“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.

“Who Belongs?” (Acts 15:1-35)

1488
A couple of weeks ago, there was troubling news in the Bangor Daily News. Large Nazi symbols were painted on a walking path in Bangor near I-95. The graffiti included a swastika and the numbers “1488.” For those who may not know, 1488 is a white-supremacist hate symbol. The number 14 refers to the “14 words” slogan: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children,” and 88 stands for “Heil Hitler,” because H is the eighth letter in the alphabet. Sadly, this is not the first time. Just last month, members of Patriot Front (Texas-based hate group) were seen putting up stickers downtown in Bangor, promoting their message of white supremacy.[1] It’s disturbing news, but it’s not new. This “us versus them” mindset runs deep, all the way back to our ancestors in Genesis. From the very beginning, humanity has wrestled with this question: “Who belongs?”

Jerusalem Council
We often say that the early church is our role model to follow, but even the early church faced division and tension. As the church grew, there were growing tensions between different groups of people, especially between Jewish and Gentile believers. The question of their time was: “Who truly belongs to God’s people?” Some Jewish believers said “The gentiles must be circumcised and keep the law of Moses to be saved, just like we do.” (v. 1, 5) Here they were saying, “To be a Christian, they must first become Jewish.”

So the church gathered – leaders, apostles, elders – to listen and discern God’s will together. It was not a quick decision. It was a Spirit-led process. Their discernment followed four steps: reason, experience, fruits (tradition), and Scripture. This process later inspired what John Wesley called the Wesleyan Quadrilateral.

Reason (vv. 6-7)
First, when the church gathered to consider this question (“Who belongs?”), they began with open discussion and reasoning. The Bible says there had been a long and heated debate. They listened, they wrestled, and the weighed the issue together. This was “reason” at work – the God-given gift to think critically, prayerfully, and communally. Faith does not silence reason; faith invites reason to serve the Spirit’s leading.

Experience (vv. 7-11)
After the discussion, Peter stood and shared his experience how God had opened his eyes and changed his heart. One day, while praying, he saw a vision. Heaven opened, and something like a large sheet came down, filled with animals considered “unclean.” Then a voice said: “Get up, Peter! Kill and eat!” Peter protested, “Absolutely not, Lord! I have never eaten anything unclean.” Then the voice said, “Never consider unclean what God has made pure.” This happened three times. Soon after, Peter was invited to the house of Cornelius, a God-fearing Roman centurion. As Peter began to preach the good news, he saw the Holy Spirit fall on everyone who listened. He saw God gave the Holy Spirit to Gentiles before they kept the law. Peter’s pride and prejudice shattered. So he said in verse 9, “God made no distinction between us and them, but purified their deepest thoughts and desires through faith.” Then, he continued, “We believe that we and they are saved in the same way by the grace of the Lord Jesus.” (v. 11)

For me, I will never forget the moment I knelt on a military cot in the barracks while serving in East Timor. In that valley of death, I cried out, “Lord, have mercy on me!” God not only healed me from Dengue Fever, but also changed my heart. Our genuine Christian experiences shape the way we discern God’s will and interpret Scripture in real life.

Fruits of Ministry (Tradition; v. 12)
After Peter, Barnabas and Paul spoke. They testified about the signs and wonders God had done among the Gentiles through their ministry – lives changed, bodies healed, hearts renewed. The Gospel of Mark ends this way: “[The apostles] went out and proclaimed the message everywhere. The Lord worked with them, confirming the word by the signs that accompanied it.” (16:20) These fruits of ministry (signs and wonders) confirmed God’s favor – the Holy Spirit was already moving among outsiders. This is “tradition” in a living sense – not a dead ritual, but the ongoing fruit of ministry, the story of God’s surprising work through time.

