Clear-Eyed Church: Sermon on Matthew 7:1-6

Excuse me, sir, but if I'm not mistaken, you have a bit of a splinter in your eye. Doesn't that hurt? Didn't you notice it there? Well, that thing could get infected if you leave it in. Now, I happen to have a pair of tweezers, and I'd like to consider myself a bit of an expert at this. You can trust me. May I go ahead and just get that splinter for you? … What do you mean, no? What do you mean, I have something in my own eye? No I don't! Don't you think if something that big were in my eye, I'd notice it? Well, if you're going to be ungrateful, maybe someone else could use my help.

Ah, yes, you, ma'am – you have a splinter in your eye, too! May I get that for you? No?!? And you think I have some hunk of lumber in my eye, too? You're the second person to say that today. Come to think of it, I heard that last night. I wonder... Oh! I feel it! I've got to get it out!

Huh, would you look at that? I was blind... but now I see. What a world of difference that makes. Doesn't it? I wonder how I couldn't notice that was there? I guess it's easier to see someone else's flaws than my own.

Do you think there was a chuckle that sunny Galilean afternoon, when Jesus drew that mental picture for all the crowd gathered 'round? The image of a wannabe eye-surgeon, scrambling around to look at the little specks of sawdust in other people's eyes, while oblivious to the humongous thing sticking out of his own? And it sure was humongous. I toned it down. Because the word Jesus used, which some Bible translations render as 'log' and others as 'beam' or 'plank,' is the word they used back in that day for a roof beam – the kind we have in this here church, the big ones that needed fixed after the tornado. Can you imagine somebody walking around with one of those things jutting out his eyeball? And not even knowing it's there? Talk about a hazard!

And Jesus drew that picture to illustrate one simple principle: “Judge not” (Matthew 7:1). It's such a simple clause. Two words. And yet few verses have become the battleground for as much controversy as this one. It used to be that our culture's favorite Bible verse, or at least it seemed like it, was John 3:16: “For God so loved the world...” That's what we were all about, at least in what we professed. That's no longer our culture's verse. That's not their favorite. Instead, this has become the most widely used verse in America. And that wouldn't be a problem if it weren't because it was the most widely misused verse in America!

This country has an obsession with judgment, or what it thinks is judgment. These days, witnessing to just about any standard or norm of behavior is considered 'judgment.' Making any moral distinctions is considered as 'judgment.' If you happen to mention what the Bible says about marriage, that'll get filed under 'judgment' real quick. The same goes at times for drug use, or petty theft, or certain political views, or plenty of other things. Having a restrictive stance, and saying it applies to other people as much as to yourself, is automatically called 'judgment.' And there are few things modern America views as unacceptable vices as much as 'judgment' – 'intolerance,' they might call it, or even 'bigotry' at times.

The irony is that, for a culture that's so obsessed with avoiding 'judgment,' it's a pretty judgmental culture itself. It still draws lines in the sand, if not always where we'd draw them. It still believes in absolutes, even if it says it doesn't. Self-expression, the way you self-identify and present yourself to the work – as long as it doesn't flout the culture's rules on 'judgment,' it's sacrosanct. And any other view must, in the culture's eyes, be judged and removed from public view. But some of our culture's absolutes are still good ones. It still upholds the need for men to treat women with equal dignity and respect – and that's exactly right. And our culture is very quick to judge those who fall short of that standard.

You could go on and on. We live in a paradox. Our culture is obsessed with avoiding judgment, at least what it thinks is judgment, while freely engaging in judgment in ways that are almost unprecedented. Think for just a moment how much judgment you think you've heard this election cycle. Think how much judgment you hear around town in the latest gossip. 

We have entire entertainment enterprises whose main attraction is the chance to enjoy the pleasures of judgment within the safety of our own homes, staring at the TV. Our culture is very confused, even if it thinks it isn't, when it comes to judgment.

So we have to ask, “What did Jesus mean, when he said, 'Judge not'?” And that's a bit of a tricky question – the word we have in Greek there has as much variability as our English word. But from the context, we can safely say a few things. 

First, Jesus is not telling us that there's no such thing as sin – that whatever you want to do is cool, at least as long as it doesn't hurt anybody. Jesus isn't saying that, and he never would say that, because it just isn't true, and nobody knows that better than Jesus. There is such a thing as sin. There is such a thing as wrongdoing. There is evil in the world, and it is not the same as good; there are definite distinctions between right and wrong.

Second, Jesus is not telling us to never, under any circumstances, mention that such-and-such a specific thing is a sin. Jesus himself listed various sins: “Out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander – these are what defile a person” (Matthew 15:19-20). So did his apostles – they clearly marked out some behaviors as sinful, and they weren't shy about public airings of those lists: “Put to death what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed, which is idolatry. … In these you once walked, when you were living in them. But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth; and do not lie to one another” (Colossians 3:6-9). “The works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness,” and so on (Galatians 5:19-21).

Third, Jesus is not telling us to never, under any circumstances, notice that someone is engaged in a sinful pattern of behavior or say that to them. He may be telling us how and when, and we'll come back to that; but he clearly isn't telling us never to do it. He did it: he called out the Pharisees for their sin. He named Herod's sins as sin. He used the pagan Romans as a stock example of sin. And his apostles went on to name sin outside the church and challenge sin inside the church.

And fourth, Jesus is not telling us to never, under any circumstances, draw the conclusion that a certain person may or may not be saved. That's especially true among people who don't profess to be believers. Jesus has taught us that without faith in him as risen Savior and ruling Lord, there's no salvation. He is the Way; his is the only name under heaven by which we can be saved, rescued from our sin and its eternal consequences. He is the Truth; and whatever dares to contradict him is simply wrong. And he is the Life; every other option leaves us dead in our sins, but he is the sole source of vitality, human flourishing as God designed it. If someone does not even claim to trust and follow him, then it should be obvious to us that they're still outside salvation – not to say they can't be saved, or won't be saved, but that they aren't saved in their unbelief.

But even among professing believers, Jesus talks – and we'll get there in a couple weeks – about knowing them by their fruits. That distinguishes between real believers, real disciples, and nominal believers, mere claimants to the Christian name. Some of those fruits are theological – they have to do with what we believe. If I say I believe in Jesus, but I think he was a great and glorious prophet who witnessed to Israel and then skipped the cross and ascended straight to heaven, that doesn't make me a Christian; it makes me a Muslim. If I say that I believe in Jesus, but I think he was a creature God created first, and that he was an angel before his life-force was put in Mary's womb, and that after his death he stopped existing for a while but was recreated as a spirit without a body, that doesn't make me a Christian; it makes me a Jehovah's Witness. Those are false doctrines. Real believers, once taught the faith, profess the faith.

But some of those fruits are practical – they have to do with what we practice, what we do, how we live. Not to belabor the point, but imagine if I said this: “Oh, yeah, I said the sinner's prayer once. That was about forty years ago. I guess I meant it, at the time. Do I have a relationship with Jesus now? I dunno, maybe. I talk to him when I need something. Not sure if he's really there. But if he is out there, I know I can talk to him just as well when I'm out hunting as I can in church, there's for sure. And I don't let him tell me what to do – I want to treat my neighbors the way I want; I want to behave and believe how I want. I'm sure Jesus would be okay with that. And if he ain't, I don't want to hear it.” 

If I said that, if I lived it out, you'd be justified in looking at my fruit and having questions whether I'm really a believer, or just one in name only. Even Paul, the great teacher of grace, followed a list of sins by saying that “those who make a practice of doing such things will not inherit the kingdom of God” (Galatians 5:21).

So if Jesus isn't telling us those things, what is he saying? As I've been studying this passage, “Judge not,” it seems the best way to explain is to say that, here, 'judge' means 'condemn.' And more specifically: To judge someone means to step into a God-like position above them, to look down at their real or perceived flaws, and to render a verdict with the pretense of divine authority. That's what it means to judge, here. 

