Him They Did Not See (Luke 24:13–27) from South Woods Baptist Church on Vimeo.

Anthony Doerr’s Pulitzer Prize–winning novel All the Light We Cannot See primarily tells the story of two characters whose lives intersect during WWII. One of the main characters––maybe the main character––is a sixteen–year–old French girl named Marie–Laure. And in France, during WWII, she’s also blind.

The novel begins with these words in a chapter entitled, “Leaflets”: “At dusk they pour from the sky. They blow across the ramparts, turn cartwheels over rooftops, flutter into the ravines between houses. Entire streets swirl with them, flashing white against the cobbles: ‘Urgent message to the inhabitants of this town. Depart immediately to open country.’”

As you likely know, before American bombers would attack a city in France during WWII, many, many times they’d drop these leaflets to warn those innocently living there to “get out.” We did much to avoid civilian casualties during that war.

A few pages after that opening chapter, while this sixteen–year–old blind girl is separated from her family, Doerr writes this: “Marie–Laure LeBlanc stands alone in her bedroom smelling a leaflet she cannot read.”[1]

Blindness affects nearly everything. Sometimes those effects are more disastrous.

Our text today is about sight. Or the lack thereof.

 

Him they did not see on the road

 

Verse 13: That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem.

            If you don’t mind, rewind two weeks. On the first day of the week, at dawn, a number of the women went to Jesus’ tomb. They inexplicably found the stone rolled away (24:2). And when they went in the tomb, they did not find Jesus’ body (24:3). Then, two angels announced to these women, Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen (24:5–6). They rush back to tell the disciples, though what they reported seemed to be an idle tale. Most of the disciples didn’t believe the women (24:11). True to character, however, intense Peter ran to the tomb.[2]

            Nonetheless, all the evidence we have at this point is an empty tomb. There’s no body, beyond the rolled stone or elsewhere, meaning, no one’s seen Jesus walking around breathing just yet. In fact, it’s only been a few hours. Verse 13 says, that very day.[3] It’s probably still early afternoon on Easter Sunday.[4] On that afternoon, v. 13, two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. Don’t forget that it was Passover week. And it’s possible these two were merely returning home after.[5]

These two were going to this village, v. 14: and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened.[6] The language here points to a wide–ranging discussion where they bantered about the events of their eventful weekend.[7] Sometimes when we drive to Nashville or Sparta to see family, Julie and I may not have tons to talk about. She’s heard all my stories more than twice. But, after a holiday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas, we gab every mile of I–40. We’ve seen people we haven’t seen in a long time. It’s always eventful. And there’s plenty to say.

Consider these two. They were not named as belonging to the 12, but we’ll soon see they were indeed following Jesus in some sense. Passover weekend was always interesting, surely, but consider the garden arrest, the sham trial, and the public execution of this Man they’d been listening to, watching, and, maybe, beginning to trust. They walk together and rehash all the details.

And v. 15, while they were talking and discussing together. Let’s pause there. This word for discussing suggests the dialogue was likely emotional and charged.[8] They were trying to “figure out” what happened.[9] They’re not just objective historians detailing facts of the weekend, they’re flawed humans processing the disaster the weekend appeared to be.

Verse 15: While they were talking and discussing together, J[...]

Thirty-three years ago today, less than two miles from where we regularly meet,[2] South Woods had its first gathering. At that time, we were known as Kirby Woods at Winchester, reflecting the mother church that provided a building for us and sent us out, as well as the “satellite” concept of which we were a part.[3] I would love to say that we knew precisely what we were doing as we planted this new church in southeastern Shelby County. But we didn’t, including the pastor. I had served as pastor in three other churches, so there was no lack when it came to knowing some of the normal practices and mechanics of church life. I had experience with preaching, teaching, counseling, organizing, etc. But what I didn’t understand very well at that point was just how tightly the Lord of the Church has gathered His people to be centered in the gospel. I was learning but didn’t grasp it, nor did others who joined to help start the church.

