In the familiar story of Luke 10:38-42, we encounter two sisters, Martha and Mary, whose contrasting responses to Jesus’ presence offer a timeless lesson about faith and priorities. Martha, consumed by the demands of hospitality, is busy preparing and serving, ensuring everything is in order for her guest. Her efforts are commendable, as they reflect a heart of service and responsibility. Yet, her busyness becomes a distraction, pulling her away from the very presence of Jesus. Like Martha, many of us find ourselves caught up in the whirlwind of responsibilities—whether work, family, or even ministry—that, while important, can prevent us from being fully present with God. In our rush to "do" for Jesus, we risk forgetting to simply "be" with Him. This passage challenges us to examine our own lives, where the demands of productivity can drown out the still, small voice of God, leaving us spiritually disconnected despite our good intentions.

Martha’s preoccupation highlights a common struggle: the difficulty of discerning God’s movement when we’re consumed by busyness. In our fast-paced world, we often equate activity with accomplishment, believing that constant motion is the path to fulfillment. However, this relentless pace can blind us to God’s presence and mute His guidance. Martha’s frustration with Mary, who sits at Jesus’ feet instead of helping, reveals her inability to see the value of pausing to listen. We, too, may find it hard to slow down, especially when society rewards efficiency and multitasking. Yet, the story suggests that our busyness, even when well-intentioned, can become a barrier to spiritual clarity. By contrast, Mary’s choice to sit and listen demonstrates a deliberate act of prioritizing Jesus above all else, reminding us that true discipleship begins with presence, not performance.

Mary’s posture at Jesus’ feet is not one of laziness but of attentiveness and faith. She understands that listening to Jesus is not a secondary task but the foundation of a meaningful spiritual life. In her stillness, Mary finds clarity, direction, and peace—gifts that come from being fully present with Christ. This act of listening is not always easy, especially when God seems silent. Many of us wrestle with the silence of God in our prayers, longing for a clear answer or a single word of reassurance. Yet, God’s silence is not absence but a call to trust in His timing. Sitting in that silence, like Mary, requires patience and humility, teaching us to rely on God’s will rather than our own desires. Through this faithful listening, God works to form and refine us, preparing us to hear what we truly need, even when it differs from what we expect.

Choosing the "better part," as Mary did, leads to a life of presence and purpose. This choice does not mean abandoning responsibilities but rather reordering our priorities to place Christ at the center. When we slow down to be with Jesus, we reconnect with what matters most, finding a sense of purpose that transcends the noise of daily life. Mary’s example shows us that true peace is found not in checking off tasks but in rooting ourselves in Christ’s presence. This presence empowers us to live with intention, aligning our actions with God’s will rather than the world’s demands. In a culture that glorifies productivity, Jesus’ affirmation of Mary’s choice is radical: it elevates being over doing, inviting us to find our true purpose in communion with Him.

In conclusion, the story of Martha and Mary is a powerful reminder that the heart of discipleship lies in being with Jesus. Martha’s service was not wrong, but her distraction kept her from the deeper connection Mary embraced. In a world that praises hustle and productivity, Jesus praises presence. By choosing the better part, as Mary did, we are called to listen deeply, live purposefully, and remain rooted in the One who gives us life. This choice is not a rejection of responsibility but a reorientation toward what is eternal. As we navigate our own busy lives, may we, like Mary, pause to sit at Jesus’ feet, trusting that in His presence, we will find the clarity, peace, and purpose we seek.

Based on Luke 10:25–37

Sermon Preached on Sunday, June 13th.

The Parable of the Good Samaritan is one of the most well-known stories in the Bible. Many of us can recite it from memory or have heard countless sermons on it. And yet, the danger with familiar passages is that they become comfortable. We may admire the story’s kindness without letting it challenge our way of life. But Jesus didn’t tell stories to make us comfortable. He told them to call us into deeper faithfulness. This parable is more than a lesson in kindness—it’s a radical call to discipleship shaped by mercy, and it begins with a question we still wrestle with today: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

In the first part of the passage, a religious expert approaches Jesus with a question that many of us ask in some form—how do I live a life that matters to God? Jesus points him to the law: love God and love your neighbor. The man knows the answer, but he wants to limit its reach, so he asks, “And who is my neighbor?” That’s not a question about how to love more deeply—it’s a question about where love can end. Don’t we sometimes ask the same thing? Do I really have to care about someone who’s different from me, or who doesn’t deserve help? How much of my time or energy is enough? We want boundaries. But instead of giving one, Jesus gives us a story.

