Sunday Sermons

Jesus rises and appears to His disciples, and what begins as good news quickly exposes unbelief. Eyewitnesses testify, but again and again they do not believe. What looks like confusion is actually hardness of heart. What feels like doubt is resistance to what God has clearly done. Then the moment shifts. The same disciples who struggled to believe are now sent. Jesus gives them a mission to go into all the world and proclaim the gospel. What looks like weakness becomes commission. What feels like failure becomes purpose. The message is not small, it is global, and the dividing line is clear. Believe and be saved, or reject and remain condemned. Then the story lifts even higher. Jesus ascends and takes His seat at the right hand of God. What looks like departure is actually enthronement. What feels like absence is the beginning of His reign. In the midst of unbelief, mission, and authority, one thing remains certain. Jesus is King, and He sends His people to go in His authority as He works through them.

The women come to the tomb, and what begins as grief quickly turns into shock. They are not expecting a miracle, they are preparing for death. But when they arrive, the stone is already rolled away. The tomb is empty, and the message is clear. Jesus is not here. He has been raised. What looks like the end is actually a beginning. What feels like loss is the turning point of history. Then the moment shifts. The resurrection is not just an event, it is the start of a new world. The same Jesus who was crucified now stands alive, and everything has changed. Death is defeated. Sin is paid for. The Kingdom has broken in. But the response is not automatic. The message is heard, and still there is unbelief. What seems obvious is resisted. What is clearly true is still rejected. In the midst of an empty tomb, a new creation, and a call to respond, one thing remains certain. Jesus is alive, and everything changes based on what you do with Him.

Jesus is brought before Pilate, and what begins as a trial quickly turns into a trade. The leaders accuse, the crowd is stirred, and Pilate tries to find a way out. He offers a choice between Jesus and Barabbas, thinking the answer is obvious. But the crowd chooses the rebel over the righteous. What looks like a decision is actually a revelation. What feels like justice is the exposure of the human heart. Then the moment shifts. Jesus is handed over to the soldiers, and they begin to mock Him. They dress Him in purple, press a crown of thorns onto His head, and pretend to worship Him. They strike Him, spit on Him, and laugh. What looks like humiliation is actually a twisted coronation. What feels like weakness is the true King standing in silence. They mock Him as king, not realizing they are declaring the truth. In the midst of accusation, rejection, and mockery, one thing remains certain. Jesus is the true King, and He is willingly taking the place of the guilty, stepping toward the cross to accomplish what no one else could.

Jesus leads His disciples into the garden, and what begins in quiet prayer quickly turns into crushing pressure. He asks them to watch, but they sleep while He wrestles in anguish before the Father. What looks like weakness is actually obedience. What feels like sorrow is submission to the will of God. Then the moment shifts. Judas arrives with a crowd, and a kiss becomes betrayal. The disciples scatter, and Jesus is seized. What looks like chaos is actually control. What feels like defeat is the Son choosing the cross. He is taken before the council, where false witnesses rise and accusations fail, until Jesus speaks. He declares who He is, and they condemn Him for it. What should lead to worship leads to rejection. Outside, Peter faces his own moment. Confidence gives way to fear, and loyalty collapses into denial. Three times he says he does not know Jesus. What felt unbreakable falls apart in an instant. In the midst of sleeping, betrayal, false accusation, and denial, one thing remains certain. Jesus stands firm where everyone else fails, moving steadily toward the cross to accomplish what no one else could.

Jesus and His disciples leave the temple, and the disciples marvel at the massive stones and grandeur of the building. But Jesus shocks them with a prophecy: the temple they admire will soon fall, and not one stone will remain. What feels permanent will collapse, because God is bringing a covenant transition. The disciples ask when these things will happen, and Jesus answers not with dates to calculate but with warnings to heed. Wars, earthquakes, false messiahs, and persecution will come, yet these are not signs that history is ending. They are birth pains. In the midst of the shaking, one thing remains certain: the gospel must be preached to all nations. 

Jesus then speaks of the coming destruction of Jerusalem, a local judgment that will bring the old temple system to its end. But beyond that horizon stands a greater reality. The rejected Son of Man will be revealed in power and glory, gathering His people from the ends of the earth. What looks like collapse is actually the unfolding of God’s redemptive plan. The system falls, but the Kingdom advances, and the nations begin to hear the good news of the reigning King. 

The chapter closes not with speculation but with a command: stay awake. No one knows the day of the Son’s final return, so the call is not to build charts but to live faithfully. The King has entrusted His servants with work until He comes again. Who is this Man? He is the Son of Man who foretells the shaking of history, who now reigns over the nations, and who will return in glory. Until that day, His people endure, proclaim the gospel, and remain watchful.

