Turn that passion into compassion, and you’ll capture the kingdom.
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John answered, ‘Master, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not follow with us.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘Do not stop him, for the one who is not against you is for you.’” Luke 9:49–50
“But the people did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. And when his disciples James and John saw it, they said, ‘Lord, do you want us to tell fire to come down from heaven and consume them?’ But he turned and rebuked them.” Luke 9:53–55
These exchanges are almost comical. Zealous as they are to look out for Jesus, the disciples are ready to take on any and all enemies deemed within their reach of power.
Someone’s casting out demons in the name of Jesus but not physically following him? Stop him immediately.
A Samaritan village isn’t welcoming Jesus with open arms? Blast them.
One finds this aggressive spirit in some corners of evangelical Christianity today, and it’s not a great look.
If you’re not part of [insert name of church, denomination, conference, association], then you’re not worth following. Or fellowshiping with. Or giving any form of tacit support whatsoever.
If you’re in the world outside of the church and dare to oppose [insert name of church, denomination, conference, association], we’ll pray for your sure destruction. If you don’t watch out, we may declare war, too: books, media, conferences, boycotts, and legislation will all be waged against you.
We’ll do everything in our power to bring you down.
We might call this Crusader Christianity, and Jesus has no time for it. No, it’s actually not essential that every member of the kingdom is in “our camp.” No, there’s no need to rain hellfire down on those who won’t take us in.
Guys, he might have said, we need a little less passion for battles, and a little more compassion for the lost.
The kingdom marches on, and it’s a joy to play a part in God’s great story. It’s important to stand for truth and Godly principles when they fall under attack.
But to be drawn into wars against all perceived enemies of the kingdom is to miss the mission.
Little things can become big things, Jesus seemed to be saying.
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“And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing over them. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. And they all ate and were satisfied. And what was left over was picked up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.” Luke 9:16–17 ESV
As if he hadn’t wowed the crowds enough, Jesus takes on the supernatural challenge of feeding thousands of people from basically nothing.
Not exactly nothing, of course. His disciples were able to round up a couple of fish and a few loaves of bread to get things rolling.
As an aside, I’m kind of curious about how thoroughly they searched. Did they actually make their way through the entire crowd, asking for lunches and donations? Were there any holdouts among the people who kept their lunch stashes to themselves? It’s fun to consider.
Back to the two fish and five loaves.
Clearly, the contributions weren’t even necessary. Jesus is producing hundreds, likely thousands of each by his divine power. He doesn’t need a starter kit.
So what we’re left with is imagery. Symbolism. The message that God will use whatever small gift we place on the altar.
I’m reminded of a song that I heard growing up, part of which includes these words:
God uses ordinary people
He chooses people just like me and you who are willing to do what He commands
God uses people that will gave him all
No matter how small your all may seem to you
Because little becomes much as you place it in the Master’s hand
Listen to one version of this song performed by a member of Bethany Baptist Church in Makati, Manila.
Little becomes much.
Have I got a few loaves and fish stashed away? Is there something that seems relatively small that God is calling me to surrender?
Or here’s a question.
If I knew that God would 1,000x every donation of time, energy, talent, and money that I made, how would that change my giving?
Traveling with the rabbi must have been a hair-raising experience at times.
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“And all were weeping and mourning for her, but he said, ‘Do not weep, for she is not dead but sleeping.’ And they laughed at him, knowing that she was dead. But taking her by the hand he called, saying, ‘Child, arise.’ And her spirit returned, and she got up at once.” Luke 8:52–55a
There’s something about the simplicity and familiarity of these words that is numbing, frankly. When you’ve grown up with this and other passages like it, it can become easy to read it quickly and move on.
Jesus raised another person from the dead. Check.
As risky as it is to try to create theatrical reproductions of these events (can they ever possibly do the scriptures justice?), well-made series like The Chosen can help to push us out of our hypnosis.
They can help us reconsider. Slow down the gospel narratives. Reimagine with fresh eyes. Put ourselves there in the presence of the rabbi.
These chapters in Luke are full of seriously stunning developments. It’s just one after another.
We have mass healings and exorcisms. We have a young man brought back from the dead. A crashing storm is calmed by his shout.
And in this chapter, yet another person is made alive again.
Resurrection.
Imagine being there. Any one of these supernatural events would have blown our minds, but another resurrection?
That’s hair-rising stuff. The kind of moment where “Oh my God!” can be exclaimed in absolute purity and reverence.
The air in the crowd must have been electric. This man, Jesus, can be no prophet.
He is either directly connected to divine power or He IS the divine power embodied.
And then, as icing on the cake, consider the counter-cultural nature of this miracle.
