Sermons

CHRIST COLLIDES:

WITH OUR PRIORITIES

Luke 15:1-32
Pastor Calvary deJong

March 23^rd, 2025

Introduction: Sorting People and Missing Grace

After my first year of Bible college, I worked construction in downtown Winnipeg—on what’s now the Canada Life Centre—where the Winnipeg Jets play. From the job site, I’d watch the sidewalk: professionals in suits, tradespeople grabbing coffee, and those living rough—pushing carts, walking alone. They shared the same space, but not the same world. Invisible lines marked who belonged and who didn’t. If we are honest, we do this too—sorting people without even realizing it. It’s this exact dynamic that Jesus addresses in Luke 15. Religious leaders were scandalized—not by Jesus’ teachings—but by His table company. “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them,” they muttered (v.2). So, Jesus tells three stories—not to shame, but to reveal. Because sometimes, the real obstacle to grace isn’t someone else’s sin—it’s our own sense of who deserves to be included.

The Sheep & The Search: Grace Goes Looking

Jesus starts with two short parables. In one story, a shepherd has one hundred sheep—one goes missing. He leaves the ninety-nine to search. When he finds it, he celebrates. In the next story, a woman has ten silver coins, each worth a day’s wage—one is lost. She turns her house upside down until she finds it. And again—celebration. In both parables, the object of value doesn’t find its way home—the shepherd and the woman do the searching. These aren’t just heartwarming tales—they reveal how God views the lost, not with frustration but with joy. God doesn't shrug at what's missing—He goes after it, and He throws a party when it's found.

The Parable of Two Lost Sons: And the Father Who Sought Them Both

Unlike the first two stories, Jesus’ third parable breaks the pattern. Something is lost—but no one goes looking. This is intentional. Because now, the story gets personal. Jesus wants His listeners—especially the Pharisees—to see themselves.

1. The Younger Son: From Rebellion to Return

In the third parable, a man has two sons and his younger son asks for his inheritance early—a deeply offensive request. It’s a declaration: “I want your stuff, not you.” The father gives in, liquidating a third of his estate. The son leaves, spends everything on “wild living,” and ends up feeding pigs—a detail that would have made Jesus’ Jewish audience cringe. Then comes the turning point in the story: “He came to his senses.” Broken, hungry, and ashamed—the younger son decides to return home, not expecting restoration but hoping for survival. Yet, “While he was still a long way off,” his father sees him and runs to him—an undignified act in that culture. But grace doesn't wait for explanations. Grace runs. The father’s robe, ring, and sandals are more than gestures—they’re declarations of identity, authority, and belonging. And the party he throws upon his son’s return? It’s heaven’s way of saying: “You’re home.”

2.     The Elder Brother: Resentful Rule-Keeping

But there’s another son—the elder one who never left. When he hears the music, he’s furious. “All these years I’ve been slaving for you… but you never threw a party for me.” His words betray his heart—he sees himself more as a servant than a son. His bitterness shows that proximity doesn’t equal intimacy. While his brother ran away physically, the elder brother stayed and grew distant emotionally. His moral record became his justification. But he’s just as lost—just as alienated from the father’s joy.

This is the danger of religious pride. Timothy Keller writes in his book The Prodigal God, that there is more than one way to reject God: one is by being very bad, and the other is by being very good and thinking that your goodness obligates God. This is what Keller calls “lostness in morality.” One son broke the rules. The other kept the rules to maintain control. Yet both are in a sense equally distant from the father's heart.

3.     The “Prodigal” Father: Extravagant Love for Both Sons

Both sons dishonour the father—one through rebellion, the other through resentment. But the father moves toward both. He runs to the younger, and he pleads with the elder. He is the one character consistent in love, generosity, and grace. In the end, this is the father’s story. He is the one who suffers loss, gives freely, and risks rejection again and again. His love is extravagant—what Timothy Keller calls prodigal. He invites both sons to come home—not just into his house, but to his heart.

Conclusion: Where Are You in the Story?

Do you identify with the younger son? Regret, shame, and wondering if it’s too late? God the Father sees you. He’s not waiting with crossed arms—He’s already running.