In the parable, a man is attacked and left for dead on the road. A priest and a Levite—both religious leaders—see him but pass by. Maybe they’re afraid. Maybe they’re busy. Maybe they’re concerned about becoming ritually unclean. Whatever the reason, they walk away. But then comes a Samaritan—someone considered an enemy by the Jews. And this man, moved with compassion, stops. He binds the man’s wounds, places him on his own donkey, brings him to safety, pays for his care, and promises to return. His response is inconvenient, risky, and costly. But it is love in action. Jesus’ message is clear: being a neighbor isn’t about the other person’s identity—it’s about our choice to show mercy, even when it’s hard.

After telling the story, Jesus turns the question back on the religious expert: “Which of the three was a neighbor?” The man replies, “The one who showed mercy.” And Jesus commands, “Go and do likewise.” This is the heart of Christian life—not just knowing the right answers, but embodying love. It’s not enough to talk about compassion or to sing about God’s love. We are called to become love. To be the ones who stop, who care, who respond. Discipleship is not measured by how much theology we know or how well we follow church routines—it’s measured by how we treat the broken and forgotten.

In many ways, the Good Samaritan points us to Christ Himself. Jesus saw us in our brokenness, wounded by sin and left for dead. He didn’t walk by. He crossed every boundary—leaving heaven to come to us. He bore the cost of our healing. And now, He calls us to follow His example. This parable is more than a moral tale—it’s a mirror. It asks us hard questions: Who do I walk past? Who do I find difficult to love? What excuses keep me from compassion? But it also offers a way forward. This week, let us ask the Holy Spirit to open our eyes to those we might overlook. Let love interrupt our schedules. Let mercy be the mark of our discipleship. Because in the end, the truest test of our faith is not how much we know—but how much we love.

In Luke 10, we find Jesus sending out seventy-two of his followers in pairs, commissioning them to go into the towns and villages ahead of him. He sends them not with power or possessions, but with a simple message of peace and the authority of his name. This moment speaks to the heart of Christian discipleship — a calling to go into the world not perfectly prepared, but humbly available. Jesus tells them to travel lightly, greet no one on the road, and when entering a home, to begin with a blessing: “Peace to this house!” At the core of our calling is not a burden to argue, convert, or impress, but a sacred mission to carry peace into a restless world. We are messengers of reconciliation, not because we have all the answers, but because we belong to the One who is our peace.

This simplicity is countercultural in an age of complexity, anxiety, and constant striving. Often, we feel we need to be experts or specialists to speak about faith or serve God effectively. But in sending his disciples with little more than a greeting of peace and the clothes on their backs, Jesus shows us that our readiness doesn’t depend on how much we know, but how willing we are to trust him. We are invited to serve not through strength, but through surrender. Our presence, our words of kindness, our peaceful spirit — these are enough. Jesus is not calling us to be flashy or persuasive, but faithful and available.

Yet Jesus is honest about the challenges that come with this mission. He prepares his disciples for rejection: “Whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you…” He reminds them — and us — that faithfulness doesn’t always lead to success or applause. There will be times when our efforts are dismissed, our message ignored, or our presence unwelcome. But that does not mean we’ve failed. Jesus tells them, “Whoever listens to you listens to me,” reminding us that we speak and act on his behalf. The burden of outcomes is not ours to carry. Whether we are received or rejected, the call remains the same: be faithful. Our witness matters, even when the results are invisible.

As the disciples return with joy, they report the powerful things they experienced — even demons submitting in Jesus’ name. But Jesus shifts their focus: “Do not rejoice at this... but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” Here, Jesus offers one of the most important truths of the Christian life: our worth and joy are not based on what we accomplish, but on whose we are. Ministry success, spiritual power, even outward fruitfulness — these are not the foundation of our joy. What grounds us, even in failure, is the grace that we are known, loved, and claimed by God. Our names are written in heaven. This is our identity, and this is our joy.

