“And that servant who knew his master’s will but did not get ready or act according to his will, will receive a severe beating.” – Luke 12:47

Next time you sit down to read your Bible,  crack open a commentary, or peruse the latest Piper bestseller, keep in mind that what you’re doing is incredibly dangerous.  You’re seeking to more fully understand the will of God.  Don’t get me wrong, that’s a great and commendable thing.  However, have you ever stopped to consider the fact that every ounce of knowledge you take in serves to increase your accountability to obedience?  In Mark 12, Jesus tells a story about a servant who is a good manager and is put in charge of a large portion of the estate while his master is gone.  This servant knows exactly what his master expects.  However, he doesn’t count on his master coming home early, and the master arrives to find this servant drunk and beating the other servants.  Jesus points out that this servant, since he knew his master’s will and yet neglected it, would receive a heavy beating.  On the other hand, one who did not have his master’s explicit instructions but performed the same actions, though still deserving of a beating, would receive a light beating.  The point to the story is that the more we understand the person and will of God, the more we are accountable for obedience to his commands. 

That should be a sobering thought to us all.  Every bit of theological knowledge you gain could either be a great blessing – drawing you nearer in relationship to God – or a curse that testifies against you on the day of judgment.  Obedience is what decides which it will be.  In other words, your theological bookshelf could be a great source of blessing, or it could be the most dangerous piece of furniture in your house.  Every Sunday sermon you listen to could build you up as a follower of Christ, or it could come crashing down upon your head as evidence of a rebellious heart.  Am I trying to scare you away from studying the Bible?  Of course not.  I am, though, hoping that all of us will think a bit more carefully the next time we pursue knowledge of God, remembering that if we treat that means to an end as an end in itself, it could be the most tragic thing we ever do.

Do not rejoice in this, that you preached a great sermon, or wrote a great blog post, or spoke at a conference.  Do not rejoice in this, that you overcame a long-nagging sin, or prayed for three hours, or racked up a 57-day streak of Bible-reading.  Do not rejoice in this, that you led a friend to Christ, or grew your small group, or attend a healthy church.  Do not rejoice in this, that you have overcome temptation, or acheived spiritual successes, or have climbed the mountain of personal holiness.

Do not rejoice in this, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

“Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked him to depart from them, for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned.” – Luke 8:37

For generations, it has been a compliment to refer to someone as a “God-fearing” person.  If we describe someone as God-fearing, we are communicating the fact that they are upright and virtuous, a genuine follower of God.  The Bible uses the term in this way, and the Psalms and Proverbs tell us repeatedly that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”  If someone has a recognition of the glory and holiness of God, that should compel them to live a life that brings glory to him.  However, as I was reading Luke 8:26-39 this morning, it dawned on me that while the fear of God is a necessary starting point for Godliness, it is an inadequate ending point.  It is entirely possible to be God-fearing and yet remain far away from him in rebellion. 

In the familiar passage, Jesus drives out a legion of demons from a possessed man.  The demons enter into a herd of pigs, driving them into the sea and drowning them.  The townspeople, who were not Jews (as evidenced by the fact that they kept a herd of pigs), were very afraid after seeing what Jesus did.  Doubtlessly, they knew all about the crazy, naked, scarred man who lived among tombs and broke every chain they had tried to put on him.  Confronted with the reality of his transformation and the pigs’ destruction, they couldn’t deny that Jesus possessed real and amazing power, far beyond the means of any traveling huckster of the day.  They feared Jesus, but look at what that fear compelled them to do.  They begged Jesus to leave them.  Rather than drawing them near to God, their fear caused them to push him away.

Why would they do this?  Most likely, it was because Jesus was now a threat to their status quo.  Many of their livestock were now dead through this amazing thing he had done.  They saw and understood his power, and they decided that their lives would be more comfortable and safe without it.  They feared the power of Jesus, but they saw it as a threat to their own self-reliance rather than salvation for their brokenness.  Things were quite okay without this guy, they thought, so he needs to move along and let us get back to our lives. 

