Stronger than God? (1 Corinthians 9.24-10.22)

Is it a sin to take a selfie? This question isn't as straightforward as it would seem.

For example, you're at a park with your friends or your family—or maybe you're just by yourself. You're having a good time and you decide to take a selfie with everyone and the beautiful park in the background. This is a completely morally neutral act. Nothing wrong with it at all.

But let's say you're at a war memorial. There are people all over the place. Maybe someone next to you has a grandfather who died in the war. The same act, the same morally neutral act—taking a picture—is entirely inappropriate in a context like that. 

Obviously, the point is that the question "Is it wrong to take a picture?" doesn't have a simple yes or no answer. It requires a bit of nuance, a bit of context, before you can arrive at an answer. 

The same thing is true with the Corinthians’ question in chapters 8-10.

In case you weren’t here: In chapter 8, Paul brings up a situation the Corinthians are struggling with: that of eating meat offered to idols. The reason why this was an important question for the Corinthians was because much of the social activity in the life of Corinth at the time happened in pagan temples. If they went to a birthday party or a wedding or something like that, they would often be invited into a pagan temple to eat, and the meat they ate would have been sacrificed to idols. 

So the question was, "Is it okay to eat this meat?" 

It's a simple question, and on the one hand, the answers seem similar to the answer to the question: "Is it wrong to take a photo?" Paul said in chapter 8 that eating meat, even meat offered to idols, is in principle a morally neutral act, because there is only one God, and one Lord, Jesus Christ; idols are nothing. 

But the full answer to the question must be nuanced than that, because context is key. That's why Paul has taken three chapters to fully work through the question. 

The first reason why it’s not as simple as “Yes” or “No” is that our love for our brothers and sisters in Christ may require us to abstain from the thing we technically have the right to do. A less knowledgeable brother or sister in Christ might see a more mature Christian eating this meat and be tripped up in their own conscience over whether or not they should join in. So Paul said that to protect the conscience of their weaker brother or sister, the Christians in Corinth should abstain. And they should do this happily, because for the Christian, the most important thing isn't our rights but the communication and reception of the gospel. 

That was the main point behind his argument in chapters 8 and 9. 

If the first reason to not eat this meat is love for our brothers and sisters in Christ, the second reason he gives here in chapter 10 is allegiance to God. 

And that is what is at stake in today’s passage.

The Stakes of Discipline (9.24-27)

So let’s get into it. If you remember, Paul has just gone through the numerous rights he has been willing to give up in order for the gospel message to be presented free from obstacles—from his decision to not receive a salary for his ministry all the way down to the way he speaks to others.

And he continues in v. 24: 

24 Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. 25 Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. 26 So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. 27 But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.

Paul uses the image of an athlete. Everyone in Corinth would have understood this image, because Corinth hosted the Isthmian Games, one of the major athletic competitions of the ancient world. Paul’s point when he says “only one runner receives the prize” is obviously not that only one Christian will be saved. His point is that the Christian life requires the seriousness of an athlete who actually wants to win.

Alex Honnold is probably the most famous climber in the world; he free-soloed a 900-meter granite wall on El Capitan in 2017, without ropes. So one mistake, one fall, and he dies. The film Free Solo chronicles his road to make that climb. And what you see in the film is that Alex trained on that wall for years before even attempting to climb it without a rope. He climbed it thousands of times, memorizing every move, every crack, every hold. To put is as he did, by the time he’s finished training, the consequence of falling is very high, but the risk of falling is very low, because he’s so disciplined and prepared. It’s incredible to watch because even though what he’s doing is insane, he’s so disciplined and so well-trained that he does it effortlessly, as if it were nothing.

That’s the sort of determined discipline Paul is referring to here. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things—and they do it to receive a wreath. When the stakes are higher, you’ll work all the more diligently to make sure every aspect is under your control. And the stakes for a Christian are far higher than a wreath—the stakes for us are eternal life with Christ for ourselves and for others. So we will work very hard to diligently persevere in obedience.

This is devastating for the Corinthian idea of freedom.

They seem to think freedom means: “I can do what I want because I know the truth.”

Paul says: No. Christian freedom means you are free from sin, free from idols, free from self-rule, and free to discipline yourself for Christ. A person who cannot say “no” is not free.

And Paul wants to be clear that he himself says “no” all the time. “I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”

I don’t believe Paul is actually worried he’ll be disqualified, because he has full assurance in the finished work of Christ for him. What Paul is afraid of is becoming presumptuous in his own assurance.

That is different.

Presumption says: “I know the gospel, so I can play with temptation.” Faith says: “I know the gospel, so I will take sin very seriously.”

Paul is an apostle. He planted churches. He preached Christ. And yet he says, “I discipline myself.”

So here is the first warning: If Paul does not trust himself with sin, neither should we. The prize we are after is eternal, and the alternative is disqualification.

The Danger of Spiritual Presumption (10.1-13)

As an example of what this looks like, Paul takes us on a walk down memory lane, through the history of the people of Israel. This is not a random Old Testament illustration. Paul is showing the Corinthians that God’s people have faced this danger before.

10.1: 

For I do not want you to be unaware, brothers, that our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, 2 and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, 3 and all ate the same spiritual food, 4 and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ.

Israel had extraordinary spiritual privileges.

They were rescued from slavery in Egypt and given a new identity as God’s covenant people (this is why Paul refers to their rescue at the Red Sea “under the cloud and in the sea” as a sort of baptism that Moses led them through).

They had spiritual food that God provided when they were hungry, spiritual drink God provided when they were thirsty. 

They had the continual presence and provision of God.

And (v. 5): 

5 Nevertheless, with most of them God was not pleased, for they were overthrown in the wilderness. 6 Now these things took place as examples for us, that we might not desire evil as they did. 7 Do not be idolaters as some of them were; as it is written, “The people sat down to eat and drink and rose up to play.” 8 We must not indulge in sexual immorality as some of them did, and twenty-three thousand fell in a single day. 9 We must not put Christ to the test, as some of them did and were destroyed by serpents, 10 nor grumble, as some of them did and were destroyed by the Destroyer. 11 Now these things happened to them as an example, but they were written down for our instruction, on whom the end of the ages has come.

Israel had every outward advantage. And, Paul says to the church, so do you. 

You have baptism.

You have the Lord’s Supper.

You have knowledge.

You have spiritual gifts.

You have apostolic teaching.

But do not assume that your Christian privileges make you immune to danger. The story of Israel in the wilderness shows us what spiritual decline often looks like:

1. Desire becomes disordered: “Do not desire evil as they did.”

2. Worship becomes compromised: “Do not be idolaters…”

3. The body becomes detached from holiness: “We must not indulge in sexual immorality…”

4. God’s patience is treated as permission: “We must not put Christ to the test…”

5. Grumbling replaces gratitude: “Nor grumble, as some of them did…”

You see, Paul isn’t just giving historical illustrations here. He’s describing the anatomy of spiritual collapse.

His point is simple: we as Christians have the assurance of our salvation, yes. But no amount of assurance makes sin safe. There is a point at which assurance can become warped into pride, and that is the point at which sin takes over. V. 12: 

12 Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.

The Corinthians think they stand. They think they are mature. They think they are strong. They think they understand freedom. They think they can walk into idol temples and remain untouched.

Paul says they should be far more careful than that. Not because Christians should live in paranoia, but because pride blinds us to danger. The person most likely to fall is often the person who thinks, “That would never happen to me.”

I hesitated before bringing this up, but I know it’s been on a lot of people’s minds this week. Many of you heard about Sam Allberry, the well-known pastor and writer whose books we’ve recommended to you before. Sam became well-known for speaking about the fact that he has always struggled with same-sex attraction, and had committed to a life of celibacy in order to remain faithful to God. 

Sam’s church released a statement this week saying that he had been disqualified from ministry after new information came to light about an inappropriate relationship he had had with another man. Sam is, they say, fully repentant and accepting of his disqualification. We want to keep the church and Sam himself in our prayers.

Obviously this news hit a lot of people hard, including myself. And I saw so many uncharitable comments online that drastically misrepresented Sam’s theology by oversimplifying a very complex question—a clickbait move which I want to avoid at all costs. 

But I bring it up now because I think Paul’s recommendation in v. 12 makes it pertinent: “let anyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.” I think Sam himself would say that part of the danger in becoming well-known for being faithful in the midst of temptation is the danger of feeling like you’re immune to it. Which no one is, not even those we admire.

All that being said, Paul doesn’t end this section with despair. V. 13: 

13 No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

This is one of the most difficult verses in the Bible for me to believe, because I can think of a thousand temptations I’ve had in my life which I felt woefully ill-equipped to handle. When Paul says that “God will not let you be tempted beyond your ability,” it may seem hopelessly naive or simply false. 

But Paul is very careful with his words. He says that whatever temptation we are faced with, we will be able to resist it, not because that ability lies in ourselves, but rather because God will also provide the way of escape, that we may be able to endure it. There are a million temptations I cannot resist on my own—but is there a temptation I cannot resist with God’s help? No. And here we have the promise that God’s help is always present.

I hope you can see why this matters. Paul is not saying, “You are weak, so you are doomed to sin.” He is saying, “You are weak, so don’t presume on your own abilities—trust in God’s faithfulness, and discipline yourselves to obey him.”

The Illusion of Neutrality (10.14-22)

Why did Paul say all this? Because that is what is at stake in this question of “Can we eat meat sacrificed to idols?”. It’s not isolation from the social life of your city; it’s idolatry.

God provides a way of escape, yes. But notice—the way of escape is not a mysterious inner strength. Sometimes the way of escape is the exit door. 

14 Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry. 

His language is clear and unambiguous. He doesn’t say, “Analyze idolatry,” or “flirt with idolatry,” or “manage idolatry”, or “prove how mature you are around idolatry.” He says: Flee.

Now it may be difficult to see why Paul is saying this, because the main question on the table wasn’t, “Can a Christian worship other gods?” The answer to that question is, of course, absolutely not, and no Christian could possibly imagine the answer is yes. 