Do you relate to the elder brother? You’ve done the “right things,” but feel unseen or bitter when grace is given to others? The Father is inviting you too—not just to obey, but into His joy and to celebrate. Jesus is the true elder brother—who didn’t sulk outside but left the Father’s side, paid the cost, and brought us home. As Keller writes: “You are more sinful than you ever dared believe—and more loved than you ever dared hope.” The gospel is not a reward for effort. It’s an invitation to come home.

A Vision for the Future of Our Church: A Heart for the Lost

Let’s be a church that leaves the porch light on for prodigals, and throws a party when they come home. Let’s plead with elder brothers and sisters to come inside. Let’s reflect the Father’s heart to everyone—regardless of where they’ve been or how long they’ve stayed. And if you’re a good Mennonite who doesn’t dance? Well, maybe it’s time the joy of Jesus leads us to start dancing on the inside!

CHRIST COLLIDES WITH OUR CONDEMNATION

Have you ever read a story, and realized you weren’t entirely sure of its point? Some Bible stories are so familiar that they’ve worked their way into everyday language. When an underdog faces a powerhouse team, it’s called a David vs. Goliath matchup. Last week, we heard about the Good Samaritan, a parable that practically preaches itself—a call to love our neighbour, even when it’s inconvenient. But this passage? It’s less well-known, yet no less significant. Jesus is asked to comment on two breaking news stories—a government-sanctioned massacre and a workplace accident. People debated these events, asking, ‘Why did this happen?” But instead of reaffirming their assumptions, Jesus tells a parable about a fruitless fig tree—and just leaves it there. No explanation. No tidy conclusion. That’s striking because Jesus often explained His parables. With the Parable of the Sower, He sat His disciples down and explained what the different soils represented. But here? Nothing. It's just a story about a fig tree running out of time. Maybe that’s why this passage feels unsettling. We gravitate toward stories with clear heroes and villains, easy application, and satisfying endings. Instead of answering speculation, He turns the question back on them: "Are you ready to stand before your Maker?" And that’s the question before us today: What happens when Christ collides with our condemnation? What happens when Christ collides with our assumptions about life?

Breaking Down Luke 13:1-5 – Christ Collides with Our Condemnation

• The Galileans Slaughtered by Pilate (Luke 13:1)

Luke 13 opens with a reference to a horrific event: “Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices.” This specific event—the massacre of Galileans in the Temple—isn’t recorded in any historical sources outside the Bible. However, the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (c. 37–100 AD) repeatedly describes Pilate as a ruthless governor who had no problem spilling Jewish blood when it suited his agenda. As a historian writing for a Roman audience, Josephus offers valuable insight into the turbulent relationship between Rome and the Jewish people. His work Antiquities of the Jews (c. 93 AD) confirms that Pilate often used violence to suppress dissent. We know of at least three major incidents where Pilate brutally clashed with the Jewish people:

18. A) The Standards Controversy: Pilate brought Roman military standards with the emperor’s image into Jerusalem. Jews protested, and Pilate threatened them with death. When they refused to back down, he relented (Antiquities 18.3.1).
19. B) The Temple Treasury & The Aqueduct: Pilate took money from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct. When people protested, he had soldiers blend into the crowd in disguise, and then violently attack them, killing many (Antiquities 18.3.2).
20. C) The Samaritan Massacre: A group of Samaritans gathered on Mount Gerizim, believing they would find sacred artifacts left by Moses. Gearing rebellion Pilate sent in troops and slaughtered them. The Roman governor of Syria was so disturbed by this that Pilate was recalled to Rome and removed from his position (Antiquities 18.4.1).

In other words, Pilate had a history of violently suppressing Jewish people, so it is entirely plausible that he had Galilean pilgrims killed in the Temple itself. And that’s where things get even more interesting—because Jesus Himself was a Galilean. It wasn’t just anyone who was slaughtered. This wasn’t some abstract theological discussion for Jesus. These were His people. Several of Jesus' closest disciples were Galileans. This is why, during Jesus' trial, Peter is recognized as one of His followers: “Certainly this man was with Him, for he too is a Galilean” (Luke 22:59). So, when Jesus hears this report, you might expect Him to condemn Pilate or call for political action. Instead, He does something shocking—He turns the conversation around.