That's why James writes that someone who judges his brother, while pretending to follow the Law, is actually judging and condemning the Law. Because the Law did not set you up in that role. The Law did not authorize you as a judge of your equals, your own brothers and sisters in the family of faith. If you grab that role that the Law didn't give you, you're effectively saying that the Law was wrong, and the Law needs to be fixed; you're taking God's word and changing it, to make yourself a judge (James 4:11). But, he says, “There is only one Lawgiver and Judge – he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?” (James 4:12).

Paul says the same thing. When you look at other Christians, other believers, they are not your servants. They do not live to please you. They belong to the Lord – the same Lord that you do. They are his servants. And so they answer to him, not to you. “Who are you,” Paul asks, “to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own Master that he stands or falls. And” – here Paul tucks in the gospel of grace, thank God – “he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand” (Romans 14:4). 

We can't pass judgment on each other, because we don't own each other; we don't stand in a position of heavenly authority to do so, because we are not heavenly masters over other believers. We are not God. We are called to imitate God, but in his character, not his position, except insofar as he has licensed us to represent him. And this is one where he hasn't. We are not heavenly masters over other believers. We are fellow servants, equals. And all of us will stand, as equals, at the judgment seat for a final performance review. “So then each of us will give an account of himself to God. Therefore, let us not pass judgment on one another any longer” (Romans 14:12-13).

So both Paul and James agree on this point, because they agree with Jesus. This is the same reason why Jesus uses the word 'hypocrite' again (Matthew 7:5), picking it up from the last chapter. Remember, a 'hypocrite' is literally an actor in a play – someone who assumes a role that isn't his own. In Matthew 6, Jesus warned about being like the 'hypocrites,' the Pharisees who turned their religion into public performance art to get praise and adulation – a reputation for righteousness that they didn't deserve. They played the part of a righteous person, but inwardly it was all about themselves, not about God. Here, the 'hypocrite' does something similar. This 'hypocrite' plays the role of master, a sinless moral superior, who can reach out and pick apart the flaws of others.

And it's hypocrisy, play-acting, because the 'hypocrite' not only isn't a master, but isn't even a moral superior! He's got a big ol' roof beam stuck in his eye – he's as blind as the rest! The 'hypocrite' acts the part of the master and abandons the role of fellow-servant; he acts like he's an eye surgeon and forgets he's a patient in the waiting room (Matthew 7:4). 

And what gets in his own eye? Partly his own other sins – the same things everyone else has – but partly also the sin of judgmentalism – the intrinsic blasphemy of setting himself up as judge.

That's the problem with judging. We set ourselves up as God. But we aren't God. Not only aren't we God, we aren't even sinless. We don't keep God's Law perfectly ourselves – not even close. And we certainly flunk and break the Law, and thus become law-breakers and guilty of the whole thing, if we arrogate to ourselves the authority to judge.  

“Judge not, lest ye be judged” (Matthew 7:1) – if we fall prey to the sin of judgmentalism, won't we have to answer to God for that? Isn't there a risk in not repenting of it, of not bringing it under the forgiveness Jesus offers and laying it aside? If we judge, we're setting ourselves up to be judged for it.

But not only don't we keep God's Law, we don't even keep our own. The standards we hold others to, we're prone to break. And that makes us doubly hypocrites. “For with the judgment you pronounce, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:2). Even if God held us just to our own standards, the standards we employ against everyone else to set us up as superior, none of us would actually pass the test. None of us have lived lives that perfectly accord with even our finely tailored ethics, which we devise to justify ourselves. The very standards we concoct are our own undoing. 

The more we play-act the role of judge, the more we set ourselves up for failure. The more we campaign against this or that sin in others, the more we condemn them for it and use it as a point of pride to pat ourselves on the back, the more it merely highlights our sinfulness and becomes the standard by which our sinfulness can be demonstrated to us.

Jesus offers us a solution. He wants to teach us the right way. We have to keep a focus on our own sin. It must have been a challenge for the disciples. Especially the Twelve. They felt proud – proud that they, and not their neighbors or cousins or whatever, had been handpicked by Jesus. Can you imagine? They were probably tempted to think of themselves as better. And now they're hearing the Sermon on the Mount. They hear him talk about throwing the kingdom open wide to people just like them – common folks, like fishermen and farm boys and ordinary people. They hear him say that they – they, and not others – will be salt and light for the world. 

And they hear him explain the Law and how to get ahead of it by the Spirit. Before the Law says, “Thou shalt not,” the Spirit will cleanse hearts of the desire. Forget murder; the Spirit creates hearts of peace. Forget adultery; the Spirit creates hearts of pure commitment. Forget divorce; the Spirit creates hearts of contentment. Forget oath-making and oath-breaking; the Spirit creates hearts of simple honesty. Forget regulating retaliation; the Spirit creates hearts of forgiveness. And forget hating enemies; the Spirit creates hearts of love for even them. And the Spirit knocks down idols – idols like praise, wealth, and security.

And what Jesus wants us to do is to reflect on our own lives – how do they match up? Do they look Spirit-led? Am I living toward what the Spirit makes possible, what Jesus calls us to? But what the disciples have been thinking – and Jesus knows it – is, “Ooh, boy, my neighbor Ben really needs to hear that bit on lust – he's got a problem. Oh, and Susie down the road keeps grudges; that bit is perfect for her, I'll have to share that with her later. Now Jesus is saying something about God and Mammon, and that makes me think of those fat cats on Wall Street – wish they were here to listen to Jesus. And what was that Jesus said about not worrying? I'll share that with cousin Zeke, he has anxiety issues. Thanks be to God that I am not like those other people!”

It sounds grotesque, when you say it out loud, doesn't it? But Jesus knows our hearts. Jesus knows that we can hear even his own words, aimed directly at our hearts, and we will instinctively pretend their main focus is on somebody else. We're inclined to maximize everybody else's flaws and minimize our own. We have a tendency to look around and see everyone's little splinters as glaring, massive problems. But when it comes to our own, we pretend it's little and unobtrusive. 

And that tendency is a sin especially prominent in the church, sad to say – which is partly why 'judgmental' is one of the first words that comes to American unbelievers' minds when they think of Christianity. And we have to answer for that. So often, we aren't even judging people for their sins against God's standards; we're judging people for their violations of our tastes and preferences.

What Jesus is telling us is that our first focus should be on ourselves. What's stuck in our eye should be, to us, like a big roof beam (Matthew 7:3). Dealing with sin in our own lives should be primary; it should be first and foremost. That should be what is most obvious to us. When our focus is there, then we take what Jesus has been saying, and we apply it to ourselves. We ourselves learn from it. 

And once we do, then we can go to other people. But not to judge them. Because now that we've wrestled with sin ourselves, we have to admit that we're not intrinsically better. We aren't exempt. We aren't sinless, we aren't superior. We're fellow-servants with our brothers and sisters in the family of faith.

And then, if it's needed, we can gently correct our fellow-servants' sins – without judging them. We can say, “Hey, I have a confession to make. I've really wrestled with this or that sin. And I'm seeing that you're in the same boat with me. Can we journey together?” Imagine that: coming alongside a fellow traveler, and finding the way together. That's what Jesus is telling us: “First take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye” (Matthew 7:5). 

First, deal with your own sin. Address that with all you've got. Bring it before God in earnest prayer. And then you can help others. Not as a judge. We aren't asked to be judges. We are asked to be witnesses. We don't judge others; we bear witness to how the Judge rules – and how the Judge offers us his heart, since Christ already served our sentence. And we do that as people who are honest about our own sinfulness, our own propensity to sit at the defendants' table. We bear witness to our fellow-servants, our fellow-subjects, and we journey together toward a healthier life, one that follows the Spirit who inspired the Law.