But the question the Corinthians are asking isn’t “Can we worship other gods?” but rather, “Can we eat meat sacrificed to idols?” And Paul has already said in chapter 8 that since an idol “has no real existence” and that “there is no God but one,” then a Christian is no better off if they don’t eat or if they do. That’s a theological argument, which we’ll see again in next week’s text: it’s not as if you can catch some sort of spiritual food poisoning by eating this meat.

So why now does he bring in this notion of idolatry? He brings it in because the answer to the question is far more nuanced than the Corinthians may have suspected. In other words, it’s not just about the meat. The meat is unimportant—but there’s more going on here than that.

The example Paul gives to show this is a very important one, and he’s laying the groundwork here for what he’ll bring up in chapter 11. It’s the example of the Lord’s Supper.

 V. 15: 

15 I speak as to sensible people; judge for yourselves what I say. 16 The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? 17 Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. 18 Consider the people of Israel: are not those who eat the sacrifices participants in the altar?

We see that Paul goes back to the Old Testament again to point out that something similar was true for the people of Israel. The sacrifices of the Old Covenant were the means by which the people of Israel remained in covenant with God. Those who ate the sacrifices (either the priests or, often, the person making the sacrifice, cf. Lev. 7.6, 15) benefitted from fellowship with God by partaking in what was offered in the temple.

And the same is true of the Lord’s Supper for Christians, but in an even more profound way. It’s very interesting that in chapter 10, Paul references both of the two institutions that were put in place by Christ himself: baptism and the Lord’s Supper. He wants to press really hard on the fact that these acts are not empty rituals. The Lord’s Supper is not just a symbolic act of remembrance—it is that, but it isn’t only that. It is a collective and public recognition of our fellowship with Christ and our union with one another.

In baptism, we publicly recognize that we have been brought into the New Covenant and that we belong to the body of Christ; and in the Lord’s Supper, we publicly recognize the perpetual renewal of the New Covenant, that we are continually united to Christ and to his body. As Eugene Peterson said, when we come together and take the bread and the cup, “Christ doesn’t become fragmented in us. Rather, we become unified in him.”

That’s what Paul is saying: taking the cup isn’t just a symbol of the blood of Christ; it is a participation in his blood shed for us; taking the bread isn’t just a symbol of his body, but a participation in his body broken for us. In the Lord’s Supper, we publicly affirm: “We belong to Christ. His death is our life. His body and blood define us.”

So Paul’s argument is simple: If the Lord’s Supper means real fellowship with Christ, then pagan feasts mean real fellowship with what stands behind idol worship.

19 What do I imply then? That food offered to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? 20 No, I imply that what pagans sacrifice they offer to demons and not to God. I do not want you to be participants with demons.

This is a heavy statement, so we need to take a second to parse it.

Paul is not saying idols are real gods. He’s already said they’re not. But he says demonic powers are involved in idolatrous worship.

The Bible acknowledges that demons are not merely symbolic representations or myths, but that they are real, spiritual beings who work against God and his plans for his people. 

Will they succeed? No way—Christ has defeated Satan and demons and sin. When we see movies about demonic possession it’s always depicted as a nearly equal match: God wins in the end (usually), but he has to work really hard to get the demon out. That’s totally at odds with what we see in the gospels: Christ casts out demons with a single word. They are no match for him.

But that is not to say they are powerless. In the passage we’ll see next week, we will (I hope) do away with the myth that you can be oppressed by a demon by accidentally touching or coming into contact with something demonic; I do not believe that’s the case, and I think Paul makes a very strong argument against that.

But that’s not what he’s talking about here. He’s talking about participation with demons, which is a very different thing.

The Lord’s Supper, Paul has said, causes God’s people to participate in the work of Christ; “because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread”. 

That is the same sort of participation he’s talking about in reference to these sacrifices offered to idols. 

In a sense, yes, this meat is just food—eating meat is a morally neutral act. But sometimes the context robs the act of its neutrality. When a pagan worshiper offered this meat to an idol, the idol is nothing; but the act of worship this pagan worshiper is performing isn’t nothing. It is an offering to demons, because by definition, it is not an offering to God. 

So what are you doing if you willfully participate in that? It’s not as if the meat suddenly becomes spiritually contaminated; but what about you? What are you saying if you go into a pagan temple and participate in one of these feasts? 

You see, the real, deeper question isn’t “Are we allowed to eat this meat?” but rather, “To whom are we united?” 

V. 21: 

21 You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. 22 Shall we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than he?

Think back to the divisions we saw all the way back in chapter 1. The Corinthians have been fracturing the church through pride, status, rights, lawsuits, sexual immorality, marriage confusion, and now food sacrificed to idols. Paul says the Lord’s Supper contradicts all of that. One bread, one body. The gospel creates a people, not isolated religious consumers.

So you can’t come to the Table of Christ, you can’t claim to be united to Christ, while living as if your choices only affect you. 

Christ is not fractured, and Christ’s body cannot be compartmentalized. God wants his people wholly. Paul gave plenty of examples of this from Israel: they provoked the Lord to jealousy by seeking their own desires instead of God’s will for them. And to be clear, the Lord’s jealousy is not insecurity. It is covenant love. God refuses to treat spiritual adultery as harmless, precisely because he loves his people.

So Paul’s question at the end of v. 22 is very sharp: “Do we want to do the same thing? Shall we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than he?”

The biggest problem with the people of Israel was not a lack of faith that God existed. Their biggest problem was that they didn’t fully believe their union with God was absolute. They thought they could fragment their hearts, giving God parts of it while retaining other parts in service of their own sinful desires. This is what we see in the examples Paul gives: a people seemingly united to God, but in reality fragmented in their allegiance.

And the sad fact is that fragmented allegiance is no allegiance at all.

So the question is not, “What is allowed?” But rather, “Why would a person who is united to God participate in that which separated me from him in the first place?”

To put it another way: Can we manage our own sin better than God says we can? Can we stand closer to idols than he commands? Can we redefine worship, holiness, and freedom on our own terms? If you think you know better than God, feel free—but there will be consequences to your presumption.

Conclusion

Now of course idolatry in 21st-century Paris is rarely a literal temple meal—sometimes it could be, but most of the time it’s not. The Corinthians’ idol may have been literal temple worship, but underneath it was something deeper. It was the idol of freedom without submission to God. 

And that idol is still alive and well. 

Paul has showed us many things in this text. He has showed us the danger of an immature overconfidence. “I discipline my body,” he said, “and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” Perseverance really does matter. Warnings like this aren’t meant to make us afraid or defeatist; on the contrary, God uses warnings like this to help his people persevere, by showing them the seriousness of the situation. 

Paul has showed us that idolatry isn’t just incorrect theology, but relational betrayal. It is, as the Old Testament states over and over, spiritual adultery; which is, incidentally, one of the reasons why Christ gives adultery as one of the only legitimate grounds for divorce. Idolatry doesn’t just weaken the covenant with God; it breaks it. You cannot drink of the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons.

And Paul has showed us that Christian maturity isn’t the ability to get as close to sin as we can without being impacted. It is rather humble vigilance and discipline. The Corinthians think that maturity means knowing they’re free; but Paul says maturity means knowing they are weak, knowing God is faithful, and therefore fleeing what God says will destroy them.

All of this might seem scary, as if we’re on the edge of danger and we’ve got to get it just right. But that’s why Paul’s references to baptism and the Lord’s Supper are so helpful. This passage is full of commands: run, discipline yourself, take heed, flee. But the commands are grounded in our union to Christ.

Christ ran faithfully where Israel failed. Israel fell in the wilderness; Christ was tempted in the wilderness and obeyed.

Christ was faithful where we are not. He never bowed to Satan; he never tested the Father; he never grumbled against God’s will.

Christ gives himself to us. The cup and the bread proclaim that our life comes from his body and blood.

So we don’t flee idolatry to earn Christ, or to make sure we stay united to him. We flee idolatry because we are united to him.

To put it another way, the Lord’s Supper doesn’t say, “Try harder and maybe Christ will receive you.” The Lord’s Supper says, “Christ gave himself for you. Now do not give yourself back to idols.”

Most of the time we try to end a sermon with what we call an “application”—a way to look at the text and say, “This is what we are supposed to do in response to this text.” But I’m not going to do that today, in part because Paul gives several of them in the text itself, and actually gives his main application in next week’s text. But also because with a question as nuanced as this one, a pointed application runs the risk of erasing all of the nuance Paul has been working to build.

So instead, I want to give you some questions to consider in this coming week, to help prepare us for next week’s text—I’ll leave them up on the screen.

• Where am I seeking freedom without submission to God?

• Where am I asking, “Can I get away with this?” instead of, “Will this help me run?”

• What temptation do I keep trying to manage when I should be fleeing?

• Am I taking into account my brothers and sisters in Christ when I ask, “Can I do _____?”

And lastly: 

• Am I stronger than God?

Are we wiser than Christ?

Are we safer near idols than he says we are?

Are we mature enough to ignore God’s warnings?

Those last questions, at least, we can answer: No. We are not.

So run. Flee idolatry. Come to the table of Christ with gratitude and seriousness. 

And as you navigate these pressing and weighty commands, never forget: No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

The Freedom to Give Up Our Freedom (1 Corinthians 9.1-23)

If you remember last week, Paul told the Corinthians to renounce certain rights for the sake of their brothers and sisters. The context was that of eating meat sacrificed to idols, which was a common practice in Corinth at this time. People would get together for a birthday or a wedding, they’d eat in a pagan temple. As Christians, is eating this sort of meat allowed? Sure—because (as we saw in 8.6), there is “one God, the Father…and one Lord, Jesus Christ”. 

But a younger Christian, who may not know as much about the gospel, may look at that and think that eating this meat is tantamount to participating in idol worship. And seeing an older Christian doing it may encourage him to engage in behavior against which his conscience is warning him. Paul will go further on this later, in chapter 10, but that’s the gist of the situation we saw last week.

