Well, good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. My name is Nate. I get to be one of the pastors here. If I haven't gotten to meet you, I would love to do that in the lobby after the service is over. I echo the gratitude of Kyle for our decorating squad that made this look like maybe the best looking stage we've ever had. And please take advantage of the photo booth out there if you are one who likes photo booths. Welcome to our December series. I'm very excited about it. We've had this planned for a while. I'm looking forward to what I get to share with you over the course of the next month. And if you guys are going to be singing like that in December, I'm going to shorten the sermons and we're going to add in more songs because that was fantastic. This year, the Christmas series is called Twas the Night. We are looking at the story of Christmas, the classic story of Christmas. We'll spend every week in a different portion of Luke chapter 2. So if you have a Bible this morning, as I've been encouraging you to bring them and go through the sermons with me. Please go ahead and open those up to Luke chapter 2. If you don't have a Bible, it's in the seat back in front of you. But we're going to be spending the next four Sundays in Luke chapter 2 and looking at the Christmas story from the perspective of different people involved in the story. This morning, we're going to look at the Christmas story from the perspective of the innkeeper and from one of my favorite people in the story, Simeon. And you'll see why when we get there. But in the story, Luke chapter two, where the Christmas story is, and just so you know, that's like the traditional, like peanutsanuts Christmas, that's where it comes from, Luke 2. That's the classic Christmas passage. So that's why we're going to be there for these next four weeks. In the passage, the innkeeper is mentioned kind of indirectly. We don't get words from, we presume him could be her. I don't want to be misogynistic in who I think owns inns in ancient, but hunches is probably a guy and Mary and Joseph are traveling to Jerusalem for a religious festival. They have to go. The law says they have to go. It's for a census and Jerusalem. I don't know if you've thought about this. Why the heck would you Jerusalem is three days journey fromareth, averaging about eight to 10 hours a day on foot. We presume that Mary was on a donkey if they could afford such luxuries. She's clearly very pregnant because she pops when she gets there. Okay. So like she is on the verge of pregnant or giving birth. She's very, very pregnant. That's a different thing. And you got to imagine it's stressful. Y'all grow up. And then this might be the first clip of me that blows up on YouTube. Good job. It's nice for everyone to have goals. Anyways, they're going to Jerusalem. It's eight to 10 hours a day on foot. It's got to be very stressful. They don't know where they're going to stay. They probably don't have a lot of means. And so they get there and they're scrambling for a room. They're scrambling for a place to stay. They go to the innkeeper. The innkeeper famously says there's no room in the inn. And then he makes space for them in a manger. And I can't imagine the stress of Joseph as he's trying to arrange all this stuff and get everything squared away. But the inn keeper doesn't make room for them. He says, we have some room for you in the manger, which whenever we think of manger, and this is just for my own personal fun, I do this year and Jen my wife hates it when I do I like to ruin different elements of people's Christmas traditions when we look at the nativity scene and it's the stable with like the Spanish moss coming down that's probably not accurate it could be accurate but it probably isn't it was probably inside of a shallow cave in a cliffside or a hillside there in Bethlehem. Probably wasn't a nice stable. But anyways, I digress. He lets them stay in the manger. And the innkeeper, the Christmas story doesn't have too many villains. The innkeeper is about the closest thing to a villain we have besides, of course, Herod, who comes at the end of the Christmas story. And he's the villain because he doesn't make room for Jesus. But I would say two things, one later, but one thing right here to support him. He did make room for Jesus. It's just that the innkeeper offered Jesus the margins. He offered him the margins. I'm not going to kick anybody out of the room for you. I'm not going to make some space. I'm not going to invite you into my own house. I'm not going to divide up one of the rooms. I'm not going to talk to the other innkeepers and see what we can do. I'll give you a space that's very convenient for me. The innkeeper invites Jesus into the margins. And this is wild because what he should have done this is the Messiah Emmanuel God with us his people have been waiting for him for thousands of years they've been pining for him and praying for him and passed down a desire for Jesus generation after generation each generation has carried the torch of hope waiting for the Messiah to arrive the prophecies go all the way back to Genesis 12 and Abraham, and they know the prophecies. The innkeeper, whether he fully believes them or not, has grown up in an environment and in a culture so saturated with these prophecies that he knows it. And the Messiah is coming, and he has arrived. What he should have done is gone to the VIP suite and flung the door open and said, hey, buddy, go kick rocks. Get out of here. Go hit the bricks. You're out. Messiah's here. Emmanuel has arrived. He gets the suite, and we're going to kick in the continental breakfast with an omelet bar because Jesus is here. But that's not what he does. He doesn't disrupt anything. He doesn't make his life more difficult. He says, here, here's a margin for you to slide into. And in this way, I feel like a lot of us, all of us at points, can relate to the innkeeper. When Jesus shows up, when he offers himself, when he asks to be led into our heart, when he asks to be Lord of our life, when he gives us an opportunity to serve, when he asks us for a bit of devotion. When he asks us to set our alarm early to spend time with him. When he asks us for the next step of obedience and faithfulness with him. When he asks us to just trust him and his standards over ourselves and our standards. I think so often when Jesus shows up in our life, we, like the innkeeper, simply offer him the margins. Jesus, I'm going to fit you into places where I don't have to adjust anything. I'll pray to you, but I'm going to do it before meals when other people are around so I can appear pious and holy. But you and I know that's the only time I've prayed in the last three days. Yeah, I'll give you car rides for worship, Jesus. But only when the podcast I normally listen to or the music I normally like has gone stale. Yeah, Jesus, I'll go to church. But I'll go to church when I'm in town and it's convenient and my things didn't happen in my Saturday that makes it prohibitive for me to get up on Sunday. I'll give you those Sundays, God, but I'm not going to like rush back from the beach to fellowship with my church. I'm going to give you the margins. I'll give occasionally to a compelling thing, but I'm not going to make it uncomfortable for myself and give regularly in a habitual way because of the generosity that you teach me. I'll forgive people when it doesn't hurt me, but if I'm really mad, then I'm sorry, Jesus, you can't have that forgiveness for them. I think in so many ways, so many small aspects, when Jesus shows up in our life and asks to be invited in, we give him the margins where it's easiest, where it's the least inconvenient. When what we should do, what we should do when Jesus shows up and he asks for parts of our life, he asks to be let into our life, he asks for our obedience and our trust and our worship and our devotion and our love and our affection. When he asks for those things, what we should do is thunder into our VIP suite and kick out whatever's currently ruling and be like, go pound sand, buddy. Jesus is here. Emmanuel, God with us. The guy who died on the cross for me and then rose again on the third day and is coming back to get me and make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue. That guy's here, so you are out. That's what we should do. And so I think it begs the question, and I know that the phrasing here is ridiculous, but you'll understand the question. What is in your VIP suite? Who or what is in the most important rooms in your life? Who's occupying the space that Jesus deserves, but we're not willing to kick them or it out? What is holding you back from inviting Jesus not into the margins of your life, but in every bit of your life. Who is in your VIP suite? Now, if you're like me, you have a bunch of those. It's difficult to pinpoint one thing, a person, or affection that I have in my life that is the sole thing keeping Jesus from occupying all of my life. But if I had to guess what one of yours was, I bet in the top three for everyone in this room is comfort. Isn't it, North Raleigh? We're pretty comfortable people. We have things like we like them. We've organized our life like we like it. We've organized our faith like we like it. We've organized our politics like we like it. We've organized our priorities like we like it. We've put our money in the places that we like. We are a comfortable people. And when Jesus begins to poke at our comfort, I think we tend to say, sorry, buddy, room's full. I have a manger, if you're interested. The couch in my bonus room is surprisingly sleepable, Jesus. You're going to love it in there. But you're not getting in the master bedroom. I think comfort is one of our predominant idols. Comfort in how we think. When Jesus, the teachings of Jesus, the message of the Bible, when God starts to challenge the way that we think, some of the traditional norms that we've clung to to make things make sense, we kind of push back on that and be like, I'm not really open to new information, Jesus thinks. I need you to fit where I've put you. When Jesus' message starts to run up against our politics and our philosophies, sometimes we stop listening to Jesus in favor of what we always thought, and we say, there's no room for you there, Jesus. Sorry, I need you to fit into this box. When he starts asking for our finances, when he starts asking for our priorities, for our schedule, when he starts asking for our forgiveness, when he starts asking for the way that we do business, when he starts asking for transparency and honesty and vulnerability, when he starts asking us to be a good friend to someone who's hurting and it makes us uncomfortable. I think so often we choose comfort over obedience. And so I think that for many of us, comfort is what sits in that space of highest value in our life. And we'll make room for Jesus. We'll just do it like the innkeeper and tuck him away in the bonus room. And this is important because when we juxtapose the innkeeper's reception of Jesus with that of Simeon. We see a totally different story. And I didn't bring you here this morning to beat you up about being the innkeeper because I'm talking to myself. That's me. That's what I do. If you do that too, join me in my conviction. If you don't do that, do that. Pray for the rest of us heathens in the room. But for those of us who do, let's look at, learn from, and be humbled by the response of Simeon in Luke chapter 2. Now, I'm going to tell you a little bit more about Simeon. But most of what we need to know is actually in this passage. So if you have a Bible, look at Luke chapter 2. I'm going to begin in verse 25 and read through verse 32. Luke writes this. Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel. And the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple. And when the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him according to the custom of the law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said, listen to this, Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of the innkeeper. The innkeeper says, oh, Jesus is here. Let me see where I can conveniently fit you. Simeon's response, I would sum up this way. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I can die happy. I don't care about anything else. Simeon doesn't clean out the VIP room. He cleans out the entire hotel, the whole inn, done. Everybody kick rocks. Jesus is coming in. He gets all the omelets. He gets all the things. He's here. He ushers him right in. He says, I've seen Jesus. Literally nothing else matters. The difference between his response and the innkeeper's response is mind-blowing. And we learn why Simeon has this response in the text. All the clues are there. It says he was righteous and devout. He was committed to God. He was committed to prayer. He was committed to the pursuit of Jesus. And I love the phrase that Luke includes in there to describe what Simeon had been praying for. Did you catch it? He had been praying for the consolation of Israel. That's such a good phrase and descriptor of who Jesus was, particularly to the ancient Hebrew mind. He was the consolation of Israel. See, I mentioned earlier that the innkeeper had grown up in a culture that was so steeped in religious understanding that he knew how far back the generational prophecies went about the Messiah that was going to arrive. And Simeon knew that too. And I have a whole sermon that I do just on the zeal of Simeon. I've actually done it twice here at Grace. And we look at how Simeon was the torch keeper. He was the torch bearer for his generation, waiting and looking and watching and wanting for the Messiah. And how that wait goes all the way back to Abraham in Genesis chapter 12, where God promises that one of the descendants of Abraham will come and will bless the whole earth. And then the Old Testament is a story of waiting for that Messiah, of watching for him. And the generations of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they watched. Is he here? Is it going to be one of these grandsons of Abraham? Is the Messiah come? No, he's not come. And then Moses comes around. Is it Moses? And they watch Moses lead God's people and bring them out of slavery and bring down the Ten Commandments and be God's spokesperson to his people. Is it Moses? Is he going to save us? No, it's not Moses. And then they go through the judges. Is it one of the judges? No. Is it one of the kings? Certainly it's David. No. But God renews his promise and renews their hope in 2 Samuel chapter 7. And then they watch the kings and hope maybe it's one of the kings that will rescue us. No, it's not one of the kings. But every generation after finding that no continues to pass forward the torch from grandfather to grandson to carry the torch of hope into the next generation waiting and watching and longing for the Messiah. And then they go into exile in Babylon and Assyria, and they cling to this torch of hope. And then they begin to wander back and reconstruct and rebuild Israel, and they cling to hope. And then they enter this period where God doesn't speak called the 400 years of silence, and they cling to hope. And then somewhere, some Jewish father or grandfather has a grandson named Simeon, and they start to tell them about the hope that they carried through the generations that one day they will see the Messiah. And Simeon commits to prayer. Father, let me see him. Father, let me see him. Father, bring your Christ. Bring your Messiah. Bring the consolation of Israel, the hope of all the generations. Simeon is now the torchbearer. And in that ardent praying and in that searching, God answers his prayers. And he says, I promise you that you will not pass away before you hold the Christ. So when he finally sees Jesus, it says that his parents brought Jesus in and Simeon went and scooped up the baby. I don't know what was said, hopefully words, hopefully he didn't just rip an eight-day-old infant out of Mary's arms, but he just went and he took that baby. And he prayed over that baby. And then he said, I can die now, God, because he's held that baby. And then if you keep reading, he blesses Mary and Joseph and tells them what they have, confirms for them what the angels have said. He was so ready to meet Jesus that when he finally did, he flung everything out and he said, I've met Jesus. Nothing else matters. And so this is where it's probably worthwhile to point out that the innkeeper does get a really bum rap. Because truth be told, the innkeeper didn't know that was Jesus. It was just a young couple. They needed space. I don't have any. And so him not making room for them isn't maybe as egregious of a sin as it would seem. But it's a helpful vehicle for us to understand the contrast. And we know who Jesus is. We've heard of him. We've been told of him. And so if we really want to look at the difference between how Jesus was received by the innkeeper and how he was received by Simeon, then I think that we have to conclude that our response to Jesus is proportional to our awareness of him. Our response to Jesus when he shows up, when he arrives in an opportunity of service, when he arrives in someone bringing us a hug when we need it, when he arrives an opportunity to be that hug when someone else needs it, when he arrives in conviction, when he arrives in asking for our affection, when he arrives in asking for our devotion, when Jesus arrives in our life. When he speaks into our life. Our response to that voice of Christ, I believe, is directly proportional to our general awareness of him. What we have in Simeon is someone who had prayerfully sought him out his entire life. He had devoted his life to pursuing Christ. Let me see him. Let me see him. Let me see him. And it's not lost on me. And I think this is so important. Do you understand that besides Mary Magdalene, Mary, his mother, maybe Joseph and John the Baptist, that the only other person in Jesus's life to acknowledge who he was and what he really came to do before he died on the cross was Simeon. Everybody else in Jesus's life, when they met him, they said, you can't be the guy. You're not the Messiah. You didn't come how we expected you to come. You're not saying the things we expect you to say. You're not being who we expect you to be. You're not performing the miracles we expect you to perform. You're not a king like we expected you to be the king. So you're not the Messiah. We reject you. Simeon was a man of such faith, such piety, such devotion, such closeness to God. He didn't need Jesus to say a word or do a thing. He recognized him when he saw him. And he said, I can die happy. That kind of awareness, that kind of recognition of who Jesus is only comes through prayer, only comes through devotion, only comes through an earnest desire to see him and to know him and to be exposed to him. I believe that Simeon saw who Jesus was because God heard his prayers. God saw his devotion. He was pleading with the Lord, let me see him, let me see him, let me see him. And God answered those prayers and gave him a unique vision and a unique reception of Jesus despite no one else in his life knowing who he was. And two of the people who knew who Jesus was had to be told by an angel before he got there. Simeon knew. How did Simeon know? Because he lived a life of devotion and pursuit of Jesus. Because he carried the torch that was passed to him by the previous generations. And he made it his ardent desire to know him, to see him, and to recognize him. And I believe that our ability to respond to Jesus with the zeal of Simeon operates in direct proportion to our desire for that Jesus, to our awareness of him. There's no reason in the world the innkeeper couldn't have been on the same page and been like Simeon, devout and devoted and righteous and prayerful. He simply wasn't. And so when Jesus showed up, he kicked him to a cave. Simeon says, I can die happy, nothing else matters. When I started developing the sermon, I thought the question that we would be driving to and that I would pose to you at the end was, am I the innkeeper or am I Simeon? In my life, the way that I respond to Jesus, am I and have I been more like the innkeeper making space for him in the margins or am I and have I been more like Simeon celebrating him, anticipating him, praying for him, praying to see him and receive him with an open-hearted humility? Am I more like the innkeeper or am I more like Simeon? But as I got into the sermon and it started to kind of, sometimes the sermon will write itself if you just pull the thread the right way. As it started to kind of write itself, I realized that question, that's not the right question. So if you take notes, do that. Cross out the question. That's a stupid question. That's a stupid question because no one in here is going, I'm Simeon. I've done it. No more zeal than me. And the reality of it is, the people in the room who are the most like Simeon are the ones who feel the most like the innkeeper right now because that's how spiritual humility and maturity works. Isn't that right, Jen? No, I'm just messing around. That's a silly question. Because of course we would all answer, yeah, I tend to be more like the innkeeper. Yeah, I tend to just kind of make room for him in the comfortable margins. Instead of taking the steps of obedience that he wants from me. I tend to just kind of passively celebrate him instead of enthusiastically welcoming him. And when we see the zeal of Simeon, and I don't think we can overstate it, his ability to see the Messiah for who he was because of his open-handed humility and his approach to God. That we all know we need to be more like Simeon. So the real question then becomes, and the one that I would leave you with is this, how can I dethrone comfort and pursue Jesus in order to receive him with the zeal of Simeon? That's a better question for you to ask yourself. How can I first, how can I dethrone comfort? What are the things that Jesus is asking me for that I can finally kick out of the VIP suite and put him in there? Is it waking up 30 minutes earlier? Is he asking for your mornings? Here's a hint. Yes. He wants our mornings. Does he want our car rides? Yeah. Does he want our runs and our workouts? Yeah. Does he want our relationships with our coworkers? He does. Does he want us to be a more loving spouse? Yes. Does he want us to be more patient parent? Yeah. Does he want us to remember the grace that he offers us and so offer that to others? Yes. We know what Jesus asks of us. What comfort do we need to dethrone? Not being as accepted by the people in our life that matter to us. Taking steps of obedience and we're not sure where they lead. Allowing ourselves to rethink things even though that makes it scary for us. What comfort is impeding our pursuit of Christ? And then, once we figure out what comfort is there that is prohibiting Jesus from occupying the space he needs to occupy, how can we pursue Jesus? Really pursue him. Really ardently pray for him. So that when we see him, and when he calls for things and asks for things, we receive that and offer that as zealously as Simeon does. We pray for him every day. That's easy. Every morning, Jesus, if you arrive today, help me see you. If you arrive in an opportunity to serve, let me see it. If you arrive in a person who needs you, let me see it. If someone arrives in my life who's you've sent to encourage me, let me see it. We had a situation in our house recently where we were discouraged and we were discouraged about a couple of different things. And we had this talk about it at night. And the very next day, every single thing that we said that was discouraging, God addressed in a gracious way and gave us joy in that area of our life. So at the end of the day, we looked at each other and we said, let's not miss Jesus here because he showed up today and he showed us, I care about this and I care about this and I care about this and I care about you. So ask God, God, help me see you when you show up. Help me obey you when you ask. Help me celebrate you this season. Help me not get so headlong into plans and parties and gifts and decorations that I miss you this season. Jesus, help me see you. Make every day a pursuit of him. And we'll start to become more like Simeon than the innkeeper. And if we do that, if we'll pursue Jesus like Simeon this Christmas, I can promise you, you will have a far more rich Christmas. You will see little things that matter every day. Your spirit will be blessed every day. You will notice people to pray for and be a blessing to them every day. When we see the gifts and the movement of Jesus all through the season, and we see them because we've asked our God to open our eyes to those things. So as we go into December and we usher in all the things, let us have the zeal and the pursuit of Simeon and make space for Jesus in our lives wherever he wants to stay. Let's pray. Jesus, we love you. And God, we sing a song sometimes. It says our affection and our devotion we pour out at the feet of Jesus. Lord, I pray that that would be true. That we would love you and love you well. Father, where we are choosing comfort over obedience, would you show us? Would we see it? Would we care? And would we invite you in? Lord, attune our hearts and our eyes and our minds and our ears to see you, to hear you, to recognize you when you show up in our lives. Not just this Christmas season, God, but moving forward. And would we ultimately be a people who receive you and celebrate you like your servant Simeon. In Jesus' name, amen.