What Jesus is asking of us in this passage is for us to become a clear-eyed church. Step down from the judge's chair. When you hear the word, when you hear God's call, when you hear God's condemnation of sin, think first of yourself and the big beam in your eye. And recognize that all those sinners around you, even in the church – they're really people just like you. They have stories, they have motives, they have fears and wants and loves, they have souls. They don't need your judgment, because you aren't their judge. But they may need your help as a brother, a sister, a neighbor, a witness, a fellow-servant. 

Let's spend this week inspecting our eyes – our own eyes, not one anothers'. And then, only then, can we see clearly enough to really help each other on this pilgrim walk of holiness. Thanks be to God, our one Lawgiver, our one Judge – and our Savior, Advocate, and Defender through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Gospel in Nine Sentences: A Devotional Message for the National Ministry Team

Last week, I had the opportunity to go to the Small-Town Pastors Conference. Did anybody else here go? There was a lot of good stuff – I'd recommend it to any of you. And while I was there, our brother Gary and I had a great discussion over lunch about what he had learned from one of the presenters. And the presenter had said, “The Bible is sixty-six books; the gospel is just ten words.” And those ten words were these: “Christ died for your sins and rose from the dead.” Just that, ten words!

And so after Gary attended that seminar – and we both went to another seminar by the same guy that afternoon – we stood in the lunch line waiting for food and talked through some questions about evangelism. Specifically, what is the gospel? How much of the story do we need to tell people? How much background do they need so this gospel, this 'good news' we bring, makes sense?

On the one hand, when Paul preached to the Gentiles, he didn't run through all the events of the history of Israel, because it wasn't their history; he didn't talk about Abraham, didn't mention the Exodus, didn't speak of the exile, and didn't even use the word 'kingdom'; he didn't presume their familiarity with the Old Testament scriptures.

On the other hand, even Paul's Areopagus preaching in Acts 17 was shaped by his familiarity with the Old Testament; he traced a different sort of narrative with them, but a larger narrative all the same; it certainly took more than ten words, even to sum up; and when Jesus preached, he himself defined his message as “the gospel of the kingdom” (Matthew 4:23; 9:35; 24:14; cf. Mark 1:15). The words of Jesus and the letters of Paul and other apostles are incomprehensible without that broader story.

It was a good discussion. And now I see, from reading the reports, which I know you all did too, that we're going to hear from the Kingdom Extension Community about their plans to assemble a helpful glossary, one that will help us navigate key terms, including but not limited to... 'gospel' and 'kingdom.' Is there a healthy, balanced way to do that? A way that people can simply explain or organize the gospel in just a few words – and yet still be shaped by God's bigger story? That's what I wanted to talk about this morning, with the time I was given, drawing on the ways the earliest Christian preachers explained the story to different audiences as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. What I came up with may not be one sentence, but it's still only nine – and unlike most of my sentences, they're short!

First sentence: God created. That's absolutely foundational. Without knowing that, it's impossible to understand the gospel. Because if we don't have at least an inkling who God is and why we owe him our love and obedience, we can't appreciate anything that happens in the story or any preaching of the gospel. We like to talk sometimes about a 'bad news'-'good news' approach. But the truth is, God never starts with bad news. He starts with good news, and when bad news enters the picture, he offers better news to top it. And that's the picture of God we need to have! It's also the picture of the world we need to have – as a place that, deep down, was made good. This is a foundational preliminary for the gospel. It was presumed in every gospel sermon we have in the New Testament – Peter's famed Pentecost sermon opened with who God is, as the Creator and Master of History (Acts 2:17-20); Stephen's sermon to the hostile crowd opened with God as “the God of glory,” the Creator of light (Acts 7:2); the audience of Paul's synagogue preaching knew Genesis just as well as we do; and even in his preaching to Greek philosophers, Paul most explicitly proclaimed “the God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth” (Acts 17:24). It was to those who didn't know the biblical story, who weren't heirs of Israel's history, that Paul made most sure to start telling the gospel right here – with 'God created.'  This is the Creed's “one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, of all things seen and unseen” - all summed up with 'God created.'

Second sentence: Sin invaded. And now we have the bad news. It's the next step in Genesis – sin enters the garden in the figure of the serpent; sin lures and infects Adam and Eve, steals their innocence – and as Paul would say, ever since we have been “sold under sin” (Romans 7:14), as oppressed by its power – not just sins, but Sin itself. The Jewish crowds who heard Peter, Stephen, and Paul all knew that; and when Paul spoke to the Greeks about their altar(s) to an 'Unknown God' (Acts 17:23), he referenced it, too – because Greek legend traced the origin of those altars to a devastating plague sent by a god who wasn't appeased through sacrifices to all their usual suspects. Sin invaded God's good world, and that's more preliminary knowledge for the gospel. We need to take that reality seriously. If we neglect it, then we'll either condemn the world itself as bad, or we'll turn into utopians.  We aren't merely good-at-heart people who need a bit of guidance to clear up some misconceptions.  We are oppressed, wanting for freedom; we are infected, wanting for a cure; we are trapped, wanting for rescue; we are estranged, wanting for reconciliation; we are dead, wanting for new life.

God created. Sin invaded. Third sentence: We collaborated. And basically the entire sweep of the Old Testament is summed up in that, isn't it? That's where it gets personal; that's where we talk, not just of 'sin,' but of 'your sins,' 'my sins,' 'our sins.' Sin's invasion wasn't just something that happened long ago; it's a present reality. And it's because we all willingly pitch in to cooperate with it. What Adam did, we all ratify and support – if not in theory, then in practice – whenever we choose to follow his example and sin. That's more bad news – but a bad news necessary for people to realize as they hear the gospel. The gospel is personal, because sin is personal – because 'we collaborated.' Peter says it at Pentecost – points the finger at the crowd for their sin in crucifying Jesus (Acts 2:23). Stephen says it – points the finger at Israelite history: “Our fathers refused to obey [Moses], but thrust him aside, and in their hearts they returned to Egypt” (Acts 7:39), and “as your fathers did,” he says to the Sanhedrin, “so do you” (Acts 7:51). Paul's synagogue message echoed Peter's – even Abraham's descendants collaborated with sin in calling for the crucifixion (Acts 13:26-28). And speaking to the Greeks, he critiques their idolatry as collaboration with sin (Acts 17:29-30). If we neglect this truth, our willing collaboration with sin, our perverse efforts to actually keep the true God at a distance, then we'll march to the Great White Throne still making excuses.

Fourth sentence, and here's a turn back to good news better than the first: God loved us anyway. Even though the world was full of sin, and even though we collaborated willingly with sin, sold ourselves into slavery under sin – in spite of all that, God never stopped loving us, never has, never will. We see it throughout the Old Testament, right alongside every misstep of Israel and even the other nations. The world falls into senseless violence; but God loves us anyway and rescues a man (Noah) and his family as a remnant (cf. Genesis 6-9). The world assembles in selfish rebellion against God (Genesis 11); but he loves us anyway and chooses a man (Abraham) and his family to be his vehicle of blessing and healing to the world (Genesis 12:2), to grow into “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). They keep refusing to trust him, but he loves them anyway. They build a golden calf in the wilderness (Exodus 32); he punishes, but loves them anyway. In their new home, they fall into cycles of national sin with all its consequences but then cry out for a redeemer, and he sends a judge – because he's been listening, waiting for them, because he loves them, and us, anyway. Their kings refuse to govern justly, their priests refuse to worship purely, their merchants refuse to deal fairly, and the nation as a whole so often refuses to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly in right relationship with their God (cf. Micah 6:8); but he loves them anyway, chastising them only as a beloved child (cf. Deuteronomy 8:5). He calls out through his many prophets – even in the face of Israel's willing slavery to sin, God announces through Isaiah, “With everlasting love I will have compassion on you” (Isaiah 54:8); and who can forget God's faithful love depicted in Hosea, with his promise to “betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy” (Hosea 2:19)? Through the penalty of exile and beyond, what becomes clear is that, though God's justice is quite on display, he loves relentlessly even this undeserving mess he calls his people. And the New Testament, too, makes it perfectly clear: “For God so loved the world...” (John 3:16). If we neglect this truth, the relentless love of God in spite of all our sinfulness, we don't just miss one truth among many; we miss God's very heart, the wellspring of the gospel and all hope. In spite of all we do and all we've done, 'God loved us anyway' – loved us too much, in fact, to leave us that way.