So he said that even if we “have the right” to eat this meat, we should be willing to give up that right to protect the holiness and conscience of our brothers and sisters, out of love for them.

This is a massively important principle, and Paul knows it’s going to be a hard sell, because naturally people don’t want to give up a legitimate right, for any reason. And he knows the Corinthians may feel like they could argue with Paul on this point, because there isn’t a lot of precedent for his application of the principle in this particular situation.  

It’s the exact same situation as the one we see often in church today: a couple are dating, and they want to live together. So they ask, “Does the Bible explicitly say ‘Do not live with your girlfriend?’” And because the Bible does not explicitly say that, they think it’s okay. Obviously the Bible says plenty of other things that should make living with your significant other before marriage a no-go, but it’s surprising what people how hard people will fight to keep hold of a right when they want to.

So in today’s passage, Paul’s going to pick a much clearer, and much more painful example than eating meat offered to idols. He’s going to pick an example that hits everyone where they’ll feel it—the example of money. And instead of telling the Corinthians what they should do with their money, he’s going to tell them what he’s done with his.

His whole point in this chapter is to shift the focus. The Corinthians were asking: What am I allowed to do? But the better question is: What serves the gospel?

1. The Rights We Actually Have (v. 1-14)

Paul’s’s going to do this by shining the light on himself and on Barnabas (his collaborator), and he’ll use several specific arguments to do it. 

Argument 1: Apostolic authority (v. 1-3)

His first argument is simple: “I, Paul, am a legitimate apostle, and have the authority to demand financial support for my ministry.”

Am I not free? Am I not an apostle? Have I not seen Jesus our Lord? Are not you my workmanship in the Lord? 2 If to others I am not an apostle, at least I am to you, for you are the seal of my apostleship in the Lord. 3 This is my defense to those who would examine me.

So he’s just establishing his credentials here. The Corinthians know Paul is a legitimate apostle because he was sent by Jesus, and because they have seen his ministry in action among themselves—he says, “You are the seal of my apostleship in the Lord.”

Argument 2: Apostles have normal human rights (v. 4-6).

4 Do we not have the right to eat and drink? 5 Do we not have the right to take along a believing wife, as do the other apostles and the brothers of the Lord and Cephas? 6 Or is it only Barnabas and I who have no right to refrain from working for a living?

The Corinthians know that the other apostles have basic human rights too that everyone should enjoy—the right to eat and drink, the right to be married, the right to be paid for ministry without seeking a second job. Paul is not anti-rights; he is affirming them.

Argument 3: This is how the world works (v. 7).

7 Who serves as a soldier at his own expense? Who plants a vineyard without eating any of its fruit? Or who tends a flock without getting some of the milk?

Even in the ordinary world outside the church, this is how it works—if you do a job, you should receive a material benefit from the job you do.

So far, all of Paul’s arguments have been logical—and as we know, you can argue logic with someone as much as you want, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll agree with you. But his next argument is where he really hits hard.

Argument 4: Scripture affirms the right to be supported (v. 8-13).

Christians cannot easily argue with something the Scripture clearly teaches. So now Paul’s going to give clear support  from the Bible in favor of his right to be paid for his ministry. V. 8: 

8 Do I say these things on human authority? Does not the Law say the same? 9 For it is written in the Law of Moses, “You shall not muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain.” Is it for oxen that God is concerned? 10 Does he not certainly speak for our sake? It was written for our sake, because the plowman should plow in hope and the thresher thresh in hope of sharing in the crop. 11 If we have sown spiritual things among you, is it too much if we reap material things from you? 12 If others share this rightful claim on you, do not we even more? Nevertheless, we have not made use of this right, but we endure anything rather than put an obstacle in the way of the gospel of Christ.

Simply put, God provided such rights to animals in the Law of Moses. Don’t muzzle an ox when it treads out the grain, because if you put a muzzle on him, he won’t be able to eat some of the grain as he works. You may lose a bit of grain in the process, but you’ll be taking care of your animal.

Paul says that God’s point in giving this law wasn’t merely to take care of the animals, but to show that this is the way normal practice should be shaped within the people of God. God says in his Word: “If someone works, they should receive something for their work.” That’s the idea. If Paul has served the church, he has the right to expect compensation for his service, and it has always been this way.

And then he goes even further in v. 13: 

13 Do you not know that those who are employed in the temple service get their food from the temple, and those who serve at the altar share in the sacrificial offerings? 14 In the same way, the Lord commanded that those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel.

Since the beginning of the religious life of God’s people, those who served in the temple lived by the temple. They received part of the food that was given as sacrifices as a way to provide for their material needs. The precedent was set at the very start of the Old Covenant.

So at this point it should be indisputable for the Corinthians. They may want to disagree with what Paul said about Christians not eating meat sacrificed to idols even if they have the technical right to do so. But no one could legitimately says that Paul doesn’t have the right to expect payment for performing his ministry.

And, as a side note, I think this is still the case today. This should be the norm. A pastor may have to go without a salary for a short time, but it shouldn’t be for an extended period, because churches need pastors, and pastors need to live. In everything Paul says after this, he’s not arguing against this good practice. 

But this is where we reach the turning point of the passage. Paul is unequivocally, inarguably free to receive compensation for his ministry. This right is way more clearly established in Scripture than the right to eat meat sacrificed to pagan idols. Even so, Paul is in a unique situation in his ministry, that pushes him in another direction. Even though Paul has this freedom, and even though this freedom is indisputable, he is giving up that freedom for the sake of the gospel.

Or rather, he’s exercising a different kind of freedom. He’s free to be paid, yes. But he’s also free to give up that payment, if it serves the gospel.

2. The Freedom to Give Up Our Rights (v. 15-18)

V. 15: 

15 But I have made no use of any of these rights, nor am I writing these things to secure any such provision. For I would rather die than have anyone deprive me of my ground for boasting.

Paul refuses to make use of his rights to be paid—not because it’s wrong, but because there is something far better at stake. 

His reasoning may be confusing to us here, because it may be hard to see how his not being paid for his ministry could serve the gospel. The situation in Corinth at the time goes a long way to explaining this. At this place and time (as we saw in the earlier chapters of this letter), itinerant speakers were regularly paid to come teach “wisdom”. They’d come, put on a good show, and give a good speech, and then be off—almost like a form of entertainment, like a stand-up comic might do today. 

Paul wants to be abundantly clear that that’s not what he’s doing. He’s not a performer, and he’s not teaching wisdom. What he’s doing is entirely different.

V. 16: 

16 For if I preach the gospel, that gives me no ground for boasting. For necessity is laid upon me. Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel! 17 For if I do this of my own will, I have a reward, but if not of my own will, I am still entrusted with a stewardship. 18 What then is my reward? That in my preaching I may present the gospel free of charge, so as not to make full use of my right in the gospel.

In other words, this isn’t a career for Paul. He’s not serving for compensation; he’s compelled to do it by Christ himself. Whether he’s paid or not, he has to do this, and he wants everyone in Corinth to know that this is why he’s serving. He does receive a reward for his service, but it’s not the sort of reward most people would look for. His reward is presenting the gospel free of charge, free of obstacles.

So you see how he’s refocused the question. It’s not “What am I allowed to do?” It’s not “What are my rights?” The question Paul has been asking is, “What am I willing to give up for the sake of the gospel?” And his answer is, Whatever I have to!

It’s a good thing for every Christian to ask themselves the same question—What am I willing to give up for the sake of the gospel? Because the answer to that question will show the true extent of our maturity and our freedom. Silvain said something excellent last week, speaking about this freedom. He said that this freedom “me rend capable de pouvoir renoncer à quelque chose par amour pour Dieu et par amour du prochain, et si je trouve cela trop difficile, voire impossible, c’est peut-être que je ne suis finalement pas si libre que ça.” 

That’s Paul’s point. If I’m willing to give something up for the gospel, then I’m proving that that thing—whatever it is—is not my master. Christ is my Master.

And now Paul will apply this principle more broadly, to show that he doesn’t just live this way in terms of his finances, but over the spectrum of his entire life.

3. The Freedom to Live for the Gospel (vv. 19–23)

V. 19: 

19 For though I am free from all, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win more of them.

This isn’t a contradiction. Paul is absolutely free—and he uses his freedom in just the right way. What “controls” him, what “masters” him, is not anything material or personal; it’s not an opinion or a feeling. It is the call of the gospel. So Paul’s willing to give up everything, if necessary, in order for more people to hear the gospel.

Here’s what this looks like in practice. He gives three different categories of people to show how he uses his Christian freedom to live in such a way that the gospel might be heard. 

And before we get going, it’s really important that we understand this distinction. Paul’s not going to explain how to live in such a way that the gospel is simply proclaimed. When I was in high school a girl in my church got it in her head that it would be a good idea for her to stand up on a table in the cafeteria during lunch and preach the gospel. Her intentions were excellent—I wish I’d been motivated by the same intentions when I was a teenager. But it didn’t occur to her that there may be a better way to do it. When she stood up and started yelling at everyone about how they’re going to hell if they don’t accept Jesus, everyone just thought she was nuts. 

She proclaimed the gospel, but no one really heard the gospel. The way she lived—the way she went about sharing the gospel—actually got in the way of the message of the gospel.

So Paul is going to explain exactly what he is willing to give up, not so that the gospel may be proclaimed, but that the gospel may be heard.

The first category of people he’s going to mention is the Jewish people. 

V. 20: 

20 To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though not being myself under the law) that I might win those under the law. 

This is a fairly incredible statement because Paul himself was Jewish. But his ethnic identity as a Jew was no longer the primary reality of his life. He was a Christian, a child of God, a servant of Jesus Christ. So what does he mean when he says “he became as a Jew” to the Jews?