Jesus’ Rhetorical Strategy in Luke 13:2-3

“Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Jesus asks, ‘Were these Galileans worse sinners?’ The assumed answer was yes—people linked suffering to divine punishment. But Jesus rejects this thinking. But Jesus flips the script: “I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Instead of blaming Pilate, Jesus challenges His audience to examine their own hearts.

• The Tower of Siloam – A Seemingly Random Disaster (Luke 13:4-5)

Jesus points to another tragedy: 'What about the eighteen crushed by the Tower of Siloam? Were they more guilty than others in Jerusalem?' Unlike the Galilean massacre, this was a random accident.

Underlying Theological Assumption: Do Only People Suffer Because of Sin?

Jesus is not just addressing two tragic events—He is confronting the deeply held cultural belief of the day that suffering is always the result of sin. Two key distinctions:

1. A) Some suffering is a direct consequence of sin or folly: Break trust, and you might lose relationships. As a kid, if I went to work with my dad, I earned spending money, but if I skipped or slept in, I was broke.
2. B) Some suffering is seemingly unexplainable: A natural disaster, a sudden illness, a tragic accident—these are not the result of personal sin.

Jesus here rejects simplistic theology that says, “bad things only happen to bad people” or “good things always happen to good people.” The reality is that life is unpredictable, and tragedy can touch anyone. And Jesus says, the real question isn’t “Why did tragedy happen?” but “Are you ready if your tragedy touches your life?” In verse 5, Jesus repeats the same statement He made in verse 3: “But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Repetition in Jewish teaching is a way to emphasize what truly matters. Instead of discussing who deserved what, Jesus calls for repentance. Instead of feeding speculation, He urges preparation. Instead of answering why suffering happens, Jesus asks: what are you doing with the time you have? Jesus isn’t just responding to historical events—He’s confronting the way we think about life, God and suffering. Life is unpredictable, but grace is available.

The Parable of the Fig Tree: An Illumination of the Issue

Jesus often used parables to illustrate deep spiritual truths, wrapping them in imagery that was both familiar and thought-provoking. Jesus doesn’t explain the Parable of the Fig Tree, and that means we must carefully reflect on its meaning. Throughout church history, one of the primary ways Christians have understood parables without explicit explanations is through the allegorical method—a practice used by the Church Fathers to uncover spiritual meaning in the text. Last week, when we looked at the Good Samaritan, we saw how early Christian interpreters understood it allegorically:

• The wounded man represents humanity—broken and left for dead by sin.
• The Good Samaritan is Jesus—the outsider who rescues and restores us.
• The inn represents the Church—the place where the wounded find healing.

So what happens when we apply this same approach to the Parable of the Fig Tree? “Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, “For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?” “Sir,” the man replied, “leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.”

At first glance, it’s an agricultural story, but in context, it’s Jesus’ response to the tragedies. If we use an allegorical lens, here’s what emerges:

• The fig tree represents God’s people—who hear Jesus’ message.
• The owner of the vineyard represents God, who expects fruitfulness.
• The gardener interceding for the tree represents Jesus, who pleads for time.
• The one-year extension represents God’s patience but coming judgment.

This parable is not just about agriculture—it’s about grace. Just as the Galileans didn’t know their time was up and the eighteen people crushed by the tower had no warning, so too does this fig tree not realize how close it is to being cut down. But here’s the key difference: The fig tree is given another chance. This is where Jesus wants His audience to examine their fruitfulness. And that leads us to ask: What about us?