Well, good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. My name is Nate. I get to be one of the pastors here. If I haven't gotten to meet you, I would love to do that in the lobby after the service is over. I echo the gratitude of Kyle for our decorating squad that made this look like maybe the best looking stage we've ever had. And please take advantage of the photo booth out there if you are one who likes photo booths. Welcome to our December series. I'm very excited about it. We've had this planned for a while. I'm looking forward to what I get to share with you over the course of the next month. And if you guys are going to be singing like that in December, I'm going to shorten the sermons and we're going to add in more songs because that was fantastic. This year, the Christmas series is called Twas the Night. We are looking at the story of Christmas, the classic story of Christmas. We'll spend every week in a different portion of Luke chapter 2. So if you have a Bible this morning, as I've been encouraging you to bring them and go through the sermons with me. Please go ahead and open those up to Luke chapter 2. If you don't have a Bible, it's in the seat back in front of you. But we're going to be spending the next four Sundays in Luke chapter 2 and looking at the Christmas story from the perspective of different people involved in the story. This morning, we're going to look at the Christmas story from the perspective of the innkeeper and from one of my favorite people in the story, Simeon. And you'll see why when we get there. But in the story, Luke chapter two, where the Christmas story is, and just so you know, that's like the traditional, like peanutsanuts Christmas, that's where it comes from, Luke 2. That's the classic Christmas passage. So that's why we're going to be there for these next four weeks. In the passage, the innkeeper is mentioned kind of indirectly. We don't get words from, we presume him could be her. I don't want to be misogynistic in who I think owns inns in ancient, but hunches is probably a guy and Mary and Joseph are traveling to Jerusalem for a religious festival. They have to go. The law says they have to go. It's for a census and Jerusalem. I don't know if you've thought about this. Why the heck would you Jerusalem is three days journey fromareth, averaging about eight to 10 hours a day on foot. We presume that Mary was on a donkey if they could afford such luxuries. She's clearly very pregnant because she pops when she gets there. Okay. So like she is on the verge of pregnant or giving birth. She's very, very pregnant. That's a different thing. And you got to imagine it's stressful. Y'all grow up. And then this might be the first clip of me that blows up on YouTube. Good job. It's nice for everyone to have goals. Anyways, they're going to Jerusalem. It's eight to 10 hours a day on foot. It's got to be very stressful. They don't know where they're going to stay. They probably don't have a lot of means. And so they get there and they're scrambling for a room. They're scrambling for a place to stay. They go to the innkeeper. The innkeeper famously says there's no room in the inn. And then he makes space for them in a manger. And I can't imagine the stress of Joseph as he's trying to arrange all this stuff and get everything squared away. But the inn keeper doesn't make room for them. He says, we have some room for you in the manger, which whenever we think of manger, and this is just for my own personal fun, I do this year and Jen my wife hates it when I do I like to ruin different elements of people's Christmas traditions when we look at the nativity scene and it's the stable with like the Spanish moss coming down that's probably not accurate it could be accurate but it probably isn't it was probably inside of a shallow cave in a cliffside or a hillside there in Bethlehem. Probably wasn't a nice stable. But anyways, I digress. He lets them stay in the manger. And the innkeeper, the Christmas story doesn't have too many villains. The innkeeper is about the closest thing to a villain we have besides, of course, Herod, who comes at the end of the Christmas story. And he's the villain because he doesn't make room for Jesus. But I would say two things, one later, but one thing right here to support him. He did make room for Jesus. It's just that the innkeeper offered Jesus the margins. He offered him the margins. I'm not going to kick anybody out of the room for you. I'm not going to make some space. I'm not going to invite you into my own house. I'm not going to divide up one of the rooms. I'm not going to talk to the other innkeepers and see what we can do. I'll give you a space that's very convenient for me. The innkeeper invites Jesus into the margins. And this is wild because what he should have done this is the Messiah Emmanuel God with us his people have been waiting for him for thousands of years they've been pining for him and praying for him and passed down a desire for Jesus generation after generation each generation has carried the torch of hope waiting for the Messiah to arrive the prophecies go all the way back to Genesis 12 and Abraham, and they know the prophecies. The innkeeper, whether he fully believes them or not, has grown up in an environment and in a culture so saturated with these prophecies that he knows it. And the Messiah is coming, and he has arrived. What he should have done is gone to the VIP suite and flung the door open and said, hey, buddy, go kick rocks. Get out of here. Go hit the bricks. You're out. Messiah's here. Emmanuel has arrived. He gets the suite, and we're going to kick in the continental breakfast with an omelet bar because Jesus is here. But that's not what he does. He doesn't disrupt anything. He doesn't make his life more difficult. He says, here, here's a margin for you to slide into. And in this way, I feel like a lot of us, all of us at points, can relate to the innkeeper. When Jesus shows up, when he offers himself, when he asks to be led into our heart, when he asks to be Lord of our life, when he gives us an opportunity to serve, when he asks us for a bit of devotion. When he asks us to set our alarm early to spend time with him. When he asks us for the next step of obedience and faithfulness with him. When he asks us to just trust him and his standards over ourselves and our standards. I think so often when Jesus shows up in our life, we, like the innkeeper, simply offer him the margins. Jesus, I'm going to fit you into places where I don't have to adjust anything. I'll pray to you, but I'm going to do it before meals when other people are around so I can appear pious and holy. But you and I know that's the only time I've prayed in the last three days. Yeah, I'll give you car rides for worship, Jesus. But only when the podcast I normally listen to or the music I normally like has gone stale. Yeah, Jesus, I'll go to church. But I'll go to church when I'm in town and it's convenient and my things didn't happen in my Saturday that makes it prohibitive for me to get up on Sunday. I'll give you those Sundays, God, but I'm not going to like rush back from the beach to fellowship with my church. I'm going to give you the margins. I'll give occasionally to a compelling thing, but I'm not going to make it uncomfortable for myself and give regularly in a habitual way because of the generosity that you teach me. I'll forgive people when it doesn't hurt me, but if I'm really mad, then I'm sorry, Jesus, you can't have that forgiveness for them. I think in so many ways, so many small aspects, when Jesus shows up in our life and asks to be invited in, we give him the margins where it's easiest, where it's the least inconvenient. When what we should do, what we should do when Jesus shows up and he asks for parts of our life, he asks to be let into our life, he asks for our obedience and our trust and our worship and our devotion and our love and our affection. When he asks for those things, what we should do is thunder into our VIP suite and kick out whatever's currently ruling and be like, go pound sand, buddy. Jesus is here. Emmanuel, God with us. The guy who died on the cross for me and then rose again on the third day and is coming back to get me and make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue. That guy's here, so you are out. That's what we should do. And so I think it begs the question, and I know that the phrasing here is ridiculous, but you'll understand the question. What is in your VIP suite? Who or what is in the most important rooms in your life? Who's occupying the space that Jesus deserves, but we're not willing to kick them or it out? What is holding you back from inviting Jesus not into the margins of your life, but in every bit of your life. Who is in your VIP suite? Now, if you're like me, you have a bunch of those. It's difficult to pinpoint one thing, a person, or affection that I have in my life that is the sole thing keeping Jesus from occupying all of my life. But if I had to guess what one of yours was, I bet in the top three for everyone in this room is comfort. Isn't it, North Raleigh? We're pretty comfortable people. We have things like we like them. We've organized our life like we like it. We've organized our faith like we like it. We've organized our politics like we like it. We've organized our priorities like we like it. We've put our money in the places that we like. We are a comfortable people. And when Jesus begins to poke at our comfort, I think we tend to say, sorry, buddy, room's full. I have a manger, if you're interested. The couch in my bonus room is surprisingly sleepable, Jesus. You're going to love it in there. But you're not getting in the master bedroom. I think comfort is one of our predominant idols. Comfort in how we think. When Jesus, the teachings of Jesus, the message of the Bible, when God starts to challenge the way that we think, some of the traditional norms that we've clung to to make things make sense, we kind of push back on that and be like, I'm not really open to new information, Jesus thinks. I need you to fit where I've put you. When Jesus' message starts to run up against our politics and our philosophies, sometimes we stop listening to Jesus in favor of what we always thought, and we say, there's no room for you there, Jesus. Sorry, I need you to fit into this box. When he starts asking for our finances, when he starts asking for our priorities, for our schedule, when he starts asking for our forgiveness, when he starts asking for the way that we do business, when he starts asking for transparency and honesty and vulnerability, when he starts asking us to be a good friend to someone who's hurting and it makes us uncomfortable. I think so often we choose comfort over obedience. And so I think that for many of us, comfort is what sits in that space of highest value in our life. And we'll make room for Jesus. We'll just do it like the innkeeper and tuck him away in the bonus room. And this is important because when we juxtapose the innkeeper's reception of Jesus with that of Simeon. We see a totally different story. And I didn't bring you here this morning to beat you up about being the innkeeper because I'm talking to myself. That's me. That's what I do. If you do that too, join me in my conviction. If you don't do that, do that. Pray for the rest of us heathens in the room. But for those of us who do, let's look at, learn from, and be humbled by the response of Simeon in Luke chapter 2. Now, I'm going to tell you a little bit more about Simeon. But most of what we need to know is actually in this passage. So if you have a Bible, look at Luke chapter 2. I'm going to begin in verse 25 and read through verse 32. Luke writes this. Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel. And the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple. And when the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him according to the custom of the law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said, listen to this, Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of the innkeeper. The innkeeper says, oh, Jesus is here. Let me see where I can conveniently fit you. Simeon's response, I would sum up this way. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I can die happy. I don't care about anything else. Simeon doesn't clean out the VIP room. He cleans out the entire hotel, the whole inn, done. Everybody kick rocks. Jesus is coming in. He gets all the omelets. He gets all the things. He's here. He ushers him right in. He says, I've seen Jesus. Literally nothing else matters. The difference between his response and the innkeeper's response is mind-blowing. And we learn why Simeon has this response in the text. All the clues are there. It says he was righteous and devout. He was committed to God. He was committed to prayer. He was committed to the pursuit of Jesus. And I love the phrase that Luke includes in there to describe what Simeon had been praying for. Did you catch it? He had been praying for the consolation of Israel. That's such a good phrase and descriptor of who Jesus was, particularly to the ancient Hebrew mind. He was the consolation of Israel. See, I mentioned earlier that the innkeeper had grown up in a culture that was so steeped in religious understanding that he knew how far back the generational prophecies went about the Messiah that was going to arrive. And Simeon knew that too. And I have a whole sermon that I do just on the zeal of Simeon. I've actually done it twice here at Grace. And we look at how Simeon was the torch keeper. He was the torch bearer for his generation, waiting and looking and watching and wanting for the Messiah. And how that wait goes all the way back to Abraham in Genesis chapter 12, where God promises that one of the descendants of Abraham will come and will bless the whole earth. And then the Old Testament is a story of waiting for that Messiah, of watching for him. And the generations of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they watched. Is he here? Is it going to be one of these grandsons of Abraham? Is the Messiah come? No, he's not come. And then Moses comes around. Is it Moses? And they watch Moses lead God's people and bring them out of slavery and bring down the Ten Commandments and be God's spokesperson to his people. Is it Moses? Is he going to save us? No, it's not Moses. And then they go through the judges. Is it one of the judges? No. Is it one of the kings? Certainly it's David. No. But God renews his promise and renews their hope in 2 Samuel chapter 7. And then they watch the kings and hope maybe it's one of the kings that will rescue us. No, it's not one of the kings. But every generation after finding that no continues to pass forward the torch from grandfather to grandson to carry the torch of hope into the next generation waiting and watching and longing for the Messiah. And then they go into exile in Babylon and Assyria, and they cling to this torch of hope. And then they begin to wander back and reconstruct and rebuild Israel, and they cling to hope. And then they enter this period where God doesn't speak called the 400 years of silence, and they cling to hope. And then somewhere, some Jewish father or grandfather has a grandson named Simeon, and they start to tell them about the hope that they carried through the generations that one day they will see the Messiah. And Simeon commits to prayer. Father, let me see him. Father, let me see him. Father, bring your Christ. Bring your Messiah. Bring the consolation of Israel, the hope of all the generations. Simeon is now the torchbearer. And in that ardent praying and in that searching, God answers his prayers. And he says, I promise you that you will not pass away before you hold the Christ. So when he finally sees Jesus, it says that his parents brought Jesus in and Simeon went and scooped up the baby. I don't know what was said, hopefully words, hopefully he didn't just rip an eight-day-old infant out of Mary's arms, but he just went and he took that baby. And he prayed over that baby. And then he said, I can die now, God, because he's held that baby. And then if you keep reading, he blesses Mary and Joseph and tells them what they have, confirms for them what the angels have said. He was so ready to meet Jesus that when he finally did, he flung everything out and he said, I've met Jesus. Nothing else matters. And so this is where it's probably worthwhile to point out that the innkeeper does get a really bum rap. Because truth be told, the innkeeper didn't know that was Jesus. It was just a young couple. They needed space. I don't have any. And so him not making room for them isn't maybe as egregious of a sin as it would seem. But it's a helpful vehicle for us to understand the contrast. And we know who Jesus is. We've heard of him. We've been told of him. And so if we really want to look at the difference between how Jesus was received by the innkeeper and how he was received by Simeon, then I think that we have to conclude that our response to Jesus is proportional to our awareness of him. Our response to Jesus when he shows up, when he arrives in an opportunity of service, when he arrives in someone bringing us a hug when we need it, when he arrives an opportunity to be that hug when someone else needs it, when he arrives in conviction, when he arrives in asking for our affection, when he arrives in asking for our devotion, when Jesus arrives in our life. When he speaks into our life. Our response to that voice of Christ, I believe, is directly proportional to our general awareness of him. What we have in Simeon is someone who had prayerfully sought him out his entire life. He had devoted his life to pursuing Christ. Let me see him. Let me see him. Let me see him. And it's not lost on me. And I think this is so important. Do you understand that besides Mary Magdalene, Mary, his mother, maybe Joseph and John the Baptist, that the only other person in Jesus's life to acknowledge who he was and what he really came to do before he died on the cross was Simeon. Everybody else in Jesus's life, when they met him, they said, you can't be the guy. You're not the Messiah. You didn't come how we expected you to come. You're not saying the things we expect you to say. You're not being who we expect you to be. You're not performing the miracles we expect you to perform. You're not a king like we expected you to be the king. So you're not the Messiah. We reject you. Simeon was a man of such faith, such piety, such devotion, such closeness to God. He didn't need Jesus to say a word or do a thing. He recognized him when he saw him. And he said, I can die happy. That kind of awareness, that kind of recognition of who Jesus is only comes through prayer, only comes through devotion, only comes through an earnest desire to see him and to know him and to be exposed to him. I believe that Simeon saw who Jesus was because God heard his prayers. God saw his devotion. He was pleading with the Lord, let me see him, let me see him, let me see him. And God answered those prayers and gave him a unique vision and a unique reception of Jesus despite no one else in his life knowing who he was. And two of the people who knew who Jesus was had to be told by an angel before he got there. Simeon knew. How did Simeon know? Because he lived a life of devotion and pursuit of Jesus. Because he carried the torch that was passed to him by the previous generations. And he made it his ardent desire to know him, to see him, and to recognize him. And I believe that our ability to respond to Jesus with the zeal of Simeon operates in direct proportion to our desire for that Jesus, to our awareness of him. There's no reason in the world the innkeeper couldn't have been on the same page and been like Simeon, devout and devoted and righteous and prayerful. He simply wasn't. And so when Jesus showed up, he kicked him to a cave. Simeon says, I can die happy, nothing else matters. When I started developing the sermon, I thought the question that we would be driving to and that I would pose to you at the end was, am I the innkeeper or am I Simeon? In my life, the way that I respond to Jesus, am I and have I been more like the innkeeper making space for him in the margins or am I and have I been more like Simeon celebrating him, anticipating him, praying for him, praying to see him and receive him with an open-hearted humility? Am I more like the innkeeper or am I more like Simeon? But as I got into the sermon and it started to kind of, sometimes the sermon will write itself if you just