Jesus stands in the temple courts during His final week and the religious leaders demand to know where His authority comes from. What unfolds is not a sincere investigation but a series of calculated attempts to trap Him. Through questions about politics, theology, and the law, every group tries to embarrass or expose Him. Yet each exchange only reveals the opposite. Jesus exposes their shallow thinking, confronts their hypocrisy, and clarifies the true nature of God’s Kingdom. 

At the center of the confrontation is the parable of the vineyard. Jesus retells Israel’s story: God sent prophets and they were beaten and killed, and finally He sent His beloved Son. The rejection of the Son becomes the climax of rebellion and the turning point of judgment. This is not a misunderstanding of Jesus but a refusal to submit to His authority. The leaders recognize what He is saying, yet their hearts remain unchanged. 

The passage closes with a powerful contrast. Religious leaders crave honor and devour the vulnerable, while a poor widow quietly gives everything she has. Where false religion clings to status and appearance, true devotion entrusts life itself to God. The dividing line becomes clear: some grasp for power, while others surrender in faith. Who is this Man? He is the Beloved Son, the true King whose authority cannot be trapped, whose wisdom exposes empty religion, and whose Kingdom calls for humble, wholehearted trust.

Jesus enters Jerusalem to shouts of praise, palm branches waving and Scripture on the lips of the crowd. Yet beneath the celebration lies a deep misunderstanding. The people welcome a King they believe will bring immediate victory, but Jesus rides in humility, not conquest. He inspects the Temple, curses a fruitless fig tree, and confronts worship that looks alive on the surface but bears no lasting fruit. The cheers of Palm Sunday give way to the sober reality that God sees beneath appearances. Judgment begins at the roots.

Yet the King who exposes false worship also calls His disciples to something deeper than spectacle. He summons them to mountain-moving faith, to prayer shaped by trust in God’s faithfulness, and to hearts marked by forgiveness. The contrast is striking: a crowd celebrates loudly but sees little, while Jesus quietly reveals the true nature of His Kingdom. Who is this Man? He is the veiled King who refuses shallow crowns, who purifies His house, who judges fruitlessness at its source, and who invites His people into a faith that forgives and truly sees.

Jesus walks ahead on the road to Jerusalem, fully aware of the suffering that awaits Him, while His disciples follow in fear and confusion. As He speaks openly about betrayal and death, they reach instead for status and glory, revealing a blindness that clings to ambition rather than mercy. Jesus redefines greatness, not as power over others, but as service that gives itself away, anchoring His Kingdom in the cross. Outside Jericho, a blind beggar sees what the disciples cannot. With nothing to offer but desperation, Bartimaeus cries out for mercy, receives sight, and follows Jesus on the way. The contrast is unmistakable: those closest to Jesus struggle to see, while the one with nothing sees Him clearly. Who is this Man? He is the King who leads toward the cross, measures greatness downward, and stops for the blind, granting sight to those who ask for mercy instead of thrones.

Jesus presses into the places we’d rather keep private. Conversations about marriage, children, money, and security reveal a deeper question beneath them all: Can life be achieved, or must it be received? The Pharisees search for loopholes, children are dismissed as insignificant, and a sincere, moral man walks away sorrowful when asked to surrender what he cannot release. Jesus exposes the lie of self-salvation and dismantles every illusion of control. When the disciples finally ask, “Then who can be saved?” the answer is devastating and freeing all at once: what is impossible for us is possible with God. The Kingdom does not come to the accomplished, but to the empty-handed. Who is this Man? He is the One who confronts our achievements, strips away false security, and offers life not as a reward for effort, but as a gift of grace received in surrender.

Jesus pulls back the veil on the mountain, revealing a glimpse of His glory to trembling disciples who still do not fully understand what kind of Messiah He is. Moses and Elijah appear, but the Father makes it unmistakably clear: Jesus alone is the beloved Son, and He alone must be listened to. The moment is breathtaking, but it does not last. Coming down the mountain, glory gives way to chaos, arguments, desperation, and a father pleading for his broken son. The disciples fail, faith falters, and Jesus grieves a generation that has learned to rely on past experiences instead of present dependence. Yet mercy breaks through. A desperate prayer rises: “I believe; help my unbelief.” Jesus responds with power, compassion, and life. The pattern is revealed: glory prepares us, but prayer sustains us. Who is this Man? He is the radiant Son who meets us in the valley, the Savior who strengthens weak faith, and the Lord who calls His people to daily dependence, not yesterday’s victories.