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When Religion Gets In The Way of Redemption

Summary of my sermon, based on Luke 13:10-17. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on January 25, 2026.

Amen. Last week I mentioned serving as a missionary in Japan and watching all those videos of mom-and-pop eateries. Often you see elderly obāsans with a pronounced forward curve—a dowager’s hump—age-related, painful, limiting. That image came to mind in our passage.

“Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath. And behold, there was a woman who had a disabling spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not fully straighten herself… ‘Woman, you are freed from your disability.’ And he laid his hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she glorified God” (Luke 13:10–13, ESV).

Luke—the physician—notes both a physical and a spiritual dimension: a “disabling spirit.” Not necessarily elderly, not merely slow, age-related change; crippling, painful, socially stigmatizing. In that world, visible deformity could be read as curse or consequence. Faces turn away. Doors close.

Scripture reminds us not to flatten reality to the merely material—or to sensationalize the spiritual. “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against… the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12, ESV). C. S. Lewis warned of two equal and opposite errors: to disbelieve devils entirely, or to cultivate an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. Here, Luke simply shows both dimensions were in play—and Jesus is Lord over them all.

Notice Jesus’ tenderness. He sees her, calls her, speaks freedom, touches her: “Woman, you are freed from your disability.” Immediately she is made straight and glorifies God. Psalm 103 gives us language: “Bless the LORD, O my soul… who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit” (Psalm 103:1–4, ESV).

Not everyone rejoices. “The ruler of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, said to the people, ‘There are six days in which work ought to be done; come on those days and be healed, and not on the Sabbath’” (Luke 13:14, ESV). Jesus answers by turning their own Sabbath casuistry on its head: “Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger and lead it away to water it? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan bound for eighteen years, be loosed from this bond on the Sabbath day?” (Luke 13:15–16, ESV).

They would untie an animal; Jesus looses a woman. Same idea, different object. Their rules could show pity to livestock; their hearts refused mercy to a daughter of Abraham. That’s the hypocrisy Jesus unmasks.

Rules and rhythms matter. Obedience is not a dirty word. “He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world. And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments. Whoever says ‘I know him’ but does not keep his commandments is a liar… whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked” (1 John 2:2–6, ESV). The danger comes when religion—our habits, guardrails, traditions—becomes a substitute for redemption, when hedges around the law eclipse the heart of the Lawgiver.

Jesus names the “weightier matters”: “justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others” (Matthew 23:23, ESV). James calls this “religion that is pure and undefiled before God”: “to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world” (James 1:27, ESV). In other words, yes—keep the Sabbath holy; and yes—let the Sabbath be a day when the bound are loosed, the bent stand straight, and the forgotten are seen.

Luke concludes: “As he said these things, all his adversaries were put to shame, and all the people rejoiced at all the glorious things that were done by him” (Luke 13:17, ESV). That’s the order we want: shame for hypocrisy, joy for mercy, glory to God. May our practices never muzzle compassion. May our boundaries never bar redemption. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

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The Urgency of Choosing Christ

It’s good to be back in the Gospel of Luke. Luke writes an “orderly account” of Jesus’ life not as mere biography, but to transform lives with the good news. Writing largely to Gentiles, he shows Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s story and Lord over all history. We’re in the long section (Luke 9–19) where Jesus journeys to Jerusalem—ultimately, to the cross. Today’s passage (Luke 12:49–13:9) gathers five teachings under one theme: the urgency of choosing Christ.

Jesus begins with an arresting purpose statement: “I came to cast fire on the earth, and would that it were already kindled! I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how great is my distress until it is accomplished!” (Luke 12:49–50, ESV). The “fire” evokes judgment language familiar from the prophets. John the Baptist foresaw it: the Messiah would gather wheat and “burn with unquenchable fire” the chaff (Luke 3:16–17, ESV). Scripture is clear—Jesus’ second advent will bring just judgment: “in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God” (2 Thessalonians 1:8–9, ESV).

But verse 50 anchors hope: Jesus’ “baptism” points to His cross. “Now is my soul troubled… But for this purpose I have come to this hour” (John 12:27, ESV). Judgment and mercy meet at Calvary. Those who choose Christ are saved from the fire by His finished work.

Still, that choice brings division. “Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division” (Luke 12:51, ESV). Jesus is the “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6), and in Him “you who once were far off have been brought near… For he himself is our peace” (Ephesians 2:13–14, ESV). Yet the peace with God that believers enjoy can fracture earthly ties, even within families (Luke 12:53; echoing Micah 7). In some cultures, this cost is painfully tangible; still, “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus” outweighs every loss (Philippians 3:8, ESV).

