?”
“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”[1]

My prayer is that as we mediate on the names of Jesus this Christmas season, we may find Christ bigger and greater, standing in awe of him and trusting him more.

Mighty God
Through the lips of the prophet Isaiah, the identity of Christ is revealed. “His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Last week we reflected on Jesus as our Wonderful Counselor. Today, we meet Jesus as Mighty God and Everlasting Father.

Jesus is Mighty God. The Bible testifies clearly to this truth. He turned water into wine. He healed a man who had been an invalid for 38 years. He fed the five thousand. He walked on water. He raised Lazarus from the dead. And in our own lives, we experience his might as well. We have been saved. Marriages are restored. Churches are healed. All by the mighty work of Jesus.

Yet, most often, Jesus’ might does not appear in mighty or dramatic ways. It reveals itself through weakness, humility, and mercy. The Norwegian artist Edvard Munch captures this beautifully in his painting The Sick Child. Munch lost his older sister Sophie to tuberculosis when she was only 15 years old. He returned again and again to this painful memory in his art. In the painting, Sophie is on her deathbed, suffering from pain, propped by a large while pillow. She gazes towards a curtain, likely a symbol of death. And yet, for some reason, her face is peaceful, almost radiant. Why?

When we look carefully, we notice an older woman holding Sophie’s hand. We sense her desperation, her helplessness, and her deep love. This painting reminds us of Shusaku Endo’s novel The Shore of the Dead Sea. In this story, Jesus does not appear as the Mighty God. He appears as an ordinary man. People come to him asking for miracles, but he does not have the power to perform them. Instead, he stays close to the sick and the abandoned. He grieves with them. He spends the night beside them, keeping watch in compassion.

When Jesus was crucified, people shouted, “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross. And we will believe.” They mocked him, saying, “He saved others, but he cannot save himself.” On the cross, Jesus performed no miracle. And yet, it was the greatest and most powerful miracle of all – the miracle of love. He didn’t come down from the cross. Instead, he humbled himself, he emptied himself, he died a criminal’s death on the cross. He became sin for us, so that we might become his righteousness. Jesus, the Mighty God, died once to break the power of sin, but now he lives forever!

Everlasting Father
That leads to his next name – Everlasting Father. Jesus is everlasting – “who is, and who was, and who is to come.” (Revelation 1:8) And Jesus is Father. Here we shouldn’t be confused. Jesus is not God the Father. Though God is one, God exists as three distinct persons – Father, Son, Holy Spirit. So in what sense is Jesus a Father? We sometimes call George Washington is the father of the country. In that sense, Jesus is a father – the head and source of God’s kingdom.

Adam was the father of humanity, but he failed. In Adam we all died. But Jesus, the second Adam, prevailed. He succeeded where Adam failed, and he became the Father of a new humanity. In Christ, we are made alive. Paul tells us in Romans 8:15, “You have received adoption to sonship… crying out, ‘Abba, Father.’” Here the Greek word for “adoption to sonship” is a legal term, huiothesia (υἱοθεσία). In Roman culture, when a wealthy man had no heir, he would adopt an adult male and grant him full rights, full status, and full inheritance. At first, “sonship” may sound exclusive or gender-insensitive. But in fact, it’s radically inclusive. A Christian sister once shared that she grew up in a deeply patriarchal culture. Her family had one son and several daughters. As a daughter, she was always treated as a second-class citizen. But when she read Romans 8, she was stunned. In God’s family, there are no second-class children.

We are all sons. We are all heirs. In other words, because of what Christ has done for us, we receive the same inheritance Jesus received - his glory and even his suffering. But Scripture reminds us that our present suffering is nothing compared to our future glory. Imagine two men given the exact same job. They must work 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, doing a boring, repetitive job, with no vacation. At the end, the first man will receive $10,000. The second man knows he will receive $10 billion. Within a week, the first man would say, “I can’t take this anymore. I quit!” But the second man would endure every hardship so willingly, because he knows what’s coming. That is the difference between present suffering and future glory. And all of this is possible because of Jesus Christ – our leader, our shepherd, our Everlasting Father.

Living Sacrifice
So what is our proper response? The conclusion of Romans is clear and strong:

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Romans 12:1, NRSV).