We had plenty of excitement, lots of activities, warm atmosphere, and involvement in the things we did as a church. Each week in the building where we met, we had to set up and take down everything from the worship area to Sunday School spaces to baby beds for the preschool. People were good about volunteering and pitching in. And the interest seemed to grow, as more people came to visit this new church in southeast Shelby County. But something big was missing.

Many of you know the story, once the original building was sold, we moved about for two years in temporary spaces until building our present facility. Those were trying days in those locations, pretty much shielding us from anyone visiting services. More importantly, those were reshaping, honing, and transforming days, as I, along with a number of others in the membership, began to see the centrality of the gospel to the whole of life, including everything we’re about as a church.

I wish I could tell you that everyone rejoiced in seeing this wonderfully clear gospel line throughout the entire Bible. But it didn’t happen. A division arose—a really big division. The majority of the membership left over a three-year period. But, thank God, something amazingly wonderful happened. We learned what it was to be together for the gospel. We learned that being part of a church was not for self or comfort or personal success or following our dreams or believing what we wanted to believe or even being a Baptist. On the contrary, the gospel birthed the church.[4] In doing so, the gospel didn’t check out, and leave the church to its imagination or creativity or ingenuity. Instead, Jesus rooted and grounded the church in the good news of His redemptive work.

John and Luke offer some strikingly parallel elements about the resurrection story and the young church emerging from the resurrected Lord’s triumph over sin and death. Luke tells us about the two disciples on the road to Emmaus who learned that all of Scripture unfolds the revelation of who Jesus is and what Jesus accomplished (Luke 24:35). These two early witnesses rushed to tell the disciples about Jesus appearing to them, when suddenly, as John and Luke record, Jesus came into their locked room.[5] We’ll follow John’s testimony in this exposition where he helps us understand a critical truth on this 33rd anniversary of our church. The risen Christ binds the church together for the gospel. How does this binding together for the gospel affect the church? Let’s consider it in three regular actions of the church.

1. Rejoice in Jesus’ Triumph

Fear gripped the disciples. “So when it was evening on that day [on Easter Sunday], the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’” Hatred from the Jewish leaders aimed at Jesus might also be aimed at them. They had been with Him at the arrest; some fought back; they scattered (except John); now they regathered. The “doors were shut,”[...]

Death is a tyrant. It shows no favor. It knows nothing about mercy. It pays no attention to age or education or job or family or finances or notoriety. Death’s horrible work never stops, never takes a vacation, never goes A.W.O.L, never shrinks from assaulting its prey. When death comes, it doesn’t simply foreclose and leave homeless with a chance to eventually climb out of its clutches with a new start. It’s a life-robber. It steals hopes, ambitions, plans, loves, friendships, careers, family. It’s not daunted by medicine, virility, DNA, athleticism, or diet. Death takes. It never gives.

The past weeks serve to remind us that death has no boundaries. By now, most of us have known someone that died due to the pandemic. Of course, while it rages, the other claws of death continue unabated. Death has endless ways to take and rob. “The day you eat from it [the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and so, sin!] you will surely die,” God warned our first parents. And so, death has followed the human race from those first parents throughout history. “The wages of sin is death,” Paul tells us. Sin in nature leads to sin in practice, leading to death. Death is the one thing we all have in common with the powerful and downtrodden, the rich and the poor, the achiever and the sloth, the superstar and the unknown. Death equalizes the human race.

That is, until Jesus entered into the human race. Death angrily pursues. But our Savior Christ Jesus “abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Tim. 1:10). Death, the great equalizer, is no match for the Life-giver Jesus Christ. Death’s penalty, Jesus took on Himself at the cross. Death’s hold, Jesus took with Himself in the tomb. Death’s power, Jesus took from this enemy in the resurrection. Our eternity rests on the empty tomb. There, death lost its power and grip, its victory and sting (1 Cor. 15:54–57). Jesus triumphed over it! But how do we know that Jesus conquered death? Let’s look at the story and the significance in this narrative.

The Story

The resurrection story began in the tomb. Fifth century Greek transcribers of the New Testament divided it into chapters. Their original break was in the midst of Luke 23:56, “And on the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.”[1] They saw the tension between Jesus taken from the cross and placed into the tomb on Friday, waiting until Sunday for the resurrection. That’s where we see our story start to develop.

Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James at least, and others likely, including Joanna, had stayed on Golgotha until the bitter end. Their Lord Jesus, whom they had followed from Galilee, whom they’d listened to, learned from, and watched day-after-day as He loved the poor, healed the sick, fed the desperate, raised the dead, and taught the hungry hearted, now dead. They knew that no one had ever been like Him. None could compare to Him; not Moses, David, Elijah, or Jeremiah. Surely, He was the Son of God as He testified. So why did He so willingly go to the cross? Could not He who raised the dead have avoided death?[2] It was as if He knew the cross as His destiny. He didn’t flinch at the arrest, mock trial, barbaric treatment, and carrying the cross. He went like a lamb led to the slaughter, like a sheep silent before its shearers, not opening His mouth to defend Himself or to correct the accusations (Isa. 53:7).

They listened, straining their hearing, to catch the words He uttered on the cross. His care for His mother was evident in committing her to John’s care. His suffering and alienation became so visceral as He cried, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” His tender mercies were apparent in asking the Father to forgive His executioners and welcoming the thief crucified with Him into Paradise. Then, that cry, “It is finished,” as He committed His spirit into the Father’s hands, broke their hearts. Their Lord and Friend had died. The One they thought would rescue Israel[...]

Exposing Frauds

Luke 20:45—21:4

 

From the conjunction AND that begins our text this morning, we see Jesus tying our current passage together with the previous one. Last week Jesus again pulled back the curtain on Himself—He’s Lord of all. Unlike the Sadducees, Jesus always asks the right questions. His sweeping significance, unpacked by Phil last week, corners all who hear. Jesus is not confused about who He is, and the whole of His life and ministry only confirmed His supremacy as LORD of lords, as well as confirming with startling clarity the reality of human blindness.

Having made His identity clearer, Jesus now wants to warn His followers about the identity of those who appear to be one thing but are yet quite another. Granted, in most cases when Jesus is viewed wrongly then lives that follow in that train are often a train wreck—at least in God’s eyes. But we need to see how these encounters with Jesus and the religious establishment are meant to be understood by His real followers. Certainly, discernment is one angle. We should be able to recognize true faith that issues into an honest life. Yet another important angle is this—just because we have it rightly settled in our minds who Christ truly is doesn’t mean we are immune from being unsettled by deception—either within ourselves or by those that mask about. Until our final resurrection we will always be vulnerable. Can we really number our gullible moments and our own hypocrisies?[1]

As Jesus turns to His disciples, and as He has left the Sadducees and Pharisees “bruised and bleeding” in the wake of His wisdom, He now sounds the alarm regarding hypocrisy, upstaging these highly regarded religious men with no less than a widowed woman[2] in our text this morning. In doing so, he points to a live example to teach what it means to be devotedly true before God’s face.

 

I. Beware of the scribes

We’ve come across these scribes in Luke before. They are the teachers of the Law who commanded unrivaled authority in first-century Palestine.[3] They were usually men over forty years old who were trained from childhood to be the primary interpreters and preservers of the Law. Many of them were lawyers and often they were chosen as local judges. Scribes were guardians of Jewish tradition and many regarded them as specialized keepers of divine secrets—and he who possesses the secrets owns the power, right? On top of all of these tasks, which afforded them unquestioned respect, they were the curators of Scripture, considered no less than divine work.[4] It’s obvious that these men would have been highly esteemed by the people. Yet, Jesus’ field of vision scans further. As one songwriter put it, He’s the “omnipresent cardiologist.”[5]

Note with me first why Jesus tells his disciples to beware of the scribes. He highlights…

 

Their Appearance

Verse 46, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes…”

To put it in a more current vernacular, these scribes liked to stay fresh and fly.[6] Of course they did. They were the crème de la crème among the Pharisaical ranks. For finer interpretations of the law, the rest of the Pharisees would consult them, as they interpreted the Law for the whole community in which they were situated.[7] Dapper was their modus operandi as they bandied about each day in public places. If they lived in Memphis, I imagine them being regulars at Oak Hall. These long, flowing robes were markers of wealth and distinction. And this makes sense knowing what we’ve considered about these religious elites from Luke. They loved the praise of man. Commentator Leon Morris captures it well, “While they thus liked to shine before people, they were careless of how they appeared before God.”[8]

There’s no sense in being categorically against dressing nicely. That’s not the point. The point is outward physical appearance can be an indication of an inner reality. In this case the hearts of these scribes measured public successes by whether or not o[...]