Scripture (vv. 13-18)
Finally, and most importantly, comes Scripture. When Barnabas and Paul finished, James spoke. By the Holy Spirit, he anchored their decision in the Word of God. He quoted the prophet Amos 9:11-12, saying, “I will return… rebuild… restore David’s fallen house, so that the rest of humanity will seek the Lord, even all the Gentiles who belong to me.” (vv. 16-17) So salvation for all nations (Gentiles) was not an afterthought; instead, it was God’s original plan. So James concluded this way: “We shouldn’t create problems for Gentiles who turn to God other than the essentials: refuse food offered to idols, blood, the meat from strangled animals, and sexual immorality.” (vv. 19-20, 28-29)

Reason, experience, and tradition help us discern God’s will, but Scripture remains the anchor. Through this Spirit-guided process, the early church learned this: God’s grace is bigger than our boundaries.

The Sign of Jonah
Jerusalem Council’s decision echoes our Christian confession: “We are saved by grace through faith.” Salvation is God’s gift from start to finish. All we do is trust him enough to receive this gift. It is free for us, but costly for God. It cost Jesus his life.

After World War II, Germany lay in ruins. People asked, “Who is guilty for all this?” Rutenborn’s Play The Sign of Jonah explores that haunting question: “Who is to blame?” In the play a soldier says, “I just followed orders. The generals are to blame.” The generals say, “The politicians are to blame.” The politicians say, “The system is to blame.” Each group passes the blame upward. At last, they reach the top of the ladder and point up to heaven: “Then God must be to blame.” So they decide to put God on trial and declare: “God is guilty. He must suffer as we have suffered.” The sentence: “God must become human, feel hunger, grief, and death.” But then comes the quiet revelation: God already has.

Like in Rutenborn’s The Sign of Jonah, we often draw circles, asking “Who belongs?” and “Who is to blame?” We blame our leaders, our systems, sometimes even God. But on the cross, Jesus doesn’t point fingers. Instead, he stretches out his hands and says, “I’ll take it.” On the cross, Jesus bore the blame, the pain, and the consequence of our sin. Just as Jonah spent three days in the belly of the fish, Christ entered the depths of our guilt, our darkness, our death, to bring new life for all people. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, there is forgiveness. There is a new beginning. There is grace for all.

May we never forget the very first hour when God saved “a wretch like me.” May our church follow the example of the early church – to draw a circle wide, to bear the blame, and to do everything with love. Amen.


[1] Annie Rupertus, “Nazi graffiti painted on Bangor walking path,” Bangor Daily News (Oct 14, 2025), https://www.bangordailynews.com/2025/10/14/bangor/nazi-graffiti-painted-on-bangor-walking-path/

“Miracle of Love” (Acts 14:8-20)

My Grandfather
My grandfather has always been my hero. He was a North Korean defector. To save his life, he had to swim across a river to the South right before the Korean War broke out. Living there alone, struggling with hardship, he once considered ending his life. But one day, a friend invited him to church. There he met Christ, and his life was forever changed. Later, he was called to ministry.

Throughout his lifetime as a Methodist pastor, he was appointed to several different churches. Wherever he served, the church came alive and revived. In his journal, he recorded in detail the surprising work of God at his last appointment, where he served for 27 years. He wrote,

“During those 27 years, 13 people were set free from unclean spirits in the name of Jesus and became faithful Christians and leaders, 4 paralyzed people were healed. 7 people (5 children and 2 adults) were raised from the dead. Quite a few people suffering from cancer were healed in Jesus’ name.”

Since he was my pastor when I was young, I personally witnessed some of these stories.

But for me, an even greater miracle than those healings was the miracle of love. In that church, there were chronically difficult people who bullied my grandfather and our family. Yet he never fought back. Instead, he continued to shepherd them, love them, forgive them. He stayed in touch with them and stayed the course. Many people, including myself, saw how he had responded and were drawn to Christ and his church.

Paul in Lystra
In today’s scripture, we see two miracles. While Paul and Barnabas were in Lystra, there was a man crippled from birth. Paul saw that this man had faith to be healed. So he watched him closely and said, “Stand up straight on your feet!” Then the man jumped up and began to walk! Everyone was amazed. They thought the gods had come down in human form. So they wanted to offer sacrifices. When Paul and Barnabas heard this, they tore their clothes and rushed into the crowd, barely able to stop them.