pull the thread the right way. As it started to kind of write itself, I realized that question, that's not the right question. So if you take notes, do that. Cross out the question. That's a stupid question. That's a stupid question because no one in here is going, I'm Simeon. I've done it. No more zeal than me. And the reality of it is, the people in the room who are the most like Simeon are the ones who feel the most like the innkeeper right now because that's how spiritual humility and maturity works. Isn't that right, Jen? No, I'm just messing around. That's a silly question. Because of course we would all answer, yeah, I tend to be more like the innkeeper. Yeah, I tend to just kind of make room for him in the comfortable margins. Instead of taking the steps of obedience that he wants from me. I tend to just kind of passively celebrate him instead of enthusiastically welcoming him. And when we see the zeal of Simeon, and I don't think we can overstate it, his ability to see the Messiah for who he was because of his open-handed humility and his approach to God. That we all know we need to be more like Simeon. So the real question then becomes, and the one that I would leave you with is this, how can I dethrone comfort and pursue Jesus in order to receive him with the zeal of Simeon? That's a better question for you to ask yourself. How can I first, how can I dethrone comfort? What are the things that Jesus is asking me for that I can finally kick out of the VIP suite and put him in there? Is it waking up 30 minutes earlier? Is he asking for your mornings? Here's a hint. Yes. He wants our mornings. Does he want our car rides? Yeah. Does he want our runs and our workouts? Yeah. Does he want our relationships with our coworkers? He does. Does he want us to be a more loving spouse? Yes. Does he want us to be more patient parent? Yeah. Does he want us to remember the grace that he offers us and so offer that to others? Yes. We know what Jesus asks of us. What comfort do we need to dethrone? Not being as accepted by the people in our life that matter to us. Taking steps of obedience and we're not sure where they lead. Allowing ourselves to rethink things even though that makes it scary for us. What comfort is impeding our pursuit of Christ? And then, once we figure out what comfort is there that is prohibiting Jesus from occupying the space he needs to occupy, how can we pursue Jesus? Really pursue him. Really ardently pray for him. So that when we see him, and when he calls for things and asks for things, we receive that and offer that as zealously as Simeon does. We pray for him every day. That's easy. Every morning, Jesus, if you arrive today, help me see you. If you arrive in an opportunity to serve, let me see it. If you arrive in a person who needs you, let me see it. If someone arrives in my life who's you've sent to encourage me, let me see it. We had a situation in our house recently where we were discouraged and we were discouraged about a couple of different things. And we had this talk about it at night. And the very next day, every single thing that we said that was discouraging, God addressed in a gracious way and gave us joy in that area of our life. So at the end of the day, we looked at each other and we said, let's not miss Jesus here because he showed up today and he showed us, I care about this and I care about this and I care about this and I care about you. So ask God, God, help me see you when you show up. Help me obey you when you ask. Help me celebrate you this season. Help me not get so headlong into plans and parties and gifts and decorations that I miss you this season. Jesus, help me see you. Make every day a pursuit of him. And we'll start to become more like Simeon than the innkeeper. And if we do that, if we'll pursue Jesus like Simeon this Christmas, I can promise you, you will have a far more rich Christmas. You will see little things that matter every day. Your spirit will be blessed every day. You will notice people to pray for and be a blessing to them every day. When we see the gifts and the movement of Jesus all through the season, and we see them because we've asked our God to open our eyes to those things. So as we go into December and we usher in all the things, let us have the zeal and the pursuit of Simeon and make space for Jesus in our lives wherever he wants to stay. Let's pray. Jesus, we love you. And God, we sing a song sometimes. It says our affection and our devotion we pour out at the feet of Jesus. Lord, I pray that that would be true. That we would love you and love you well. Father, where we are choosing comfort over obedience, would you show us? Would we see it? Would we care? And would we invite you in? Lord, attune our hearts and our eyes and our minds and our ears to see you, to hear you, to recognize you when you show up in our lives. Not just this Christmas season, God, but moving forward. And would we ultimately be a people who receive you and celebrate you like your servant Simeon. In Jesus' name, amen.
Well, good morning, everyone. Thank you for being here. My name is Nate. I get to be one of the pastors here. If I haven't gotten to meet you, I would love to do that in the lobby after the service is over. I echo the gratitude of Kyle for our decorating squad that made this look like maybe the best looking stage we've ever had. And please take advantage of the photo booth out there if you are one who likes photo booths. Welcome to our December series. I'm very excited about it. We've had this planned for a while. I'm looking forward to what I get to share with you over the course of the next month. And if you guys are going to be singing like that in December, I'm going to shorten the sermons and we're going to add in more songs because that was fantastic. This year, the Christmas series is called Twas the Night. We are looking at the story of Christmas, the classic story of Christmas. We'll spend every week in a different portion of Luke chapter 2. So if you have a Bible this morning, as I've been encouraging you to bring them and go through the sermons with me. Please go ahead and open those up to Luke chapter 2. If you don't have a Bible, it's in the seat back in front of you. But we're going to be spending the next four Sundays in Luke chapter 2 and looking at the Christmas story from the perspective of different people involved in the story. This morning, we're going to look at the Christmas story from the perspective of the innkeeper and from one of my favorite people in the story, Simeon. And you'll see why when we get there. But in the story, Luke chapter two, where the Christmas story is, and just so you know, that's like the traditional, like peanutsanuts Christmas, that's where it comes from, Luke 2. That's the classic Christmas passage. So that's why we're going to be there for these next four weeks. In the passage, the innkeeper is mentioned kind of indirectly. We don't get words from, we presume him could be her. I don't want to be misogynistic in who I think owns inns in ancient, but hunches is probably a guy and Mary and Joseph are traveling to Jerusalem for a religious festival. They have to go. The law says they have to go. It's for a census and Jerusalem. I don't know if you've thought about this. Why the heck would you Jerusalem is three days journey fromareth, averaging about eight to 10 hours a day on foot. We presume that Mary was on a donkey if they could afford such luxuries. She's clearly very pregnant because she pops when she gets there. Okay. So like she is on the verge of pregnant or giving birth. She's very, very pregnant. That's a different thing. And you got to imagine it's stressful. Y'all grow up. And then this might be the first clip of me that blows up on YouTube. Good job. It's nice for everyone to have goals. Anyways, they're going to Jerusalem. It's eight to 10 hours a day on foot. It's got to be very stressful. They don't know where they're going to stay. They probably don't have a lot of means. And so they get there and they're scrambling for a room. They're scrambling for a place to stay. They go to the innkeeper. The innkeeper famously says there's no room in the inn. And then he makes space for them in a manger. And I can't imagine the stress of Joseph as he's trying to arrange all this stuff and get everything squared away. But the inn keeper doesn't make room for them. He says, we have some room for you in the manger, which whenever we think of manger, and this is just for my own personal fun, I do this year and Jen my wife hates it when I do I like to ruin different elements of people's Christmas traditions when we look at the nativity scene and it's the stable with like the Spanish moss coming down that's probably not accurate it could be accurate but it probably isn't it was probably inside of a shallow cave in a cliffside or a hillside there in Bethlehem. Probably wasn't a nice stable. But anyways, I digress. He lets them stay in the manger. And the innkeeper, the Christmas story doesn't have too many villains. The innkeeper is about the closest thing to a villain we have besides, of course, Herod, who comes at the end of the Christmas story. And he's the villain because he doesn't make room for Jesus. But I would say two things, one later, but one thing right here to support him. He did make room for Jesus. It's just that the innkeeper offered Jesus the margins. He offered him the margins. I'm not going to kick anybody out of the room for you. I'm not going to make some space. I'm not going to invite you into my own house. I'm not going to divide up one of the rooms. I'm not going to talk to the other innkeepers and see what we can do. I'll give you a space that's very convenient for me. The innkeeper invites Jesus into the margins. And this is wild because what he should have done this is the Messiah Emmanuel God with us his people have been waiting for him for thousands of years they've been pining for him and praying for him and passed down a desire for Jesus generation after generation each generation has carried the torch of hope waiting for the Messiah to arrive the prophecies go all the way back to Genesis 12 and Abraham, and they know the prophecies. The innkeeper, whether he fully believes them or not, has grown up in an environment and in a culture