The Great Divide

Luke 16:19–31

July 14, 2019

 

A real hell declares the worthiness of God.

If what the Bible reveals about God the Creator as holy, righteous, and just is not true, then there’s no reason for hell. No one in the universe needs to be concerned if there’s no righteous, holy Creator demanding in the Ten Commandments that His image bearers reflect His moral character.

Yet, as the Bible declares God as holy, righteous, and just, then hell has its place. Hell answers to the justice of God for unbelievers just as the cross does for those He saves. The costliness of saving a people for eternity implies the reality of hell. Or else the Son of God would not have suffered in the place of sinners for God to be just in forgiving us.

But few people, especially those engaged in some kind of religious practice, think that the great divide will land them in hell. Hell is the abode of Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, and the like, not the place where good, religious people go forever, they think. Yet the deceptive theology that elevates people and denigrates God, that ignores human sinfulness and discounts divine holiness, leaves multitudes blissfully staring at eternity with a false hope. God’s infinite worth demands infinite wrath for sinful humanity. That’s why the cross of Christ in His sin-bearing work assures the reality of hell.

How do we understand heaven or hell? We’re bound by space and time, limited language, and finite minds, so wrapping our heads around the glory of heaven or the anguish of hell stretches far beyond our capabilities. So the Bible gives us enough pictures, images, metaphors, and prose to help us grasp the wonder of heaven and the horridness of hell. We see enough to know one place we want to be, another we want to avoid. The great divide means that each of us will spend eternity in one or the other.

How you listen to the message of the Bible determines your place in the great divide. Do you listen with faith and obedience? Or do you listen with unbelief and apathy? Jesus gets our attention with the story of Lazarus and the rich man. Some call this a parable because it illustrates what Jesus declares. Others call it a story rich with metaphors and images to help us to grapple with its reality. Let’s take a look together.[1]

 

Evidence for the Great Divide

The use of great divide expresses temporal and eternal realities. Temporally, in the present life a distinction exists between those following Christ and those who don’t. Some presently on the unbelieving side will, by the grace of God, cross over to the believing, Christ-following side. Hearing the gospel of Christ with faith to trust and obey Christ affects the present and eternal condition.

When we cross the threshold of death, the eternal divide never changes. No purgatory or holding place where a chance for a lengthy remedial state that ends in heaven, exists. Death is the final point opening to the great divide. No change in eternal geography takes place after one’s final breath.

 

In Life

In this story, Jesus addresses “the Pharisees, who were lovers of money,” as Luke 16:14 indicates. Whether a parable or story, the point that He makes lands like a moon-sized meteor. “Now there was a rich man, and he habitually dressed in purple [which means the most expensive clothing possible, colored by a rare dye from sea snails, indicating him as a member of the ruling caste][2] and fine linen, joyously living in splendor every day.” That’s an ancient way of stating that he lived the good life. He dressed to the nines and feasted extravagantly on the finest foods every day. The Pharisees, whether they had arrived at that rare life yet or not, longed to be there. But in contrast, “there was a beggar named Lazarus left before his gates, covered with sores” [my translation]. Almost as immoveable as the rich man from his bountiful table, Lazarus got dumped at the wealthy man’s gate, with no chance of life improvement. “And he longed[...]

