“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.

“The Great Encourager” (Acts 11:19-26)

 

*Christ at the Sea of Galilee by Jacopo Tintoretto (1570s)

Encouragement

Encouragement is empowering. This past Thursday was a sports day for the Han family. First, we all went up to Caribou to cheer for Grace at her cross-country meet. The weather was hot, and the course was challenging – especially the big hill at the end. As Grace was running up the hill, a Woodland runner passed her. All the GHCA team and families, and our family, cheered for Grace. Though she was passed, Grace came back strong and won her race. Then, we moved on to Washburn to cheer for Lydia’s and Abe’s soccer games. As I was watching the game, one of the parents said to me, “I’ve watched all of the boy’s games so far. Abe had been kind of timid and gentle. But today, he is aggressive and playing so well.” That’s the power of encouragement. In fact, encouragement is one of the spiritual gifts. Paul writes in Romans 12:8, “If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging” (NLT).

 

Son of Encouragement

Probably, Barnabas is the shining example of someone who used the gift of encouragement so well. His real name was Joseph, but the apostles nicknamed him “Barnabas” meaning, “Son of Encouragement” (Acts 4:36). He was known for comforting and helping others.

After Saul encountered the risen Christ and arrived in Jerusalem, he tried to join the disciples, but they were all afraid of him. They didn’t believe he was really a disciple. But it was Barnabas who believed in him, advocated for him, and helped him to join the early Christian group. Saul passionately preached the good news, but wherever he went, he was not well received. Instead, people tried to kill him. So then, his friends took him to Caesarea and sent him to his hometown of Tarsus (9:30). Saul stayed there for about 10 years. They are often called Saul’s “silent years.”

It seemed he was forgotten, and his life was wasted. But then, some of the scattered Christians began to preach the good news in Antioch. Many people came to believe and turned to the Lord. The early church sent Barnabas to help this newborn church. Barnabas realized that the task was so big that he needed capable help. So he took a trip of about a hundred miles to recruit Saul (11:25–26). Saul was probably more talented and educated than Barnabas. By bringing Saul, he was seriously jeopardizing his own leadership position. Yet at the expense of his prominence, Barnabas encouraged Saul to use his gifts to build up the church. Over time, Barnabas’ presence decreased, and Saul’s influence increased.

 

The Great Encourager

Today’s scripture, the story of Barnabas, is not just a moral lesson or a role model. His story points to the perfect and greater Encourager, Christ Jesus. In 1570s, Jacopo Tintoretto painted his masterpiece, Christ at the Sea of Galilee.

Tintoretto captures the dramatic moment when the disciples are caught in a storm. The waves are crashing, the boat is tossed, and fear is overwhelming. Peter, by faith, steps out of the boat to walk toward Jesus. But then, he sees the wind and the waves, and his courage fails. He begins to sink.

This is the cry of Psalm 69:1: “Save me, O God, because the waters have come up to my neck!” Peter feels that desperation, drowning, helpless, lost. And yet, Jesus immediately reaches out, lifts him up, and brings him back to life. But here is the deeper truth: when Jesus stretched out his hand to Peter, it foreshadowed what he himself would later endure. Jesus would not just taste the spray of the storm. He would taste death itself. He went under the waves of judgment so that we might rise. He sank into the depths so that we might stand on solid ground.

Barnabas encouraged Saul by stepping aside so his gifts could shine. But Christ is the greater Barnabas, the greater Encourager, who goes even further. He takes our place in the storm, lifting us up when we are sinking at the cost of His own life. That’s why the gospel is about Christ – who he is and what he did.

 

O My Soul!