Jesus then rebukes spiritual dullness. People can read the sky and predict weather, “but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?” (Luke 12:56, ESV). His works—the blind seeing, the lame walking, the poor receiving good news—are signs shouting Messiah (cf. Luke 7:22). Hypocrisy blinds; truth is plain.

He presses the urgency with a courtroom picture: settle before judgment. “Make an effort to settle with him on the way, lest he drag you to the judge… I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the very last penny” (Luke 12:58–59, ESV). We cannot pay our sin-debt, but Christ can—and did: God “forgave us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt… This he set aside, nailing it to the cross” (Colossians 2:13–14, ESV). Choose Christ while you’re “on the way.”

Some in the crowd pivot to headlines: Pilate’s brutality, a tower collapse (Luke 13:1–4). Were the victims greater sinners? Jesus won’t play that game. Everyone dies; everyone faces God. “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3, 5, ESV). The point isn’t ranking tragedies; the point is readiness—repentance now.

He closes with a parable (Luke 13:6–9): a fruitless fig tree given one more year—one more gracious chance—to bear fruit before the axe falls. It pictures Israel in Jesus’ day, but it also preaches God’s patience to us. “The Lord is… patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9, ESV). Patience, yes—but not forever: “the day of the Lord will come like a thief” (2 Peter 3:10, ESV). Therefore, choose Christ today: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts” (Hebrews 4:7, ESV).

And choose Him for His worth, not merely to avoid hell. He is better than every alternative—“fullness of joy” in His presence; “pleasures forevermore” at His right hand (Psalm 16:11, ESV). Stir your heart by seeking Him where He reveals Himself—in His Word, among His people, at His Table. Don’t delay. Christ is worth everything.

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Stir Up and Encourage One Another

Summary of my sermon, based on Hebrews 10:19-25. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on January 4, 2026.

Our confidence before God doesn’t come from a spiritual “winning streak” or perfect routines, but from Jesus. Think about confidence the way a team’s championship odds change: they move when wins are on the board. In the Christian life, the decisive win is Christ’s finished work—not our day-to-day highs and lows. He lived sinlessly, died in our place, rose in power, and now brings us into the Father’s presence.

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus… let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith” (Hebrews 10:19, 22, ESV). That is the bedrock of assurance.

Why did we ever need such confidence? Because God’s holiness and our sin create a real separation. In the Old Testament, only the high priest entered the Holy of Holies, only once a year, and only with cleansing and sacrifice (see Leviticus 16). The tabernacle curtain embodied that barrier. But when Jesus died, “the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51, ESV). By His blood, the way is open. Now we draw near with hearts made clean and bodies washed (Hebrews 10:22).

Two distortions erode that gift. First, “Jesus plus.” We start believing we’re accepted because of Jesus and our devotions, attendance, giving, or serving. Those are good fruits, but they are not the root. We don’t add to the cross; we respond to it. Second, trusting the strength of our faith rather than the Savior. Doubts come, trials shake us, and we worry our weak faith disqualifies us. But even “faith like a grain of mustard seed” moves mountains (Matthew 17:20, ESV). Like the desperate father, we pray, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24, ESV). Our confidence rests in Christ Himself; He strengthens and guards us.

On that foundation, Hebrews gives a clear, practical call: “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful” (Hebrews 10:23, ESV). And then: “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works” (v. 24). That little phrase “consider how” matters. It’s intentional attention, not accidental encouragement. To “consider” is to notice a brother’s burdens, a sister’s gifts, and think creatively about what would actually help them take the next step toward love and obedience.

That kind of thoughtful care requires proximity. So Hebrews adds: “not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (Hebrews 10:25, ESV). Streaming is a grace when illness, weather, or distance intervene; but as a rule, embodied fellowship is the ordinary means God uses to grow us. In the room we see each other’s eyes, hear the real tone beneath the “I’m fine,” and obey the Spirit’s nudge to pray, serve, give, or simply listen. The church isn’t a content platform; it’s a Spirit-filled people.

So what does “considering how to stir up” look like this week? Notice who seemed weary on Sunday, who rejoiced, who was missing. Act with a text, a call, a visit, a meal, a prayer, or a practical offer to help. Aim at love and good works; encouragement isn’t mere compliments, it’s oxygen for obedience.

And when we gather at the Lord’s Table, we rehearse the source of our confidence again: Christ’s body given, Christ’s blood shed—for you, for us. Communion is not a reward for the strong but nourishment for the weak who are clinging to Jesus. It recenters our assurance on His finished work, and it rekindles our commitment to “one another” life.

Come boldly—not because you’re on a roll, but because Jesus reigns. Hold fast—not because you never wobble, but because He never wavers. And look around the room—there’s someone God is asking you to “consider” this week. Encourage them toward love and good works until the Day dawns.