Now comes the second miracle – the greater one. Some Jews came from Antioch and Iconium, the previous cities that Paul had preached, turned the crowd against Paul. So they stoned him and dragged him out of town, thinking he was dead. But as the believers gathered around him, he got up and went back into the city. The next day, he and Barnabas left for next town, Derbe, to preach the good news. There they made many disciples. But then, Paul chose to return to Lystra, the very place where he had been stoned, to strengthen and encourage other believers. Many who saw Paul’s response to suffering and persecution were drawn to Christ. I would call that the miracle of love.

The Sermon on the Mount
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus compares two kinds of people – not moral versus immoral, but religious versus Christian. On the outside, both do the same things. They give, they pray, they fast. But on the inside, they are different. The religious person does all these things to be seen, to feel good, to make much of themselves. But the true Christian gives, prays, and fasts out of love and gratitude to Christ.

Jesus’ moral standard is far higher than any other religious law. He said, “You heard, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you: If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” “You heard, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you: love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

How can we do that? The answer is in the Beatitudes. Christ, the Messiah, meaning the “Blessed One,” became the cursed one, so that we might be blessed. Deuteronomy 21:23 says, “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.” Christ became a curse for us to set us free from the power of sin and death” (cf. Gal 3:13) Jesus became poor so that we could inherit the kingdom of God. Jesus became hungry and thirsty, so that we could be filled. Jesus was humiliated and persecuted, so that we might have his righteousness and his kingdom. Jesus did it for us. When we receive Christ, trust him, and place him at the center of our life, our hearts are changed. We receive “inner” righteousness.

Paul had always been religious. He obeyed all the laws – tithing, giving, praying, fasting, everything. He even persecuted Christians, thinking he was doing it for God. But inside, he was proud, insecure, hateful, judgmental. Only after he encountered the risen Christ, Paul became a new person – his inside and outside became one. And now, even after being stoned, he returned to that same city. He forgave, he loved, and he preached the good news of peace.

The Rabbi’s Gift
There was once a monastery that had fallen on hard times. Only five elderly monks remained. Once vibrant, it now stood silent and tired. In the woods nearby lived a wise Rabbi. One day, the Abbott went to visit him, seeking advice. The Rabbi welcomed him warmly, but after listening, sighed, “I know… The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town.” The two old men wept together, read from the Scriptures, and sat in silence. As the Abbott rose to leave, the Rabbi said quietly, “I have no advice, except this: the Messiah is one of you.”

The Abbott returned, confused. “He gave no advice,” he said his brothers, “except that the Messiah is one of us.” The brothers began to wonder: could he mean the Abbott, our leader? Or Brother Thomas, so full of light? Or Brother Elred, grumpy but wise? Or Brother Philip, so quite yet always shows up when needed? Or… could it be me? From that day on, each monk began to treat the others with deep respect, just in case one of them was the Messiah. And they began to treat themselves with care, just in case it was themselves.

Something beautiful happened. Visitors began to sense the love and light that filled the place. They felt peace there. Some stayed. Others returned. Soon, the monastery came alive again, all because of the Rabbi’s gift: the miracle of love.[1]

Foretaste
I believe the most powerful force for church renewal and revival is love – agape love, Christ’s love.

Isaiah, by the Holy Spirit, prophesied God’s peaceful kingdom this way:

In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together; the leopard will lie down with the baby goat. The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion, and a little child will lead them all. The cow will graze near the bear. The cub and the calf will lie down together. The lion will eat hay like a cow. The baby will play safely near the hole of a cobra. Yes, a little child will put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes without harm. (Isaiah 11:6-8, NLT)

God’s design for the church is to foretaste this peaceful kingdom here and now. Wherever and whoever acknowledges the lordship of Jesus Christ can experience this miracle of love. Jews and Palestinians can live together. Children of Ukraine and Russia can play together. Democrats and Republicans can work together – under the lordship of Jesus Christ. May the Lord fill our hearts and our church with renewed agape love. May the miracle of love begin with you and me. Amen.

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[1] M. Scott Peck, The Different Drum: Community Making and Peace (Touchstone, 1998), 13-15.