So how can we experience Christ, the Great Encourager, in our own lives? Psalm 42 and 43 give us the answer (Today’s Call to Worship). These psalms were written by the sons of Korah, the very descendants of a man who rebelled against Moses and was swallowed by the earth in God’s judgment (Numbers 26). Yet in mercy, God spared his children, restored them, and even raised them up to be worship leaders in Israel. Still, they carried the stigma from their past. People mocked them: “Where is your God?” Their souls were divided—hope pulling one way, despair pulling the other. And isn’t that our story too? Many of us know spiritual depression not just because of present troubles, but also because of guilt from the past—voices of shame, regret, or failure that haunt us.

What is the cure? The psalmist shows us: stop only listening to your soul; and instead, start speaking to it. Pray honestly, “Vindicate me, O God!” (cf. Psalm 43:1-4) Then preach courageously to your soul (v. 5), “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” This is how we taste and see the goodness of Christ the Great Encourager—by lifting His Word, His Promise, to our own hearts until despair gives way to hope.

 

The Way Out

Let me close with a story from The Pilgrim’s Progress. Christian and his friend Hopeful were on their way to the Celestial City. The narrow road was hard, so they decided to take a parallel path—an easier way, with fewer hardships. But that shortcut led them into terrible danger. They met a storm, then they lost their way, and finally they were captured by Giant Despair and thrown into Doubting Castle. For three long days, they were locked away—hungry, thirsty, beaten without mercy. The giant whispered lies to them, urging them to give up, even to take their own lives. He showed them the bones and skulls of others who had done so.

But on Saturday night, while praying, Christian suddenly remembered something. He had forgotten the key in his pocket all along. The key’s name was Promise. With it, he unlocked the doors of Doubting Castle, and he and Hopeful were able to escape.

I don’t know about you, but for me, I often find myself in the prison of despair – weary, discouraged, ready to give up. But in Christ, we have a key in our pocket. It is God’s promises. When we believe and peach His Word to our own souls, the chains of despair are broken and hope rises again.

So let us preach to our souls, as the psalmist did: “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.” (Psalm 43:5)

“Way Up, Way Down” (Acts 11:1-18)

 

*Crucifixion, by Matthias Grünewald (1515)

Babette’s Feast

Have you ever been invited to an extravagant feast – one you never expected? There is a beautiful Danish film called Babette’s Feast. Some of you may have seen it. It tells the story of Babette, once the head chef at a first-class restaurant in Paris, who fled as a refugee during the Franco-Prussian War. She found herself in a small, strict religious community. She served quietly for 14 years, caring for two elderly sisters, who were serving the small congregation, even after their father had passed away. The community was struggling—divisions and old grudges ran deep. Then one day, Babette won the lottery: 10,000 francs. She decided to prepare a feast for the sisters and their small flock in memory of their father’s 100th birthday. She offered to pay for all the cost of a “real French dinner.”

But the people were suspicious, even critical. They feared her French cooking might be worldly, even dangerous. But still, Babette went on quietly, pouring out her life, her money, her skill, her love into this one meal. And when the feast was served, something beautiful happened. As the people ate, old grudges softened. Forgiveness began to flow. Joy and laughter filled the room. The people, who were once cold and divided, became warm and united. At the end, the sisters assumed Babette would return to Paris with her winnings. But she revealed that she had spent everything—every franc—for this one feast. She had given her all to bless those who had misunderstood, doubted, even despised her. Does that sound familiar?

 

Jesus, Our Servant
This is exactly what Jesus has done for us. On the night he was betrayed, Jesus took bread and said, “This is my body, given for you.” He took the cup and said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, poured out for you.” He poured out his life completely. Not just for those who praised him, but for those who rejected him. Think about how Jesus was treated. He was constantly criticized, slandered, and hated by many. People were suspicious of his motives. He was doubted, even by his own disciples. And yet, he kept serving. He kept giving. He kept loving. The Bible says, “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end” (John 13:1, NRSV). At the cross, Jesus gave it all. He lavishly poured out his very life, like Babette pouring out everything she had for a feast.

Misunderstood Servant

In Acts 11, Peter is misunderstood by his own people – the other apostles and believers. After visiting Cornelius’ house, they accused him, saying, “You went into the home of the uncircumcised and ate with them!” (Acts 11:3).