Riches to Rags

Philippians 2:1–11

March 24, 2019

 

LeBron James is left–handed. For those of you who’ve watched him play basketball, this might be news. Because at the free–throw line or from beyond the arc, LeBron clearly shoots the ball with his right hand. A couple years ago at a press–conference he explained why: “I have no idea how I became a right–handed basketball player. I think it was probably Michael Jordan, Penny Hardaway, guys that I looked up to growing up. Seeing those guys shooting righty, I was like, ‘I guess I’ll shoot righty.’ Yeah, I’m pretty much a left–hand guy.”[1]

Though the poster board in Middle School attempted to inspire, “You were born original. Don’t die a copy,” to some degree we can do no other than learn from the example of others. After mom smiling for weeks, the little baby smiles back. The toddler plays with her dolls like she saw big sister do it. The 40–year–old, though this might’ve been his teenage nightmare, realizes one Saturday afternoon, “I’m turning into my dad.”

Example is effective. And example is instructive. There’s almost no DIY project you can think of that YouTube doesn’t have an unshaved guy in a ratty t-shirt happy to demonstrate. From what I hear, the ladies in DIY videos actually brush their hair before filming. Either way, though you might love reading instructions, someone doing something correctly in front of you often proves to be even more instructive.

But example cuts both ways, doesn’t it? It’s not just smiles that get replicated, it’s anger. It’s not just putting dolls to sleep that little sisters emulate, it’s what she saw big sister do when she was 17. And it’s not just the positive ways sons start acting like their fathers. Example is effective, in multiple ways.

Chris mentioned this again last week, but it’s helpful to think of Philippi in terms of a Rome in miniature.[2] That doesn’t merely mean that it had a particular architecture; it also means they had a particular Roman culture and ethos. During March Madness, we’re watching 18–21–year–olds sprint to block shots, dive for loose balls, and jump back up to do it again. They do it to advance in a tournament. In this Roman honor culture, males competed for acclaim.[3] They obsessed over rank and titles, as “prizes to be competitively sought.”[4] The victors of titles displayed them, “in ‘résumé form’ on inscriptions erected throughout the colony.”[5] They hung their pedigree and degrees for all to see, chiseled in the town square.[6]

Their thoughts orbited around self and personal glory. As much as believers in Philippi might’ve attempted to cordon themselves off from the influence of the unbelieving, example is effective and instructive, for both good and ill. This selfish ambition crept into the Philippian Church. In this context, Paul redirects their eyes.

 

What God’s Done for His People

 

Verse 1: So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy

            Note first the word, “so.” The NASB translates it, “therefore.” That reminds us that we must, like every other passage in the Scriptures, not separate what follows in the text from what precedes it. 1:27 functions as something of a heading for everything in our passage today (and next week),[7] Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ. In our text today, Paul will take that language and apply it to the specifics of the Philippian church. How might their manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ?

Now, note the next word, “if”.[8] When we use the word “if,” the matter’s generally up in the air.[9] The language of the New Testament, however, had conditional statements that were assumed to be true, as something of a rhetorical device. This is one of those.[10] As we look as these clauses, it will be helpful to think of “if” as “since.”

So, “since” there is encouragement in Christ, comfort from love, participation in the Spirit, affectio[...]

Passing and Future Riches (Lk 12:13–21) from South Woods Baptist Church on Vimeo.

J. C. Ryle wasn’t always Bishop Ryle. In 1841 he was 25 years old, an accomplished scholar–athlete, and a rising star in the British political world. He also was the heir to an immense fortune; his father having inherited the equivalent of 32 million dollars in today’s terms. With that wealth, Ryle’s father owned two banks, seemingly only continuing to position the younger Ryle toward future “success.” However, one of the banks was poorly run, marked by bad investments and shady lending practices. As these things often go, eventually this loose morality caught up to J. C.’s father. Bad debts, the ensuing panic, and a run on both branches led both to fall literally overnight. J. C. Ryle would write later of the swing of this disastrous day: “We got up one summer’s morning, with all the world before us as usual, and went to bed that same evening completely and entirely ruined.”[1]

Limited liability had not yet been applied to the banking industry in England. So the properties J. C. Ryle was heir to––prized at north of 40 million dollars in today’s terms––had to be sold off to pay the bank’s creditors. To sum up, as he slept, Ryle’s career in politics ended. Many of his relationships eroded just as quickly. Bankruptcy was a criminal offense, and therefore, his father was now considered a crook. The circles he ran in no longer were an option. His career halted, his social life seemingly stalled, and his day–to–day lifestyle ceased.