so saturated with these prophecies that he knows it. And the Messiah is coming, and he has arrived. What he should have done is gone to the VIP suite and flung the door open and said, hey, buddy, go kick rocks. Get out of here. Go hit the bricks. You're out. Messiah's here. Emmanuel has arrived. He gets the suite, and we're going to kick in the continental breakfast with an omelet bar because Jesus is here. But that's not what he does. He doesn't disrupt anything. He doesn't make his life more difficult. He says, here, here's a margin for you to slide into. And in this way, I feel like a lot of us, all of us at points, can relate to the innkeeper. When Jesus shows up, when he offers himself, when he asks to be led into our heart, when he asks to be Lord of our life, when he gives us an opportunity to serve, when he asks us for a bit of devotion. When he asks us to set our alarm early to spend time with him. When he asks us for the next step of obedience and faithfulness with him. When he asks us to just trust him and his standards over ourselves and our standards. I think so often when Jesus shows up in our life, we, like the innkeeper, simply offer him the margins. Jesus, I'm going to fit you into places where I don't have to adjust anything. I'll pray to you, but I'm going to do it before meals when other people are around so I can appear pious and holy. But you and I know that's the only time I've prayed in the last three days. Yeah, I'll give you car rides for worship, Jesus. But only when the podcast I normally listen to or the music I normally like has gone stale. Yeah, Jesus, I'll go to church. But I'll go to church when I'm in town and it's convenient and my things didn't happen in my Saturday that makes it prohibitive for me to get up on Sunday. I'll give you those Sundays, God, but I'm not going to like rush back from the beach to fellowship with my church. I'm going to give you the margins. I'll give occasionally to a compelling thing, but I'm not going to make it uncomfortable for myself and give regularly in a habitual way because of the generosity that you teach me. I'll forgive people when it doesn't hurt me, but if I'm really mad, then I'm sorry, Jesus, you can't have that forgiveness for them. I think in so many ways, so many small aspects, when Jesus shows up in our life and asks to be invited in, we give him the margins where it's easiest, where it's the least inconvenient. When what we should do, what we should do when Jesus shows up and he asks for parts of our life, he asks to be let into our life, he asks for our obedience and our trust and our worship and our devotion and our love and our affection. When he asks for those things, what we should do is thunder into our VIP suite and kick out whatever's currently ruling and be like, go pound sand, buddy. Jesus is here. Emmanuel, God with us. The guy who died on the cross for me and then rose again on the third day and is coming back to get me and make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue. That guy's here, so you are out. That's what we should do. And so I think it begs the question, and I know that the phrasing here is ridiculous, but you'll understand the question. What is in your VIP suite? Who or what is in the most important rooms in your life? Who's occupying the space that Jesus deserves, but we're not willing to kick them or it out? What is holding you back from inviting Jesus not into the margins of your life, but in every bit of your life. Who is in your VIP suite? Now, if you're like me, you have a bunch of those. It's difficult to pinpoint one thing, a person, or affection that I have in my life that is the sole thing keeping Jesus from occupying all of my life. But if I had to guess what one of yours was, I bet in the top three for everyone in this room is comfort. Isn't it, North Raleigh? We're pretty comfortable people. We have things like we like them. We've organized our life like we like it. We've organized our faith like we like it. We've organized our politics like we like it. We've organized our priorities like we like it. We've put our money in the places that we like. We are a comfortable people. And when Jesus begins to poke at our comfort, I think we tend to say, sorry, buddy, room's full. I have a manger, if you're interested. The couch in my bonus room is surprisingly sleepable, Jesus. You're going to love it in there. But you're not getting in the master bedroom. I think comfort is one of our predominant idols. Comfort in how we think. When Jesus, the teachings of Jesus, the message of the Bible, when God starts to challenge the way that we think, some of the traditional norms that we've clung to to make things make sense, we kind of push back on that and be like, I'm not really open to new information, Jesus thinks. I need you to fit where I've put you. When Jesus' message starts to run up against our politics and our philosophies, sometimes we stop listening to Jesus in favor of what we always thought, and we say, there's no room for you there, Jesus. Sorry, I need you to fit into this box. When he starts asking for our finances, when he starts asking for our priorities, for our schedule, when he starts asking for our forgiveness, when he starts asking for the way that we do business, when he starts asking for transparency and honesty and vulnerability, when he starts asking us to be a good friend to someone who's hurting and it makes us uncomfortable. I think so often we choose comfort over obedience. And so I think that for many of us, comfort is what sits in that space of highest value in our life. And we'll make room for Jesus. We'll just do it like the innkeeper and tuck him away in the bonus room. And this is important because when we juxtapose the innkeeper's reception of Jesus with that of Simeon. We see a totally different story. And I didn't bring you here this morning to beat you up about being the innkeeper because I'm talking to myself. That's me. That's what I do. If you do that too, join me in my conviction. If you don't do that, do that. Pray for the rest of us heathens in the room. But for those of us who do, let's look at, learn from, and be humbled by the response of Simeon in Luke chapter 2. Now, I'm going to tell you a little bit more about Simeon. But most of what we need to know is actually in this passage. So if you have a Bible, look at Luke chapter 2. I'm going to begin in verse 25 and read through verse 32. Luke writes this. Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel. And the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple. And when the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him according to the custom of the law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said, listen to this, Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of the innkeeper. The innkeeper says, oh, Jesus is here. Let me see where I can conveniently fit you. Simeon's response, I would sum up this way. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I have seen Jesus. Nothing else matters. I can die happy. I don't care about anything else. Simeon doesn't clean out the VIP room. He cleans out the entire hotel, the whole inn, done. Everybody kick rocks. Jesus is coming in. He gets all the omelets. He gets all the things. He's here. He ushers him right in. He says, I've seen Jesus. Literally nothing else matters. The difference between his response and the innkeeper's response is mind-blowing. And we learn why Simeon has this response in the text. All the clues are there. It says he was righteous and devout. He was committed to God. He was committed to prayer. He was committed to the pursuit of Jesus. And I love the phrase that Luke includes in there to describe what Simeon had been praying for. Did you catch it? He had been praying for the consolation of Israel. That's such a good phrase and descriptor of who Jesus was, particularly to the ancient Hebrew mind. He was the consolation of Israel. See, I mentioned earlier that the innkeeper had grown up in a culture that was so steeped in religious understanding that he knew how far back the generational prophecies went about the Messiah that was going to arrive. And Simeon knew that too. And I have a whole sermon that I do just on the zeal of Simeon. I've actually done it twice here at Grace. And we look at how Simeon was the torch keeper. He was the torch bearer for his generation, waiting and looking and watching and wanting for the Messiah. And how that wait goes all the way back to Abraham in Genesis chapter 12, where God promises that one of the descendants of Abraham will come and will bless the whole earth. And then the Old Testament is a story of waiting for that Messiah, of watching for him. And the generations of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they watched. Is he here? Is it going to be one of these grandsons of Abraham? Is the Messiah come? No, he's not come. And then Moses comes around. Is it Moses? And they watch Moses lead God's people and bring them out of slavery and bring down the Ten Commandments and be God's spokesperson to his people. Is it Moses? Is he going to save us? No, it's not Moses. And then they go through the judges. Is it one of the judges? No. Is it one of the kings? Certainly it's David. No. But God renews his promise and renews their hope in 2 Samuel chapter 7. And then they watch the kings and hope maybe it's one of the kings that will rescue us. No, it's not one of the kings. But every generation after finding that no continues to pass forward the torch from grandfather to grandson to carry the torch of hope into the next generation waiting and watching and longing for the Messiah. And then they go into exile in Babylon and Assyria, and they cling to this torch of hope. And then they begin to wander back and reconstruct and rebuild Israel, and they cling to hope. And then they enter this period where God doesn't speak called the 400 years of silence, and they cling to hope. And then somewhere, some Jewish father or grandfather has a grandson named Simeon, and they start to tell them about the hope that they carried through the generations that one day they will see the Messiah. And Simeon commits to prayer. Father, let me see him. Father, let me see him. Father, bring your Christ. Bring your Messiah. Bring