Let me offer one illustration. Eric Liddell, the famous Olympic runner, was expected to win the gold medal in the 100 meters. But when he learned that the race was scheduled on Sunday, he chose not to run. His competitor, Harold Abrahams, who went on to win the gold, said something striking: “I must justify my whole existence in ten seconds.” Even after winning, his heart was not at rest.

Eric Liddell lived by a different conviction. He once said to his sister, “When I run, I feel God’s pleasure.” Eric presented his body—his whole being—as a living sacrifice. He used his athletic gifts not to prove himself, but to honor God and to share Christ’s love with others.

Today, we celebrate Consecration Sunday. This is much more than just a financial stewardship campaign. It is a moment to ask a deeper question: What gifts will we bring? Not only our money, but our bodies. Not only our abilities, but our availability. Not just our strength, but even our weakness. And most of all, our very lives.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small.
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all. 

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[1] C. S. Lewis, Prince Caspian (London, Collins, n.d.), 124. quoted in Hughes, R. Kent. John: That You May Believe (Crossway), 483.

“Wonderful Counselor” (Isaiah 9:6; Hebrews 3:7-13)

What Is Your Name?
My Korean name is “SeungRi” which means “victory.” My sister’s name is “Jilee,” meaning “truth.” When they named us, their prayer was simple and bold: “May truth prevail.”

Names carry meaning. A name sums up a person’s character. It declares who the person is. So when the Messiah’s birth was foretold, his identity was revealed through his name: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Starting today, and throughout Advent, we will explore who Jesus is through these names.

Wonderful Counselor
Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor. In Isaiah 9:6 the closest meaning of this phrase “wonderful counselor” is supernatural heart-changer. What does that mean? Hebrews 3 gives us insight. In verse 13, the writer exhorts, “Encourage each other daily.” Here, the word translated “encourage” is from the Greek word, παρακαλέω (parakaleō). As Tim Keller points out, the closest New Testament concept of parakaleo is “counseling” – not casual encouragement, but deep, ongoing, heart-shaping counsel. “Counsel each other daily,” he says.

Have you ever felt, “Why do I change so slowly?” Have you ever felt discouraged by your chronic struggles or long-standing hangups? Dr. Martin Llyod-Jones gives a powerful illustration. Imagine a city held captive under a cruel king for generations. A new, good king comes and sets the people free. Their legal status changes instantly—they are free. But they continue to live like slaves. They still fear the old captors. They still respond to the old voices. Their status changed, but their mindset did not. What is the cure for this? They must be reminded again and again who they are now.

In the same way, God set Israel free from Egypt with his mighty acts. But in the wildness, Israel had to learn how to live as free people – God’s people. Their legal status was “set free,” but their hearts still operated like slaves. So God gave them a new way of life, the Ten Commandments. And God led them daily by the pillar of cloud and fire. Daily they needed God’s counseling. Daily they needed to be reminded who they are.

The Bible says our spiritual life is a journey through the wilderness. And just like Israel, we need daily counseling and daily guidance. Because in the wilderness of life, filled with its challenges and temptations, our hearts so easily become hardened, dry, cynical, bitter, even rebellious. We desperately need the Wonderful Counselor, the supernature heart-changer.

To Martha, To Mary
Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor. One of the clearest pictures of this is in John 11, at the funeral of Lazarus. When Jesus arrived, he was greeted by Lazarus’ sisters – first by Martha, then by Mary. Both sisters said the exact same words to him: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” (vv. 21, 32) Martha said it. Mary said it. The words were identical. The grief was the same. The loss was the same. But Jesus responded to each of them so differently, because he knew what their hearts and knew their deepest needs. To Martha, Jesus challenged her faith and declared truth. “I am the resurrection and the life.” He spoke firmly. He strengthened her. He pulled her out of despair and called her into hope. He gave her the ministry of truth. To Mary, Jesus said nothing. He simply wept. He entered her sorrow. He let her grief draw him into tears. He gave her the ministry of presence.

Some of us, by nature, are “truth-tellers.” We see problems, analyze them, and explain solutions. But truth without tenderness often feels harsh or cold. People shut down. They don’t’ feel heard. Some of us are “weeper.” We feel deeply with those who are hurting. We sit with them. We comfort. But without truth, without guidance, people may not grow. Pain is shared, but little healing or growth happens.

We need both – truth and compassion, challenge and comfort. Every parent knows this. If we only speak truth to our children, we become judgmental and harsh, and they grow angry or distant. But if we only sympathize and never correct, they become undisciplined and lost. We need both truth and love. Jesus, our Wonderful Counselor, embodies both perfectly.