Do you remember Peter on the night Jesus was betrayed? People accused him of being with Jesus, and out of fear he denied it, even cursing. But here in Acts, Peter is different. He is calm, steady, patient—because he has become a true servant of Christ.

 

The Incarnation

When we hear the word, “incarnation” (God made flesh), we often imagine Baby Jesus lying peacefully in a manger. But the truth is, incarnation is costly and violent. For example, Philippians 2 tells us that Jesus, the Son of God, emptied himself, took the form of a slave, and died a criminal’s death on the cross.

Imagine being a free person suddenly kidnapped, sold into slavery, beaten, abused. Or imagine being innocent, yet wrongfully accused of murder, thrown in prison, and executed on death row. That’s the reality of the incarnation –except that Jesus chose it willingly. All his divine privileges were taken away. His freedom was taken away. His joy was taken away. He emptied himself, came down to the lowest place, and became the servant of all.

 

The Way Up Is Down

Jesus’ incarnation shows us how to live as his disciples: “The way up is the way down.” In his sermon, Jesus Our Servant, Pastor Tim Keller once said, “The real test of discipleship is whether the same spirit of servanthood that was in Christ now lives in us.” Especially two examples from his sermon speak to me. First, in our giving. Before I knew Christ, I gave only what I could “afford” – as long as my standard of living stayed the same. As long as it didn’t affect my vacation plans, or my meals out, or my comfort. But that’s not the way of Jesus. His “standard of living” changed drastically when he emptied himself for us. True servanthood means giving in a way that lowers me so someone else can be lifted up. If my giving never brings me down, I am not a servant yet.

Second, in how we handle recognition. Before Christ changes us, we serve as long as we get recognition, as long as people notice, appreciate, and affirm us. But Jesus made himself of no reputation. He didn’t serve for applause. A true servant doesn’t say, “Look how much I’ve done—why doesn’t anyone notice?” Instead, a true servant finds joy in serving unseen, because God sees. This is the way of Christ: the way up is the way down. And the more we follow him in this downward path, the more we find life, freedom, and joy.

 

Taking the Hit

Let me put it another way. When I ask my children to clean up their mess, they usually do it. But when I ask one of them to clean up a sibling’s mess, they protest, “Why should? It’s not my fault!” This is an instinct. This is exactly how we always feel. But that’s not how a servant’s heart operates. The servants say, “I know, this isn’t my fault. But someone has to take the hit. So I will do it. I will take the hit. I will pay the price.” That’s what Jesus did. He took the greatest hit for the sins of the world.

In 1515, Matthias Grünewald painted the Crucifixion. It was painted for a hospital, for people who were dying from a terrible plague called ergotism. This disease brought unbearable suffering—painful seizures, violent spasms, constant diarrhea, relentless vomiting. Many people died in agony, with their bodies twisted and broken. And in this painting, the Christ figure is depicted as if he too were stricken with this disease. His limbs are distorted and twisted. The artist wanted those suffering to see: Jesus suffers with you, and Jesus suffers for you. To Christ’s left, John the Baptist stands, pointing his long finger toward the crucified Lord, as if to say, “Look, here is the One.” In his other hand he holds an open book, a witness that all of this is the fulfillment of God’s Word. And at John’s feet stands a lamb carrying a cross—an echo of John’s own words: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”[1] This is the good news. Jesus entered into our deepest pain, bore the weight of our sin and suffering, and made it his own.

 

Easy Yoke

In Acts 11, Peter is misunderstood and criticized. But after explaining what happened, the misunderstanding is cleared up. The people calm down and praise God. When Abraham was tested to offer his only Son Isaac, the suffering was real and severe. But at the last moment, Isaac’s life was spared, and a lamb was given in his place. But for Jesus, there was no substitute. All the weight of our sins fell upon him. He got the greatest hit. And on the cross, he declared, “It is finished.” So, stop striving, and start believing in the finished work of Christ.