And yet he lived.

Jesus says in our passage today, One’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions (Luke 12:15). Hugh Latimer had a sermon where he read that verse––verse 15––three times and then said, “And what if I should say nothing else?”[2] In most of our sermons, we’ll come up with a thesis statement that attempts to encapsulate the entirety of the passage. It’s the sermon in a sentence. This week we’ll use the language Jesus came up with. In light of, one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions, Jesus will give a command, a parable to illustrate that truth, and a conclusion.

The timing of this passage is not lost on me. This weekend, the ads could not be louder.

1. In Light of, “One’s Life Does Not Consist in the Abundance of His Possessions,” a Command

Verse 13: Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.”

This is the same crowd as last week’s text. Jesus had been teaching this crowd things like, Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy (12:1), do not fear those who kill the body, . . . fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell (12:4–5), and everyone who acknowledges me before men, the Son of Man also will acknowledge before the angels of God (12:8). It makes tons of sense that immediately after finishing that discourse on those topics, someone would ask Jesus about a personal financial matter between him and his brother.

One of my favorite things is standing at the door at the close of our services and hearing questions about the passage we just studied or an insight into the topic I hadn’t considered. It happens almost every time I preach. I study all week; and then one of you says something I hadn’t come close to thinking about. That’s one of the beauties of a congregation that studies the word together. But we’ve all experienced those times when someone we’re trying to teach comes up to us afterward and says something betraying the fact they haven’t heard a thing we’ve said.

That’s what happens here, it seems. Sometimes we can’t hear the word because we’re overwhelmed by, or distracted by, other issues. This brother has something on the forefront of his mind. And it’s something that captures our affections in powerful ways. There are families––I know them––who chose not to dine together last Thursday––or even be in the same house––because of a 25 year–old dispute over an inherit[...]

Jesus Talks Religion at Dinner (Lk. 11:37–54) from South Woods Baptist Church on Vimeo.

A couple months ago I met with a few local pastors to discuss the nature of pastoral ministry. During our time together, we listened to a talk entitled, “The Temptation of Ministry.”[1] I won’t deliver that lecture here, but I’ll give you the three points. First, he discussed the temptation concerning the conceit of theological knowledge. As you might guess, that point centered on the reality that knowledge, even the theological, can puff up rather than build up. The second temptation noted the conceit of false identity, thinking vocational success is so inextricably linked to your success that it actually defines you. It follows, in this false identity, that vocational failure would also determine your identity. That’s a real danger in many professions. However, the third temptation identified in that talk is the one I want to begin with here: the conceit of focusing on the outward life rather than the inward life.

In the vocation of ministry, while not only there, but certainly there, the outward life is something of a non–negotiable. However, that which is unique in pastoral ministry is what people regularly need to observe outwardly is something of a steady relationship with Christ. In fact, week in and out the job description might demand you stand up in front of a roomful of people to remind them of the glories of the gospel and the worth of Jesus. It’s a glorious privilege, of course, but one that comes with a few dangers. The greatest danger this talk ended up pointing out is this: to keep in check the outer life––and maybe your job––you have two choices: you either have to be close to Jesus or act as if you’re close to Jesus.[2]

How’s that for transparent? Either the Pastor believes what he says; or he doesn’t. However, I’d submit, he’s not the only one facing that danger.

I. Howard Marshall writes about our text today, “Any human form of religiosity, however virtuous in intention, can turn men away from God.”[3] The lesson of this text in Luke 11 is found in Jesus’ words to the Pharisees and the Scribes––these Jewish religious leaders. Over dinner, He’s going to confront their merely external religion. To be clear, I’m not using “religion” pejoratively, as is often wrongly done. Yet Jesus has a few things to say about mere external religion, a focus on the outward life apart from thoughtful and devotional consideration of the inner life. Note first that,

1. Mere External Religion Misunderstands Holiness

When we left off last week, Jesus was standing in the middle of a crowd. As they gathered around Him, He promptly called them an evil generation. This is because, while He stood in their midst, they asked, and continued asking, for a sign. Because they couldn’t see the sign standing in front of them, Jesus asserts that their eyes were bad. This is far from affirmation. There’s tension.