“John Mark: His Unexpected Journey” (Acts 13:1-5, 13)

Backsliding
Perhaps you have heard of the film title God Is Not Dead. It comes from a Newsboys album. The band sang with energy. They filled arenas. Their music inspired millions. But then the news came. Michael Tait, the frontman, confessed. He admitted to abusing drugs and alcohol. He admitted to touching men in ways that were not wanted. Multiple men came forward. They told their stories of being sexually assaulted on tour. Tait admitted that most of it was true. He had been living a double life. The Christian world was shocked. K-Love radio, the largest Christian station, stopped playing their music. The band members, families, and fans felt betrayed. Many asked, “How could this happen?”[1]

Friends, this is not just about one singer. This is about us. Because backsliding is real. Even after an excellent start, we can stumble. We can fail. We can lose our way. This reminds me of John Mark. He had such a promising start. His mother’s home was the upper room where 120 believers gathered, prayed, and received the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost. He joined Paul and Barnabas on their first missionary journey as their capable and trustworthy assistant. But then… his journey took an unexpected turn. He deserted them. He went back to Jerusalem. Failure. Disappointment. Pain. And yet, that was not the end of his story. God can use even our failures as a means of grace.

Disappointment
In his book Where Is God When It Hurts, Philip Yancey tells the story of Dr. Paul Brand’s leprosy patients, who could not feel pain in their hands or feet. At first it might sound like a blessing, but in reality, it was their greatest danger, because without pain they burned themselves, injured themselves, and wore down their bodies without knowing it. Pain, Yancey reminds us, is not a curse but can be a gift, a messenger that humbles us and slows us down – slow enough to see, hear, and pay attention to God.

I think of my own story. Several years ago, I lost my sense of smell. Sometimes my children tease me and say, “Dad, you are lucky, because you don’t have to smell bad odors.” But my response is always the same: “Even for a moment, I would gladly smell everything, even the bad ones.” I consider myself living with disability. Since I don’t smell, it keeps me humble, knowing that I need to reply on others, and it also makes me more sensitive to those who have disabilities. In the same way, disappointment, pain, and suffering, though we wish them away, can become a means of grace – the very bridge that connects us to encounter the crucified Christ deeply and personally.

John Mark was at the bottom. Perhaps he couldn’t come out of the great pit, struggling forgiving himself. But there was one person who still believed in him and invested in him – Barnabas, the son of encouragement. Even after John Mark’s backsliding, Barnabas wanted to give him a second chance, including him in a second missionary journey. Paul opposed Barnaba’s suggestion. He insisted that they shouldn’t take John Mark along. Their argument became so intense that they went separate ways. Paul took a new helper, Silas, while Barnabas took John Mark (Acts 15:39).

Pieta
Barnabas reminds us of the better and perfect Encourager, Jesus Christ our Lord. Our merciful Redeemer comes to us, especially when we are in the pit of deep sorrow and confusion.

The Pieta (meaning “pity” or “compassion”) is a picture or sculpture of the Virgin Mary holding the dead body of Jesus on her lap. The Rondanini Pieta is the unfinished sculpture Michelangelo was working on until his death. Unlike his other masterpieces, it’s rough and unbalanced. Mary is holding Jesus from behind in great sadness. But if we look closely, it also looks as if the crucified Jesus is carrying her on his back, upholding and raising her up. The Bible says, “We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been temped in every way, just as we are – yet was without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15) And because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help us when we are being tempted. (cf. 2:18) Jesus didn’t have to, but he went down into the greatest Pit, tasted death, became our sin, our sorrow, our failure, so that we could be set free from the pit of destruction and become his righteousness, his joy, his life. Jesus is able. Jesus makes us not just a better person, but a new person – no matter where we are in our journey.

Rembrandt’s Journey
The artist Rembrandt’s journey resembles John Mark’s. He painted himself more than almost any other artists—nearly ninety self-portraits over his lifetime. In his youth, he painted with bold colors and proud gestures. He showed himself confident, eloquent, even glamorous, wrapped in fine clothes and wealth. But life changed. He lost his beloved wife, Saskia. He buried three of his four children. He watched his only surviving son, Titus, die young. His fame faded. His fortune was gone, his house repossessed, his name forgotten. He walked through the wilderness of grief, disappointment, and debt.