The heart of the gospel message is substitution – Jesus did it for us. “He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on him the sins of us all.” (Isaiah 53:5-6, NLT)

Are you weary and burdened? Come to Jesus. He invites us to take his “easy” yoke (Matthew 11:30). Do you know why his yoke is easy? Because he shares the yoke with us. In fact, he takes most of the weight. Our part is to join him, to walk with him by faith. Paul put it this way: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Gal 2:20, NIV)

Friends, this is the gospel: the way up is the way down. As we go down in repentance, go down in our bank accounts, go down in recognition, we will find a new kind of honor, a new kind of riches, a new kind of joy. Amen.

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[1] Christian Century, Art selection and commentary by Heidi J. Hornik and Mikeal C. Parsons

This artwork appears in the January 4, 2017 issue. https://www.christiancentury.org/article/crucifixion-matthias-gr%C3%BCnewald?check_logged_in=1

“Simple Faith” (Acts 10:1–16)

 

Simple Message
“What’s wrong with the world today?” In the early 1900s, The Times of London posed this big question to several well-known writers. Some gave long and thoughtful answers. But G.K. Chesterton, a Christian writer, gave perhaps the shortest essay ever written. He simply wrote: “Dear Sir, I am.”

The root cause of all human problems is a sin problem. The world is broken because of my selfishness, my self-centeredness, my sin. We know what is right, but we don’t have the power to do it.

When Adam and Eve rebelled against God—wanting to be like gods themselves—sin entered the world. God’s image in us was distorted. Our hearts, our affections, our wills—all polluted. The human heart became an idol-making factory.

So what do we do? Some of us turn to legalism—relying on our own goodness, willpower, morality, and self-righteousness. Others turn to antagonism—rejecting God’s ways openly and running into sin. But in God’s eyes, both are lost.

Think of the parable of the prodigal son. Really, it should be the prodigal sons. Yes, the younger son ran away, wasted his life, and was lost. But the older son, who stayed home yet never loved his father from the heart—he too was lost. And what did the father do? He went out to both of them.

That’s who our God is. He comes out to each of us through Jesus Christ. The gospel is not advice on how to fix ourselves. It is news about what Jesus has already done for us. It’s about substitution—Jesus did it for us. He lived the perfect life we could not live. He died the death we should have died. He took our place on the cross. And by rising from the grave, He gave us new life—eternal life. The sin problem we could not solve, Jesus solved once and for all.

 

Simple Faith
That’s basically what Peter preached in today’s scripture (Acts 10:34–43). In Acts, we see at least seven different preaching moments from Peter. And yet the message was always the same: You have a sin problem you can’t solve. But Jesus has solved it for you.

It’s a simple message. But sometimes simple is hard. The gospel is a gift from God. It’s freely given. We can’t earn it. We can’t add anything to it. And that offends our pride.

In 2 Kings 5, Naaman—the great general of the Syrian army—was a perfect example. He was a mighty warrior, but he suffered from leprosy. He came with his horses and chariots to Elisha’s house. But Elisha didn’t even come out to meet him! Instead, he sent a messenger with this word: “Go, wash yourself in the Jordan seven times, and you will be cleansed.” What was Naaman’s reaction? He was furious. He said, “I thought he would surely come out and meet me! I expected him to wave his hand over me, call on the Lord his God, and heal me!” (v. 11, NLT). The message was simple. The command was clear. But it insulted Naaman’s pride. Only when he laid aside that pride, and chose the path of simple faith and obedience, did he find healing.