Truth and Love
One of the best examples we see in the Bible is the story of the woman caught in adultery in John 8. The Pharisees wanted to stone her. Jesus said to them, “The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone.” (John 8:7 MSG) One by one, they all left. Then, Jesus turned to her and said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” (v. 11)

Notice the order. If Jesus held only to truth, he would say: “Stop sinning, then I won’t condemn you.” If he held only to compassion, he would say: “No one’s perfect. You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” But he does neither. He says, “I don’t condemn you. Now go and sin no more.”

She was guilty, but he did not condemn her. How is that possible? Because He was going to take the condemnation. It is as if he says to her: “Sister, you are not being stoned today because I will be. I will take the stones, I will take the nails, I will take the crown of thorns. I will take what you deserve, so you can receive what I deserve.” On the cross, Jesus paid the price for our sin. He upheld God’s justice – truth. And on the cross, he extended God’s mercy – love. On the cross, perfect truth and perfect compassion were perfectly intermingled. This is why Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor.

Master Plan
Our life truly is a journey through the wilderness – a desert that cannot sustain the soul. Without the daily ministry of Jesus – his truth and his compassion – our hearts will slowly and surely harden. But when we receive his daily counseling, he restores us, strengthens us, transforms us.

As I close, I want to share C. S. Lewis’ beautiful illustration:

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; … but presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably … The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of… you thought you were being made into a decent little cottage; but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”

This is God’s master plan for us in Christ. His goal is not merely our happiness, but our holiness. Not simply to improve us here and there, patch a leak, fix a crack, but to transform us into the likeness of Christ.

So come to Jesus and receive his counseling daily. Let him speak truth into your confusion. Let him pour compassion into your sorrow. Let him be your Wonderful Counselor – your supernatural heart-changer. And then, by his grace and truth, let us become his voice to one another – counseling, encouraging, and guiding one another – so that together we may arrive the Promised Land safe and sound. Amen.

“True Generosity” (Luke 10:25-37)

*Jacopo Bassano, The Good Samaritan (1563)

One Story
Paul writes in 2 Timothy 3:15-16, “The Holy Scriptures are able to give you the wisdom you need for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training us to live God’s way.” In other words, every story, every theme, every book in the Bible ultimately points to Jesus. When we read the story of the Good Samaritan through that lens, it becomes more than a moral lesson. It becomes a window into the gospel. This story helps to answer three questions: “Who am I?” “Who is Jesus?” “So what should we do?”

Who Is My Neighbor?
One day a law expert stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s the biggest question in any religion. It reveals what we believe about salvation. Jesus didn’t say, “Believe in me, and you will be saved.” Instead, he asked, “What does the law of Moses say? How do you read it?” Jesus does this because he wanted to expose the true nature of faith – what it really means to trust him. The man answered correctly, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind. And love your neighbor as yourself.” That’s perfect love. “Right!” Jesus said. “Do this and you will live!” And the man replied, “Who is my neighbor?”

Who Am I?
In today’s scripture, verse 29 is the key to the whole story. It reveals the heart of the lawyer and sets the stage for Jesus’ parable. Verse 29 goes like this: “But he (the lawyer) wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” (NIV) Here, what does “justify” (δικαιῶσαι: dikaiōsai) mean? It means to make himself look right. It means to prove he was already doing enough. It means to avoid confronting his own heart.

Jesus said to him: “Do this and you will live.” The lawyer knew the command: Love God, Love Neighbor. But he also knew, deep in his heart, he couldn’t meet this standard faithfully. Instead of admitting weakness or humbly asking for help, the lawyer tried to shrink the command. So he asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Meaning, “Surely not everyone.” “Surely there are limits.” “Give me a small circle so I can say, ‘I’m doing fine. I’m doing enough.’” This is human nature. The law expert is you and me.

The very first step toward eternal life is realizing we cannot save ourselves. There is a Gallup study showing that 90% of people believe they love others more than the average person. Everyone thinks they’re above average—especially in love. The lawyer thought the same: “I’m a good person. I love well.” But Jesus asks, “Do you love God with your whole being? Do you love your neighbor as yourself? Do you love your enemy like the Samaritan did?” We cannot.