Does that sound a little bit like our culture today?  How many people do you know who claim to believe in God but keep him confined to some irrelevant corner of their lives – lest he become too powerful and cause them to actually change?  Let’s get even more pointed – how many times do you and I do precisely that?  Being a God-fearing person can be easy enough until the glory and holiness of God threaten something that we cherish and hold dear, such as our impenetrable self-reliance.  Having Jesus around can be a lot of fun until it’s our pigs that end up at the bottom of a lake.  However, a true and good fear of the Lord not only recognizes his greatness, but also the superiority of his ways to our own.  It provokes a self-denying humility, not a self-defensive rejection.  Keep that in mind the next time you consider the fear of God.  It is indeed the beginning of wisdom, but we’re in a lot of trouble if we think it’s the end of it.

“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” - Luke 7:47

After reading this account of Jesus and the sinful woman who anointed his feet with oil in the house of a Pharisee, there are two things that are interesting to note from this verse.  The first is what it doesn’t say.  Jesus isn’t making the case here that this woman is forgiven because of her love.  It’s not as if she’s done enough good now to warrant forgiveness.  This is shown by the parallel that Jesus draws at the end of the verse.  Jesus says that he who has been forgiven little loves little.  It follows, then, that he’s making the point that the reason this woman has such great love is because of gratitude for her forgiveness.  The Pharisee was disgusted by the woman’s display and was incredulous that Jesus would actually let a sinner like her touch him.  It would follow, then, that Jesus is here explaining her actions (which is what prompted the discussion) rather than her forgiveness.  Ironically, her forgiveness goes notably unexplained, with the people around wondering aloud how on earth a man could claim to forgive sins.  Jesus point is that love flows from forgiveness, not the other way around. 

The second notable thing is exactly what the verse is saying – that our love for God is a good indicator of the depth of our forgiveness.   The deeper awareness we have of our own sinfulness, the more grateful we will be to the one who freed us from that debt.  That said, what does your passion for God say about your self-perception?  If your love for Christ is lacking, is it perhaps because you look at yourself as a decent person who really doesn’t need God all that much?  Is your forgiveness theoretical or real?  Take a moment today and examine the love you have for the savior you profess.  It may say just as much about your view of yourself as it does about your view of him.

Here’s the third sermon, “Jesus is Born!” from my church’s “Christmas According to Luke” series, preached by Dustin Neeley from Luke 2:1-21.

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.” – Luke 6:37-38

My daughter has this goofy personalized kids’ CD that is filled with silly songs with her name inserted in them.  She laughs and dances around when we play it, and of course Heather and I end up with the songs stuck in our heads and driving us insane.  The last song on the CD is this silly little ballad about mirrors and how they always reflect our own actions back at us.  The song’s lesson is that people are often the same way – what you give is what you get.

That song came to mind as I read Luke 6:37-42.  Usually, we tend to think that this verse is saying that God will judge us as we judge others.  The problem is, that concept doesn’t really make sense when you consider other things Jesus said – such as the fact that our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees (the most righteous individuals that people in that culture could imagine) if we are ever to see the kingdom of heaven.  In other words, God demands perfection of us (which we can’t achieve, but he graciously provided through the sacrifice of  Christ), and simply being lenient on others doesn’t store up mulligans for ourselves.  No, Jesus has in mind here earthly relationships (which context indicates as well, as this passage comes right on the heels of a call to love our enemies, not just those who are good to us).  He’s saying that the measure you apply to others’ lives is the one that they’ll apply back to you.  Are you harsh and judgmental in your evaluation of others, always looking for a fault to point out?  Then you better believe that they’ll be methodically pouring over your life, looking for some ammunition to fire back.

How are you usually treated by others?  Do you feel like people are always on your case, looking for any mistake or fault to toss in your face?  Before you cry persecution, take a look at your own treatment of others.  Perhaps you’re really just looking in the mirror.  Now granted, I think Jesus’ words here are meant as a proverb and not a universal principle (after all, his crucifixion wasn’t exactly prompted by his own poor treatment of others), but I think we’d do well to remember that there’s more truth in my little girl’s silly song than we might expect.  You do often get what you give.