There’s another story, this time from World War II. In the little French village of Le Chambon, a community of Christians quietly hid thousands of Jewish children and families during the Holocaust. They risked their lives, day after day. After the war, this village was honored as “Righteous Among the Nations” by the State of Israel. One of those children—now grown—returned to ask, “Why did you do it? Why did you take such a risk to protect us?” And their answer was strikingly simple. They just shrugged and said, “It seemed natural. It was obvious from our faith.” They had no dramatic explanation, no special theology. They simply lived out what they believed: “Jesus laid down his life for us, so we ought to lay down our lives for others.” It was a habit of simple faith. Simple obedience to Christ. And it was enough.[1]

Both Peter and Cornelius in Acts 10 received visions. The vision was clear. The message was simple. But it was hard for them to obey. Cornelius, a Roman officer, had to humble himself and invite Peter—a Jew from the occupied people—to preach the gospel to him. And Peter, a Jew, had to humble himself and cross the barrier he had kept all his life, to enter the home of a Gentile occupier and share the message of salvation.

The gospel message is simple, but it is an insult to our pride. It tells us we are saved by grace alone. That means we cannot boast. We are never better than the next person. We cannot judge others. And since we are bought with a price, our lives are not our own anymore. We belong to Christ.

 

Simple Faith for You
In today’s passage, Peter said twice: “We are witnesses” (vv. 39, 41). That is the identity and calling of every Christian. We are saved—and we are sent to witness to the good news of Jesus.

What does that look like? It looks different for each of us. Peter and John show us that. Peter witnessed by preaching, healing, leading, and even dying as a martyr. John witnessed more quietly, writing the Gospel and letters, bearing testimony through words and faithfulness.

If you are outgoing, you may share Christ easily with strangers. That’s wonderful. But if you are quiet, you can still witness powerfully. Think of Gandhi. In his autobiography, he admitted that as a child he was a shy and quiet person. He was affraid of everything—snakes, ghosts, the dark, and especially other people. As a child, he would bury himself in books, and the moment school was over, he would run straight home—afraid of having to talk to anyone.” As a young man, he was too scared to speak in meetings. And yet, his shyness became his strength. He said, “My shyness has been my shield and buckler. It has helped me grow. It has guided me to discern the truth.”[2] His one word, his one action carried great weight.

Whether you are outgoing or quiet, we are all called to be witnesses. And the Holy Spirit works through us in unique ways.

Let me close with one more story. A Korean youth once shared her testimony. She grew up in a broken family and lived with her aunt, who was a Buddhist. Every Sunday they fought because the girl wanted to go to church. One Sunday after worship, she prayed: “Father, I can’t love my aunt on my own. I don’t have the power. But Your Spirit lives in me. So Holy Spirit, love her through me.” When she got home, her aunt began yelling as usual. But this time, instead of anger, the girl felt compassion. She hugged her and said, “I’m sorry. You look so tired and worn out. You work so hard to care for me.” Both of them wept. And that very day, her aunt received Christ.

The gospel is simple. Jesus did for us what we could never do for ourselves. So let us believe this good news and share it with others. And as we do, we will see God change lives – beginning with our own. Amen.

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[1] Walter Brueggemann, Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries: Deuteronomy (p. 270). Abingdon Press. Kindle Edition.

[2] Susan Cain, Quiet (Crown: New York, 2012), 200-201.

“The Journey” (Acts 9:1–6, 26:12-18)

 

Who Am I?

The title of today’s message comes from a poem called Who Am I? written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor during World War II. Bonhoeffer joined the resistance movement and even took part in a plot to overthrow Hitler. He was arrested, imprisoned, and executed just weeks before the war ended.

While in prison, Bonhoeffer wrestled with identity. In his poem he describes two pictures of himself. On the outside, others saw him as calm, strong, and unshaken. But on the inside, he felt anxious, restless, lonely, and afraid. He wondered, “Which one is the real me?” In the end, he didn’t find peace by solving the question, but by confessing in faith: “Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine.”

Bonhoeffer didn’t define himself by outward appearance or inward feeling, but by belonging to God. He humbly embraced the tension of those two conflicting self-images and gave himself wholly to God. In the same way, if we are honest, all of us wrestle with identity. Who am I? Am I who others say I am? Or am I who I know myself to be inside? In truth, life is a journey of “becoming.”