Perhaps you remember the story of the young ruler. He came and asked Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said, “You know the commandments. Keep them and you will live.” The man replied confidently, “I have kept all since my youth.” He thought he was doing enough. Jesus replied, “Then sell all your possessions, give to the poor, and follow me.” Jesus wasn’t being harsh. He was showing how inadequate he was and inviting him to grace.

In 1741, in Middlebury, Connecticut, there was a man named Nathan Cole. He was a farmer, and he thought he was a Christian, because he was a descent, moral man. And one day, in 1741, George Whitfield, a great gospel preacher, came to his town to preach the gospel. Nathan Cole heard him preach, he was struck to the core. His testimony ends like this: "Whitefield’s preaching gave me a heart wound, and by God's grace, my old foundation was broken up, and I saw that my righteousness could not save me."[1] The Bible says, “All our righteous acts are like filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6). Knowing who I am is the first step.

Who Is Jesus?
The second step is knowing who Jesus is. Luke 10 shows us Jesus is the true and better Samaritan. In the parable, the wounded man is “half-dead.” But the Bible says we were spiritually dead because of our sins (Ephesians 2:1). The Samaritan risks his own safety to help the wounded. Jesus empties himself, enters our world, and comes for us. That’s incarnation. The Samaritan treats the man’s wounds with oil and wine. Jesus binds our wounds with his own wounds. By his wounds, we are healed. He bears our sins. That’s atonement. The Samaritan finds a temporary place for recovery. Jesus brings us to his Father’s house – eternal home, eternal life. That’s salvation.

The parable ends with “Go and do likewise.” The conclusion of this story is not about trying harder to be more like the Good Samaritan. The point of the parable is without new hearts, we cannot. We cannot become true Samaritans until we first receive the True Samaritan. Loved by Him, we love others. Jesus is the true and better Samaritan.

In Philippians 2:5-11[2] the Apostle Paul paints who Jesus is so beautifully:

He was in the form of God,
yet He did not cling to His glory.
He emptied Himself and became human. (Incarnation)
He humbled Himself even to death on a cross. (Atonement)
Therefore God exalted Him above every name. (Exaltation)
Every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

So What?
1. I am the lawyer (self-righteous, self-sufficient). I am also the wounded man (helpless, powerless, unable to save myself)
2. Jesus is the true and better Samaritan. He came for me. He took my place. He healed me and gave me new life.
3. So what should I do? What should we do?

Earlier this month, while attending a conference in St. Louis, I visited the Gateway Arch. It rises 630 feet into the air, with a foundation 60 feet deep. It’s built to withstand strong winds, able to sway almost 18 inches. From a distance, it was impressive. I walked around it, front and back, left and right, trying to capture the perfect picture. But none of the angles were quite right. Not until I stood right beneath one of the legs. Not until I looked up. Not until I knelt. That was the moment the Arch took my breath away.

There is an old story about a sculptor who carved a statue of Christ. People came from far and wide to admire it. They circled it again and again, trying to find the best angle—this way, then that way—but something was always missing. Finally, they asked the sculptor, “How do we see the statue as you intended?” The sculptor said, “There is only one angle where you can truly see him. You must kneel.”[3]

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[1] Tim Keller, “The Good Samaritan On Love,” (August 2, 2008)

[2] Some scholars suggest that Paul may be drawing from an early church doctrinal hymn.

[3] John Stott, The Incomparable Christ (p. 236). InterVarsity Press. Kindle Edition.

“Shepherd Is Enough” (Ps 23; John 10) - Enough III -

 

*Francisco de Zurbarán, The Crucified Christ with a Painter (1650) 

Ten Characteristics of Sheep
In his book The Way of the Shepherd, Kevin Leman describes ten characteristics of sheep. First, sheep have poor eyesight. A shepherd often bells the leading sheep so the rest of the flock can follow. Second, sheep are not very smart. They really know how to do one thing – eat grass. Third, sheep easily fall. Fourth, sheep are easily “cast” – flipped over on their backs. Fifth, when they are cast, sheep cannot get up on their own. They will die unless the shepherd lifts them. Sixth, sheep are selfish and stubborn. Seventh, sheep have no sense of direction. Eighth, sheep go back the way they had come. Ninth, sheep are defenseless and vulnerable. They can only run. Tenth, sheep become silent when facing death. In short, sheep are helpless. They cannot survive without a shepherd.