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Hope in the God Who Saves

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 7. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 28, 2025.

Amen. Praise the Lord. How many of you remember the Y2K scare? It’s wild to think that was twenty-five years ago. I remember my dad, who worked for Manulife Financial, being on call all night on December 31, 1999, because old systems stored the year with just two digits. People worried that when the calendar rolled to “00,” critical computers might fail. From that anxious night to today—when computers can generate images, video, and text—it’s amazing how much has changed.

One change I’m grateful for is YouTube. I use it not only for entertainment but also for long, informative videos. Some can be heavy. One I watched was about a Mexican mother named Miriam whose daughter was kidnapped in 2014. After paying ransom and still losing her daughter, she channeled her grief into relentless investigation—disguises, patient watching, and clever use of social media—identifying everyone involved and working with police to arrest them one by one. She became a symbol of courage in the face of cartel violence and government inaction. Tragically, on Mother’s Day 2017, she was killed near her home, and her own case remains unsolved. Even though I sensed the video might end that way, it left me deflated. Some evil seems to go unpunished—at least on this side of eternity.

That’s close to how the prophet Micah sounds at the start of chapter 7. Near the end of his ministry, despite warnings and promises of hope, he looks around Judah and sees no fruit. The godly seem gone; leaders are corrupt; neighbors and friends can’t be trusted; even families fracture (see Mic 7:1–6). It’s bleak. And it feels familiar: scandals, exploitation, persecution of Christians, and countless other wrongs. Scripture says we should expect difficult times in the “last days,” with people loving self and pleasure rather than God, keeping a form of religion while denying its power (2 Tim 3:1–5). Those who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while impostors go from bad to worse (2 Tim 3:12–13).

What do we do with that? We can despair or grow cynical, or even start to wonder whether God is really in control. But God is gracious to remind His people of His sovereignty. Think of Elijah. After the dramatic victory over the prophets of Baal (1 Kgs 18), one threat from Jezebel sent him fleeing, discouraged, and ready to give up (1 Kgs 19). God met him, questioned his despair, and reminded him there were seven thousand who hadn’t bowed to Baal (1 Kgs 19:18). Elijah wasn’t alone; God was still ruling.

Micah has a similar turn. Suddenly his tone shifts: “As for me, I will look to the Lord… my God will hear me… When I fall, I shall rise… When I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me” (see Mic 7:7–8). He acknowledges Judah’s sin and the Lord’s indignation, yet trusts that God Himself will plead his cause, bring him into the light, and vindicate His people (Mic 7:9–10). Judgment would come—exile to Babylon—but God promised a remnant, a return, and ultimately a Messiah who would bring complete victory.

That victory arrived in a way no one could have scripted. The prophets dropped clues—Emmanuel, “God with us” (Isa 7:14); the child who is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (Isa 9:6–7)—but the fulfillment exceeded imagination. The Son of God took on flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). Everything about Jesus’ birth emphasized lowliness and surprise: the scandal of a betrothed virgin with child, a census forcing travel under foreign rule, a stable for delivery, a manger for a crib, angelic news first announced to shepherds, and wise men initially going to the royal city—not to Bethlehem. God downplayed earthly glory to reveal a greater glory: not merely Israel’s political restoration, but salvation for the world (Gen 12:3; Mic 5:2).

Micah 7 closes with this double horizon. First, the Messiah would shepherd His people and restore them, as in the days when God brought them from Egypt, showing them marvelous things (Mic 7:14–15). The nations who opposed God’s people would be humbled (Mic 7:16–17). But beyond geopolitical reversals lies the heart of the good news: God pardons iniquity, passes over transgression, has compassion, and casts our sins into the depths of the sea (Mic 7:18–20). That’s the victory Jesus secured—over sin itself—through His sinless life, atoning death, burial, and resurrection. Everyone who believes in Him receives forgiveness and eternal life (John 3:16–17).

So we live between Advents—remembering the first, waiting for the second. In this in-between, there will be tribulation, yet Jesus says, “Take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Don’t let the darkness make you forget the character of God. Like Micah, look to the Lord. Like Elijah, remember you’re not alone. Like Mary and Joseph, trust God’s quiet, sovereign work that often unfolds in humble places.

As our celebrations wind down and the year turns, let’s ask for grace to resist despair and keep hoping. Practice remembrance: rehearse the gospel, stay in Scripture, pray, worship, and act. And let hope move your hands—do good, seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). Christ has come. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

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Never Forget His Rescue

Summary of my sermon, based on Micah 6. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 21, 2025.