The Message for Us: Personal and Corporate Reflection

As we move from Jesus’ world to our own, we need to ask: What does this parable mean for us today? Individually, this parable is an invitation. If you’ve been waiting to take your spiritual life seriously, the time is now. If you’ve been assuming you have lots of time to decide. The Vinedresser is pleading: the call to repentance isn’t about fear—it’s about embracing the life God has for us today. Corporately, this parable challenges us as a church to consider our fruitfulness. We are a small congregation, part of a historic Anabaptist tradition, and many people here have been faithful for many years. But Jesus’ question still stands: Are we still bearing fruit? Are we a fig tree that looks healthy but is barren? Not measured by activity, but by embodying the values of God’s kingdom—extending hospitality, loving our neighbours, deepening in faith? Do we need some TLC from Christ the Vinedresser or perhaps a little fertilizer to help us recover our fruitfulness?

Jesus’ Lament and the Call to the Table

Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem in Luke 13:34-35 is not just the cry of another rejected prophet—it is the sorrow of the Messiah over a city that was running out of time: "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing!"(Luke 13:34).

Throughout Israel’s history, prophet after prophet had been sent to call God’s people back, yet time and time again, they were ignored, resisted, or even killed. Jesus was not just a prophet—He was the Christ. The city that rejected Him was where He would lay down His life as the Lamb who takes away sin. Yet, His warning was not empty. Within a generation, in AD 70, Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans under Emperor Titus. The city that had refused to be gathered under His wings was left desolate. What Jesus spoke was not only a spiritual warning—it was a prophecy of judgment that came to pass. But even in judgment, there was still an invitation. The table was still set. The invitation still stands. When we come to the Lord’s Table, we remember that Jesus is not just the gardener pleading for more time—He is the vine, the bread of life, the Lamb who was slain, the only one who can make us fruitful. Communion is not just a ritual; it is the place where we stop delaying, stop making excuses, and come to Jesus as we are. It is where we remember that the call to repent is not about fear—it is about embracing the “yes” God has for us.

So, as we come to the table, let’s reflect:

• Where is Jesus calling you to abide in Him and bear fruit?
• Where do you need to surrender to His grace and be gathered under His wings?
• Will you come to Him today—not just in word, but with your whole heart?

We are given Jesus Himself. What will you do with Him?

You Can’t Stay Here: Faith That Moves Beyond the Mountaintop
Luke 9:28-36

Introduction: A Story of Disfiguration

Have you ever seen something that had fallen into a state of disrepair? Perhaps a barn? An antique car? Or a house that was once beautiful but now sits with peeling paint, sagging steps, and shingles that are curling at the edges? Maybe it was a place that had once been full of life, but over time, neglect and wear took their toll, leaving it a shadow of its past glory.

I remember the first time my wife and I walked through what would become our first house. We were expecting our first son, Asher, who is now 10, and with a baby on the way, we knew it was time to find a place to make a home. The house had been well-built in the 1950s, and at one time, it had been well cared for. But by the time we saw it, it had fallen into disrepair. Every room on the main floor had a different type of ugly flooring—none of it matched. The walls were covered in layers of outdated wallpaper, some with peeling floral borders. The upstairs bathroom had a pink bathtub, and the basement had that old orange shag carpet that was once all the rage and recently the original wood paneling had been painted a soft pink! As we walked through, my wife was nearly in tears. “I cannot live in this house,” overwhelmed by the reality of the mess. But as I wandered through, my eyes were wide with excitement. Not because of how it looked at that moment, but because I could see what it could become. I wasn’t focused on its current state of disfiguration—I was beginning to dream of its transfiguration.

Transfiguration: A Glimpse of Glory

The Transfiguration of Jesus is one of the most striking moments in Scripture. Peter, James, and John follow Jesus up a mountain to pray, and suddenly, His appearance changes. His face shines like the sun, His clothes become dazzling white, and Moses and Elijah appear beside Him. A cloud descends, and a voice from heaven declares, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.”

But what exactly is transfiguration? One of our quilters has a church calendar and boldly told me this week: “This Sunday is Transfiguration Sunday!” But what does that word mean? It means a complete transformation that reveals a deeper truth. Jesus wasn’t simply glowing for dramatic effect—His divine nature was being unveiled. The disciples had followed Him as a teacher and miracle worker, but here, they saw Him for who He truly was—God in the flesh.