He probably means that when he was with other Jews, when he was ministering in a Jewish city, he observed the Law of Moses as the Jews did. He observed the Sabbath and the purity laws. We see in Acts 16 that he circumcised Timothy. Timothy didn’t need to be circumcised in order to be a Christian, but Paul wanted Timothy to be present in the synagogues where Paul was working. Observing this ritual law gave Timothy access to people he wouldn’t have had access to otherwise. There are several other examples of this sort of thing in the book of Acts. Paul did things that he didn’t have to do in order to be able to have access to as many people as he could.

Of course, “those under the law” is pretty much the same thing—the Jews are those who were “under the law”—but I think he includes this because there were some Gentiles who had converted to Judaism, who weren’t ethnically Jewish, but who observed the Law. 

So we see his point: Paul doesn’t need to adhere to these laws in order to be saved—we are saved by grace, through faith in Christ. We are no longer subject to the Law under the Old Covenant. Even so, when Paul is with the Jews (whether they’re ethnic Jews or converts to Judaism), he’s happy to follow the ritual practices of the Old Covenant in order to have access to all of them. 

The second category is the opposite. V. 21: 

21 To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (not being outside the law of God but under the law of Christ) that I might win those outside the law. 

To put it simply, he’s referring here to almost all Gentiles in the Roman world. When he’s with them, he doesn’t adhere to the ritual and purity laws of the Jews. It would have been counterproductive. These laws were often seen as boundaries between the Jews and Gentiles, and Paul knows that in Christ, these boundaries have been broken down. So he wants to show these Gentiles that although he’s an ethnic Jew, that’s no longer his identity.

He’s careful to say that this doesn’t mean he’ll do everything the Gentiles do. He says that he’s not outside the law of God; he’s under the law of Christ. There are many moral norms in the Old Testament law that Christ didn’t just maintain, but actually intensified. So there are certain sinful practices of Gentiles—like the sort of sexual immorality Paul referred to in chapter 6—that he will not participate in. But he will exercise his freedom wherever he can to be with the Gentiles on a level playing field, to show that whatever boundaries used to exist between Jew and Gentile no longer apply under Christ.

The third category is beautiful, because it gets to the heart of Paul’s entire argument in chapters 8, 9 and 10. V. 22: 

22 To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. 

So let’s go back to the situation Paul had initially spoken about in chapter 8. Meat offered to idols is nothing, because there is only one God. But a weaker Christian may not yet understand this, and may be provoked in his conscience by this idea. So if Paul is with a weaker Christian, he’ll come down to their level, and give up his right to eat meat. He’ll actually act like a “weak Christian”, giving up something he could enjoy, for the sake of his brothers and sisters in Christ.

This is true freedom. Yes, Paul can eat this meat if he wants to. But he’s also free to choose not to eat it, if his abstinence will help a brother come closer to a true understanding of Christ. It’s not hypocrisy—it’s intentional adaptability to the person he has in front of him.

This is what true, Christian maturity looks like. V. 22b:

I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. 23 I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings.

Think of it this way. Paul may be speaking with someone in Corinth, and really investing in this person and sharing the gospel with them. Over the course of several days, Paul may eat several meals with this person. He has the right to eat meat—even meat bought in a market, which probably would have been sacrificed to an idol beforehand. He’s totally within his rights to do this. But instead, in order to keep this person from stumbling over the idea that they ate meat sacrificed to idols, Paul chooses to eat only vegetables.

Now here’s the question. Do you really think Paul is going to be complaining about his veggie burgers in heaven? Do you think that thousands of years later, Paul will be sitting and regretting the steak he didn’t have for this guy? Of course not—he’ll be rejoicing in the salvation of his brother, sharing in the blessings of the gospel with him. 

I can say this with absolute certainty: even if our rights are absolutely legitimate, no right given up for the sake of the gospel will be ever missed. In heaven, we will look back and know that we made the right call.

Conclusion

So let me give you two diagnostic questions you can ask yourselves, to see where you land on this spectrum of freedom and maturity.

1. What am I unwilling to give up? 

This is probably the hardest question we could ask ourselves. What would I not give up for the gospel? We can say we’d give up anything, but if we’re honest, most of us have at least a few things we’d find very difficult to let go of.

So ask yourself the question, and be honest with yourself. If God asked me to give up:

• a relationship

• a pastime

• a job

• a home

• security

• an opinion

• vacation

• free time

• any other thing you can think of—

what would I say?

Obviously there are some things God will never ask us to give up (if you’ve got kids, for example, he’ll never ask you to abandon your kids). But there are an awful lot of things that our life with Christ may ask us to give up for the sake of the gospel.

We were faced with this decision when we had the opportunity to come plant this church. Loanne and I both had good jobs, making decent money, a nice house we’d bought in Normandy, financial security, and a brand-new baby boy. And to be clear: when the opportunity to plant this church came, we were under no obligation. We were fully within our rights to say, “No, we’d rather stay where we are.”

But we knew at that time that for the sake of the gospel, it would be better for us to leave. So we left our home, we left our jobs, we left our financial security, and we came here. We don’t regret it. It’s not always easy, but we don’t regret it.

Is that to say we still don’t struggle with this question, that there’s nothing we’d have a hard time letting go of for the gospel? Of course not. But the answer to that question, “What am I willing to give up?”, shows us what we still need to work on—it shows us where the gospel hasn’t yet fully taken hold.

Second question:

2. Am I making the gospel easier for others to hear, or am I making it harder?

There are a million examples I could give of this, but the one I see the most often in our church is relational. Either in couples, or with parents and their kids, or brothers and sisters—it often goes the same way. A disagreement shows up; you both know you are right; but neither wants to back down. 

In almost all of these cases there is someone in a position of authority, either real or imagined. The person in authority is the person with the power. And that person almost always wins the argument. But often, they don’t win the argument because they’re right, but rather because they are able to impose their will on the other because of the authority they have. They win because they’re smarter, or they think more quickly, or they’re more assertive, or more physically imposing. 

We might win the argument—but what are we showing when we win the argument like that? Maybe the argument had nothing to do with the gospel; in fact, it probably didn’t. Most likely, it was about something totally ordinary. But if we belong to Christ, then the gospel should motivate our words and our actions across the board, in every situation. We’ll come to this in chapter 10, where Paul says it in no uncertain terms: Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

So if the gospel is what motivates our words and actions in every situation, then surely it should be influencing the way we go about having that discussion, shouldn’t it? Wouldn’t we rather lose an argument than win it by exerting pressure or intimidation? This person in front of me, this person I love, who knows that I’m a Christian—what are my relational tactics teaching them about the gospel?

This should always be on our minds, because we have a perfect model of it—not in the apostle Paul, but in Christ. What did Christ model for us? 

Christ was always right. And yet he didn’t exert pressure or intimidation to get his point across. He displayed protective anger on occasion, and he used strong words on occasion, but he didn’t cling to status; he didn’t insist on his own rights. He became “all things to all people” in the deepest possible sense of the word when he took on human flesh, and lived our life and suffered the death we deserved on the cross. He easily could have won the argument against the authorities who were trying to kill him, and he would have been absolutely right. But out of love, he gave up that right. The cross was the ultimate act of voluntary limitation for the salvation of others.

Christian freedom is not doing whatever we want. It is not asserting our rights at all costs. Christian freedom is being so secure in Christ that we can give up everything if it helps someone else to know Christ more.

We are absolutely free—but what we do with that freedom reveals whether the gospel is really shaping our lives.

Easter: What Does Jesus Do After Easter? (John 21)

I’d like to start by telling you about a parrot.

Not just any parrot. A chocolate parrot.

Not just any chocolate parrot. An Easter chocolate parrot.

Because once you accept rabbits that bring eggs (even though rabbits are mammals and obviously don’t lay eggs, let alone chocolate ones), and flying bells, an Easter parrot doesn’t really raise the oddity level much.

I didn’t want this parrot to be finished by Easter Sunday.

I wanted Easter to last as long as possible.

So I kept it under my bed, nibbling at it from time to time… until July!

It raises the question - what happens after Easter?

Easter is the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection.

After his resurrection, what does he do?

It’s easy to think he kept a low profile.

Yes, he is risen, he is alive. But what is he doing now? Is he at work? How?

What does Jesus do after Easter?

On a far more significant level than with the chocolate parrot, we would like the Easter experience to last.

Last Sunday, Jason told us about Thomas, the sceptical disciple, who was absent the first time Jesus appeared alive to his disciples, and who said that unless he saw him and touched him, he would not believe.

What did Jesus do? He appeared to Thomas in the flesh.

It would be so much simpler if we could have the same experience!

Imagine if Jesus were physically here this morning! You’d be asking me to stop with my talk of the Easter parrot: we want to see Jesus, touch Jesus, listen to Jesus!

Think about our evangelism. It would be so much better, wouldn’t it, if we could invite our friends to church and introduce them to… Jesus!

Do you have any questions? He’s here. Ask him!

Some of you are getting ready to go to North Africa on a mission trip. Wouldn’t it be more effective to go… with Jesus! Come and meet him, he’s come with us!

You can’t.

What does Jesus do after Easter?

The state of the world prompts us to ask the question: wars, economic crises, injustices. What does Jesus do?

Our own experiences too. What was Jesus doing when our prayers seemed to go unanswered? When a relationship broke down? When illness struck?

Jesus has risen, it’s wonderful! But what is he doing today, after Easter?

***

The first readers of John’s Gospel asked themselves similar questions.

John was probably writing to people of Jewish background faced with a choice: Jesus or the synagogue?

They were interested in Jesus, but choosing Jesus meant risking exclusion — social, economic and family death: one became a filthy pagan.

Following a Messiah they could see would have been costly enough.

But a Messiah who seemed absent and inactive? It seemed absurd.

The same question applies to us: what does Jesus do after Easter?

John 21 shows that the resurrection is not the end.

This chapter speaks of what follows before Jesus’ return.

It presents the resurrection as the beginning of a new era, indeed a new creation, where Jesus is still at work to give life in abundance through his word, the Bible.
Three points this morning.