But note how our text kicks–off. It’s cordial. Verse 37, While Jesus was speaking, a Pharisee asked him to dine with him, so he went in and reclined. After Jesus rebukes the crowd, someone in that crowd actually invites Him over for dinner. It’s important to note the lack of hostility. It seems odd considering the circumstances. Did this Pharisee enjoy being called wicked? Or, maybe, he thought Jesus’ rebuke didn’t include him?

The latter is more likely, because the Pharisees considered the crowds wicked too. It’s entirely possible this man heard Jesus question the crowd’s eyesight, heard Him label them wicked, all the while nodding his head, letting out an Aramaic Amen from time to time, and then promptly deciding to invite Jesus over to bash the masses some more. He likely thinks the speech has nothing to do with him. Mere external religion not only misunderstands holiness, it also has the capability to summarily deceive us.

So, he invites Jesus over for dinner, the text says. This is most likely a mid-morning or noon–day meal.[4] My dad and [...]

A Sign Seen (Luke 11:29–36) from South Woods Baptist Church on Vimeo.

On June 3, 1944, Nazi Germany Field Marshal Erwin Rommel was in Paris, France. Though Hitler was hesitant to give clear authority to anyone other than himself, Rommel was, in many ways, the German equivalent of General Eisenhower. On this June day, however, Rommel traveled to Paris to buy shoes for his wife Lucie’s upcoming birthday. While there, he conferred with Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt. They, seeing the rainy and windy weather forecasts ahead and the probable tumultuous tides, agreed together, on June 3, 1944, that “there is still no sign that the invasion is imminent.”[1]

Of course, they couldn’t see everything. Some of the things they might’ve seen, they didn’t. And what they did see, they misinterpreted.

In the passage Pastor Phil preached a couple weeks ago, after Jesus delivered a mute man from a demon, some in the crowd responded, He casts out demons by Beelzebul. What they saw, they misinterpreted. Luke records that others, even right after Jesus’ miracle, to test Jesus, kept seeking from him a sign (Lk. 11:15–16). Things they should’ve already seen, they’d not yet beheld.

Jesus addresses this “seeking after a sign” in today’s text. We’ll study it under three headings:

1. The Sign 2. The Superiority of the Sign 3. The Visibility of the Superior Sign

1. The Sign (v. 29–30)

v. 29, When the crowds were increasing, he began to say, “This generation is an evil generation.” Nothing will correct your understanding of Jesus better than actually reading the Bible. While no one’s more loving and compassionate than Him, at the same time, no one knew and spoke the unvarnished truth like Him either. He didn’t flirt with flattery. Luke’s juxtaposition should be noted: the crowds increased; Jesus called those flocking toward him evil.

Why would He do so? Surely this is partly in response to those characterizing His kingdom work as the effort of a demon in verse 15. But more explicitly here, He asserts, “This generation is an evil generation. It seeks for a sign.”

You might wonder, “What’s so bad about seeking signs? Didn’t Jesus just say, ‘Seek, and you will find’?” (Lk 11:9) It’s important to note the motive Luke assigns to their seeking a sign. Luke makes clear back in verse 16 that they asked for the sign, to test Him (Lk 11:16). What they’d already seen hadn’t convinced them. They’d actually misinterpreted it. Who’s to say they wouldn’t do the same again were He to given them another sign? David Gooding writes that to give one at this point would have been “admitting that their doubts about the moral quality of his previous miracles were reasonable.”[2] It was a test.