The Old Testament Foreshadowing: Moses on the Mountain

The story of Moses on Mount Sinai provides a powerful parallel. In Exodus 34, Moses ascends the mountain to meet with God and receive the Ten Commandments. When he comes down, his face reflects God’s glory so intensely that the people are afraid to look at him. He has to veil his face because it shines so brightly.

Throughout Scripture, mountaintops are places of divine encounter. Moses meets God on the mountain. Elijah hears God in the whisper on the mountain. Jesus is transfigured on the mountain. These moments reveal glimpses of God’s presence. But there is a key difference: while Moses’ face reflected God’s glory, Jesus radiated it from within. Moses was like the moon, reflecting the sun's light, while Jesus was the source of the light itself. The transfiguration wasn’t just about Jesus experiencing God—it was about revealing His divine identity as the Son of God. Yet, as incredible as that moment was, neither Moses nor Jesus stayed on the mountain. Faith isn’t just about seeing glory—it’s about what happens when you step back down.

A Closer Look at Luke 9:28-34

Luke tells us that Jesus took Peter, James, and John up the mountain to pray. This moment follows Jesus’ warning that He would suffer, die, and rise again (Luke 9:22). The transfiguration happens in the shadow of the cross.

As Jesus prays, His face shines, and His clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear, representing the Old Testament scriptures of the Law and the Prophets, speaking with Him about His coming departure (exodus in Greek), foreshadowing His death and resurrection. The disciples, groggy with sleep, wake to witness this divine revelation. Overwhelmed, Peter blurts out, “Let’s build three shelters!” He wants to stay in this holy moment. But before he can act, a cloud—representing God’s presence—envelops them, and the voice from heaven speaks: “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.” This moment confirms Jesus’s divine identity, but it also serves as a reminder: they cannot stay on the mountain. The journey of faith calls them forward.

Transfiguration in Literature: A Surprising Parallel

You might be surprised to learn that transfiguration—a transformation that reveals a deeper truth—shows up in literature as well. One of the most striking examples comes from C.S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

In the book, there’s a boy named Eustace Scrubb, and as Lewis bluntly puts it, he “almost deserved” such an awful name. That’s how unlikeable he is! Eustace is selfish, whiny, greedy, and completely lacking in imagination or kindness. He complains about everything, thinks only of himself, and treats others with arrogance and contempt.

During a voyage, Eustace stumbles upon a dragon’s hoard of gold, greedily slips a golden bracelet onto his arm, and falls asleep on the treasure. When he wakes up, he has been transfigured—not into glory, but into a dragon!  His outward form now matches what had been true of him all along—his greed, selfishness, and isolation.

At first, he is terrified, but slowly, something changes. Being a dragon forces him to realize how miserable he has been. Then, Aslan—the Christ figure of the story—appears and tells him that if he wants to be restored, he must shed his dragon skin. Eustace tries to claw it off himself, but each time, another layer remains. Finally, Aslan tells him, “You must let me do it.” When Aslan reaches out, his claws cut deep—deeper than Eustace could ever go on his own. It is painful, but it is only in surrendering to Aslan’s work that he is truly transformed. The dragon’s skin is peeled away, and Eustace is restored—not just to his human form, but to a changed heart. This is what true transfiguration is about. It’s not just an outward change—it’s a transformation that only God can accomplish. And like Eustace, we cannot do it on our own. Real transformation requires surrender to Christ.

Transfiguration in Art: Raphael’s Theological Vision

In our church bulletin today and on the screen in the sanctuary, you’ll see an image of Raphael’s The Transfiguration—and that’s no coincidence. Religious art isn’t just about beauty; it reflects a theological interpretation of reality. Raphael’s masterpiece does more than capture the dazzling glory of Christ on the mountaintop—it also forces us to confront the reality of the broken world below.

At first glance, the painting is divided into two distinct sections. The upper half is luminous, full of divine radiance. Jesus is at the center, His body suspended in glory, flanked by Moses and Elijah. His garments shine with a brilliance that symbolizes His divine nature, and the use of bright, contrasting colors draws our eyes upward to this moment of revelation. This is the Christ who is fully God, the fulfillment of the law and the prophets.