Yet in the midst of the pit, Rembrandt encountered Christ. Something deeper was happening. In those later self-portraits, you no longer see a proud young man in shining robes. You see an old, weathered face, painted with honesty and humility. The brushstrokes are simple, almost prayerful. And in his final years, Rembrandt placed his own face into the figure of Simeon, the old man in the temple who held the Christ child. Simeon’s eyes, full of age and sorrow, are also full of peace as he cried out, “My eyes have seen Your salvation!” (Luke 2:30). That was Rembrandt’s own confession. He had an excellent start, then layer upon layer of loss and drifting away, and finally returned home as a man who met Christ and was satisfied in him.

Cactus Cross 

Recently, Joyce gave me a cactus cross as a gift. In the desert, the cactus survives with thorns. The thorns guard its water, its very life. But when the cactus dies and dries, the thorns fall away. What is left behind can be shaped into something new. In the desert Southwest, people take that dry cactus wood and form it into a cross. Out of what was dry and dead, something life-giving is created.

Now think about John Mark. He started his journey with fire and excitement. He was included on Paul and Barnabas’s mission. But when the road grew hard, he left. Maybe fear, maybe weakness, maybe pain, we don’t know. But we do know this: he failed. He backslid. Paul was disappointed. Barnabas was heartbroken. And John Mark was left with the sting of regret and shame.

Was that the end of his story? No. Like a cactus, what once seemed dry and wasted was taken by the hand of Christ, the Great Encourager and Redeemer. And he was reshaped. John Mark was faithful in his second missionary journey and soon regained Paul’s respect. Later in life, Paul himself would say, “Bring Mark, for he is useful to me.” He also worked with the apostle Peter. And he became the writer of the Gospel that bears his name, a Gospel of the Suffering Servant, who redeems failure, who restores the fallen, who creates something beautiful out of the ashes.

Disappointment, failure, wilderness, pain, loss—these are not curses. They are the very bridges where we encounter the living Christ. Where a dry cactus is made into a cross. Where a failed disciple becomes a Gospel witness. May the Lord redeem our life and make something beautiful. Our crucified Christ is able. Amen.

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[1] “Michael Tait Confesses Abuse,” Christianity Today (Sep/Oct), 120.

“Two Narratives, One Great Finale” (Acts 12:1-24)

Herod and Peter

Stars shine brightest in the darkest night. In the same way, the power of the gospel shines brightest in life’s darkest times.

At the beginning of Acts 12, King Herod seems invincible. He had James, John’s brother, killed with a sword. His approval ratings with the Jews sored, so he also arrested Peter. He was planning to execute him publicly after Passover.

At the beginning of the chapter, Peter seems hopeless. His close friend, James, was murdered. Now he himself is in prison, facing certain death. From a human perspective, this looks like a dead end – no possibility of escape. Yet even in this “no-hope” situation, God is still at work. God is still in charge.

 

Everything Is against Me!

When trials come, we often face two narratives: our perspective and God’s perspective. When things go wrong, our default perspective is, “Everything is against me!” Actually, this is an exact quote from Jacob’s lament in Genesis 42. His words come after the loss of his son Joseph, Simeon’s hostage, and the threat of losing Benjamin. Jacob is overwhelmed by layer upon layer of loss, exclaiming, “Joseph is no more, Simeon is no more, and now you want to take Benjamin. Everything is against me!” (v. 36)

 

Everything Is for Good!

From Jacob’s perspective, the world was collapsing. No hope. No way out. But from God’s perspective, a greater story was unfolding. Jospeh, long thought dead, was still alive and preparing to save his family and even nations. Even when circumstances feel stacked against us, God is still tirelessly at work behind the scenes. Jacob saw only loss, but God was preparing great family reunion. Jacob feared famine and uncertainty, but God was preparing salvation.