Here’s the second sermon, “Mary’s Song,” from my church’s “Christmas According to Luke” series, preached by Dustin Neeley from Luke 1:46-56.

“For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.” – Romans 14:23

That verse has been on my mind a bit today.  John Piper mentioned it in the chapter of This Momentary Marriage I read this morning, and consequently it stuck in my mind as I then read the first half of Luke 4.  Have you ever noticed that two of the three things Satan tempts Jesus to do in that passage are not actually sins in-and-of themselves?  Sure, there’s the pretty obvious “I’ll give you the world if you’ll worship me” bit, which is a blatant violation of the first commandment, but look at the other two.  Satan tells Jesus to make bread from a stone and to jump off of the temple.  The first is simply an encouragement to eat, the second is on the surface a challenge for Jesus to trust the Father to save him.  Heck, Satan even throws in some nifty Bible promises about God’s protection for his Christ to sweeten the pot (sounds kinda name-it-and-claim-it, doesn’t it?).

So why would these actions have been sinful?  I think it helps to look at Jesus’ responses.  He responds each time with Scripture, yes, but look at what he highlights with those verses.  First, it’s the notion that there are more vital things than food.  Is it wrong to eat, or to enjoy this material world?  No – but it is wrong to live as though the things of the world are our chief joy or purpose.  Is it wrong to eat bread?  No – but it would have been wrong for Jesus to acquiesce his dependence and trust in the Father at Satan’s fleshly behest.  Bread is good and important, but God is better and more important.  With the next instance, Jesus responds by quoting Deuteronomy 6:16 and refusing to put his Father to the test.  Would God have protected his Son?  Were those promises true?  Sure – but for Jesus to use the Father’s promises as a means of self-glorification would have been sinful.  That is, after all, the problem with much of the name-it-claim-it theology – God’s (true and good) promises are used to attempt to serve our wills and desires, rather than submitting our wills to his. 

Satan’s temptation of Jesus is a great example to us of the truth that Romans 14 so clearly spells out – anything that doesn’t come from a heart of faith is sin.  Any action, sinful or not, that disregards the glory, majesty, and goodness of God is itself a breaking of the first commandment.  It’s sin.  Think about that as you go through your day today.  As evangelicals, we tend to be pretty good at keeping rules.  We know how to avoid our laundry lists of sins.  What’s much trickier is submitting our attitudes and motives to God, seeing and living every aspect of our lives with the understanding that God is on his throne and rejoicing in that fact.  Faith in God isn’t just the first step of the Christian walk – it’s the shoes we must wear for every single step of the journey.

My pastor, Dustin Neeley, preached a great sermon yesterday from Luke 1:26-38.  You can listen to it here and view the sermon notes here.

“And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four.  She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.”

- Luke 2:36-38

Anna, like countless other men and women, had longed all her life for the promise of redemption.  For the people of Israel, this hope had sustained them through slavery, exile and oppression.  By God’s grace, Anna was one of the first to realize the incredible truth – redemption had come.  She likely couldn’t anticipate the words Jesus would speak, she likely couldn’t imagine that his life would end (or so it would seem) on a criminal’s cross outside the city, but she realized that the promise had come – that the one who would bring restoration to his people had arrived.

As December begins (and soon enough we’ll say we can’t believe Christmas is over), we turn our attention to that same hope.  What she knew as a promising child, we know as the image of the invisible God.  What she knew as a promised but unknown redemption, we know as the beautiful exchange of the cross.  And yet as Anna brimmed with thanksgiving to God, we’ll pass the next several weeks much like we always do.  Sure, we’ll sing a carol or decorate a tree, but we’ll do so with a wonder that’s grossly disproportionate to the truth and beauty of the incarnation.  So this Christmas, make an effort to pause more.  See every twinkling light, every splash of green and red, as a springboard – vaulting your heart and mind into the heights of the wonder of the glory of God.  After all, the wait is over.  The shadow is now a reality.  Redemption is here.