She was female. She was a child.
Not a strategic target for a stunning miracle. She was another non-factor for the religious elite.
And yet here Jesus was, rocking his audience not only by his sheer power but by his revolutionary posture and position.
He was showing his neighbors and all the world the shape of a radical new kingdom, articulated a few decades later by Paul in his letter to the Galatians:
“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.” Galatians 3:28–29
What shape does light take in today’s online world?
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“No one after lighting a lamp covers it with a jar or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light. For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light.” Luke 8:16-17 ESV
I read these verses as a follower of Jesus in 2024, and a couple of things spring to mind.
Our society looks a lot different than it did 2,000 years ago, and nowhere are the changes in our daily experiences more profound than on the internet. Let’s look at these verses through an online lens.
1. Nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest.
Something that I try to impress upon our oldest elementary students is that the internet always remembers. Our views, clicks, searches, and messages have a way of sticking around.
That’s not to say that our darkest secrets and weakest moments are being actively viewed and enjoyed by actual humans. In most cases, they’re not.
But missteps tend to linger in the online world. Where unwise comments and inappropriate advances committed in the 70s and 80s fade into the void of lost memories, improprieties committed today are often preserved in digital format, available for prying eyes.
Those involved in secret, hidden activities of today, from fraud to illegal activities to adulterous relationships, now risk the leaked text, the discovered tweets, the subpoenaed emails, the hacked website.
Yes, when Jesus speaks of ultimate exposure, he likely has the Day of Judgment in mind. The Great Revelation of God himself.
But thanks in part to the online world, our secrets may not have to wait that long for exposure.
2. No one covers their lamp with a jar.
The purpose of lighting a lamp is to provide illumination. That being the case, it makes no sense to cover the lamp with a jar. If that’s the reflex, why even light it at all?
But letting our lights shine before men is a complicated venture today.
Jesus is a polarizing and misinterpreted figure. Moves toward holiness are seen as hostile. Scripture is seen as colonial, patriarchal, judgmental, and non-inclusive: all the remnants of centuries past that we want to burn and forget.
How do we let our lamps shine in ways that actually attract those in darkness toward the light? And in the context of today’s reflection, what does this light look like in online spaces?
There’s no one-size-fits-all answer, but this blog is part of my answer to that question.
My light is limited here, I’ll admit, by my anonymity. Without a name and face on the other side of this keyboard, my message is less potent, relevant, and meaningful.
Still, I’m enjoying the act of public meditation and reflection. I’m enjoying the sustained moments of reflection in scripture that this kind of writing demands.
And I trust that over a sustained period of time, this light will provide helpful illumination.
“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” Luke 7:47
Luke 7 tells the story of a Pharisee named Simon who hosted Jesus at his home for a meal. As an aside, we forget that contempt of Jesus was not unanimous across this religious group. Some of the Pharisees, including Nicodemus and Simon, were clearly curious and open to his message.
By twenty-first century standards, the Pharisees were an unusual group.
They lived ostensibly holy lives — and very visibly so. They were passionate about religious laws and puritanical in their policing of Jewish society. They prayed and read scripture and observed Sabbath and gave offerings at the temple in public.
Their identities were built around righteous acts and rigid adherence to religious laws.
Their perfection was a source of admiration and respect.
Did Pharisees feel the freedom to ever confess wrongdoing, I wonder?
I would imagine the consequences of doing so could be scary. They might have faced shame from their peers. Demotion in the religious hierarchy. Disdain from the leaders who mattered most.
To admit to sinful behavior could even threaten their livelihoods, I would think. Credibility could be damaged. Trust could be broken. Followers and admirers could be forever lost.
The point is that the act of staking one’s identity around “I’m a holy person” makes it awfully hard to confess one’s failures or ask for forgiveness. The stakes are high.
An unexpected visitor
Back to Simon’s meal, where Jesus was a guest.
Into the room comes a prostitute. A woman of the city.
Her sins are many and well-known. She has zero status or dignity in the company of men like Simon. She is scorned if she is mentioned at all.
In a society where image is everything, she’s an untouchable. But remarkably, her public failures make her free to approach Jesus.
Pride doesn’t stop her — her dignity has already been obliterated by the people of the community.
Her stakes are low. She has not a thing to lose.
But she has absolutely everything to gain.
And so she approaches Jesus in humble simplicity, ignoring the condemning eyes of Simon and others in the room.
She weeps before Jesus, so violently that her hair becomes wet enough to wash his feet. She kisses them and tenderly anoints them with oil.
It’s a moment of holy worship, and the room is stunned. Simon isn’t saying his thoughts out loud, but Jesus senses his judgment. And so he tells him this story.