So when we cry out like Jacob, “Everything is against me!” we are invited to trust God’s character: “God causes everything to work together for good.” (Romans 8:28) And if God is for us, who can be against us?” (v. 31)

 

Sole Foundation

But how do we know God is for us, not against us? On what foundation can we make this bold claim? Paul gives the answer: “God didn’t spare his own Son but gave him up for us all. Will he not also freely give us all things with him?” (v. 32)

So when you feel like everything is against you, or when the enemy whispers, “You’re not worthy,” lift up your eyes and look to the cross. Christ Jesus died for us. It is finished. More than that, he was raised to life for us. Jesus’ resurrection is the proof that he was innocent and the assurance that he will also raise his people. In this broken world, death feels like a natural part of life. But when God created the world, it was never meant to be this way. By his resurrection, Christ conquered the power of death. George Herbert put it beautifully, “Death used to be an executioner, but the resurrection of Christ makes him just a gardener.” Death no longer has the final word. Jesus does. His church will prevail, and his people will reign with him forever. In him, we already have the final victory.

 

Suffering and Grace

Peter himself was once fearful and anxious. He loved Jesus and promised to die with him. He did mean it with all his heart. But when he was challenged by the crowd, “You are one of them,” he didn’t have power to stand. Peter denied Jesus three times when tested. But now, look at him in Acts 12! Surrounded by guards, chained in prison, facing execution, he is calmy asleep (v. 6).

This echoes David’s words in Psalm 3:5, “I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the Lord sustains me” (Psalm 3:5). David said this while fleeing from his son Absalom. How could he rest in such danger? As a prophet as well as a king, he saw and trusted in the Messiah to come – the Suffering Servant and the Risen Christ. How could Peter rest in such uncertainty? Because he had met the risen Christ, Conqueror of Death, and received the Holy Spirit. Now he too could say, “I will not fear though thousands surround me!”

The story of John G. Paton, missionary to the New Hebrides, illustrates the same truth. One night hostile tribes surrounded his home, ready to kill him and his wife. They prayed through all night, and at dawn the attackers suddenly left. Later, a tribal chief who had come to Christ asked Paton, “Who were the hundreds of men with shining garments and drawn swords guarding your house that night?” Paton realized God had sent his angels to protect them. Yet Paton also knew deep suffering and sorrow. Early in his ministry, his wife and newborn child both died. He buried them with his own hands. But still, he testified, “I was never altogether forsaken. The ever-merciful God sustained me… But for Jesus, and the fellowship he gave me there, I would have gone mad and died beside that lonely grave!”[1]

Suffering and grace often walk hand in hand. Whether it is wayward children, persecution, disease, loneliness, depression, grief, or even death – whatever the trial – God’s grace is always greater. The risen Jesus was with Peter in prison, with David in exile, with Paton in grief—and He is with us today. Christ alone is our sure foundation.

 

One Great Finale

During the plagues of the Roman Empire, streets were filled with the dying. Many abandoned their loved ones. Bodies were left unburied. Most people fled for their safety. But Christians did something radically different: they stayed. Instead of fleeing, they nursed the sick, fed the hungry, buried the dead, and even died alongside them. This sacrificial, fearless love became a powerful witness. While everyone else saw only despair, the Christians revealed a resurrection hope stronger than death, drawing many to Christ.  

Acts 12 ends with a great reversal. Herod begins with in power but dies in disgrace. Peter begins in chains but walks free. And the final word is this: “The word of God continued to spread and flourish.” (v. 24)

Today, we too may walk through the valley of the shadow of death. But it’s only a shadow. Christ Jesus faced death itself and conquered it once and for all: “Death has been swallowed up by a victory.” Now we know how the story ends. We already have the final victory. With full confidence, we can declare, “Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!” (1 Cor 15:57) Because Christ is risen, because Christ will raise us, because Christ holds the finale, we can hold fast. “Therefore, brothers and sisters, let us stand firm, unshakable, always excelling in the work of the Lord.” Amen.

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[1] Ajith Fernando, Acts (The NIV Application Commentary Book 5) (p. 323). Zondervan Academic. Kindle Edition.