As we’ve pointed out throughout Luke’s Gospel, Jesus wasn’t merely doing party tricks in the Galilean hills. He demonstrated His authority over the demons, over disease and over death as object lessons of His rule. When He calmed the storm and when He told Jairus’ daughter to stand, He did it so that people might know who He was. In the text we studied last time, Jesus made one of His clearest statements concerning the “why” behind His miraculous deeds, 11:20, But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you. He did these things to point to the Kingdom and to His rule as that Kingdom’s King.

And He’d done these “signs” in front of many in these crowds. Yet scores remained in unbelief. In short, their desire for a sign was not also a desire for Him.

We know all kinds of people who want God to do things, but don’t want God.

Jesus continues, v.29, This generation is an evil generation. It seeks for a sign, but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah. What they mean by “sign,” Jesus won’t agree to. But there is a sign He’s already given, is giving, and will give. Verse 30: For as Jonah became a sign to the people of Nineveh, so will the Son of Man be to this generation. What He means by that will be further explained in the f[...]

Revisiting the Acts 6 Model from South Woods Baptist Church on Vimeo.

It doesn’t take much to get a church off track in its mission and life together. We can blame human nature on much of that veering into a ditch. But we must also recognize that the adversary will use anything to keep the church from living out its visible picture of the gospel in its unity. For that reason, when John Stott got to Acts 6 after working through the persecution of the church in chapters 3–5 and the corruption within the church in chapter 5, wrote, “Having failed to overcome the church by either persecution or corruption, [the devil] now tried distraction.”[1] How the Spirit led the apostles to reel the church back in didn’t come through a pep talk or a thundering sermon. It came through establishing biblical church polity.

Church polity has to do with the way that the local church is structured, organized, and governed. Polity is not an end in itself, as though the church exists for the sake of its government. Instead, healthy polity serves as a means to keep the church focused on its gospel priorities. If it fails at that point, then no matter how sleek and clever it appears to be, it fails at its Spirit-directed purpose.

The 16th century Reformers, while not all in agreement on what constituted biblical polity—Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and Beza had different views—recognized that the church could not continue with its polity as the Roman Catholic Church had done for centuries, and maintain a healthy congregation centered on the gospel. Even some Catholics recognized this to be true. Johann Eck, who became a nemesis of Martin Luther after the Reformer posted the 95 Theses, felt strongly about local pastoral ministry. He complained about the lack of pastoral focus in the Catholic Church, surprisingly writing a strong barb against the church. A pastor, he wrote, “. . . should focus on the ministry of the Word of God and entrust the worldly things to the deacons [so following Acts 6].” But the entire range of the Roman hierarchy simply ‘passed the buck,’ rather than taking responsibility for Word and ministry. He said that the only thing at which they were proficient was “gold, money and interest.”[2] While Eck failed miserably at his response to Luther, he exposed the raw nerve of the church’s leadership hierarchy as it failed to serve the congregations.

John Calvin, the Genevan Reformer, wrote of the Roman Church, “Since conditions are such under popery, one can understand how much of the church remains there. Instead of the ministry of the Word, a perverse government compounded of lies rules there, which partly extinguishes the pure light, partly chokes it.”[3] The Reformers agreed that the top-heavy Roman hierarchy had no biblical basis. Yet they differed on how polity worked in the local church. Luther, focusing on justification as the hinge upon which the church rises and falls, rejected the papacy but still held to a type of bishop rule. Yet inching the right direction, he stated that the church had the power to ordain its own ministers, by-passing the bishops.[4] Calvin maintained flexibility in church polity based on the church’s needs and how best to exercise pastoral oversight. He followed his mentor Martin Bucer in a four-fold office structure: pastors, doctors, elders, and deacons. He just insisted, as Paul Avis explains, “that the glory of Christ . . . and the fraternity and equality of ministers . . . must not be obscured.”[5] Zwingli saw the church and state “related as soul and body, distinct yet necessarily conjoined and interdependent.” With that view, he saw “both minister and magistrate as coservants of the Word of God,” according to Timothy George.[6] Both had roles with each other in Zwingli’s estimation.

The Reformers, especially Calvin, moved the church toward a more biblical approach to polity. They fought a lot of theological battles, yet they couldn’t wage war on every front. That’s why, it seems, that Calvin who c[...]