“A certain moneylender had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both. Now which of them will love him more?” Simon answered, “The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.” And he said to him, “You have judged rightly.” Luke 7:41–43
This is what we might call the danger of being a good person. Good people — and I use “good” loosely in the sense of self-perception — have little need for forgiveness. Forgiveness doesn’t feel like a need, so they view the prospect with contempt.
What’s even more dangerous is that like the Pharisees, good people sometimes build their whole identities around their goodness. And by doing so, they find themselves in the place of Simon.
Confident. Smug, even. Not seeing a need for forgiveness, and actually regarding confession of sin as a threat to identity.
It’s an insidious trap — one that can seduce followers and non-followers alike.
The way out? Humble, transparent, fully surrendered worship. Because in His light, all pride, image, and pretenses are gone. Facades are burned away.
All that is left is the self, fully surrendered before him and freely acknowledging our need of a Savior.
It’s been a while since I’ve taken in the starry host.
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“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” Psalm 8:3–4 ESV
I used to be more of a camper.
Back in my university years, I would spend weeks at a time sleeping in tents as a treeplanter. In other summers, I led backcountry camping expeditions deep into the Manitoba wilderness.
Times have changed, and in the last decade, even family camping trips in provincial parks have petered out. I don’t think I’ve spent time in a tent in years.
I still love the outdoors, of course, and I manage to fit in some epic Rocky Mountain hikes each summer.
But those overnight adventures in the wild appear to be on pause.
It’s not an intense regret, either. Call me soft, but I’ve grown a strong preference for the feeling of slowly waking up in a luxurious hotel bed. It definitely beats having my face pressed up against the cold, damp canvas of a dew-covered tent.
But I do miss the night sky.
I miss the experience of having my breath taken away by the sheer size and brilliance of the starry expanse, far removed from the light pollution of the city.
The magnificence is deafening.
It’s a wonder that has awed mankind since the beginning of time. Simply taking it all in as a two-dimensional work of art is inspiring enough. But once one starts to consider the distances, the physics, the astronomical principles at work to create these masterpieces … well, the mind is blown.
It has the inevitable effect of making us feel infinitely small. And in a literal, physical sense, so we are.
We are specks. Microscopic. Whatever we accomplish in this life will have not an iota of impact on the galaxies and stars that surround us.
From the dust on this planet we came, and in a breath, to the dust we will return.
What am I, that you are mindful of me?
It’s a humbling thought. But when we can also see his love for us — when we truly see it, believe it, embrace his incalculable and unstoppable love for these temporary specks — it’s equally breathtaking.
Is it a prayer for the foolish, or one we should be praying every day?
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“The Lord judges the peoples; judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness and according to the integrity that is in me.” Psalm 7:8 ESV
There’s a sense in which I just read those words and shudder. Why would I ever seek the judgment of the Lord?
And I’m not using the word judgment in the sense of punishment or condemnation, either. I’m simply acknowledging what I consider a frequent coldness of my own heart. A keen awareness of my own shortcomings.
“Judge me, oh Lord” feels like the excited pleasure of the elementary student filled with pride at their work. “Teacher, look at this!”
It feels hard to ask that when I’m so acutely aware that my righteousness and integrity cannot impress a holy God.
And yet, that can’t be the point here, because surely the author shares my discomfort on some level.
We’re all human. We’re universally fallible.
Taken in that sense, there’s some humility here. Some sincerity. There’s the actual desire for revelation of shortcomings.
We might think of it as a person who willingly books a physical and blood analysis. It’s likely that the additional data will reveal small problems here or there, and perhaps larger ones.
This patient welcomes the information, because new information creates space for action and change.
In 1 Corinthians 11:28, Paul invites believers to examine themselves before taking the cup of communion. One senses that spirit here, too.
Shine a light on me, Father. Speak to me through your holy spirit. Illuminate my blind spots and draw attention to those areas that are in need of holy cleansing.
Perhaps we might think of “judge me” as “conduct an audit of my heart.” Or, as the psalmist wrote in chapter 139, “Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts. And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
Sometimes we don’t know the next action to take until we’ve seen the doctor.
The disciples of John reported all these things to him. And John, calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to the Lord, saying, “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?” And when the men had come to him, they said, “John the Baptist has sent us to you, saying, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?’” In that hour he healed many people of diseases and plagues and evil spirits, and on many who were blind he bestowed sight. And he answered them, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.” Luke 7:18-23
John had done so well. He had fought the good fight and served so faithfully.
In the words of the angel who appeared to his father, he had done on before the Lord “in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (Luke 1:16-17).