 

Conversion

This morning we heard two scripture readings: Paul’s conversion story and Paul’s call story. My prayer is that Paul’s story may echo in our own lives—that by God’s grace our hearts may be stirred, transformed, and drawn closer to Christ.

Let’s start with conversion. In the Book of Acts, Paul’s conversion story is told three times. Paul was a devout Pharisee, zealous for the law. He believed he was serving God by persecuting Christians. But on the road to Damascus, everything changed. He met the risen Christ, and his world turned upside down. His direction in life was completely changed.

That’s what conversion means: to turn around, to change direction. Conversion is a defining moment when we encounter not just “a God,” but “my God”—my personal Jesus. John Wesley called it the new birth, when we are given a new heart by the Holy Spirit.

I still vividly remember my own conversion. It was the year 2000, and I was serving in East Timor as part of the UN Peacekeeping Forces. Spiritually, it was a wilderness. There was no church, no mentors, just temptation and sin all around. God gave me a mission: to start a Christian club and hold Sunday services. But like Jonah, I ran. I resisted.

Then I got sick. I was struck with Dengue Fever—a dangerous disease. My body burned with high fever; rashes covered me. I could not eat or sleep. I was delirious. I knew I was walking through the valley of death. That night, kneeling on my camp bed, I cried out to God: “Lord, if You save my life, I will humbly serve You with all my heart, for the rest of my life.” Peace came. I slept. And the next morning, the fever was gone, the rashes disappeared. I leapt out of bed like a calf released from its stall. I was alive—healed both physically and spiritually.

From that day, everything changed. For the first time, I read the Bible cover to cover—not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And in those pages, I met the living Christ. Since then, I’ve never been the same. My heart, my affections, and my life’s purpose were changed.

 

Journey of Calling

But conversion is just the beginning. When we are converted, we begin to realize that we are created in Christ for good works, to join Him in His mission (Eph. 2:10). That’s our calling.

For Paul, his calling was revealed at the very moment of his conversion. Jesus said: “Get up and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose… to serve and testify… to open their eyes so that they may turn from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God” (Acts 26:16–18, NRSV). Paul was called to bring people back to Christ.

Some of us receive our calling early, while others take years to discover it. Either way, calling is a journey. Even Paul, though called early, spent his whole life discerning, wrestling, and reshaping his call. We see it in the thirteen letters he wrote. Over thirty years, we watch his heart soften, deepen, and widen.

In his early letters (Galatians, 1 Corinthians), Paul comes across sharp, defensive—fighting for truth and being “right.” In the middle letters (Romans, Philippians), Paul is still deeply theological but more pastoral, joyful. In the later letters (Philemon, 2 Timothy), old Paul is tender, fatherly, centered in love. He still stands firm in truth, but his focus is love.

Take his relationship with Mark as an example. In Acts 15, Paul refused to take Mark on a mission trip because he had deserted them before. The disagreement with Barnabas was sharp. But later in 2 Timothy 4:11, Paul says: “Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is helpful to me in my ministry.” That shows growth—humility, reconciliation, love. Paul’s journey was moving from being “right” to being “loving.”

 

From Being Right to Being Loving

This has also been my journey. Joyce and I are now in our twelfth year here in Aroostook County. But when I first arrived in 2014, I carried the mindset I had grown up with in Seoul. In my culture, worth was measured by effectiveness—by how much impact you could make. Effectiveness became my idol. So my first goal was to shake things up: fix the church, change the community, do something big for Jesus. In short, I was focused on being “right.”

But it didn’t go well. After three years, I felt stuck. The church struggled. My sense of self-worth sank, because I thought my ministry wasn’t effective. By God’s grace, I attended a conference in Georgia. There the Spirit gave me one word: abide. I realized I hadn’t truly abided among the people. Jesus did not come just to fix us. He came to make His home among us (John 1:14). He lived among us, loved us, and gave Himself for us even while we were still sinners. That love melts the heart. And I heard God’s gentle whisper: “You are not called to change, but to abide. To be present. To love people as they are.” That changed me. My calling shifted from being right to being loving, from being effective to simply helping people fall in love with Christ.