Fifth sentence: Jesus died to liberate. That's the centerpiece of the gospel, the core message – without that meaning, it's no gospel at all. There is no gospel without Jesus, God's Son, God's Word (or, as per the Creed, “Light of Light, true God of true God, begotten, not made”), the very life of God poured into human flesh as the only solution to our condition. (Again, as per the Creed: “For us humans and for our salvation, [he] came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit and of the Virgin Mary, and was made man.”) We were slaves to sin; Jesus died to set us free: “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36; cf. Romans 6:6). We were lethally infected with sin; but “by his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). That makes clear what we mean when we say, “Jesus died for your sins” – he died to cancel out all that collaboration, he died to break those chains, to give you freedom. (Again, the Creed: “He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate, and suffered, and was buried.”) And instead of just saying that Jesus died – an undeniable historical fact, which is of course mentioned in the sermons in Acts by Peter (Acts 2:23), Stephen (Acts 7:52), and Paul (Acts 13:27-29) – we get to make clear why it's good news. Health is good news! Freedom is good news! That's how he was “crucified for us!” That's what Paul said in his synagogue preaching: “Through this man, forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you, and by him everyone who believes is freed from everything from which you could not be freed by the Law of Moses” (Acts 13:38-39). And in being made free from sin's chains, in being made free from sin's penalty, we find forgiveness and peace with God – the hope of a restored relationship. All possible because 'Jesus died to liberate.'

Sixth sentence: Jesus lives – so trust. And there's the flip-side, the other core pillar: the Resurrection. Even to the Greek philosophers, Paul reached the great climax of his sermon by declaring that God had raised Jesus from the dead (Acts 17:31). It was central to Peter on Pentecost, that “God raised [Jesus] up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for him to be held by it” (Acts 2:24), that “this Jesus, God raised up, and of that we are all witnesses” (Acts 2:32).  Stephen, on the day of his preaching, saw the risen Christ firsthand and proclaimed him in his martyrdom (Acts 7:55-56).  All Paul's synagogue preaching centered around that same truth, that “God raised him from the dead” (Acts 13:30) – a truth he confesses even to the Greeks, about God “raising him from the dead” (Acts 17:31; cf. Acts 17:18). There can be no gospel where Jesus doesn't die for us, true. But there can certainly be no gospel where Jesus stays put in the grave. Praise God, Jesus is alive! Do we know that this morning? (We certainly confess it in the Creed: “On the third day he rose again.”) And there's only one response that makes sense to a crucified and risen Jesus Christ: Trust him. Have faith in him (John 14:1). Keep faith with him. Those who reject him, and the word of God about him, are choosing to reject eternal life and cling to death (Acts 13:46). This sort of freedom and life comes only to “everyone who believes,” everyone who trusts and has faith in the God who did this (Acts 13:39). If he can conquer his own death from within a tomb, he can conquer death's hold over me and you. That's good news! Life is good news! The good news, as Paul preached it in the synagogue of Pisidian Antioch, is “that what God promised to the fathers, this he has fulfilled to us, their children, by raising Jesus” (Acts 13:32-33). That is how God fulfills his love-borne promise to his sin-slain creations. And so what sin killed in us can't stay dead when the resurrecting power of God we see in Jesus is on the scene. That's the victory God gives us – and he gives it to those who trust in Jesus and not their own works or worthiness. 'Jesus lives – so trust.'

Seventh sentence: Jesus rules – so listen. That's the gospel, too. Peter closed his Pentecost sermon by emphatically saying that “God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified” (Acts 2:36). Stephen called out to Jesus as 'Lord' with his dying breath, when he saw Jesus positioned as standing judge at the post of ultimate authority: the Father's right hand (Acts 7:55-59). (Like the Creed says: He “ascended into heaven and sitteth on the right hand of the Father.”) Paul, preaching to Greeks, agreed with Peter and Stephen that Jesus was the one through whom God would judge the world – that's an exercise of Lordship (Acts 17:31). And we know that salvation comes only by confessing that Jesus is Lord and trusting in his risen life (Romans 10:9). This is where the traditional expression of the gospel intersects with what Jesus said about the kingdom. Jesus needs to be confessed as the Lord, the King, through whom the kingdom of God was brought to earth and under whose rule it still extends its life-giving dominion which hath no end. If we neglect this truth, we risk ending up antinomian, or turning inward and making the gospel a private hobby. And just as the only right response to Jesus living is to trust him, the only right response to Jesus ruling the kingdom is to listen to him, to obey him – to keep his commandments, as he so often said (e.g., John 14:15) – to live like he's in charge, because he is. We're saved by faith in the risen Jesus, for service to the ruling Jesus, “created [anew] in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them” (cf. Ephesians 2:8-10). 'Jesus rules – so listen.'

Eighth sentence: Jesus breathes – so mobilize. I'm tempted to replace the word 'mobilize' with three words: 'Gather, grow, go.' The good news isn't just about what God did in the Son; the good news is that the Son hasn't left us alone, but breathed his Spirit into us, still breathes his Spirit into us, so that we can do the work of the kingdom (John 20:22; cf. Acts 2:33).  As Peter preached in his evangelistic message on Pentecost, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:38). And the only appropriate response to the gift of his Spirit is to mobilize – we gather in fellowship, we grow through mutual edification, and we go into all the world and disciple, or train, every nation, every demographic, every neighbor and every neighborhood (Matthew 28:18; cf. Acts 13:47).  The only appropriate response is to let the Spirit work love in our hearts and let the Spirit's love come to expression in our hands and feet. This is why we aren't snatched up to heaven when we're saved – not just because the earth is God's good creation (which it is), but because we all have a mission on it, right here, right now. And without conveying that sense of purpose, that mighty adventure, that challenge and assurance all in one, I wonder if so much of our evangelism isn't selling the gospel short.

Ninth sentence: All will be new. “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again” – those words are ancient. So are the words of the Creed, that Christ “shall come again, with glory, to judge the living and the dead,” and that his “kingdom shall have no end.” And when he does return in glory, he'll make all things new (Revelation 21:5). And that takes the gospel story to the end – what we see fulfilled at the close of Revelation, but what we hear promised throughout the Old and New Testaments. God's name will be hallowed. God's kingdom will come. God's will will be done (Matthew 6:9-10). New creation will be born, not just in seed but in the fullness of reality. Death will be “swallowed up in victory” (1 Corinthians 15:54). (Again with the Creed:  “We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.”) Tears will be wiped away when all things are made new, “and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things [will] have passed away” (Revelation 21:1-5). That's the good news – and it's good news for the world, not just good news of escape from the world, the way we sometimes misstate it. This is God's game plan for the world we live in, to bring heaven here, to restore paradise here, to live here with us, to make it and us new together (cf. Romans 8:19-23). That's good news! That's the goal of the gospel.

God created. Sin invaded. We collaborated. God loved us anyway. Jesus died to liberate. Jesus lives, so trust. Jesus rules, so listen. Jesus breathes, so mobilize. And all will be new. Thirty-one words – a step beyond those original ten – but these nine short, easy sentences sum up the story, the excitement, the adventure, for all people: Jew and Gentile, man and woman, young and old. They cover, or at least bracket, the range of Jesus' preaching, of Peter's preaching, of Stephen's preaching, of Paul's preaching. And yet it's simple – you can type them in two lines and capture all that depth, and anyone can understand.  They are the gospel rubric into which everything else we need to say will fit.

