While many have heard of claustrophobia (a fear of enclosed spaces), acrophobia (a fear of heights), and arachnophobia (a fear of spiders), fewer are familiar with sciophobia—a fear of shadows.

One publication explains that, for someone wrestling with it, sciophobia “may dictate major decisions they make in their day-to-day life such as choosing to not go outside in the daylight … in fear they may come across a shadow.” This fear can lead to intense, paralyzing anxiety. Now, most understand that a shadow is harmless, just a shape produced on a surface by an object blocking light. But for sciophobics, something so common and powerless can enslave them and stop them from fully enjoying the life they have.

Many Christians suffer from spiritual sciophobia, ensnared by “mere shadows” (Col 2:17). Paul, however, insists that such a hindrance is avoidable and that followers of Jesus can come out of the shadows and into the Son.

Some assignments are so big they can be overwhelming. Maybe it’s a comprehensive final exam or a massive term paper, a necessary home renovation or a significant health issue, a mountain of personal debt to climb or a relational tension to overcome. Huge tasks like these can be intimidating, deflating, and immobilizing. “Where do I even start? Is it even possible? Should I even bother?” 

Sometimes this is how it feels to follow Jesus, to give our lives to him, to serve him, to share him, and to become more like him. And as we grow in our understanding of how wonderful he is and how sinful we are, the assignment can become increasingly daunting. “I’m supposed to follow in his steps? Where do I even start? Is it even possible? Should I even bother?” If you have ever felt this way—like you’re in over your head in this Christian life—God has something to tell you today.

“Handle with care.” We’ve all heard, read, said, and maybe prayed those three words of request. Whether when passing a newborn to an excited older sibling for the first time, packing and transporting boxes of irreplaceable items, or offering help to a vulnerable, ill, or discouraged loved one, the need is the same—to proceed with caution, to speak with compassion, and to handle with care. And the care with which we handle a situation reflects its perceived worth and fragility. We care for robust things if they’re expensive and we care for inexpensive things if they’re delicate. But when something is both costly and vulnerable, we take special care.

In his letter to the church in Colossae, Paul reminds his readers that the good news of Jesus Christ is both. The gospel is precious, costly, and invaluable. But it’s also fragile as it can be distorted, attacked, obstructed, and obscured. So, we as recipients and beneficiaries of that gospel must protect it, defend it, and handle it with care.

Music is powerful but, for Christians, music that celebrates and venerates our Lord and Saviour is especially so. Consider these well-worn and majestic words: “All hail the pow’r of Jesus’ name! / Let angels prostrate fall; / bring forth the royal diadem, / and crown him Lord of all!” Or how about these more recently-penned lines: “You’re the Word of God the Father / from before the world began; / every star and every planet / has been fashioned by your hand. / All creation holds together / by the power of your voice; / let the skies declare your glory; / let the land and seas rejoice.”  

Wonderful! Lyrics like these excite in God’s children a love for God’s Son—who he is, and what he did, does, and will do—and moves them to adoration, reflection, appreciation, conviction, and dedication. Now, if that’s true of hymns written by people, what about one written and preserved for us by God himself?

One of the burdens of every generation is to teach the next generation good manners. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, and baby-sitters all join forces to help children learn to be polite, to do things like use a napkin at the table, hold doors open for others, and say ‘excuse me’ when appropriate. But perhaps the most foundational and obvious example of good manners is children learning to say ‘please’ when asking for something and ‘thank you’ when receiving it. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’—two relatively small gestures that can make a big difference.

Our heavenly Father wants us, his spiritual children, to develop good manners as we grow-up in Christ. As we mature, by his power, God desires us to develop habits of communication with him that are proper, worshipful, and edifying. In fact, learning to say ‘please’ when asking for something and ‘thank you’ when receiving it may be at the top of his list.

In July 1961, Vince Lombardi, coach of the Green Bay Packers, stood before thirty-eight professional football players ready to start a new season. Six months previous, they had lost the championship game in the final minutes and had been sitting in that memory ever since. These athletes were ready to adjust what needed adjusting to make sure this year was different and were waiting for their coach to give them direction. Instead, Lombardi looked out over the second-best team in the world, held up a football, and said, “Gentlemen, this is a football.” And with that statement, the coach expressed his intention to take that team back to the fundamentals of the game.

In a similar way, sometimes the church needs to go back to the fundamentals of her existence, her mission, and her purpose. It’s an important discipline to regularly sit under God’s word and hear it declare authoritatively but simply, “Brothers and sisters, this is a church.”

From Paul's letter to the Romans, Dr. Rennie encourages us how to rightly identify our spiritual giftedness and how to use that giftedness for the building up of the body of Christ.

Oftentimes an end is also a beginning. The end of summer signals the beginning of autumn. The end of childhood means the beginning of adulthood. When life as a single person comes to an end that typically means life as a spouse is beginning. Trusting Christ for everlasting life marks the end of separation from God and the beginning of the process of becoming like him. Oftentimes an end is also a beginning.

Such is the case with Matthew’s gospel. The evangelist didn’t write this book to simply entertain or preserve history. Rather, inspired by the Holy Spirit, he wrote it to move his readers to action, to thrust them into the trenches, and to send them into the world on fire with an assignment. As Matthew’s account comes to an end, his readers are shown how it’s just the beginning of something amazing—a great commission to be undertaken, in spite of great imperfection, fuelled by the power of great provision.

It is customary for a good sermon to begin with an introduction of sorts, an attempt to orient the hearer to the text or topic about to be studied. However, there are some passages of Scripture that simply require no introduction. These are sections of God’s word so momentous, so profound, so dramatic, and so captivating that they demand attention with little outside help.

Such is the case with Matthew’s inspired account of the crucifixion of the King. It is as climactic as it is devastating, as beautiful as it is brutal, and as sombre as it is necessary. And this passage highlights for believers of all eras and ages that which was endured by Jesus, that which was shown by what was endured by Jesus, and that which is demanded by what was shown.

A “kangaroo court” is a trivial-sounding idiom that, in reality, describes something far less playful than its title may suggest. According to one source, this expression refers to “an unauthorized mock court or legal proceeding in which some or all of the due process rights [of the accused] are ignored and the outcome appears to be predetermined.” In other words, a kangaroo court is a sham trial, it is judicial theatre, and it is malevolent injustice.

There could scarcely be a better description of what the Lord Jesus experienced in the hours leading up to his crucifixion. Though his opponents had already decided both his guilt and sentence, the people of Israel—led by their religious leaders—put their Messiah on a trial, a trial more concerned with a desired conviction and execution than with legality and truth.

Yet, there’s deep irony to Matthew’s account of this charade in that it’s the accusers who end up exposing themselves as criminal and it’s the accused, Jesus, who is proved blameless.