Yet there he was, rotting in prison, while his cousin, Jesus, travelled the land. Jesus was teaching, healing, and drawing adulation at scale after raising people from the dead.
There was absolutely nothing the young rabbi couldn’t do. So why wasn’t he rescuing John from a Roman prison?
You could understand John’s logic, of course. What good could it possibly be doing for him to sit on the sidelines? Wouldn’t the kingdom benefit from having this all-star prophet in the action and at the side of Jesus?
The verses that come immediately before the passage about John are telling.
Fear seized them all, and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has arisen among us!” and “God has visited his people!” And this report about [Jesus] spread through the whole of Judea and all the surrounding country.”Luke 7:16-17
A great prophet has arisen among us. Ouch.
Not so long ago, that was the word about John. But he was no longer the headline.
I’m not suggesting John was jealous of the attention Jesus was getting. But John’s question – “Are you the one, or should we look for another?” came from a place of disillusionment.
I believe John was crystal clear on the identity of the Messiah.
He had announced his coming. He had baptized Jesus himself. He had seen the Spirit descend. He had heard the voice from heaven.
And now, Jesus was offering all the confirming signs. John knew Jesus was the One.
So why did he send his disciples to Jesus? It wasn’t to find out if Jesus was the Messiah. No, it was to remind Jesus of where he was, and to challenge him.
Do something to help me.
John was suffering. In prison. Wrongfully committed. Gone from the wilderness and taken out of the game.
This wasn’t the plan, as far as he was concerned. Why was Jesus ignoring him? Why was he letting him waste away and be forgotten?
The response from Jesus was patient and gracious. “Tell John that the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them.”
In short, Jesus says, I am out here fulfilling every bit of my mission. His prophetic scripture reading in the synagogue (see Luke 4) was playing out in front of everyone.
And then, his last recorded words to John: “Blessed is the one who is not offended by me.” Luke 7:18-23
What’s the takeaway for the modern believer?
There are probably many applications to be made here, but one that jumps out to me is this: God’s plan is often not my plan.
Stuff will happen. Disease will strike. Misfortune will come. Rejections will be received. Opportunities will be missed.
These life developments can be hard to understand and contextualize. What is happening, God?
Moments come our way when it will feel like God is getting sloppy. Like his plan is going off the rails. Like our spiritual destiny isn’t being realized, and he’s forgetting about us.
Picture the love and care in the face of Jesus as he answered the messengers and considered his cousin. John was hurting – he had to know that.
Yet in so many words, Jesus was saying don’t worry, John. I’ve got this.
It wasn’t immediately apparent why, but John was where he needed to be. And some day soon, he would meet his Lord in eternity.
Perhaps you feel like John, sitting on the sidelines and subjected to some form of Roman prison. This cannot be the plan is the resounding thought.
Jesus knows, my friend. He sees you. He understands. And he’s got good news: his plan is marching forward, and it’s unstoppable.
Remain faithful while you sit in that cold, dark cell. You may get out soon, or you may not.
Either way, you’re going to spend eternity with the King of kings, so keep your eyes fixed on him.
“For no good tree bears bad fruit, nor again does a bad tree bear good fruit, for each tree is known by its own fruit. For figs are not gathered from thornbushes, nor are grapes picked from a bramble bush. The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” Luke 6:43-45 ESV
We have the metaphor of the figs.
We have the challenge: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?”
We have the analogy of “Everyone who comes to me and hears my words and does them … is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock.”
Jesus is trying to make a point here.
It’s easy to talk the religious talk. It’s easy to offer intellectual assent. It’s easy to say we are followers of the rabbi.
But when and where does it really matter? As my friend Adam puts it, the evidence is in the outputs.
What are we actually thinking, saying, and doing each moment, each hour, each day? This is the fruit of our hearts.
Jesus reminded the religious establishment what it was really all about.
“And Jesus said to them, “I ask you, is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?” And after looking around at them all he said to him, “Stretch out your hand.” And he did so, and his hand was restored. But they were filled with fury and discussed with one another what they might do to Jesus.” Luke 6:9-11 ESV
This is one of the sad times in the Gospels when the religious establishment of the day completely lost the plot.
Jesus cared little for their man-made rules, legalism, and empty symbols of piety. But by ignoring their traditions, he threatened their eminence and esteem in society. So even as he healed sickness and sustained life, he was condemned and criticized.
Who in our worlds do we write off, dismiss, and disregard because they operate outside orthodoxy?
Let us be humble, slow to judge, careful to keep sight of the kingdom – even when believers seem to be colouring outside the lines.
The Cascadian Christian 