The Lord Is My Shepherd
I don’t know about you, but for me, I see myself in these sheep. David opens Psalm 23 this way: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” (v. 1) We confess the same. But many of us do not feel content. We feel anxious. We feel empty. Why is that? Because contentment does not happen by accident. Contentment must be cultivated. God is always with us. But we often don’t sense his presence. That awareness – like contentment – must be practiced and nurtured.

David continues, “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadth me beside the still waters.” (v. 2) When we hear the phrase “green pastures and still waters,” we picture the Promised Land – a land flowing with milk and honey. But the actual landscape of Canaan looks barren and dry.

In Deuteronomy 11, Moses compares Egypt and Canaan. Egypt is fertile, predictable, safe. It has the Nile, yearly floods, rich soil. From a human point of view, Egypt is the real land flowing with milk and honey. Canaan, on the other hand, depends entirely on rain – on God. It is vulnerable. It is unpredictable. It requires trust. So why does Scripture call Canaan “a land flowing with milk and honey”? Moses tells us: “The land the Lord your God cares for. His eyes are always upon it.” (v. 12) Canaan is blessed not because of its climate but because of its God. It is the place where life becomes fruitful, only when we walk with the Shepherd. So, in the wilderness, between Egypt and Canaan, Israel had to learn to trust and follow the Shepherd – to gather manna daily, to move with the cloud and fire. Only when the Lord is my Shepherd, do we find true contentment in him.

In the Death Valley
There is a time for everything – a time to stand on the mountain top, and a time to walk through the valley. Years ago, Joyce and I traveled through Death Valley. We became lost at night. The GPS stopped working. The car was struggling. Abe was an infant, crying the whole time. We felt lost, tired, and small. We were literally in Death Valley.

Life often feels like that. We face pressures from all sides with no clear way out. David knew that feeling well. At his lowest, he prayed, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” (v. 4) If we fold Psalm 23 in Hebrew directly in half, we find the center phrase: “For you are with me.” Immanuel. God is with us. Not the absence of danger, but the presence of the Shepherd.

Death Valley can be a time of grief, a medical diagnosis, a crisis of faith, a depression that will not lift. Martin Luther battled deep depression. Charles Spurgeon, perhaps the greatest preacher in history, lived with chronic depression for most of his life. Yet both finished strong, not because they were strong, but because God was with them.

Hesed
David continues, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” (v. 6a) The word “mercy” here is hesed – one of the richest words in the Hebrew Bible. Hesed means covenantal love – love with a sacrifice, commitment, vow attached. It is the love Ruth showed Naomi: “Wherever you go, I will go” It is the love David showed Mephibosheth, welcoming him to eat at the king’s table for life, for Jonathan’s sake.

The greatest expression of hesed appears in John 10, where Jesus says four times, “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” Our safety is not in our weak grip on him, but his strong hold on us. His covenantal love pursues us all the days of our lives.

Agnus Dei
Christ’s love is Hesed love. He came not only to be with us, but to take our place. Though Jesus is the Shepherd, he became one of us. He became the Lamb of God. “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29) Francisco Zurbarán captures this in Agnus Dei. The lamb lies bound upon the altar – silent, willing, prepared to die. The painting is both beautiful and haunting. Peter puts it this way:

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.” (1 Peter 2:24-25)

Zurbarán himself lived in the shadow of the famous painter Velázquez. His work later fell out of favor because of religious and political climate changes. He died poor and forgotten. Yet his final painting was Crucified Christ (c. 1660). He had painted the crucified Christ many times, but in this last one, he placed himself at the foot of the cross, standing in awe, whispering with faith: “Jesus is the Lamb of God. And he is my Shepherd.”

The Shepherd Is Enough
At a Christian Conference a Chinese pastor shared his testimony after spending 18 years in prison for his faith. The guards gave him the worst duty – emptying the human waste cesspool, because they knew he was a pastor. But they didn’t know in those years how he actually enjoyed working there. It was the only place he could be alone. The guards refused to come near because of the smell. There he could pray and sing to the Lord as loudly as he needed. His favorite hymn was “In the Garden.” He always loved this hymn, but in the cesspool he learned its true meaning.

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear falling on my ear;
The Son of God discloses.