Like many kids who grew up in Canada, I took piano through the Royal Conservatory system. What I remember most about exams was the repertoire: fifteen to twenty minutes of music committed to memory. There’s only one way to do that—practice. Parents know the drill: “Practice, because we’re paying for those lessons!” It isn’t just music. At work there are tasks you do so often you barely think about them, and others you have to look up because you don’t do them regularly. Skill sticks with repetition; neglect leads to forgetfulness. That principle also applies to our spiritual life: if we don’t practice our faith—if we don’t remember and rehearse God’s works and ways—we forget.

Israel’s history shows this. In the wilderness, Moses kept urging the people to remember the things their eyes had seen and to keep God’s commandments (Deut 4; 8). Yet not long after entering the land, they forgot and did what was evil in the Lord’s sight (Judg 3:7). Think about all God had done: the plagues in Egypt, the Red Sea crossing, daily provision in the desert (even their sandals didn’t wear out), the Jordan River parted, Jericho’s walls falling. Still, they forgot—and forgetting led to idolatry.

Fast-forward about five hundred years to Micah. We’ve been in this little book throughout Advent. Micah prophesied to Judah while the northern kingdom was already falling to Assyria. He confronted Judah’s idolatry and the social injustice of wealthy landowners stealing the land of the poor (Mic 1–2). He called out corrupt rulers and even prophets who sold “words from God” for a price (Mic 3). Judgment would come—the land would be lost. Yet every message of judgment was paired with hope: a preserved remnant, the mountain of the Lord lifted up, nations streaming to God, weapons turned into tools, peace established (Mic 4). We even heard the promise that the ruler would come from Bethlehem (Mic 5:2). Two full cycles: judgment and restoration.

Micah 6 opens the final cycle, and we’re back in the courtroom. The Lord summons creation to hear His indictment (Mic 6:1–2). Then He asks His people a piercing question: “What have I done to weary you?” and rehearses His saving acts—bringing them out of Egypt and raising up Moses, Aaron, and Miriam (Mic 6:3–4). He reminds them of the whole Balak–Balaam episode (Num 22–24), when a pagan king hired a prophet to curse Israel and God turned the curse into blessing—deliverance Israel didn’t even see at the time. He points to Shittim and Gilgal, framing the last steps into the land (Mic 6:5). In other words: “I rescued you, led you, protected you—often behind the scenes. How did that become a burden to you?”

Israel’s response reveals how far their hearts have wandered. They try to bargain: “Shall I come with burnt offerings? Calves a year old? Thousands of rams? Ten thousand rivers of oil? My firstborn for my transgression?” (Mic 6:6–7). It’s an escalation that exposes the problem. They see God as a power to be placated, not a Lord to be loved. Worst of all, their final offer—child sacrifice—mimics pagan worship and directly violates God’s law (Lev 18:21). In trying to impress God, they prove they’ve forgotten Him.

Then comes Micah’s famous rebuttal, not plucked out of thin air but spoken into this exact moment: God has already told you what is good and what He requires—to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:8). It’s not a price list to purchase favor; it’s the posture of a people who truly remember the Lord. Think of Jesus’ parable in Luke 18: the Pharisee who boasts of his religious performance and the tax collector who beats his breast and prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” One trusts his offerings; the other trusts God. Only one goes home justified.

Micah 6:8 is a call to action, yes—but it’s also a call to repentance and reliance. On our own we can’t meet God’s standard. Jesus says, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt 5:48). That command drives us to grace. How can we do justice without first being justified by faith and having peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Rom 5:1)? How can we love kindness without knowing that God’s kindness leads us to repentance (Rom 2:4)? How can we walk humbly with God unless we’re following the One who humbled Himself to the point of death, even death on a cross (Phil 2)?

So how do we keep from forgetting? The same way Moses coached Israel: remember, rehearse, obey. Immerse yourself in Scripture. Practice your faith daily. Not as leverage to “get God” to do what you want, but as gratitude and dependence—because apart from Him we drift. Our world is full of distractions—endless deals, notifications, even good gifts like family and community. Enjoy them, but let them point you back to the Giver. Let this season re-center you on Jesus: Simeon’s words still ring true—our eyes have seen God’s salvation, a light for the nations and the glory of Israel (Luke 2).

And let remembering spill into doing. As a church we’re giving a special “Happy Birthday, Jesus” offering this year toward our benevolence fund to meet needs in our community. It’s one small, concrete way to enact Micah 6:8—justice with kindness, flowing from humble hearts that haven’t forgotten grace.

Church, resist the impulse to bargain with God. Instead, receive His mercy again, and then live it out. Practice your faith so you don’t forget. Do justice—not to earn love, but because you are loved. Love kindness—not to look righteous, but because you’ve been shown mercy. Walk humbly—not to impress God, but because He walks with you. This is what the Lord requires, and this is what Christ enables.