Why are we spending time here this morning, here in the gospel, in these truths that we all know, that we all confess? Because we are nothing without the gospel – the whole gospel. Evangelism isn't just for those outside the church. There's a diagram in the book Discipleship That Fits – if you haven't read it, you need to, it's top-notch – and the authors point out that evangelism and discipleship both happen before and after conversion. Before conversion, evangelism takes top billing, but discipleship has already begun. After conversion, discipleship takes top billing, but it builds on the continuing gospel preaching of the church. We need to be perpetually re-anchored in these truths; we need to navigate by seeing ourselves and our world in the grip of this story.

And, I'm convinced, most every failure of the Christian walk – including distortions of leadership – can be traced to either treating this 'good news' like it isn't news (that is, like it isn't true) or else like it isn't good. Last time we met as the National Ministry Team, we heard a devotional message about godly leadership, and about the importance of sharing the gospel in each Christian message. I wanted to build on that. See, if we don't appreciate the gospel, in all its depth and in all its simplicity, we run the risk of going wrong. It anchors in the central truth of Christ crucified and risen – that's the perfect love of an all-gracious and all-merciful God. And yet it really is the gospel of the kingdom, where true leadership looks like the Kingdom's King, who knelt to serve and died to save and taught us wisdom for living and bade us keep his commandment of love. We must be immersed in this gospel, as believers, as pastors, as a National Ministry Team, as a denomination, as a church. So that's how I think we should begin this National Ministry Team meeting: by opening our eyes once again to what Paul called “the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God” (2 Corinthians 4:4). May we always see, think, feel, and live in that light!

Carefree Church: Sermon on Matthew 6:25-34

Good morning! Our eleventh Sunday of exploring the Sermon on the Mount. These last two weeks, Jesus has had some challenging words for us. If you were here last Sunday, maybe you remember Jesus' instructions on not being able to serve God and Mammon – we have to choose one. And investing with God is wiser than any investment we might make with Mammon, because all earthly treasures decay, but heavenly treasures – the kind that naturally grow out of our love and service to God and to our neighbors and neighborhoods – well, those last forever, where neither most nor rust destroy, nor can thieves break in and steal. To cling to Mammon is a fool's errand; to store up treasures on earth is a waste.

But maybe that sunny Galilean afternoon long ago, there were some in the crowd who grumbled when Jesus said not to store up earthly treasures. Can you hear it? Shh, listen to their voices: “Jesus, maybe you just don't get it. Do you know what it's like? Maybe it wasn't so bad growing up a carpenter, a woodworker; that was practically middle-class. Not everybody had that privilege, Jesus. Unlike you, I've got a wife, I've got kids. And heavenly treasure may all be well and good. But you're telling me to invest somewhere I can't see, hear, or smell to invest in things I can't touch, taste, or wear. Jesus, if I listen to you, I'm gonna die! Because what if things get hard? What if my crops don't grow? What if there's a storm? What if there's a fire? I have to store up earthly treasure, Jesus! The more I have, the safer I'll be, the better I'll feel. It's my lifeline. It's my buffer against the cruelty of this world. What do you have to say to that, Jesus?”

He has plenty, as it turns out. Maybe you've been part of that crowd before – wondering whether all this pie-in-the-sky talk of Jesus could ever be practical; wondering if you can survive listening to him. Maybe you've been worried about where your next meal will come from, or what will happen if your clothes rip and tear, or if the roof starts leaking. Maybe you've worried about the bills that keep piling up. Maybe you've just worried about little things – getting someplace on time, or passing through a dangerous situation. And maybe, just maybe, that situation has passed, but the lesson you learned from it was that little but a stockpile of earthly treasure can protect you from going through that again. Maybe, in the heat of the moment, you thought, “If I don't worry, if I don't pour everything I've got into this, if I don't let the quest for earthly treasure or food or clothes consume me body and soul, 'terrible things' will happen. Worry is the only way.”

But that ain't what Jesus says, now, is it? He sees things for what they are. This chapter of the Sermon on the Mount, now that he's interpreted the Law, is built around challenging three key idols that stand in the way of actually living it. 

The first idol was reputation. The Pharisees he knew were suckers for it – they went ahead and did plenty of the right things, but they did it to get themselves credit. And in being so concerned about reputation, their hearts were far from what they said and did; they became hypocrites; their righteousness was a skin-deep affair, it had nothing to do with a Father's love. Jesus tells us to reject Human Praise like a false god. 

The second idol was wealth – the accumulation of possessions, and by extension, other human pursuits. And that, too, makes us too stingy to live like God's kingdom is real. So, Jesus says, kick Mammon out the door, with all his dumb cousins. 

But in hearing that, we're liable to cling to a third idol. And that idol is security. We want to know that our position, our livelihoods, are secure. And when we feel too far away from Security, we try to appease this monstrous idol with a sacrifice of our emotional, psychological, and spiritual health – we cut them up in a dish called worry, and we lay them down at security's feet as an offering.

Jesus tells us to dethrone Security. Jesus tells us to never dice ourselves up into worry. Now, I'll be honest. I'm as guilty as any of y'all here. Of all the passages in the Sermon on the Mount, this is the one that I struggle with more than any other. I'm an anxious person. I have to struggle mightily to keep perspective when adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. I can be a bit of a worrywart. And I doubt I'm alone. I, sometimes, am that guy in the crowd, raising objections to what Jesus is saying. Deep down, I know it's true. But there's that part of me that wants to try explaining to Jesus what the real world is like. Maybe you can relate sometimes.

So Jesus says, to me and to you: “You cannot serve God and Mammon. Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Isn't life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” (Matthew 6:24-25). Jesus gets right to the heart of it all, doesn't he? He tells us not to worry even about our lives and bodies – much less about essential care like food or water or clothing – and how much less about anything else we concern ourselves with? He's telling us to just abandon worry.

See, those in the crowd are prone to feel, even if it seems silly to say, that worry is essential to survival. If we don't worry, then won't that hurt us? Won't things go undone? Won't failure be knocking at our door? Well, no, says Jesus. First of all, worry does not make for health. When Jesus uses the word 'worry' or 'anxiety,' he doesn't mean sound stewardship. He doesn't mean preparation. He doesn't mean due caution. When Jesus talks about 'worry,' he means that inner state of anxiety we fall into – one that disturbs our peace, one that drives us to frantic action, one that takes the object of concern and catapults it to the top of the priority list. But worry isn't healthy. Maybe he got a chuckle from the crowd when he asked, “Which of you, by being anxious, can add a single hour to his span of life?” (Matthew 6:27). Because, deep down, they knew the very opposite was true.

We've confirmed it scientifically: anxiety tends to wear down the body and mind, and if anything, it would shorten your lifespan, not prolong it. Proverbs said, “Anxiety in a man's heart weighs him down” (Proverbs 12:25). Another Jewish writing of the day said, “Anxiety brings on old age too soon” (Sirach 30:24). The crowd knew, if they thought about it logically for a moment, that anxiety does harm. It's even right there in the word: to 'worry' something means to choke or strangle it, to bind or squeeze it, like what wolves do with the throats of their prey. When we let ourselves be worried about things, or when we worry ourselves over them, we're choking the life out of our lives. It's not healthy.

And second of all, worry is ineffective. It really can't prolong your life. Worry, in the sense Jesus means, isn't going to serve a useful purpose. Understand the difference between worrying and being prepared. How many times in your life has worrying about something actually helped? Seldom or never, I'd wager – and, Jesus is going to tell us, there's a better way. Worry is a good way to get ourselves all disturbed, but a bad way to make the change we'd like to see in the world.