But then, our eyes are pulled downward. The lower half of the painting is chaotic, dark, and almost frantic. Here, we see the scene from the very next passage in Luke 9:37-43—the moment Jesus descends from the mountain and is immediately met with a desperate father and a demon-possessed boy. While the disciples above bask in divine revelation, the figures below writhe in confusion and suffering. It is a stark contrast—glory above, brokenness below.

Raphael’s decision to combine these two moments is profoundly theological. Peter wanted to build shelters to abide in the glory of the mountaintop experience. But Jesus didn’t stay. The incarnate Christ comes down. He leaves the brightness of the mountaintop and steps into the pain and struggle of the real world. Because transfiguration isn’t just about seeing glory—it’s about what happens after. It is a call to action, a reminder that faith moves us from revelation to restoration. Jesus shows us that true glory is found in descending into the suffering of humanity to bring healing.

Transfiguration in Everyday Life

One of the concrete ways to live out transfiguration is through presence—showing up in the lives of others. Jesus didn’t stay on the mountain because real ministry happens in the valleys. We live in a world full of people who are struggling—those facing loneliness, dealing with loss, navigating change, or searching for purpose. Sometimes, transformation doesn’t come through grand gestures but through the small, faithful acts of being with people—listening, praying, and sharing life.

A story about a colleague of mine: for years, Tammy faithfully supported her husband, who was a pastor, while raising their four children and serving in their local church. But as her kids grew older, she felt drawn to the university campus, a place filled with young people navigating big questions about life and faith. But when she expressed her desire to step into campus ministry, some denominational leaders were skeptical. She had no theological degree, no formal ministry experience – what could she possibly offer?

What she had was presence. She showed up. She started building relationships. And she brought muffins. That’s right—muffin diplomacy. Tammy realized that something as simple as fresh-baked muffins and a conversation could open doors. She sat with students, listened to their experiences both good and bad and became a steady presence in their lives. What started as small, faithful acts became transfigurational. 15 years later, Tammy’s presence has reshaped the spiritual landscape of that university for many students. She has walked with students through doubt and discovery, grief and joy. She didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t wait to feel qualified. She simply participated.

Tammy’s story reminds us that transfiguration isn’t just about what happens to us—it’s about stepping into the places where transformation is needed and being present for the work God is already doing. Sometimes, all it takes is a willing heart, a listening ear, and maybe even some homemade muffins.

Conclusion: Faith that Moves Beyond the Mountaintop

Throughout Scripture, in the Old Testament, in art, in literature, and in everyday life, transfiguration is a moment of transformation that reveals a deeper truth. Moses reflected God’s glory, Raphael captured both the mountaintop and the valley, and Eustace Scrubb had to surrender to be made new. But at the heart of it all is Christ—transfigured before His disciples, revealing His divine nature, and calling us forward into a transformed life.

But here’s the challenge: You can’t stay here. The temptation of nostalgia is real. It’s easy to hold onto past experiences, to build a monument for what once was, just like Peter wanted to do on the mountain. But Jesus calls you forward. If you have glimpsed the glory of Christ in a new way today, don’t let it remain just a moment. Let it move you. Let it change you. Listen to Him. Step into what He is calling you to do and who He is calling you to be.

And as a church, we can’t stay here either. We honour the history we have inherited, and we give thanks for those who have gone before us—faithful leaders like JJ Thiessen, whose dedication helped the foundation for this community of faith. Their legacy is a gift, but it is not a destination. We do not exist to simply preserve their work—we are called to build upon it. To step forward in faith and to embrace the story that God is writing today. That story includes the people in this room right now. And it also includes those whom God will bring to us in the days ahead. Like Jesus, we must walk down the mountain and embody a faith that touches real people in real places, with real needs. Our community, our city, needs the presence of a transfigured people—people who themselves have been transformed and now radiate the image of Christ wherever they go.

So, will you follow Him? Will we follow Him? Because you can’t stay here. And we can’t stay here. Faith moves us forward. As we have ascended the mountain to see the glorious presence of Jesus, let us also now descend with a faith that moves us beyond the mountaintop.  

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