The first: after Easter …

Jesus still feeds us

After his resurrection, Jesus still offers the abundant food of eternal life.

John 21:1

After this, Jesus appeared again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. This is how he appeared. Simon Peter, Thomas (called Didymus), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples of Jesus were together. Simon Peter said to them, ‘I’m going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We’ll go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

It is not clear why the disciples went back to fishing.

Some think this shows their obedience. Jesus had told them to return to Galilee, even though this instruction does not appear in John’s Gospel.

Others see it as disobedience. In last Sunday’s passage, Jesus says: ‘As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ They resume their former work.

The reality is probably somewhere in between.

It is not because Jesus had sent them that they no longer needed to eat.

They fish at night, the best time.

But John is a subtle writer. For him, night symbolises ignorance.

Remember Nicodemus, who came to see Jesus ‘at night’ and did not yet know his true identity.

In other words, at the start of John 21, the disciples still don’t quite see things clearly.

They have seen the risen Jesus, but are slow to understand. They have not yet grasped the implications.

Verse 4

When morning came (or rather, in the early morning, as day was breaking), Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realise it was him. He said to them, ‘Children, have you anything to eat?’ They replied, ‘No.’ He said to them, ‘Cast the net on the right-hand side of the boat and you will find some.’ So they cast it out, and they were unable to haul it in because of the great number of fish. Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ As soon as he heard that it was the Lord, Simon Peter put on his outer garment—for he was stripped for work—and threw himself into the lake. The other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the shore, about a hundred metres away.

Some believe that the recognition stems from a recollection of another miraculous catch when Jesus had called Peter, John and James.

But it is Luke who recounts it, not John.

The parallel is rather with a miracle recounted by John, on the shores of the same lake: the feeding of the 5,000 with loaves and fish.

What was the significance of the feeding of the 5,000?

On a superficial level, it shows Jesus’ compassion for those who were hungry.

But in John’s Gospel, there is always a deeper meaning. The ‘signs’ – John speaks of signs rather than miracles – always signify something.

What did this one signify?

John 6:35 (page 692)

Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

Verse 51

I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live for ever, and the bread that I will give is my body, [which I will give] for the life of the world

Jesus … truly nourishes …

To know Jesus is to be invited to a banquet.

A banquet that never ends.

I don’t know what the longest meal you’ve ever had was.

When I arrived in France as a teenager, I discovered that meals could last a very long time.

Perhaps some of you here come from cultures where they last even longer.

Jesus invites us to an eternal banquet when we believe in him.

A banquet… or rather a barbecue.

Let’s go back to John 21 and look at verse 9

When they had come ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there with fish on it and some bread. Jesus said to them, ‘Bring some of the fish you have just caught.’ Simon Peter climbed into the boat and hauled the net ashore, full of 153 large fish; despite their great number, the net did not tear. Jesus said to them, ‘Come and have some breakfast.’ None of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came over, took the bread and gave it to them; he did the same with the fish. This was already the third time Jesus had appeared to his disciples since he had risen.

I love barbecues even more than chocolate parrots. A barbecue has everything you need to be happy: good food, fine weather, friendship. And it’s reassuring to see that the first meal Jesus serves after the resurrection is fish and chips on the barbecue. :-)

On this beach by the Sea of Galilee, we see what Jesus does after his resurrection.

He is still feeding people.

He spends time with his friends.

He invites the disciples who had abandoned him just a few days earlier to a barbecue with him.

Let’s pause for a moment. Can you imagine how delicious the fish must have been, prepared by the three-Michelin-starred chef Jesus?

Perhaps a little marinade. A salad.

Even if you don’t like fish, I reckon you’d have fancied it! It’s not the frozen fish from Lidl. Jesus created the fish on the fifth day of creation, with all their flavours, knowing that after his resurrection he would serve them to his disciples.

Small details reveal the depth of the scene.

There are 7 disciples. Why 7?

John pays attention to numbers. The number 7 reminds us of… creation! In particular, the 7th day, the day of rest in communion with God when everything is as it should be. :-)

Another detail: the time. The start of a new day.

Not just a reference to the fishermen’s working hours. It is the start of a new seventh day, when light will shine, ignorance will be dispelled, and life, rest and friendship with God will reign :-)

It is as if Jesus were saying: ‘Here I am, risen, and now I invite you to eat, to feast with me, as friends, just as God has always wanted to do!’

For the disciples, it is almost too good to be true. They dare not ask, ‘Who are you?’ They know it is him… but we understand their hesitation. Is it too good to be true?

And there is plenty.

Jesus doesn’t need the 153 fish caught by the disciples. He already has some cooking. There is far more than enough to feed eight people.

There’s still room at the table for others!

What does Jesus do after Easter?

He continues to feed us with the abundant life of his new creation. He invites us to a barbecue with him!

Perhaps you came here this morning thinking you would never be satisfied.

Today, Jesus is still feeding us!

But how do we get hold of the food?

We aren’t on that beach in Galilee, and even if we went there, we wouldn’t meet Jesus.

Second point…

Jesus still feeds us through his apostles

After his resurrection, Jesus feeds through the men he has chosen, commissioned and restored for the task.

Verse 15

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me more than these?’ He replied, ‘Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ He said to him a second time, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me?’ Peter replied, ‘Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him a third time, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me?’ Peter was grieved because he had said to him a third time, ‘Do you love me?’ and he replied, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep.’

Jesus and Simon Peter are still sitting around the barbecue when Jesus tells him to feed his sheep.

As if he were saying: this food I have prepared, this eternal life, this taste of the new creation — now it’s your turn to serve it!

I listened to a programme this week about Paul Bocuse, the great French chef known throughout the world.

He is no longer with us today, but we can still enjoy his cuisine, for he trained disciples.

He passed on his recipes, his expertise, his high standards. He trained chefs to carry on his work.

Unlike Paul Bocuse, he is still alive and still at work.

But he works through the disciples he has trained, restored and commissioned for the task.

The conversation with Peter takes place around a brazier. Why is this significant? Peter was warming himself by a brazier when he denied Jesus.

Jesus re-enacts that scene, but this time with a better outcome. :-)

Three times Jesus asks him the same question: do you love me? do you love me? do you love me?

Why three times?

Peter had denied Jesus three times. Jesus gives him the chance to make amends for his failure.

Before the crucifixion, Peter had promised to lay down his life for Jesus. He failed.

But look at what Jesus says to him in verse 18:

‘Truly, truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.’ He said this to indicate by what kind of death Peter would reveal the glory of God. Then he said to him, ‘Follow me.’

Peter would indeed end up giving his life in the service of Jesus.

Jesus takes this man who had failed so miserably, restores him, re-engages him and makes him a servant on whom, this time, we can rely.

Feed my lambs.
Take care of my sheep.
Feed my sheep.

If we are familiar with the Gospel of John, this may ring a bell.

Jesus had said: I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.

After his resurrection, Jesus is still the good shepherd… but he feeds his sheep through the men he has chosen, commissioned and restored — his “apostles”.

***

Why is this important?

In a sense, what Jesus does for Peter, he does for everyone who comes to him.

We have all failed; we have all disappointed God. By coming to Jesus, we are forgiven and called to serve him.

We are restored, just like Peter.

But that is probably not the first thing John has in mind here.

***

What John wants to show is how Jesus acts in the world after Easter.

He still feeds… through his apostles.

On the eve of his death, Jesus had prayed for them that God might “sanctify them through the truth”. That he might sanctify these men, so that they might pass on Jesus’ spiritual nourishment.

Jesus’ work after Easter is… “apostolic”.

What does “apostolic” mean? It sounds like a religious word we don’t quite understand!

It means that Jesus’ nourishment is served by the apostles, such as Peter and the other 12.

By restoring Peter, Jesus makes him a servant—one might say a reliable server.

To understand why this is important, let’s ask ourselves what a ‘non-apostolic’ faith would be like.

***

Many religions accord an important place to Jesus. Islam does so, Hinduism does so, and Buddhism too.

Many sects stemming from Christianity believe in Jesus, but a Jesus imagined according to the ‘revelations’ of their gurus.

Many of our contemporaries respect Jesus, but say: “for me, Jesus is like this”; “for me, Jesus is like that”.

Some Christians take a similar approach.

In all these cases, we have a Jesus disconnected from the apostles.

We project our own ideas onto Jesus instead of turning to the apostles whom he commissioned to nourish us.

If we want to be nourished by the true Jesus, this must be through the apostles.

They are all dead.

How can Jesus nourish us through them today?

Third point.

Jesus still nourishes us through the written testimony of the apostles

After the resurrection, Jesus nourishes us through the Bible.

Verse 20

Peter turned around and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved coming behind them, the one who, during supper, had leaned towards Jesus and said, ‘Lord, who is the one who is going to betray you?’ When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, ‘And what about him, Lord? What will happen to him?’ Jesus said to him, ‘If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You, follow me.’ From that time on, the rumour spread among the brothers that this disciple would not die. However, Jesus had not told Peter that he would not die, but: ‘If I want him to live until I come again, what is that to you?’

It is this disciple who bears witness to these things and who has written them down, and we know that his testimony is true. Jesus did many other things as well. If they were all written down in detail, I do not think the whole world could contain the books that would be written.

The disciple whom Jesus loved … is anonymous. The ancient tradition of the Church is unanimous: it is John, son of Zebedee, brother of James, John the Apostle.

Why does he present himself in this way? Did Jesus not love the others as well?

***

‘The disciple whom Jesus loved’ is the title he uses for himself. The other Gospels do not use it.

It is as if he were saying: who am I? What is my identity? Not primarily my first name. It is having been loved by Jesus!

His presence is noted at key moments during the week of Jesus’ death:

at the Last Supper, after the washing of the feet;
at the crucifixion;
and after the resurrection.

All bear witness to the great love of Jesus.

He appears in this way not because Jesus did not love others, but because he saw with his own eyes the depth of that love for him.