the consolation of Israel, the hope of all the generations. Simeon is now the torchbearer. And in that ardent praying and in that searching, God answers his prayers. And he says, I promise you that you will not pass away before you hold the Christ. So when he finally sees Jesus, it says that his parents brought Jesus in and Simeon went and scooped up the baby. I don't know what was said, hopefully words, hopefully he didn't just rip an eight-day-old infant out of Mary's arms, but he just went and he took that baby. And he prayed over that baby. And then he said, I can die now, God, because he's held that baby. And then if you keep reading, he blesses Mary and Joseph and tells them what they have, confirms for them what the angels have said. He was so ready to meet Jesus that when he finally did, he flung everything out and he said, I've met Jesus. Nothing else matters. And so this is where it's probably worthwhile to point out that the innkeeper does get a really bum rap. Because truth be told, the innkeeper didn't know that was Jesus. It was just a young couple. They needed space. I don't have any. And so him not making room for them isn't maybe as egregious of a sin as it would seem. But it's a helpful vehicle for us to understand the contrast. And we know who Jesus is. We've heard of him. We've been told of him. And so if we really want to look at the difference between how Jesus was received by the innkeeper and how he was received by Simeon, then I think that we have to conclude that our response to Jesus is proportional to our awareness of him. Our response to Jesus when he shows up, when he arrives in an opportunity of service, when he arrives in someone bringing us a hug when we need it, when he arrives an opportunity to be that hug when someone else needs it, when he arrives in conviction, when he arrives in asking for our affection, when he arrives in asking for our devotion, when Jesus arrives in our life. When he speaks into our life. Our response to that voice of Christ, I believe, is directly proportional to our general awareness of him. What we have in Simeon is someone who had prayerfully sought him out his entire life. He had devoted his life to pursuing Christ. Let me see him. Let me see him. Let me see him. And it's not lost on me. And I think this is so important. Do you understand that besides Mary Magdalene, Mary, his mother, maybe Joseph and John the Baptist, that the only other person in Jesus's life to acknowledge who he was and what he really came to do before he died on the cross was Simeon. Everybody else in Jesus's life, when they met him, they said, you can't be the guy. You're not the Messiah. You didn't come how we expected you to come. You're not saying the things we expect you to say. You're not being who we expect you to be. You're not performing the miracles we expect you to perform. You're not a king like we expected you to be the king. So you're not the Messiah. We reject you. Simeon was a man of such faith, such piety, such devotion, such closeness to God. He didn't need Jesus to say a word or do a thing. He recognized him when he saw him. And he said, I can die happy. That kind of awareness, that kind of recognition of who Jesus is only comes through prayer, only comes through devotion, only comes through an earnest desire to see him and to know him and to be exposed to him. I believe that Simeon saw who Jesus was because God heard his prayers. God saw his devotion. He was pleading with the Lord, let me see him, let me see him, let me see him. And God answered those prayers and gave him a unique vision and a unique reception of Jesus despite no one else in his life knowing who he was. And two of the people who knew who Jesus was had to be told by an angel before he got there. Simeon knew. How did Simeon know? Because he lived a life of devotion and pursuit of Jesus. Because he carried the torch that was passed to him by the previous generations. And he made it his ardent desire to know him, to see him, and to recognize him. And I believe that our ability to respond to Jesus with the zeal of Simeon operates in direct proportion to our desire for that Jesus, to our awareness of him. There's no reason in the world the innkeeper couldn't have been on the same page and been like Simeon, devout and devoted and righteous and prayerful. He simply wasn't. And so when Jesus showed up, he kicked him to a cave. Simeon says, I can die happy, nothing else matters. When I started developing the sermon, I thought the question that we would be driving to and that I would pose to you at the end was, am I the innkeeper or am I Simeon? In my life, the way that I respond to Jesus, am I and have I been more like the innkeeper making space for him in the margins or am I and have I been more like Simeon celebrating him, anticipating him, praying for him, praying to see him and receive him with an open-hearted humility? Am I more like the innkeeper or am I more like Simeon? But as I got into the sermon and it started to kind of, sometimes the sermon will write itself if you just pull the thread the right way. As it started to kind of write itself, I realized that question, that's not the right question. So if you take notes, do that. Cross out the question. That's a stupid question. That's a stupid question because no one in here is going, I'm Simeon. I've done it. No more zeal than me. And the reality of it is, the people in the room who are the most like Simeon are the ones who feel the most like the innkeeper right now because that's how spiritual humility and maturity works. Isn't that right, Jen? No, I'm just messing around. That's a silly question. Because of course we would all answer, yeah, I tend to be more like the innkeeper. Yeah, I tend to just kind of make room for him in the comfortable margins. Instead of taking the steps of obedience that he wants from me. I tend to just kind of passively celebrate him instead of enthusiastically welcoming him. And when we see the zeal of Simeon, and I don't think we can overstate it, his ability to see the Messiah for who he was because of his open-handed humility and his approach to God. That we all know we need to be more like Simeon. So the real question then becomes, and the one that I would leave you with is this, how can I dethrone comfort and pursue Jesus in order to receive him with the zeal of Simeon? That's a better question for you to ask yourself. How can I first, how can I dethrone comfort? What are the things that Jesus is asking me for that I can finally kick out of the VIP suite and put him in there? Is it waking up 30 minutes earlier? Is he asking for your mornings? Here's a hint. Yes. He wants our mornings. Does he want our car rides? Yeah. Does he want our runs and our workouts? Yeah. Does he want our relationships with our coworkers? He does. Does he want us to be a more loving spouse? Yes. Does he want us to be more patient parent? Yeah. Does he want us to remember the grace that he offers us and so offer that to others? Yes. We know what Jesus asks of us. What comfort do we need to dethrone? Not being as accepted by the people in our life that matter to us. Taking steps of obedience and we're not sure where they lead. Allowing ourselves to rethink things even though that makes it scary for us. What comfort is impeding our pursuit of Christ? And then, once we figure out what comfort is there that is prohibiting Jesus from occupying the space he needs to occupy, how can we pursue Jesus? Really pursue him. Really ardently pray for him. So that when we see him, and when he calls for things and asks for things, we receive that and offer that as zealously as Simeon does. We pray for him every day. That's easy. Every morning, Jesus, if you arrive today, help me see you. If you arrive in an opportunity to serve, let me see it. If you arrive in a person who needs you, let me see it. If someone arrives in my life who's you've sent to encourage me, let me see it. We had a situation in our house recently where we were discouraged and we were discouraged about a couple of different things. And we had this talk about it at night. And the very next day, every single thing that we said that was discouraging, God addressed in a gracious way and gave us joy in that area of our life. So at the end of the day, we looked at each other and we said, let's not miss Jesus here because he showed up today and he showed us, I care about this and I care about this and I care about this and I care about you. So ask God, God, help me see you when you show up. Help me obey you when you ask. Help me celebrate you this season. Help me not get so headlong into plans and parties and gifts and decorations that I miss you this season. Jesus, help me see you. Make every day a pursuit of him. And we'll start to become more like Simeon than the innkeeper. And if we do that, if we'll pursue Jesus like Simeon this Christmas, I can promise you, you will have a far more rich Christmas. You will see little things that matter every day. Your spirit will be blessed every day. You will notice people to pray for and be a blessing to them every day. When we see the gifts and the movement of Jesus all through the season, and we see them because we've asked our God to open our eyes to those things. So as we go into December and we usher in all the things, let us have the zeal and the pursuit of Simeon and make space for Jesus in our lives wherever he wants to stay. Let's pray. Jesus, we love you. And God, we sing a song sometimes. It says our affection and our devotion we pour out at the feet of Jesus. Lord, I pray that that would be true. That we would love you and love you well. Father, where we are choosing comfort over obedience, would you show us? Would we see it? Would we care? And would we invite you in? Lord, attune our hearts and our eyes and our minds and our ears to see you, to hear you, to recognize you when you show up in our lives. Not just this Christmas season, God, but moving forward. And would we ultimately be a people who receive you and celebrate you like your servant Simeon. In Jesus' name, amen.
Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.
Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.
Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.
Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.