And third, worry is disordered. It gets things all jumbled up. A day only has so much room, and it comes with plenty of problems of its own. Why add to them by ineffectually adding tomorrow's problems, too? “Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matthew 6:34). Both God's kingdom and anxiety invade the present with the future. God's kingdom fills our present lives with the ultimate future, the hope of resurrection and intimacy with God. Anxiety, that counterfeit, fills our present lives with the near-future's burdens and problems – and doesn't even let us solve them.

And fourth, worry is unnecessary. It doesn't serve a useful purpose, and we can see that for ourselves if we'd just look, says Jesus. For instance, take a gander at those chirping birds over there. They don't store up earthly treasures for themselves. They don't sow. They don't reap. They don't have barns or silos or storehouses. So, by the objector's logic, they ought to all starve right away. But they don't. “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren't you of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26). 

Storing up earthly treasures is no part and parcel of a sparrow's game plan for life – but God takes care of them. He's their Creator... but he's your Father. The birds live, not by worry, but by faith. In Luke's rendition of this message, he's specific on the kind of birds: ravens (Luke 12:24). An unclean bird. And even still, God takes care of them, the least worthy of all creatures. Maybe Luke says Jesus is thinking of the psalm that says, “He gives to the beasts their food, and to the young ravens that cry” (Psalm 147:9). Two sparrows are sold for a penny, Jesus said – they're cheap, they seem expendable – and, here's the kicker: “you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-31).

And then, Jesus says, take a gander at those flowers. The Galilean hills had some lovely flowers. Especially these vividly bright purple anemones. How gorgeous! And where do they get that? Do they have to work for it? Do they have to toil at it, or spin thread? No, they don't do any of that. They just grow. They get it as grace – grace from God. God clothes even the flowers with brightness and cheer, although flowers and grass are the very definition of disposable, of something that isn't meant to last. But we are. 

So “why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown in the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” (Matthew 6:28-30). Even King Solomon, with his royal splendor, couldn't match the natural beauty God lavishes on his littlest creations. Can we really believe that God loves us less than he loves them?

Actually, many in the crowd might have said yes. There was a rabbi – he lived a couple centuries later, but his idea may have been popular back then. And he said something a lot like what Jesus said, but with a very sad twist at the end. Here's what he said: “Have you ever seen a wild animal or a bird practicing a craft? Yet they have their sustenance without care. And were they not created for nothing else but to serve me? But I was created to serve my Maker. How much more, then, ought not I to have my sustenance without care?” So far, so good, right? That's almost what Jesus is saying. We are made in God's image; we are nearer and dearer to his heart than wild animals or birds; so if they can live just trusting God, so should we be able to. 

But then Rabbi Simeon takes a turn: “But I have wrought evil and forfeited my sustenance.” In other words, he says, we were originally meant to live like that, same as the birds and flowers. But that was in paradise. We're far from home now, in exile from Eden. With our sin, we've given up the right, we've lost the privilege, to live by sheer faith like the rest of creation does. So, the crowd thinks, “That's all well and good for the birds and the flowers. But our world is more complex. We're sinners; we've moved further from God's heart, not closer.”

Now, take note: The very fact that Jesus doesn't go there, means that for him, things are different. The Sermon on the Mount is not spoken to mere sinners. The Sermon on the Mount is spoken with an invitation to a radical new thing: a new covenant. Jesus isn't denying that we have wrought evil. He isn't ignoring what the Bible said about the curse in Genesis 3. But he is saying that he's opening the door to start moving beyond it. Yes, we still live in a cursed world. But if we take his hand, if we let him give us new hearts, then he separates us from our sin and restores us in God's sight – gives us new robes of righteousness that, over time, sink into and color our very souls with heaven's radiance.

And so, he says, you can start living now like God loves you without looking at your sin. And to believe God loves us that way is to trust that God not only can provide, but desires to provide. That's why he says that those who live by worry and anxiety are “ye of little faith.” Anxiety stems from a lack of faith in God as Provider – whether through a conviction that he isn't able, or – for most Jews in the crowd that day – maybe from feeling distant from God's love. 

Jesus says, if you want to know how God yearns to care for you, look at the birds and the flowers – and then multiply! And have you ever seen a bird or a flower with anxiety? Have you ever seen a flower have nightmares about paying the bills? Have you ever watched a bird stuff extra worms under the nest to save them for later? And how much more will our heavenly Father care for his children than his creation? “Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep” (Psalm 127:1-2).

Now, trusting in God as Provider doesn't mean we don't work. The birds work – they might work plenty to hunt down what they need. God is calling us to a carefree life, not a careless life. He isn't bidding us be reckless or permitting us to be lazy. Generally speaking, God provides for us through our work, same as the birds. But notice that, although the birds work, they don't worry. They don't store up earthly treasures. And they don't take it all on themselves. 

When the psalmist describes the young ravens crying out to God, he's suggesting that God provides for them in answer to their prayers. That's what it says in Job, too: “Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry to God for help and wander about for lack of food?” (Job 38:41). And if God will hear an unclean baby bird's prayer, why wouldn't he listen to his own sons and daughters? If the birds can work while living by faith and prayer, so can you.

“Therefore, do not be anxious, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:31-33). That's the difference between pagan worry and Christian faith. For a pagan, an unbeliever, it makes sense to seek after all those things. It makes sense to reduce life to a frantic quest for the necessities, or even the luxuries. Because if earthly treasure, in all its instability, is all there is or ever can be, there's really no other way to live. And if that's true, and if you've got no confidence in a heavenly Father who loves you and works all things together for your good in the end, worry would seem pretty natural, even pretty sensible. But if you believe you can earn heavenly treasure, and if you believe God will take care of you as you do, then you can let worry go. You can live by faith instead.

That's not to say it's easy. And before we move on, a caveat: there's a difference between day-to-day anxiety and an anxiety disorder. At any given time, nearly a fifth of Americans have one of those. And too often, the church has responded to people suffering from psychiatric illness by just telling them to have more faith. Truth is, just as God often meets our physical needs for food and clothing by blessing our work, so God helps those with anxiety disorders by blessing their medication or their therapy together with their faith and prayer. 

Jesus didn't preach the Sermon on the Mount to give us more ammunition to judge each other – and actually, we'll talk more about that next week. Nor did he preach the Sermon on the Mount to heap up a mount of guilt on our shoulders. Jesus is offering us a new avenue to a new life, and outlining the kind of church he wants to create out of us.

And believe me: it's not a church of pagans. That's an oxymoron, and those who think it might be missing that 'oxy-,' if you catch my drift. Jesus is aiming to create a church of real disciples, not of pagans or even Pharisees. Too often, we've settled for some degree of those. And in particular, too often our biggest concerns are the same as those of pagans: get food, get water, get clothing, and get whatever else you can after that. That's where a pagan's real commitments lie. It's the only place they can lie. 

But we are called to a different concern, a higher commitment. Our treasures aren't earthly; they're heavenly. And where pagans seek after the basic necessities of life, we have something else to seek first and foremost. We are called to seek God's kingdom. That means devoting ourselves to God in faith, hope, and love; it means adopting his values, allying ourselves with his cause; it means accepting him as King and orienting our lives that way. And we are called to seek his righteousness. That means living out what Jesus teaches, which only Jesus ultimately makes possible by giving us his Spirit.

And all the other things will be added unto us – when our concern is the kingdom, when God tops our priority list, when we're investing in heavenly treasure and living by faith, God will see to our other needs in his own way in his own time. That isn't to say that we have an absolute guarantee that things will be fine in this life. Birds can starve to death, and they can get hurt. So can we. Jesus even says that each day comes with its own trouble – that doesn't sound quite as happy-go-lucky as a televangelist might tell you. But it's the truth: each day has trouble of its own, real trouble. Jesus doesn't deny that; he offers us a realistic but not worldly way to approach that trouble. If we live by faith instead of worry, we can trust that God will take care of us, whatever that might look like. It means we'll get what we need to survive – almost always here on earth, but absolutely always for beyond this earth.