 

The Pineapple Story

There’s a story about a missionary in Dutch New Guinea who planted 100 pineapple plants. After three years, when they finally ripened, the natives stole every single one. Angry, the missionary tried everything—cutting off the clinic, closing the store, even bringing in a guard dog. But nothing worked. And meanwhile, the people stopped listening to him preach.

Finally, broken, he went out to the garden and prayed, “Lord, I’ve claimed these pineapples as mine. I’ve stood up for my rights. But it’s all wrong. From now on, they are Yours. If I eat them, fine. If not, that’s fine too.” The people kept stealing—but this time, he didn’t get angry. After a while, they came to him and said, “Too-wan, you’ve become a Christian, haven’t you? You don’t get angry anymore when we steal your pineapples.” He replied, “The pineapples don’t belong to me anymore. I’ve given them to God.” Suddenly they grew afraid, realizing they were stealing from God. And they stopped. Soon, the missionary and the people shared pineapples together, and many gave their lives to Christ. For years, he had tried to evangelize without success. But when God changed his heart, their hearts began to change too.

It’s a powerful reminder: the more we fall in love with Jesus, the more loving we become. It’s a journey—from being right to being loving.

 

I Am Thine, O Lord

As a church, we too have been through much. Over the issue of human sexuality, each church here lost either members or a pastor. But by the grace of God, we are still here—together—as one body of Christ.

So who am I? Who are we? What is our calling? Sometimes we struggle with identity and purpose. But Paul’s story gives us the answer. Our hope, our identity, our purpose, our calling—are found in Christ Jesus alone.

Every morning I begin the day with Wesley’s Covenant Prayer:

 

I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee,

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

Thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

 

May we keep falling in love with Jesus—again and again, and all the more. Amen.

“The Church, Scattered” (Acts 8:1-4)

Auguste Rodin's The Cathedral

The Seven Habits
Imagine yourself 10 years from now. Will you be happier or less happy than you are today? If you ask this question to people in their 20s, most believe they will be happier. But if you ask people in their 50s, fewer give a positive answer. Then something surprising happens. As people grow older, they tend to split into two groups: those who are much happier, and those who are much unhappier.

According to the Harvard Study of Adult Development, there are seven habits that lead to happiness in old age. These habits are like a retirement account: the sooner you invest, the greater the return. 

1.     Don’t smoke.

2.     Watch your drinking.

3.     Maintain a healthy body weight.

4.     Make movement a priority (for example, daily walking).

5.     Practice healthy coping skills now.

6.     Keep learning.

7.     Build strong, long-term relationships. 

If you had to choose only one, researchers say the last is the most important: healthy relationships. Robert Waldinger, the director of the study, puts it this way: “Well-being can be built—and the best building blocks are good, warm relationships.”[1]

 

The Church: Its Birth and Growth
As I was reading this, I thought of Ephesians 2:14: “Christ is our peace. He made both Jews and Gentiles into one group. With his body, he broke down the barrier of hatred that divided us” (CEB). That’s how the church was born.

God created us as relational beings. But when sin entered the world, our relationships with God and with others were broken. Through Christ, our relationships were redeemed and restored. And Christ created a new community—the church.

Today’s passage in Acts 8 shows how the church grew in unexpected ways. At first, it sounds discouraging. On the day Stephen was martyred, a great persecution broke out. Saul began to destroy the church. All the believers except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria. Then comes verse 4: “Those who had been scattered proclaimed the good news wherever they went.” What looked like tragedy became the spark for revival.

 

Philip and Simon
Acts 8 gives us two snapshots of this growing church. First, Philip—one of those scattered—went down to Samaria and preached Christ. He healed the sick, drove out unclean spirits, and there was great joy in the city. Many believed and were baptized. Among them was Simon the sorcerer.