Who am I? Someone whom Jesus loved.

But above all, he writes so that we may be nourished by understanding that the same is true for us.

Several details present John as particularly qualified to bear witness.

In verse 7, after the miraculous catch, it is he who recognises the Lord.

Verse 20 reminds us that, during the Last Supper, it was he who leaned towards Jesus and asked, ‘Lord, who is going to betray you?’

When they ran to the tomb with Peter, it was he who believed first.

He is the witness par excellence.

The rumour that he would not die, which circulated later, suggests that John was very old at the time of writing his testimony – the Gospel we are reading.

Peter died a martyr. John was no doubt writing in his old age.

This is important.

When he was young, and Jesus was physically present, John acknowledges that he did not understand everything.

He didn’t grasp a lot of things even though Jesus was there.

That is why meeting Jesus in the flesh would not have been any more effective, for that matter.

The disciples did just that. It wasn’t enough.

But here is the disciple whom Jesus loved, decades later, having savoured and taken in, with the help of the Holy Spirit, the love of Jesus throughout his life, writing his testimony.

The Spirit, sent by Jesus from heaven, enabled him to mature in his understanding and to write.

The result: the words of his book, together with the whole Bible, tell us everything Jesus wants to say to us.

This is how his sheep are fed.

After Easter, Jesus still feeds us… through the written testimony of the apostles.

***

Christians have often had confused ideas about how to connect with Jesus and the apostles in order to be nourished.

Some believe that one must follow ancient traditions dating back to the apostles.

Others believe one must belong to an institution whose authority is traced back through a chain of succession to them.

Still others believe one must have miraculous experiences like theirs.

But John is crystal clear.

It is through the writings of the apostles that Jesus nourishes us. If we have a Bible, we can meet Jesus and delight in him!

But they’re just words! Just words on a page!

Do you really mean that Jesus Christ is at work today to nourish the world… through a book?

Many people have written books. Every time there’s a presidential election, the candidates publish them (even if they didn’t write them themselves).

Couldn’t Jesus have done better?

***

John 21 is the epilogue of the Gospel. There is also a prologue.

There are parallels between the two.

What does the prologue say?

The Creator God became man; he came to us to offer life, and the apostles saw his glory – the glory of the only Son who came from the Father.

What does the epilogue tell us?

That the Creator God comes to us to offer life, the life of a new creation … through the words of the apostles!

Reading this book is like meeting God and feasting with him! :-)

It is listening to the eternal Creator speak to us, as if around a barbecue with friends, of his love!

If we have this book, we have everything we need to be happy.

What is Jesus doing today? He is still feeding us… through the written testimony of the apostles.

The only question is: are we hungry?

Mary Jones was a young Welsh woman born in the 18th century in a village called — brace yourselves — Llanfihangel-y-Pennant, Abergynolwyn.

Do you find Malagasy names complicated? Come to Wales!

Mary gave her life to Jesus at the age of eight and had only one desire: to read the Bible.
Born into a poor family, she couldn’t read. School was neither compulsory nor accessible in the countryside. She decided to learn anyway.

A Bible was expensive. She worked for six years to save up.
At the age of 15, she learnt that Bibles were on sale about 40 kilometres away.
Mary walked the distance barefoot to get her own.

Why go to such lengths for a book? Because she was convinced that, through this book, Jesus still nourishes us.

If we feel as though we are never satisfied, Jesus wants to nourish us! He promises to do so… through the words of this book.

Let us put ourselves in the shoes of the first readers, faced with the choice between the synagogue and its threat of exclusion… and a Messiah… who was absent?

Admittedly, they could not see Jesus, but John tells them: if you have these words, the Shepherd is there, at work to nourish you with eternal life.

This is how Jesus acts today.

If we want to be at the heart of his work, in the front row to see what he is doing, well nourished — and our children too — this is where it’s happening!

For this living and active word.

How do we put this into practice, individually and as a family?

Let us also recognise that this is how Jesus cares for us when life is difficult.

Your pastors can do nothing for you.

They are neither therapists, nor psychologists, nor doctors.

They can do nothing… except help you listen to Jesus speaking in this book. I have no other skills.

Jesus’s true work happens when we open these pages and listen to him.

I know there are times when we ask ourselves: but what is Jesus doing? I’m at the end of my tether — what is he doing?

A year ago, when my brother-in-law passed away, my family and I asked ourselves the same question. What is Jesus doing?

But it was in this context of death that his words of life became all the more precious.

Jesus truly nourishes us with the life of the new creation—eternal friendship with him—through this book.

That is why it is so sad when someone, because of a trial, closes their Bible.

In what other way do you think Jesus will help you — something he wants to do?

In a church of two hundred people, the leaders cannot accompany everyone individually, and that is not their calling.

Jesus cares for us personally… through his word.

That is why the times when we listen to him together, on Sundays and in small groups, are the times when Jesus acts to nourish and heal our wounds.

Perhaps this is what some people need to hear.

When we’re at rock bottom, Jesus always invites us to a barbecue with him to tell us again how much he loves us… provided we listen.

I also know that not everyone likes reading.

Some are avid readers. Others find it a chore.

But what nourishes us is not reading in itself — as if it were Victor Hugo or Émile Zola.

It is hearing the One who loved us so much that He gave His life… speaking to us.

If reading is difficult, let’s persevere. Jesus has promised to nourish us.

After all, Jesus does not speak only to Christians.

He has the whole world in mind.

You may have seen this logo on the shirts of those collecting donations: Action Against Hunger.

That is what Jesus is doing today!

He is taking action against world hunger!

If we have his words, we can be part of it.

With colleagues, friends or neighbours, in France or North Africa — wherever this book is heard.

Perhaps you can think of someone with whom you could open these pages to offer life.

John concludes by saying that if everything Jesus did were written down, the whole world could not contain the books that would be written. I don’t think he is referring only to other deeds accomplished during his years on earth.

Perhaps he means that Jesus’s words have not yet finished bearing fruit.

The story of his work against hunger is not yet finished.

If we have this word, let us savour it and share it; perhaps there is still a page of history to be written.

Easter: For Those Who Doubt (John 20.19-31)

I want to start today with a confession that may bother some of you and relieve others. I’ve said this before, but it’s relevant to today’s text.

I think I’m a reasonably intelligent guy. I love to read, I love to think, I love philosophy and reason and logic. I also love science-fiction and fantasy—stories about fantastical worlds and magical realms and supernatural creatures.

When I preach, I have a manuscript that I’ve prepared, and I’m reading the manuscript a sentence ahead of when I’m speaking, so obviously I know I’m about to say before you do. And literally every Sunday—every single time I get up to preach the Bible—there is at least one moment when I know I’m about to say something that even I find hard to believe. I hear these words coming out of my mouth and in the back of my mind I’m going, “Come on… That sounds insane.” A lot of what I say week after week when I preach sounds to my own ears like fantasy; it sounds like science-fiction.

Every week, I affirm as true things that even I myself find difficult to believe.

I know that sounds strange. But does the fact that I have a hard time believing certain things I say make me a hypocrite? Does it make me intellectually or morally dishonest?

I believe—and this I can say with absolute certainty—that the answer is, absolutely not. It does not make me a hypocrite; it does not make me dishonest. I can stand here, and say things even I have a hard time believing, and affirm these things as true, and I can do it with a totally clean conscience. 

The big question is, how is that possible?

That is the question with which this text confronts us.

So let’s remember where we are in the story. At this point, the disciples are coming out of the worst weekend of their lives. Jesus was arrested in the garden of Gethsemane, and they all ran away out of fear. Jesus was put on trial and crucified and buried. The disciples are now feeling what must be incredible guilt for letting it happen, and profound incomprehension over why Jesus let it happen, why God let it happen. He was supposed to be the Messiah, the Savior…and he died. 

And now Mary Magdalene comes with this strange and disconcerting story that she saw Jesus alive and well, outside the tomb. Peter and John both saw the empty tomb as well, but they haven’t seen Jesus. 

They know the news of Jesus’s body disappearing would have gotten the Jewish religious leaders all worked up, because if anyone was going to steal Jesus’s body to make it look like he’s come back from the dead, who would it be? The disciples. If the religious leaders are going to come after anyone for this, who will it be? The disciples.

So they’re terrified. They’re together in a house, and they’ve locked the doors.

I. Jesus Meets Us in Our Fear (vv. 19–23)

That’s the situation at the beginning of v. 19. And that’s where Jesus meets them.

19 On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” 

John will make it clear a little later, when it happens again: the doors are locked, and yet Jesus is suddenly there, in the midst of them. This would have been frightening, to say the least, so what does Jesus say? He says, “Peace be with you.” Don’t be afraid.

V. 20: 

20 When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord. 21 Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.

So he says it again, after showing them his hands and his side, where they could still see the marks of his crucifixion. “Peace be with you.” The fact that he repeats the phrase twice shows us that the “peace” he’s referring to goes beyond simple reassurance. He’s telling them that now that he is raised, they have peace. 

The sin that separated them from God has been dealt with, once and for all. Jesus took it on himself and was punished for them; and now, through his resurrection, the disciples have the life that he’s been promising them for the last three years.

The cross obtained their peace with God, and the resurrection now delivers it.

But they don’t just have peace for themselves; he’s not just talking about emotional stability. They’ve been saved, and that is wonderful news; but they’ve been saved for a mission. 

As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.” 22 And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.”

When Jesus breathes on them and says “Receive the Holy Spirit,” he’s giving them a sort of object lesson of what will come very soon. In Acts 2, after Christ’s ascension, we see the Holy Spirit come to the disciples in a powerful way, and why does he do it? He does it to give them the power to begin and to lead the church. That’s what he’s saying when he talks about the disciples “forgiving sins”; their job will be to explain to the church what is acceptable and unacceptable for a Christian to do under the new covenant, to explain to the church how they can be forgiven, what it means to be a Christian. That’s what they did, and their writings and teachings—which we find in the New Testament—are still authoritative for us today.