Worry, at its most understandable, is fear of things that can kill the body: starvation, dehydration, exposure. That's what we need food, drink, and clothing to avoid. Most everything else we worry about can't even do that, so Jesus is tackling a worst-case scenario. But he also says, “Do not fear those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matthew 10:28). 

In other words, the most starvation can do to you is kill your body. But it can't kill your soul. Same holds true for an illness, or an accident, or spree shootings, or a terrorist. Those can all kill your body. But they cannot kill your soul. That doesn't mean we shouldn't avoid those things, where we can – but not at the cost of neglecting to seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness. Because if we neglect that, then we risk the deprivation or even death of our souls.

Only when we understand that can we invest in heavenly treasure as a carefree church. Faith in the Father frees us from fearing what can merely kill the body; and that dismantles our worries; and that let us focus on seeking, not food or clothing, but the kingdom above all else. That's what I'm inviting our church to do. Actually, it isn't me doing the inviting; it's Jesus Christ. 

Support yourselves and your families day by day, but seek the kingdom first. Devote yourselves to the King. Spread the good news. Bring others into contact with him and his provision through you, through us. And don't be afraid. Don't worry about the costs. Watch the birds and the flowers, and see the relentless love of our Father. You won't be disappointed. “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). Amen.

Celestial Church: Sermon on Matthew 6:19-24

Believe it or not, this is the tenth Sunday we've been studying Jesus' Sermon on the Mount together. We remember how he began his Sermon with the Beatitudes – throwing his arms open wide for the outcasts of the earth: the meek, the humble, the forlorn, the poor, the hungry and thirsty, the victimized and broken. We remember how he charged them with a mission: to be salt to flavor and light to shine in the world. 

We remember how he insisted he hadn't come to cancel out what Moses taught them, but rather to show them a higher righteousness, one we now know we can only reach through the gift of the Holy Spirit given to all who believe in Jesus. The Spirit and the Law aim for the same goal: the love and life of God. But the Law points the way, and the Spirit fuels our speedy way there.

So where the Law told us not to murder, the Spirit already is curing us of murder's roots in anger and forming us into a people of forgiveness. Where the Law told us not to commit adultery, the Spirit already is curing us of adultery's roots in lust and forming us into a people of purity and love. Where the Law regulated divorce, the Spirit already is curing us of divorce's roots by forming us into a people of contentment and commitment. Where the Law regulated oaths and promises, the Spirit already is curing us of deceit and trickery and forming us into a people of truth and honesty. And where the Law regulated revenge and seemed to set boundaries to love, the Spirit already is pouring into our hearts God's love for even our enemies. That's how the Spirit gets us to the Law's goal when we couldn't follow it by our own strength. 

And then, we remember, Jesus warned us of the perils of the religious life – how even the very pillars of righteousness like prayer, fasting, and almsgiving or charity could be perverted into a mere performance by hypocrites. Instead, he charged us to avoid seeking praise for doing them – do them secretly, if we have to – so that our motive is pleasing our Father in heaven, who sees in secret and promises to reward us.

And so now Jesus unpacks more about the rewards he's been talking about. And he tells us that there's a big difference between the rewards the Father gives and the rewards the world gives. Because the rewards of this world don't last – maybe they fall apart while we're watching, or maybe they just stay behind when we're gone. “Do not lay up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal” (Matthew 6:19). 

Isn't that the truth? What do we have on earth – what things, what funds – that can last forever? Treasures on earth, especially material possessions, are mighty vulnerable. Those fancy new shoes will eventually wear out. That Porsche or that Jaguar will break down, just like any other car. Some circuit will blow in that flat-screen TV. And that's if no one breaks in and steals it first! Or if no disaster hits – I mean, you can all think of one local family that has seen this year what a tornado and a fire can do to a chickenhouse. 

Nothing we collect on this earth is safe – not a thing. Moth, rust, wear 'n tear, fire, storm – they all destroy. And what seems built to last can always be stolen away. Earthly treasure is a pretty risky investment. Ultimately, there's no security in it. And any security there seems to be, is tempered by the fact that, whether or not it lasts our lifetime, we can't enjoy it once that lifetime ends.

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth and rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal” (Matthew 6:19-20). That's the solution. Instead of storing our best treasure here, where it's vulnerable, store it in heaven, where it isn't. There's no decay in heaven. No thievery in heaven. No tornadoes or fires in heaven. What's on earth is precarious and temporary, but what's in heaven is secure and eternal. 

And where you invest is important, because your whole life – your feelings, your interest, your thoughts, your attention, your cares – will track your investment portfolio. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). It's important.

Next, Jesus says something cryptic – one of the more puzzling things he says in the Gospels, according to some interpreters, and that's saying a lot. “The eye is the lamp of the body. So if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!” (Matthew 6:22-23). 

For people in Jesus' day, the eye was either a source of light, or the way light entered the body, or both. And what Jesus says makes perfect sense in a very literal way. If you have healthy eyesight, you can see. Your body will be full of light. If you don't have healthy eyesight – if there's something wrong with your eye – then, in the literal sense, your vision, or in their talk, your 'body,' is full of darkness.

But what that has to do with the topic at hand, how it connects to what Jesus just said or where he's going, isn't clear until you realize he, or at least his editor Matthew, is enjoying some wordplay. There's actually not just a double, but a triple entendre here. To speak in that world of having a 'good eye' was not just a way to describe its physical health, and to talk about having an 'evil eye' was not just a way to refer to its physical weaknesses. To have an 'evil eye' was to be stingy and envious – to look at others and want to take things away from them, or to look at them with resentment. So much so that, to this very day, there are places in the Mediterranean world like Greece and Turkey where the superstitions around the evil eye remain so strong that people cover their stores, their buses, even their airplanes with talismans in hopes of shielding themselves against its curse. When I was in Turkey a few years ago, I picked one up as a souvenir.

People listening to Jesus knew that having an 'evil eye,' being stingy and jealous like that, was a dangerous thing. But then to have a 'good eye,' a 'healthy eye,' was to have a generous way of looking at people – to look at them and, out of love or compassion or kindness, want to bless them instead of cursing them or ignoring them. And so a 'good eye' came to mean a person was generous – not for the sake of praise like the hypocrites, but for the sake of goodness, even the glory of God.

And the eye, Jesus says, is the lamp of the body: if your eye is generous – if you hold material goods lightly and give them away to others – then “your whole body,” your very life, “will be full of light,” of goodness. That is the kind of life Jesus is calling us to here. It's a life of investing in heavenly treasures through generosity – which, after all, is something Jesus already said we'd be rewarded for, if we did it with a focus on serving God. 

The opposite is a stingy eye, one more interested in clinging to earthly treasures than in giving them away out of the love that God rewards with heavenly treasures. And if you have a stingy eye, a 'bad eye,' “your whole body will be full of darkness” – your life will be tainted and darkened by your small, self-centered vision of the world and the meaning of life. “If then the light in you is darkness” – if even your best moments are corrupted by stinginess, greed, envy – “how great is the darkness!”, says the Lord Jesus.

That's a rich saying. But Jesus isn't even finished with it. Because there's a triple entendre here, an extra layer of meaning. The word that appears here as 'healthy' or 'good' actually means 'single.' A good eye is a single eye – one that can focus and stay focused on just one thing and see it clearly, rather than giving you double vision and divided attention. 

And that leads in to what Jesus is about to say. “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other” (Matthew 6:24). Laws at the time allowed, in rare circumstances, for a slave to be owned jointly by two masters. But under Jewish law, a jointly-owned slave couldn't eat the Passover meal from both masters' tables. He had to pick one. Ultimately, when it came down to it, he had to choose which one would have more of his devotion, more of his loyalty and commitment. Both couldn't share it – not forever, not in any stable way.