As followers of Jesus, we are called to go — to step into the world with the message of peace, the courage to face rejection, and the humility to trust God with the outcome. But more than that, we are invited to belong — to live from the deep assurance that we are God’s children, held by grace, and secure in Christ. Whether we are applauded or ignored, fruitful or frustrated, our greatest joy is not found in how we serve, but in whom we belong to. So go — speak peace, live simply, remain faithful — and know that your name is written in heaven.

In Luke 9:51–62, Jesus begins his final journey toward Jerusalem, fully aware of the suffering that awaits him. Despite warning his disciples multiple times (Luke 9:21–27, 44–45), they remain unaware of the depth of what is to come. Yet Jesus is unwavering—he "sets his face toward Jerusalem," a phrase that conveys not only his geographical direction but also his spiritual determination. This passage presents a turning point in the Gospel, one that brings us face to face with the radical demands of following Christ.

As Jesus travels, he passes through Samaritan territory, where he is surprisingly rejected. This rejection is notable because Jesus was usually inclusive toward Samaritans. The text tells us the villagers did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem, suggesting a clash of priorities rather than outright hostility. The disciples, however, interpret this as rejection and ask Jesus if they should call down fire from heaven—a misguided and impulsive reaction. Jesus rebukes them. He is not on a mission of vengeance but one of redemptive love. This moment sets the stage for Jesus to teach about the true nature of discipleship.

To deepen our understanding of this passage, we turn to Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book The Cost of Discipleship, in which he articulates the cost of following Jesus. Bonhoeffer contrasts "cheap grace" with "costly grace." Cheap grace offers forgiveness without repentance and demands nothing from the believer. In contrast, costly grace is the call of Jesus that demands everything—it costs one's life, but in return, it offers the only true life. As Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” This death is not only literal but spiritual: the death of selfishness, comfort, and worldly attachments.

Moreover, Bonhoeffer emphasizes that discipleship requires visible, concrete obedience. It is not a private, inward matter, but a public and often uncomfortable choice to live by Jesus’ teachings, particularly those found in the Sermon on the Mount. Disciples are called to live in a way that opposes the values of the world, enduring suffering, rejection, and practicing nonviolence in the face of evil. In this way, following Jesus means stepping beyond comfort and security to walk a narrow and sacrificial path.

Finally, Bonhoeffer argues that discipleship happens within the life of the Christian community. The church is the space where believers hear the Word of God, hold one another accountable, and bear one another’s burdens. True discipleship is not a solitary endeavor but a shared journey where each person supports others in the costly way of Christ. In this, the church becomes not only a gathering of believers but a community shaped by grace, truth, and sacrifice.

In conclusion, Luke 9:51–62 invites us to see discipleship not as an abstract idea but as a costly and embodied reality. Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem, calling us to follow him with the same determination. Bonhoeffer’s reflections help us grasp the weight of this calling: it is not comfortable, but it is holy. To follow Jesus is to surrender to the path of costly grace, to live in obedience, and to walk together in community, even when the journey leads to the cross.

The Gospel of Luke 8:26-39  takes us to an unusual and uncomfortable place. Jesus and his disciples arrive in the country of the Gerasenes — Gentile territory, across the lake from Galilee. This is unfamiliar ground. And almost immediately, Jesus is met by a man who is deeply troubled. He doesn’t live in a home but among the tombs. He wears no clothes. He speaks in the voice of many demons. The town had tried to control him with chains, but nothing could hold him.

This is a man completely lost — to himself, to his community, and to the life God intended for him. If anyone was beyond hope, it was him.

And yet, that’s exactly where Jesus goes.

1. Jesus Crosses Boundaries

Jesus crosses the lake, crosses cultural and religious boundaries, and meets a man no one else wanted to deal with. Why? Because grace always goes to the margins. Grace seeks out the hurting, the forgotten, the possessed, the people the world labels as too broken, too strange, too far gone.

Jesus steps into this man’s world — not with fear, but with authority and compassion.

2. Restoring Identity

Jesus asks the man a simple but powerful question: “What is your name?”

But the man doesn’t answer with his real name. Instead, he says, “Legion” — a Roman military word meaning thousands. He has lost himself in the voices that torment him.

We might not be possessed in the same way, but many of us know what it means to lose our identity to the voices of fear, shame, addiction, depression, or past mistakes. Sometimes we forget who we really are.