But this object lesson is deeper than that. When Jesus breathes on them, it’s an echo of the very beginning of the Bible. In Genesis 2, when God creates man, he forms him out of dirt and then breathes into him in order to give him life. When Jesus breathes on them here, he’s indicating that through his resurrection, God’s people is becoming something entirely new: a new creation, a new people, a new humanity. 

We’re not superheroes…but we’re no longer in slavery to sin. We are free. And it is as free men and women that he sends us.

II. Jesus Confronts Our Doubt (vv. 24–29)

At this point comes what is probably the most relatable story in all of Scripture (for me, anyway). Let’s read the beginning and then talk about it. V. 24: 

24 Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

Thomas gets a really bad rap; he even has the nickname “Doubting Thomas”. It’s a pretty big bummer to be remembered forever for one moment of weakness.

Doubt is one of the most universal states we see in the Bible. Everyone struggles with doubt, in some way or another. 

But some of us, it is true, cling more firmly to that doubt than others—and it looks like Thomas falls under that category too. Look at what he says: he doesn’t just ask for evidence of the resurrection (he has that, in the testimony of these people he knows well). He puts conditions on his belief. He says, “Before I can say I believe, I’ll need this, and this, and this.”

And the surprising thing is that when Jesus comes to him, he doesn’t ridicule Thomas for his stubbornness; Jesus actually meets Thomas’s conditions. V. 26: 

26 Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”

Thomas said, “Unless I see his hands and his side, unless I touch his wounds, I won’t believe.” So Jesus miraculously appears in a locked room and says to Thomas, “Here you go. Touch my hands. Touch my side.”

This proves a couple of things to Thomas. First of all, it proves that when the disciples saw Jesus, they didn’t see a ghost. They didn’t see a spirit. This is Jesus, physically present and alive, the same Jesus who died on the cross. That’s the most important thing.

But there’s a wonderful secondary truth that Jesus proves here. As Gavin Ortlund said it, this moment proves that Thomas isn’t Judas. Thomas’s doubt wasn’t betrayal; it wasn’t rejection. It was human. It was expected. It was perfectly normal. Jesus doesn’t shame Thomas for his doubt, but he does confront him with it. He does tell him, “Do not disbelieve, but believe.”

To which Thomas responds with the highest confession we see in the gospel: he calls Jesus “My Lord and my God!” Not just “my Lord,” but “my God.” I believe that you are the Messiah; you are God. 

At this point, I know what I thought the first time I read this—what I’m still tempted to think. 

Of course Thomas believes, now—he got his proof! He saw Jesus and touched his wounds. I didn’t get that. Jesus never appeared to me physically. Thomas and the other disciples do have a pretty incredible leg up on the rest of us, it would seem.

Then we come to v. 29. 

29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

This is one of the most mind-boggling verses in all of Scripture for a doubter like me. Jesus doesn’t say that it’s bad for Thomas to believe because he got to see Jesus. Thomas got proof, and he believes—good for him. 

But Jesus does say that those who haven’t seen, and who still believe, are “blessed”—literally, happy. In other words: it’s good that Thomas got his proof; but it’s even better for the rest of us who didn’t get that same proof.

Theologians have wrestled with this idea for centuries, because it is so hard to see why this would be the case. Why is it better to believe without seeing?

Part of the answer comes in Hebrews 11.1, which says: 

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

If you have to see something to believe it’s true, then it’s not faith you have, but a simple conclusion. But that still doesn’t really answer the question, because why is faith better than a conclusion based on proof? Why is it better to believe without seeing?

One of the best answers I’ve found—one of the answers that best reflects what we see in this passage, I think—comes from Blaise Pascal, in his Pensées. He says a couple of things that are very helpful. 

First he says that all of us are confronted with doubt by the world that we live in, because what we can see in creation, despite being visible and tangible, doesn’t help us understand its meaning. Pascal says: “Nature has nothing to offer me that does not give rise to doubt and anxiety. If I saw no sign there of a Divinity I should decide on a negative solution: if I saw signs of a Creator everywhere I should peacefully settle down in the faith. But, seeing too much to deny and not enough to affirm, I am in a pitiful state” (Pensées, 429).

In other words, nature is good, not just because it shows us God’s handiwork (as Paul says in Romans 1), but because it shows us that we cannot find truth on our own; if all we have is nature, and if we are honest, we will always be second-guessing our own conclusions about what we see.

According to Pascal—and, I’d say, according to Jesus—that’s actually intentional. God made it that way. He left some questions unanswered on purpose; he left some proofs hidden on purpose. Why would he do that? Pascal says: “It is not only right but useful for us that God should be partly concealed and partly revealed, since it is equally dangerous for man to know God without knowing his own wretchedness as to know his wretchedness without knowing God” (Pensées, 446).

It’s a good thing that God doesn’t give us all the answers, because if we had them, we’d be tempted to forget we didn’t find those answers on our own. The fact that God doesn’t give us all the answers keeps us humble; it keeps us always conscious of our own limitations—and that is terribly important, because the moment we think we have all the answers is the moment we forget where those answers come from. That’s when pride comes in; that’s when we start imagining we were so smart that we found the solution.

So it’s important that we not know everything, because if we did, then submission to the God of all things would be forced upon us; we would have no choice but to bow down to him. 

But God has shown us time and time again that this is not how he earns the allegiance of his people. He doesn’t strong-arm us; he invites us, and he draws us to him, and calls us to make the decision to believe. 

This is Pascal again: “God wishes to move the will rather than the mind. Perfect clarity would help the mind and harm the will” (Pensées, 234). He’s absolutely right. Perfect clarity takes the will out of the equation—and a lot of the time, that’s a good thing. When I understand how gravity works, I no longer want to jump off of a tall building, because I know I’ll fall. My will is altered by my understanding.

But part of the joy of life—of starting a new job, of meeting a new best friend, of starting a family, of moving to a new city, of becoming a missionary, of beginning a new hobby—is not knowing exactly how it’s all going to play out. If we had every answer to every question, how dull would our lives be! 

And that’s what God wants for us. He doesn’t want forced submission; he wants our lives with him to be voluntary. He calls us to believe, and he gives us what we need to believe… but not necessarily everything we want. Because he knows the value of taking a leap of faith.

Go back to Thomas, in v. 25.

“Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” 

This is what we do all the time, and it betrays what we really want. I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve known over the years who are (if they’re honest) pretty well convinced that the gospel is true, but because they can’t show proof, because they can’t quantify or measure their conviction, they hesitate for far too long to actually say it out loud. Because they still have unanswered questions, they can’t bring themselves to say that they believe.

We, like Thomas, put conditions on our belief because, at our core, proof isn’t what we really want. What we really want is control. We don’t want to take a leap unless we can control our own descent. But at a certain point, continuing to demand proof stops being honest and becomes refusal. Faith actually requires us to make the decision to say, “I don’t know everything I want to know; but I know enough to trust that this is true.” It’s a hard decision to make; it can be scary. But it’s the only way our decision will be ours to make.

And it is an incredible decision to make. It’s an incredible experience to make that decision to trust, without all the answers we want…and to find after a while that God really is worthy of that trust. That when we made a leap of faith, he held us up. 

It’s a risky choice to make, but it is a marvelous choice to make too, because God is trustworthy, and rewards the faith of his people. 

III. Jesus Calls Us to Believe (vv. 30–31)

This is the faith to which God calls us. I would love to see Jesus face-to-face, like Thomas did; and I know I will one day. But if Jesus is telling the truth, it is better for now to believe even though I haven’t seen. 

That is the realization that came to me far too late: that the disciples didn’t have a leg up on me. They had a different experience than me, but they didn’t have it better. We have everything we need. 

And John says explicitly that his entire purpose in writing this gospel is to give us what we need to take that leap of faith, and believe. V. 30: 

30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; 31 but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.

Notice what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say, “These things are written so that you can think about them,” or “so that you can admire Jesus’s teaching,” or “so that you can debate them until you have an opinion.” He says, “These are written so that you may believe.” 

Faith in Christ is both a gift and a command in the Bible. God gives us faith in Christ, causing us to be born again (as Jesus explained earlier in this gospel, in John 3). At the same time, the Bible gives the repeated command to believe—to actively make the decision to trust in what God has revealed to us in his Word.

And he doesn’t call us to believe in some vague kind of spirituality, or believe in the possibility of moral improvement, or believe in the right group of people to belong to. He gives us his Word—“these are written, so that you might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.”

Not so that we might develop better habits, or have less anxiety, or have a more comfortable situation. 

So that we by believing we may have life. Real, eternal, present life.

Before we see, before we have all the answers, before we have proof, we have everything we need to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing we may have life in his name.

Conclusion

Let me come back to the question I asked at the beginning. Every week I affirm as true things that even I have a hard time believing. Does this make me a hypocrite? No—it makes me an imperfect human being who has made the choice to trust in a God who knows far more than me. I don’t know everything I’d like to know. But I know enough to believe I can trust him. I know enough to make the choice to call him “My Lord and my God,” and to believe I can trust him with all the questions I don’t yet have answers to.

What about you? Where are you in this story?

Are you still standing behind locked doors, afraid of what will happen if you open? Jesus offers the peace of God that he purchased on the cross.

Are you stuck in doubt, circling your unanswered questions like water going down a drain? Jesus calls you to believe.

Are you comfortable in your Christian life, but relatively inactive? Jesus sends you on his mission to make disciples of all nations, and gives you what you need to fulfill it.

Do you already believe? Jesus calls you to even deeper life in his name.

All of that is enough. We have to stop negotiating terms with Jesus, because it isn’t a negotiation. He never promises to give us unlimited evidence, or perfect emotional clarity, or total control. 

What we do get is a risen Savior; a call to believe; a purpose and a mission; and the promise of life.

So the question is very simple: Will we keep on doubting, or will we believe? Will we stay in the locked room, or will we step into life?