And he walks with me, and he talks with me,
And he tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

The pastor said, “Again and again as I sang this hymn in the cesspool, I experienced the Lord’s presence. He never left me or forsook me. And so I survived and the cesspool became my private garden.”[1]

Are you going through a dark valley? Are you afraid? Do you feel alone or forgotten? Remember this truth: The Shepherd is with us. The Shepherd laid down his life for us. He was abandoned on the cross, so that we would never be abandoned. The Shepherd’s Hesed – his covenantal love – pursues us today, tomorrow, and forever. Let us come to the cross and place ourselves in the scene. Let us stand in awe and whisper, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” Our Shepherd is enough.

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[1] Gordon MacDonald, The Life God Blesses: Weathering the Storms of Life That Threaten the Soul (Thomas Nelson, 1997), 226.

“Manna Is Enough” (Numbers 11:4-9) – Enough II -

*Photo: Fra Angelico’s The Mocking of Christ (1440-42)

“How Much Land Does a Man Need?”
Leo Tolstoy wrote a short story called, “How much land does a man need?” It’s about a peasant named Pahom. At first, Pahom is a content, hardworking man. But one day, he makes a mistake that many of us make. He starts thinking that more land will make life better. So he buys more land. Then he hears an even better deal. A landowner promises to give him all the land he can walk around in a day for a very cheap price. But there is one condition: he must return to his starting point before sunset. Pahom is thrilled. He believes he can cover a great distance. He walks and walks, marking out more and more land. But as the sun begins to set, he realizes that he’s too far away. Desperate, he runs back toward the starting point as fast as he can. He finally reaches it just as the sun sets. People cheer his great fortune, but Pahom collapses and dies on the spot. His servant buries him in a grave only six feet long. And that grave gives the final answer to the question, “How much land does a man need?” Just six feet.

Manna
When the Israelites journeyed through the wilderness, God provided them with manna every single day. The Bible says manna looked like small coriander seed, and its color was like resin. Each morning it came down like thin flakes on the desert surface. The people would roam around and collect it. They would boil it in pots or make cakes out of it. And it tasted like buttered cakes. Somehow this simple, mysterious food had all nutrition they needed for the journey. In Deuteronomy 8:4 Moses reminded them, “Your clothes did not wear out and your feet did not swell during these forty years.” No vitamin deficiency, no lack of strength.

Manna was enough. But the people said, “Manna is not enough.” They complained, “Oh, how we remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for free! And the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic! But now our strength is dried up (because of this manna!). There is nothing but this manna!” (Num 11:5-6) Later, they even said, “We detest this miserable food!” (21:5) They despised the very bread that kept them alive. But the truth is, manna was enough. Manna was their bread of life.

Bread of Heaven
In John 6, after Jesus fed the five thousand, the people followed him eagerly. But Jesus saw their hearts and said, “You are looking for me not because you saw the signs (not because you saw God in my actions) but because I fed you, filled your stomachs (cf. John 6:16 MSG). They asked for more, “Show us another sign that we can see and believe you! What will you do for us?” They continued, “Our ancestors ate manna in the wilderness – the bread from heaven.” Jesus replied, “I AM the bread from heaven. In fact, I am the better and true manna. Your ancestors ate manna in the wilderness and died. But whoever believes in me will never go hungry, never die, but will have eternal life.” They grumbled, “We know who you are – you are Joseph’s son. Who do you think you are?” But Jesus replied, “I am the true manna. My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks blood has eternal life.” After this, many of them were deeply offended, saying, “This message is hard. Who can hear it?” They despised Jesus and rejected him.

The Mocking of Christ
Fra Angelico’s painting, The Mocking of Christ, captures this moment in a haunting way. In his painting, Jesus is blindfolded. He cannot see the ones who strike or spit. Angelico invites us to see this scene from Christ’s perspective. We, the viewers, can only see hands that hit and faces that spit as Jesus did.

So who mocked Jesus? Who killed Jesus? We might say it was the “Roman soldiers,” or “Pontius Pilate,” or “Judas Iscariot,” or the “Jewish leaders.” But by leaving out the specific mockers in this painting, perhaps, the artist is inviting us to ask a deeper question: “Were you there?” In Matthew 23, Jesus said to the religious leaders, “You build tombs and memorials for prophets, saying, ‘If we had lived in our ancestors’ days, we wouldn’t have joined them in killing the prophets.’ But you are doing exactly same things.” (cf. Matt 23:29-32) The truth is, the religious leaders are us.