But Jesus comes to restore not just health, but identity. He sees the person behind the pain. He calls us back to ourselves. That’s what healing really is — not just fixing a problem but being made whole again.

3. Not Everyone Welcomes Grace

After the demons are cast out, the man is found sitting at Jesus’ feet, clothed and in his right mind. It’s a miracle!

But the town isn’t rejoicing — they’re afraid. Why? Because grace disrupts. The people had learned to live with brokenness. They had found a way to manage it — put the man in chains, keep him outside the city, and pretend it’s normal.

But Jesus challenges all that. He breaks the systems of fear and control. And instead of celebrating, the people ask him to leave.

Sometimes, the presence of Christ exposes things we’d rather leave alone.

4. A Surprising Mission

Now, the man — newly healed, newly whole — begs to go with Jesus. That seems like a good request. Who wouldn’t want to follow Jesus?

But Jesus says, “No. Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.”

Think about that. The man becomes the first missionary to the Gentiles. Before Paul, before Peter, before the early church — this man becomes the first to preach the good news to people outside of Israel.

He doesn’t have theological training. He hasn’t been discipled. But he has a story. And that’s enough.

Your story is enough, too.

5. The Power of a Story

This is what I want you to hear today: your testimony matters. Whether you’ve come out of deep pain like the man in this story, or your journey has been quieter, more ordinary — Jesus has done something in your life.

Tell it.

Don’t underestimate the power of your story. Someone in your life needs to know that healing is possible. That grace is real. That even in the darkest places, Jesus shows up.

Conclusion

Friends, we live in a world where many are still tormented — by fear, by despair, by loneliness. The voices of “Legion” still speak. But Jesus still comes across the water. He still seeks out the hurting. He still asks, “What is your name?” And He still restores.

And when He does, He says to us — just as He said to that man — “Go back. Go home. Tell how much God has done for you.”

May we have the courage to tell our stories, and to live as people who have been healed and sent by grace.

Amen.

A mystery to live, not to solve

Trinity Sunday is unique—not tied to a specific event in Jesus’ life, but to the mystery of who God is: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Yet the Trinity is more than a doctrine to analyze—it is the reality of a living God who relates to us in love.

In John 16:12–15, Jesus prepares His disciples for what is coming. He promises the Spirit of truth, who will guide them—and us—into all truth. This passage opens a window into the deep and beautiful communion within God and invites us to live in that divine relationship.

1. The Trinity Is a Living Relationship

Jesus speaks of the Spirit, who does not speak on His own but speaks what He hears—glorifying the Son, who glorifies the Father. There is a divine dance here—a mutual indwelling of love, sometimes called perichoresis in ancient theology.

The Trinity is not a hierarchy but a relationship of love, honor, and shared glory. And this is the heart of our faith: not just beliefs, but communion. God with us, God for us, God in us.

2. The Spirit Still Speaks Truth

Jesus tells His disciples, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” What a compassionate word. God doesn’t overwhelm us. Instead, the Spirit meets us where we are and gently leads us forward, revealing truth in due time.

In a world overflowing with noise and misinformation, the Spirit’s voice is steady and true—not loud, but faithful.

I once sat with someone grieving the loss of a loved one. They couldn’t pray. They couldn’t understand. But later, they shared how a quiet moment of stillness gave them a peace they couldn’t explain. That was the Spirit—gentle, timely, and true.

The Spirit continues the work of Christ by speaking what comes from the Father and the Son, leading us not into fear but into faithfulness and freedom.

3. We’re Drawn Into the Divine Life

The Trinity is not a closed circle. We are not just spectators to this holy mystery—we are invited in.

Through Christ, we are reconciled to the Father. Through the Spirit, we are adopted into the family of God. That means the love that flows between Father, Son, and Spirit now flows in us.

We are called to reflect this divine unity in how we love one another, serve one another, and forgive one another.

The Trinity is not just something to believe in—it’s something to become a part of.

Conclusion – Living the Mystery

So today, don’t try to master the mystery—let it master you. Let the love of the Father, the grace of the Son, and the voice of the Spirit draw you deeper into God’s heart.

God is not far off. God is here—speaking, guiding, and loving.

You are not alone. You are being led. You are being loved.
One God. Three Persons. Always with us.

Amen.