Simon claimed faith, but when he saw the apostles lay hands on believers and the Spirit was given, he tried to buy that power with money. Peter confronted him sharply, telling him his heart was not right with God. Simon asked for prayer, but we never hear what happened next. The story is left open-ended.

 

Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch
The second story takes place on a wilderness road. The Spirit led Philip to meet an Ethiopian official, a man already seeking God. He was reading Isaiah 53, but he did not understand it. When Philip explained the good news of Jesus, the man believed with joy. He saw water and said, “Look, here is water! What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” They went down to the water, and Philip baptized him. Then the Spirit carried Philip away, while the eunuch went home rejoicing. A mysterious, beautiful ending.

The Church, United
From the start, the church was made of Jews and Gentiles, Simons and Ethiopian eunuchs. By design, the church has always been diverse. In every congregation, there are people like Simon—selfish, proud, broken, difficult—and people like the Ethiopian eunuch—humble, teachable, joyful. From a human perspective, they are like oil and water. But from God’s perspective, both are loved and both are called to learn to live together. 

Theologian D. A. Carson once wrote[2]: 

Ideally . . . the church itself is not made up of natural “friends.” It is made up of natural enemies. What binds us together is not common education, common race, common income levels, common politics, common nationality, common accents, common jobs, or anything else of that sort. Christians come together . . . because . . . they have all been loved by Jesus himself. . . . They are a band of natural enemies who love one another for Jesus’ sake. 

The church is not a club. It is a family.

 

The Cathedral
On the screen—and in the bulletin—you see Auguste Rodin’s The Cathedral. When we hear the word cathedral, we think of a large church building. But Rodin helps us see what the church truly is. At first, his sculpture looks like praying hands. But look closer: they are not one person’s hands, but two right hands. Two individuals, coming together, becoming one body—the body of Christ.

In Raymond Carver’s story Cathedral, there’s a man who’s pretty closed off. He doesn’t like people very much, and he especially feels uncomfortable when a blind man comes to visit. He can’t imagine how someone without sight could really live or understand life. But then something unexpected happens. The blind man asks him to draw a cathedral. So the two of them sit down together. The blind man places his hand over the man’s hand, and together they begin to draw. And in that moment, something changes. The man closes his eyes, and for the first time, he really sees—not with his eyes, but with his heart. Two very different people, one blind and one seeing, one open and one closed, suddenly come together. That is the mystery of the church: when different people are brought together in Christ, they become one body, a living cathedral where God dwells.

 

The Church Scattered, The Church United
Then and now, the church is scattered. For me, this is personal. I grew up in a traditional Korean Methodist church. One pastor served one congregation, and when pastor and leaders worked hard, the church often grew. That was the norm. My grandparents’ church grew. My parents’ church grew.

But now, it’s different. Since July, in practice, four churches are yoked together with our family. Sometimes Joyce and I ask God if we are on the right path. I don’t always know the answer. But I do know this: God is at work among us. I saw God at work during our combined women’s retreat. I saw God at work in our combined VBS. And today, I see God at work in our worship services – like Penny from Patten leading the service at Hodgdon, and the way we help each other. God is here. God is moving.

Then and now, circumstances are not always favorable. The early Christians were persecuted and scattered. Yet wherever they went, they preached Christ. They preached to people like Simon. They preached to people like the Ethiopian. And revival came.

How many new members did we add this year? How many baptisms? Those are good questions. But an even deeper question is this: Are we one people in Christ? As Paul says, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28). May this be our church. Amen.

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[1] Arthur C. Brooks, “The Seven Habits That Lead to Happiness in Old Age,” The Atlantic (Feb 17, 2022)

[2] Scott Sauls, Jesus Outside the Lines: A Way Forward for Those Who Are Tired of Taking Sides (p. 54). Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.. Kindle Edition.