After World War II, Adolf Eichmann, one of the key organizers of the Holocaust, was finally captured and put on trial in Jerusalem. The world watched closely. Millions expected to see a monster – someone with a cruel face, maybe a voice filled with hatred. But when Eichmann walked into the courtroom, people were shocked. He looked so… ordinary. A quiet man in a suit. Calm. Polite. Even respectful. He didn’t look like the face of evil. He looked like a clerk, a teacher, a neighbor. When asked how he could take part in such evil, his defense was simple. He said, “I was just following orders.”

Philosopher Hannah Arendt, who witnessed the trial, called it “the banality of evil.” She meant this: that great evil is often done by very ordinary people, who simply do what everyone else does without thinking. That is the hard truth about sin. When we read the story of the crucifixion, we tend to think, “If I were there, I’d be different.” But would we? It wasn’t just the Romans. It wasn’t just the religious leaders. It was the crowd, “ordinary people,” shouting, “Crucify Him!” The truth is, that crowd still lives in us. The face that spits could be mine. The hand that strikes could be yours.

Is Manna Enough?
But here’s the good news. When we despised Jesus, he forgave us, saying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” When we rejected him, he carried our sin and its consequence – our separation from God, saying, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” At the cross, Jesus took our sin, our rebellion, our conformity to this world. And in exchange, he gave us his righteousness. That love melts our hearts. That love compels our souls. That love becomes our true manna.

As Corie Ten Boom said, when we look around, we get hopeless. When we look within, we become depressed. But when we loot at Jesus, we find rest. God’s way of salvation is always and still Jesus. His body was broken. His blood was shed.

Back to Angelico’s painting. Mother Mary and Saint Dominic appear sorrowful yet peaceful. They invite us to join them in meditation and worship, saying, “Were you there? Then, turn from your ways. Come, let us adore him!” So come, let us repent and turn to God. Let us come and eat this bread day by day. Let us meditate on his suffering, remember his death, adore him and savor him day by day. And we will find our souls satisfied in him. Jesus is the one and only true substance for our journey. Jesus is enough.

Lord, you are more precious than silver.

Lord, you are more costly than gold.

Lord, you are more beautiful than diamond.

And nothing I desire compares with you.

“Grace Is Enough” (Ecclesiastes 1:12-18) - Enough I -

 

*Edilberto Merida, Peru, Jesus on the Cross, 1996, ceramic corpus on wooden cross

Man’s Search for Meaning
Viktor Frankl was a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor. While living in a death camp, he made a powerful observation. He noticed that people tended to become one of two kinds. Some grew bitter, angry, and cynical. They lost hope. Some even betrayed their fellow prisoners to survive another day. But there were others, a handful of people, who stayed kind and strong. They shared what little they had. They encouraged others. They even took the blame for others’ mistakes.

Frankl asked, “What made the difference?” He realized this: those who had placed the meaning of their lives in something the death camp could take away – family, work, success, power, or health –eventually lost everything, including their will to live. But those who found their meaning in something the death camp could not take away, something beyond this world, such as faith and God, stood firm.

Meaningless under the Sun
That’s exactly what the writer of Ecclesiastes is wrestling with. He looks around the world and says, “Everything is meaningless under the sun.” He’s searching for something death cannot take away – something eternal.

In today’s passage, the author introduces himself, saying, “I am the Teacher (Professor). I was king over Israel in Jerusalem.” (v. 12) Here King Solomon speaks as a teacher, almost like an actor on stage. He is acting out two very different attitudes toward life, not because they are his final convictions, but to help us see and learn from them. At times, he speaks like a pessimist, saying, “Everything is meaningless!” At other times, he sounds like a hedonist, saying, “Eat, drink, and enjoy life!” Through these contrasts, Solomon is guiding us toward what we might call “Christian realism” — seeing life honestly as it is, often broken, yet still filled with hope in God.

In verse 14, the Teacher says, “Everything is meaningless.” But there is one condition. He says, “Everything is meaningless under the sun.” In other words, “If this life (“life under the sun”) is all there is, yes, everything is meaningless. But there is more! There is a life beyond the sun — a life to come!” The Teacher is telling us that recognizing life’s meaninglessness under the sun is not despair. It’s a doorway. It opens a thirst for God, a longing for eternity.