We cannot serve two masters. There cannot be two ultimate, life-consuming commitments in your life – because there will come a time when you have to choose. The more you devote yourself to one, the more you relativize the other – and then it's no longer your master. And so, Jesus ends this morning's passage, “You cannot serve God and Mammon” (Matthew 6:24). 'Mammon' was the Aramaic word for 'money' – its root came from 'something you trust in' – and Matthew's Greek text leaves it untranslated because he sees what Jesus is doing here. He's saying that, when you let money master you, you treat it as if it were a god, an entity unto itself, a rival to his Father for mastery over your life.

And that's the God's-honest-truth of it. It's why we joke – but some of us live as if it were literally true – about “the Almighty Dollar,” and why we say money makes the world go 'round. Because many people throughout history have made this false god Mammon the centerpiece and master of their lives – whether through actively pursuing more money and more material goods, or trying to preserve the money and things they already have, or just wishing for it, dreaming about it, committing emotionally to it. 

Money makes a fine servant, but a dreadful master – one God wants to dethrone in your life. Because mammon, for all its seeming use, for all the seeming worldly wisdom of investing further in its schemes and temptations, is just earthly treasure – it and its fruits can be destroyed, stolen, wasted, lost.

But Jesus' words apply to much more than money and material goods, because there are ways besides crass materialism that we can devote ourselves to earthly treasure. We might devote ourselves, for one example, to human praise. That's what the hypocrites earlier in Matthew 6 were doing. They went through the motions of righteousness, upheld the pillars of Judaism with prayer and fasting and charity, but their motive was to be seen by people – to gain praise, respect, a religious reputation to be enjoyed for its own sake, with all the prestige that carried in their culture. 

And, like Jesus said, whatever praise or respect or reputation or prestige they get that way is the sum total of their reward. That's an earthly treasure – a purely earthly one. And a religious life lived as performance art is every bit as much a life of earthly treasure-seeking as a life that revolves around the acquisition, protection, or coveting of mammon. 

So is any life committed to some trophy or accomplishment, trying to set some record to preserve your name, like building a tower to heaven. But we can't even get through the first book of the Bible before we learn that it won't reach, won't preserve our legacy or give us a good name; only God can do that. Making Abraham's name great was an act of grace meant to bless all the nations of the earth (Genesis 12:2-3).

Or there's the life devoted to a hobby. Maybe that hobby is hunting or fishing – you build your schedule around it, you devote your spare time to it, you think about it all the time, to the point where God and his call on your life fades into the background. Or maybe the hobby is a sport, whether as a player or as a spectator – you schedule your life around it, you devote yourself body and soul to it, and God seems to fade out of your life; you have less time, less energy, to commit to him; given a choice between obeying God by fellowshipping with his people on a Sunday morning or spending that time in pursuit of the sport and its commandments, you're prone to choose Option #2.

The same goes for a job – a good thing to have, actually a pretty necessary thing to have at most stages of life, but when it becomes a rival to God and competes for your time, your energy, your effort, your sacrifice, instead of being part and parcel of a life serving God, then there may be more than a whiff of idolatry in the air. And then there's pleasure. Some devote their lives to physical encounters with men or women; some devote their lives to vacations and luxury; some devote their lives, their efforts, their resources, to gourmet food. But in all its forms, once it becomes another master alongside the Master of Creation, you can't serve both; one, in your life, will get a demotion – and Jesus makes clear which one should.

You just cannot, in the end, serve two masters. You cannot serve God and Mammon. You cannot serve God and Human Praise. You cannot serve God and Trophies. You cannot serve God and Pleasure. You cannot serve God and Hobbies. Money, material goods, praise, trophies, pleasure, hobbies – those are fine in themselves, fine when we hold them loosely, when we praise God for them when they come and praise God when they go. But when we organize our lives around them, when we serve them, when we effectively idolize them – and all too many of us do that, to one degree or another – we treat them like our gods. And when we do that, we set ourselves up for disappointment and loss.

Maybe tomorrow when they fall apart – mammon and its fruits decay and can be stolen; human praise is fickle; trophies and accomplishments can be eclipsed or surpassed; pleasure is fleeting; hobbies grow sour. But if not tomorrow, then our last day, it's guaranteed they will disappoint all who trust in them. 

Now, the ancient Egyptians didn't think so. They packed their pharaoh's pyramid tombs full of signs of wealth and prosperity to enjoy in the next life. And Viking chieftains, when their bodies were sent out on a boat and lit on fire, were packed in with plenty of grave goods so they'd keep their social standing and fortune in the next life. Most every ancient culture did something similar.

But there are no grave goods in the tombs of the early Christians. Grave goods disappear from Roman society as it shifts from paganism to Christianity. Because Christians knew that Jesus was right, and the Egyptians, Vikings, Etruscans, and just about every culture in the world was wrong: you can't take it with you. 

Serving Mammon and his cousins is a disappointment – if not during our lives, certainly at their end. And that is the definition of a bad investment. Only investing in heavenly treasure, only a life committed to God and his goals through active faith, is a secure and certain investment without an expiration date.

Today of all days, we should keep in mind that none of us knows how many days are written for us in the Lord's book. I doubt I have to remind you that ten years ago this very day, less than seven miles from here as the crow flies, a disturbed man fatally shot five and injured five other girls in a little Amish schoolhouse in Nickel Mines. Not one of those children left home that morning thinking that October 2, 2006, was their last day on earth. But for five of them, it was; and for five, it wasn't. And who can tell the difference?

I also don't have to remind you of the tragedies we've seen this week. A son of our congregation was stolen from the earth in the prime of his life a week ago – badly injured in a motorcycle race, sent into a coma, passed on the next day. (By the way, as of this morning, people – including a few from this church family – had given over $10,000 to help cover the family's medical, travel, and funeral expenses. That kind of generosity is the stuff heavenly treasure is made of.) 

And I don't have to remind you that one of our brothers is nearing his heavenly departure – but neither he nor any doctors could tell you for sure whether it'll be tonight, or tomorrow, or one or two or three weeks from now.

The truth is, none of us knows how many days we have on this earth to enjoy our earthly treasures. No one can say whether their earthly treasures will even last as long as they do – because moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal. And none of us can tell how long we have to invest in heavenly treasure before that's all we have. Life in this world is dreadfully short, and the shelf life of the petty treasures we pointlessly chase is often much shorter. Submitting to their mastery is a foolish way to invest the days you're given. 

Take a look at your life. How much of your time and effort lately has been focused on storing up earthly treasures – money, things, praise and popularity, trophies and accolades, temporary thrills and pleasures, meaningless pursuits? And how much of your time and effort lately has been invested in storing up heavenly treasure by living prayerfully, generously, and faithfully for God, to seek his kingdom first and foremost (Matthew 6:33)?

Earthly treasures and earthly achievements will fade away. Heavenly treasures will last. Earthly food will rot. Only Jesus promises to be the Bread from Heaven for us, and to give us a spring to drink from that lasts eternally so we'll never thirst again. To devote ourselves to heavenly treasure, it's only fitting that the celestial church – the church with its eyes fixed on heavenly truths, heavenly goals, heavenly gain – should share a heavenly meal. And Jesus has offered us a foretaste of that.
 

So this morning, as we process the events of the last decade, the last week, and the days ahead, remember that only what's stored up in heaven lasts – and none of us knows when that's all we'll have left. But remember also that the only way we can reach our heavenly treasure is through Jesus Christ. He died to separate us from the guilt, power, and ultimately the very being of our sin. And he rose again to breathe new life into us. 

When we share this heavenly food, that truth enters into us, sustains us, fits us for the grand banquet in heaven of which this is a treasured foretaste. Come to the table. Do this in remembrance of him.