Easter: Jesus Doesn’t Play Hide-and-seeK (John 20.1-18)

Has this ever happened to you? You look for something, and you can’t find it…because you weren’t looking in the right place?

That’s exactly what’s happening on Easter morning. Everyone is looking for Jesus, and they think they know where he’ll be. But as it turns out, they’re looking in the wrong place.

Now before we get started, we have to remember what happened in the story just before this.

Three years earlier, a man named Jesus arrived in Israel and began teaching about the kingdom of God. He assembled a group of disciples to follow him and learn from him, and he traveled, teaching and healing people of their diseases.

He did this for three years, and people from all over the territory came to love him—but others came to hate him. Because Jesus wasn’t doing things the way the religious establishment in Israel did them, and people were turning away from that establishment to follow Jesus. So he was a big threat to these religious leaders. They came up with a plot to falsely accuse him of insurrection against the Roman Empire, so that Rome would have him killed.

And that’s exactly what happened. They falsely accused Jesus of crimes he didn’t commit, condemned him to death, killed him, and buried him.

What no one realized was why he let this happen. Jesus had incredible power, and he had proved it by doing incredible things—he could easily have escaped from Rome. So why didn’t he?

He chose to die, because he is the Son of God, God made man, the only person who could solve the problem of our sin, which is our rebellion against God that separates us from him. On the cross, Jesus took the sin of all of his people on himself, and God punished Jesus in the place of his people, so that we could be united to him.

But at this point of the story, no one realizes that yet. No one understands what just happened. His disciples are horrified and grief-stricken, because their Master, this man who had walked on water, healed the sick and raised the dead, has died, and has been put into a tomb.

That’s where we are when we pick up our story.

I. The Empty Tomb (vv. 1–10)

Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb.

Mary Magdalene had been following Jesus for a good while. She was close to him; she loved him and knew him well. So she comes to the tomb, early in the morning on the third day, when it’s still dark.

Some of us have done this before. We know people who have died, so we go to visit where they were buried.

But none of us have experienced what Mary did.

When she got there, she saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. Tombs in Israel were different than they are in France. They were usually dug into a hillside, and they had a door, like a small house. There was a small room inside with a table on which they laid the body. And then they rolled a stone, shaped like a giant, very thick coin, in front of the door, so it would be really hard to open.

When Mary shows up, she finds that the stone has been taken away.

This is, obviously, scary—no one wants to see an open tomb when they’re coming to visit. So she runs and gets the others. V. 2:

2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3 So Peter went out with the other disciple, and they were going toward the tomb. 4 Both of them were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5 And stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. 6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, 7 and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. 8 Then the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9 for as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples went back to their homes.

Mary came to visit a grave—but the grave was empty. So she assumes that someone has taken the body. That makes sense. If someone wanted to make it look like Jesus had come back from the dead, this would be the way to do it. You see, even though Jesus had said this is what would happen, no one quite believed it yet. They believed something happened, but they didn’t understand what it was.

It’s very easy to see the right thing and still come to the wrong conclusion.

The tomb is empty, the cloths are lying there, Jesus is gone…but they still didn’t understand.

It’s important for us to understand that Easter didn’t start with joy; it started with confusion. When we find ourselves confused about God, that doesn’t mean we’re doing something wrong; that’s almost always how it starts.

But that’s not how it ends.

II. The Man Mary Doesn’t Know (vv. 11–15)

V. 11:

11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. 12 And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. 13 They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14 Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

So we see what happens here. Everyone is confused—no one knows what happened. The disciples leave, wanting to do something, to be active in the situation…but Mary doesn’t. She stays. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know what to do, or maybe it’s just because she’s so sad. We don’t know; all we know is that she stands weeping outside the tomb, and looks into the tomb, and she sees two angels sitting there where Jesus was laid.

They ask her why she’s crying, and she tells them: it’s because someone has taken my Lord, and I don’t know where they put him. It’s still clear she doesn’t fully understand the situation.

But then, it gets even better.

When I was a kid my family took a trip across the United States. We stopped at a restaurant in Colorado, hundreds of miles from our home. And while we were waiting in line to get in the restaurant, my dad saw someone in line who looked very familiar, but he couldn’t quite place who it was.

This is the sort of thing that happens all the time, and it happens to Mary here in our text. She turns around and sees a man standing behind her. It’s Jesus!

But Mary doesn’t recognize him. Maybe his face was a little covered, or maybe it was just so outside the realm of her imagination that she couldn’t see him for who he was. But she doesn’t know it’s him.

The only thing she’s saying to everyone is, “My Master has been taken.” She’s looking for Jesus—and Jesus is right there, she’s talking to him…but she doesn’t know it’s him.

It’s possible to be very close to Jesus and still not recognize him.

Something needed to happen for Mary to understand what had happened, to understand it really was Jesus standing there with her.

III. The Man Who Knows Mary (v. 16)

So let’s remember where we were. Mary arrived at the empty tomb; she ran to get the disciples, who came and then saw and then left. Two angels appeared in the tomb, and Mary asked them who’s taken Jesus; then Jesus himself shows up behind her, asking why she’s crying, and Mary doesn’t recognize him; she thinks he’s the gardener, and says, “If you’ve taken him, please tell me where you put him.”

And everything changes with one word that Jesus says.

V. 16:

16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher).

Jesus didn’t say, “Hey, it’s me! I’m alive! Why don’t you recognize me?” He didn’t give her a lengthy teaching. He didn’t explain what was happening to her.

All he did was say her name.

Remember before, when I told you about our trip across the United States, and how my dad saw someone in line who looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite tell who it was? Well, after a minute, that man looked at my dad, and he said his name—and suddenly, my dad remembered him. It was his old roommate in college, someone he hadn’t seen for twenty years. He didn’t recognize him because both of our families lived very far away from this city. We didn’t plan on meeting there, so my dad didn’t even realize it was him!

That’s sort of what happens here. Mary doesn’t know who the man behind her is; but he knows her, and he says her name. That’s the only thing that changes. They’re still in the same place, in the same situation, and he’s still the same person.

But when Jesus says Mary’s name, she recognizes him.

She doesn’t figure out some difficult mystery. She’s not convinced by a rational argument. She hears him call her name.

It’s sort of surprising, but this is how it works. Jesus didn’t just die and resurrect to save “people” (in general); he knows people personally. He knows your name. He knows my name. He knew us before he ever made us. It’s exactly what he said to his disciples earlier in this gospel—in John 10, he called himself “the good shepherd,” who “lays down his life for his sheep”. He said, “The sheep hear [the good shepherd’s] voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”

What changed everything for Mary wasn’t that she figured out some difficult mystery. She wasn’t convinced by a rational argument. She simply heard Jesus call her name—and because he knew her, she recognized him.

IV. Go Tell (vv. 17–18)

Kids, what do you do when you’ve been on a trip or when you get out of school and you see your parents? If it’s been a long time, you yell, “Daddy! Mommy!” and you run to them to give them a hug. That’s good, and that’s probably what Mary wanted to do. She was so excited to see Jesus alive again that she probably wanted to stay there with him, just to see him and talk to him and be with him.

But Jesus makes it clear that now that he’s been raised, they’ve got work to do. He says (v. 17):

17 Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ”

To put it another way, Easter is the most glorious day we can think of, because it means that Jesus really did everything he came to do. Martin Luther called it “the great exchange”. Imagine you have a report card that tells everything you ever did in your life, that we will have to show to God. In order to be united to God, we need a perfect report card, with no red at all.

None of us are perfect; in all of our report cards there would be red everywhere.

Jesus, though, lived a life without sin. His report card is perfect: no red at all. At the cross, he took our report cards with all of our red, showed them to God, and was punished for our sin. And at his resurrection, he gave us his perfect report card, so that we can show ourselves to God, and he can open it and see that in this report card, there’s no red. So God says, “You’re perfect. Just like my Son.”

Easter is the proof that Jesus really did accomplish this incredible gift for us. And now that he’s done it, we can’t keep it to ourselves.

He tells Mary to go find the disciples and tell them that he is going to God—but he says it in a way he’s never said it before. Several times in the gospels, he’s referred to God as “our Father,” but in sort of a general way. He’s made it clear that his relationship to the Father is particular. But now he says, “I’m going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”

Because Jesus is alive, people can now belong to God as Father—people can be adopted by God as his sons and daughters.

So what does Mary do? V. 18:

18 Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her.

She goes from crying to announcing. She’s not sad anymore; now she’s excited, and courageous.

This is pretty incredible—at this time in history, in this society, women were not sent to give important news to men. And yet, the first person Jesus sent to proclaim the message of Easter wasn’t a preacher, or a leader, or someone who had great confidence or a position of authority. It was a woman, who had just been crying, and who now has this incredible message that she proclaims to the rest of Jesus’s people.

Conclusion

The pattern we see in this story is what we always see.

It starts with confusion. “What’s going on? What’s true? Can I really believe this? Can I trust it?”

Then Jesus meets us—in some way or another, he helps us to recognize him for who he is.

And finally, he sends us—he tells us to go and tell others about him.

Now let me ask you something. Kids—do you understand everything I’ve said today? Probably not.

Grown-ups: do you understand everything about this story? Do you understand how God works in every circumstance? No, you don’t.

And that’s okay. We see here that we don’t have to understand everything to come to Jesus. All we have to do is come.

And if you’ve seen him, you can speak. It doesn’t have to be complicated or polished; you don’t need every answer to every question. Look at what Mary said. “I have seen the Lord!”

That’s enough.

On Easter morning, everything changed—not when the tomb was empty, but when Jesus said Mary’s name.

And he still does the same thing today.

He invites us to come to him—and we see here that if we come to him, he is there. Jesus doesn’t play Hide-and-Seek. He is not far off, he’s not distant; He knows our names.

It’s incredible: when we look for Jesus, he’s there, because he is wherever we are. And we can look for him at any time, in any place.

He is here. Come to him.