John 17's Sermon's End

(Listen to the full sermon here.)

This is the prayer of Jesus for his Church. The Church, the vehicle of God to communicate his great gospel to the people of the dying world; those whom he has chosen out of the world to behold his glory.

You, me, us, we, the Church. Saved, redeemed, sanctified by the sheer grace of God for the glory of God.

Not because we were good enough, smart enough, strong enough, or witty enough; not because of physical beauty or spiritual charm; not because of the way we understand doctrine or study the Scriptures or disciple others; we are not saved by anything we do, say or think.

We, the Church, are saved to know the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he sent; To see Jesus’ glory that was given to him by the Father because the Father loved Jesus his Son before the foundations of the world.

So we must see here in the High Priestly prayer that none of this is about us.

It never has been and never will be. The story of redemption is about God. We are the bystanders in our own salvation; we are the dead revived to life by God and for God.

And we should thank God that God is about God! We are now free to hope in him, to have justice in him, to have grace in him, to have freedom in him, to have our refuge be him.

We, men, are not the hope of God and because we are not the hope of God we are free to be free in our radical hope in God.

And so forever we will find out more and more about who God is because God has loved us so much that he has given us himself.

A Far Too Common Story

She walked into the bar. Tired, worn down and out. The bags under her eyes were obvious, the same clothes she had on yesterday cling to her skin. There’s a look of desperation in her face, of worry and torment.

Flopping into a seat near the bar she orders her drink. Huddling over it once it arrives she begins to gingerly milk it little sips here, little sips there. Tears, and possibly a scream seem to be close to bursting from her.

She’d been here last night, this bar. But then she was vibrant and happy, laughing at the stupid jokes and dancing the night away. But now she seems broken.

He’d been a nice enough guy. Seemed to genuinely care. He bought a few rounds for her and her friends and made polite small talk. After she’d denied his advances of becoming a little too physical he left. She thought nothing of it at all.

She’d parked too far away from the safety of the lights, she’d said goodbye to her friends, and she was alone.

He took her. He raped her.

Here she sits the next day weeping into a cup of coffee. Trying to find what she’d lost at the place she had it last.

It’s the story of far to many women.

It’s the fear they’ll never tell.

But it’s a travesty.

To believe the lie of being, ‘broken,’ and therefore unwanted. To remember the youth group teaching, “Who would want someone who’s not a virgin?” Yet that’s the lie.

God wants the broken. It’s the culmination of Christianity. That the destitute are redeemed, that the broken are made whole.

There’s a Redeemer who’s come to save. The righteous has no need of saving, it’s the sick that need the Doctor, and it’s the broken that need the Mender. It’s the raped that need the Healer.

So to Jesus she runs, to him, who'll treat her like the daughter she is, she clings. Away from the mire of the past and into the glory of the future. Because hope has come.

In all seriousness: If this story is you, don't let the boy who did this get away. There are many who will help. There are friends who'll listen. You, of all people, are not alone.

Monday

It’s Monday. The week is beginning. Many of us are headed to our jobs to do our tasks. Many of us are headed to our classes to be bored by our professors while we strive to just pay attention. These things seem so small, don’t they? Jobs, school and the general hustle and bustle of life.

Often these things become our focus, our aim and our goal. To succeed in the arena of job or school becomes a higher dream than knowing God.

We are broken, this is true, we are shattered by the fall but we are not helpless. We are, as faith (singular not plural) so dictates, rescued by the Rescuer.

Jesus has redeemed us from the curse of the law so that we are now capable to seeing our jobs as fuel for his glory; our schooling is now instrumental to our callings.

So go, work your job; strive to pay attention in your classes. Because the King sits on his throne and the Redeemer of your souls has covered you with grace so your guilt and your shame are no longer you. Who you are, the real you (as a believer in the gospel), is the finished work of Jesus. You are righteous because he has made you so. You stand before the throne of God above with a strong and perfect plea and it is Jesus.

Simply Complex

“Astoundingly simple yet infinitely complex.” This is the gospel we believe. For in a sense all that must be done is to believe, truly believe, yet in that same sense, “truly believing,” comes only from the changing of your heart. Being born again – made fully, and finally, alive.

For many they “cannot help but believe,” which for agnostics and atheists alike drives them nuts (and reasonably so). For some they must search out meanings and swim in the fathoms of the ocean of belief before they’re saturated to the heart with it. For others, they simply can’t believe.

“… If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Rom 9:9)” It is indeed astoundingly simple, this process of belief. Yet the complexities of it will resonate through the believer’s life until their death, and even then their eternity will be and already is being shaped by it.

“Turn to me and be saved, all the ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other. (Isa 45:22)” Turn, some translations say ‘look,’ and be saved. What is more easy than looking? Yet what is more difficult than dying to self?

Astoundingly simply, yes - O my God yes - to believe my wretchedness redeemed is astoundingly simple (because I long to believe it). Infinitely complex, very much so, for why should God redeem my wretchedness? How do I die to myself? How do I see Jesus as more worthy of all of me than my stuff? (I’m sure the questions would fill this journal if I were to keep writing them, for infinitely means unending).

Obligatory Duty.

“He died for me why wouldn’t I live for him.” I hate this statement. Not only because it’s cliché but also because it is filled with bad Theology. But this mindset is a very difficult thing to get away from.

The mindset is this: To live in such a manner that is either 1) attempting at paying God back for saving one's soul or 2) attempting at making God love one more by doing or not doing a prescribed list. The affect of this is to kill the Christian, to choke out the newly forming plant because there is no air for it to be itself.

(We’ve this idea in our brains that all Christians should look exactly alike… I'm gonna go ahead and completely disagree. Will there be similarities, for sure, but will we all look just like each other, no, thank God. Because, quite frankly, I don’t want to be another Billy Graham or John Piper.)

The issue with the above (dumb) cliché is this: The Christian life is lived out of gratitude not duty. To hold to the above statement is to simply say that because someone did something for me now I’ll pay him or her back. Do you see the nonsense here? If there ever were a love for the one who redeemed one there would be an understanding of the great incapableness to even attempt at paying him back.

It must be understood to live for Christ is to do so gratefully as a since of love toward him, an overflow, if you will. To love him as a sense of duty would be like buying something for someone you love and telling them, “I got you this because I have to.”