Grace Is Enough
For Paul, that doorway took a different name – a “thorn.” He pleaded with the Lord three times to remove it. But Jesus said, “My grace is enough for you, because power is made perfect in weakness.” After this, Paul says, “Therefore, I am all right with weaknesses, disasters, harassments, and stressful situations for the sake of Christ, because when I’m weak, then I’m strong.” (2 Cor 12:10 CEB) For Paul, that thorn became a door – a door through which he learned to accept weakness, embrace brokenness, and depend fully on Christ. It was his way of living not just under the sun, but for eternity.

Lately, I’ve been reading the autobiography of Alexei Navalny, a Russian lawyer, anti-corruption activist who boldly stand up to Putin. He was poisoned, yet miraculously survived. After treatment in Germany, he could have stayed in safety. But he returned to Russia, because he loved his country, and because he loved God. He was a devoted Christian. Not long after, he was arrested, moved from one harsh prison to another, eventually died in prison in February 2024. What he endured was unimaginable. But what amazed me most was how positive and cheerful he remained to the end. He didn’t grow bitter or resentful. He knew he might never see the fruit of his work under the sun, yet he trusted in God. He put his hope and meaning not in success, but in something eternal. He was a saint of our day, a Christian realist, standing with one foot in this broken world, and the other in God’s eternal kingdom.

Look Up, Lift Up
The world we live in is unfair, unjust, and deeply broken. Paul was wrongfully accused and suffered for his faith. Navalny was wrongfully charged and mistreated, accused of crimes he did not commit: embezzlement, contempt of court, vandalism, even terrorism. No evidence. Yet he was convicted, abused, tortured.

This reminds us of something far greater. Jesus, the Son of God, was also wrongfully accused, condemned, and executed. But unlike any other victim, his suffering was not meaningless under the sun. On the cross, he took our place — our sin, our brokenness, our injustice. When Jesus said, “It is finished,” he wasn’t simply marking the end of his earthly life. He was saying, “It’s all paid for. The case is closed.” Jesus took all the cruelty and injustice of this world upon himself, and he redeemed it.

In Merida’s artwork, Jesus on the Cross, the artist gives Jesus oversized hands and feet. Look first at his feet. Jesus always walked at three miles per hour, slow enough to meet the widow, to touch the leper, to heal the sick. He walked on those feet into every valley of despair, up the hill of Golgotha to finish the work and close the case. Then look at His hands. Even as they were nailed to the cross, his hands remained open. Open and inviting, never any clenched fists. With these hands, Jesus blessed children, lifted the crippled, broke bread. Big hands — big enough to hold the whole world. We almost hear the artist whisper, “Look up, lift up!”[1]

The Best Is Yet to Come
To me, all our saints are like “stars” in my heart. I get so easily distracted or preoccupied with things “under the sun”. But our saints remind me to look up, lift up, set my heart on things above. When I sing in the choir, I think of Patty Crawford – not just her beautiful voice but her faithfulness. When I run the dishwasher, I think of David Guy – his kindness and his labor of love. When I feel like I am not making a difference, I think of Bob Anderson – his warmth, his encouragement, his faith after doubt. Our saints are not only cheering us on, but also, they are pointing us to Christ and his kingdom.

I once read about a woman diagnosed with cancer and was given three months to live. So she contacted her pastor and planed her funeral together – which hymns to sung, what Scriptures to read. But before the pastor left, she said, “One more thing. This is important. I want to be buried a fork in my right hand.” The pastor was puzzled. She smiled. “In all my years going to church functions, whenever food was involved, my favorite part was when whoever was cleaning dishes of the main course would lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ That always made me smile, because it meant something great was coming, like pie or cake! So I just want people to see me there in my casket with a fork in my hand, and I want them to wonder, ‘What’s with the fork?’ Then I want you to tell them, “Something better is coming. Keep your fork.” And when she passed away, at her funeral, the pastor told that story. And everyone smiled, because they knew. For those who die in Christ, this is not a day of defeat. It’s a day of celebration. The real feast is just beginning. Something better is coming.[2]

The Bible says, “Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.” (Daniel 12:3, NRSV) So today, we give thanks to God for our saints, who tells us again and again, “Keep your fork.” May we too live for eternity, keep our fork, and lead many to Christ. Amen.

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[1] Ron O’Grady, Christ for All People (Orbis Books, 2001), 128-9.

[2] John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get Out of the Boat (p. 170). Zondervan. Kindle Edition.