Good morning. My name is Doug Bergeson, and I'm a partner here at Grace. I'm asked to speak a couple of times a year on average, and I typically begin with an icebreaker or some attempt at humor. Not too long ago, I began by singing a children's Bible song about the wise man who built his house upon the rock. Another time, I began with a balloon trick. I do this all in the hope that even if just for a moment, you all might forget that intense feeling of disappointment when you saw me, rather than Nate, walk up on stage. And to add injury to insult, even though Nate paid me a compliment when he was up here, what you didn't see was that as he walked by me, he said, I lied, Doug. Is there any wonder I struggle with confidence and self-esteem issues? Today, however, perhaps because I've matured and become more confident, but more likely because I just see the futility of it all, I'm not doing that. No dog and pony show for you. Not today. We're going to dive right in. And I'll start by reading our passage for this morning. It's 1 Peter 2, verses 4-10 are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says, see, I lay a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you leave church on any given Sunday morning. If you ever took a sermon prep class at the local seminary or bought sermons for dummies at Amazon, I suspect both would implore the aspiring preacher to have an application in mind. Well, with today's passage, I don't have an application, and I'm not going to try to directly influence what you do when you leave here, but rather, perhaps, what you think. How we think about and understand things to a great extent determines what we do and how we behave. This dynamic is affirmed throughout all of Scripture. Yet when Jesus asks, who do you think I am? If an honest answer is that he is the resurrected Son of God and Lord and Savior, then your life is going to look very different from someone who doesn't share that view. Or, from a slightly different angle, if you'd like to be a more humble person, then unless you heed the Apostle Paul's warning not to think more highly of yourself than you ought, good luck, because it's going to be a struggle for you. Simply put, our actions flow from how we think and what we believe. Sometimes it's good not to do anything or take any action steps, but just to marinate in our thoughts. And what Peter wants us to think about in a word is identity. How should we think of ourselves? Who and what do we identify as and with? Who is our tribe? What is our truth? It's a very trendy and timely question in our present culture to ask how we identify. Who are we, really? Although it may be particularly trendy in today's culture, it's not a new question, but an ancient one. How we identify, who are we, and to whom do we ultimately belong, has always been the central question in Scripture ever since God first established his covenant with the Israelites and Moses at Sinai. And for the Christian believer today, there is still no more paramount a question. Now, for a long time, I found today's passage to be one of the many in the Bible that I kind of get, but I kind of don't. The importance, significance doesn't really fully sink in. Yeah, yeah, I'm a living stone. A royal priest? Sure. Part of a holy nation? You bet. Got it. But that's been changing over the last 20 years or so. My grasp of what Peter is asserting about my identity, who I truly am, has evolved and is still evolving, which is a good thing. And I owe this movement primarily to two very different but exceedingly impactful experiences in my life. Before sharing the first of those two key experiences, a few minutes of background are in order. I was the only boy with three sisters growing up outside of Chicago. My older sister Lynn fell in love and married Andrew one year out of high school. She was 18 and he 19. Now it turns out that Andrew's parents had been missionaries in Africa in a Portuguese colony called Angola. And that's where he was raised until the age of 12. As was the case with a number of African colonies at that time. violent insurgencies were spreading, and Angola was no exception. When independence finally came in 1975, Angola plunged for the next 27 years into civil war, the longest in all of Africa. The government became communist, aided by the Soviets and some 50,000 Cuban troops. Our CIA and South African defense forces supported the anti-communist rebels and, as is always the case, it was the people of Angola who suffered. Already a poor and underdeveloped country, Angola effectively went completely dark. No communication, no news, no way of knowing if any of the people Andrew and his family had ever lived with, worked with, played with, worshipped with, or even still alive. Then in the mid-1990s, after two decades of war, little snippets of news began to leak out of the country. During a temporary ceasefire, Andrew and his father were able to return in the hope of possibly reconnecting with old friends. What they found was that while many had somehow managed to survive, no family had escaped the carnage untouched by tragedy. What little infrastructure there had been was no more. Formal education for most of the nation's children had ceased. The mission station where Andrew had grown up was destroyed. Living for the average person, always difficult in Angola, had become a very tenuous affair. The next year, my sister, who had never been out of the United States, joined her husband in returning to Angola to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I suspect there were some really, really, really good hotel deals. Shortly after that visit, violence erupted again, and the country fell back into darkness. Back home safely in the U.S., my sister and brother-in-law watched on CNN what was going on in the Balkans and guessed that the same type of refugee crisis, people and families fleeing the conflict zone to save themselves, just what's like happening now in the Ukraine, must surely be happening along Angola's borders as well. So with little fanfare, they flew to Windhoek, Namibia, to look for some refugees to help. Upon arriving, they were told that their plan was incredibly naive and dangerous. However, they did learn of several large refugee camps established by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in the remote bush on the border, Angolan border, near both Namibia and Zambia. And this is where they began taking their four kids and small teams of like-minded people for the next several years. In 2002, I joined them for the first time in visiting Nangweshi Refuge Camp in western Zambia. And just as an editorial note, regardless what you think of the United Nations, what they do in the most forlorn and dangerous places on earth, in the most desperate of times for tens and tens and tens of thousands of refugees who, through no fault of their own, are barely clinging to survival. It's magnificent. It's just magnificent. We spent quite a bit of time that trip in the new arrivals area, where, after days, weeks, months, and even years, Angolan refugees would emerge cold, sick, hungry, naked, and afraid. My brother-in-law used to say that if our Messiah walks anywhere in Nangweshi, he most certainly walks among the new arrivals. Later that same year, a lasting peace accord was signed. So instead of going back to the refugee camps, it was decided that a small team would go into Angola, Tukwitu, the provincial capital in the central highlands, and then proceed further up into the countryside to the old mission station where Andrew had been raised. Our hope was to build a schoolhouse. Flying into Kuitu, our pilot, out of habit and an abundance of caution, came in very high doing corkscrew turns to make a more difficult target for enemy fire. When we landed, I modestly and politely dashed off the runway into some tall grass to relieve myself. When I came back, I saw the pilot going to the bathroom right next to the plane. And I asked him, what's up with that? And he said the airport was mined and that one should never leave the runway. Little heads up would have been helpful. Having never been in a war zone, Quito was just like you see on the news. Collapsed buildings, bullet holes everywhere. It was thought at the time to have more landmines than any other city in the world. Some of you older folk and any Anglophiles might even remember Princess Diana doing a famous photo shoot in Kuitu in 1997 to bring attention to her anti-landmine campaign. Our final destination was the old destroyed mission station at Jolanda. And it was here, by far the most remote and primitive place I'd ever been in my life. No running water or plumbing of any kind, no electricity, no phones, that the first experience that so influenced my understanding of 1 Peter 2 took place. Now, Chelonda's not a town or village as we know them. No stores, no services, no nothing. Just some small mud and thatch huts spread over a wide area. There was, however, a tiny wooden chapel where several of the villagers would meet every morning at six to start their day. Several times, I got up and walked the three-quarter of a mile to that chapel, sitting down in the dim early morning light with about a half dozen villagers, both men and women. It was all very informal, a reading or two from scripture, a few hymns, a time of prayer. Everything sung, spoken, or read, either in Portuguese or Mbundu. Now, when our three kids were very young, Debbie and my three kids, we used to play a game in which they would try to pick out what was odd or out of place in a particular picture. They wouldn't have found this scene very challenging. Sitting among those villagers who had all just come through almost four decades of armed conflict and upheaval, I might as well have been from Mars. The contrast so stark. Subsistence farmers who, like all but the most privileged Angolans, had been born into suffering and struggle, had lived their entire lives in suffering and struggle, and would die in suffering and struggle. It was truly a where's Waldo on steroids. My looks, my entire life experience, my language, my priorities, my expectations, my dreams couldn't have been more different even if I literally had been from Mars. Yet, as strange as that may seem, those mornings were an unbelievable blessing to me, spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. How could that possibly be? Hold that question in your minds for just a few moments. The second key experience in my life that has so helped shape my grasp of today's passage is far removed from my time in Angola, but no less impactful. Years ago, I was asked if I could come up with a curriculum which would provide a framework a framework for understanding god's entire story is revealed in the bible all of redemptive history from genesis to revelation despite being uniquely unqualified to do so i said yes from that exercise and from the five times I subsequently facilitated that class, my eyes were open to all sorts of things about God and his word. One of the most enduring lessons I learned was that God chose to reveal his purposes and his plans slowly and incrementally over a long period of time. In other words, he just didn't blurt out what he intended to do and leave it at that. If he had, the Bible would be a lot shorter, perhaps just a pamphlet. But it would also be completely incomprehensible. Instead, in his wisdom, God first unveils his plans in ways both the original audience and subsequent readers might be able to understand and get their arms around a little bit. Then over time, the same themes and ideas are developed further, expanding in scope and complexity until they reach their ultimate fulfillment, which typically is something we never, ever could have envisioned at the outset. Thankfully, almost every aspect of God's redemptive plan is introduced and developed this way in Scripture, including a key element of the plan that Peter highlights, God's house, the place where he dwells with his people. We're first introduced to this concept of God's dwelling place shortly after he rescued his people out of slavery in Egypt. God established a covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai in which he promises to be their God and to dwell with them as long as they agree to place their faith and trust in him. The Israelites were to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation set apart simple tent set up outside the Israelite camp where the Lord would meet with Moses. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all of the Israelites would stand and watch. As Moses entered the tent, the presence of God would descend in a pillar of cloud and fill that little tent with his glory. While still camped at Sinai, the Lord commanded his people to build a larger and more elaborate tent, the tabernacle, to serve as a sanctuary. Throughout all their time in the desert, the Lord's presence was over that tabernacle in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Spectacular. Absolutely. It must have been amazing to witness. But nothing in comparison to what God ultimately had in store. Once in the promised land, Israel's greatest king, David, wanted to build a permanent house, a temple for the Lord. But he was told that such a house wasn't his to build. Rather, a son of his would be the one to build such a house. And that promise was literally fulfilled when David's son Solomon completed the first temple and then over the course of 14 days dedicated it to the Lord by sacrificing 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats. Quite the ceremony. But even at this relatively early stage in the biblical story, God is already encouraging us to lift up our gaze, our line of sight from the physical and the here and now to a time much farther into the future. This point is hammered home when Israel, because of its inability to keep the covenant, is conquered by the Babylonians, Solomon's great temple is destroyed, and the people exiled to foreign lands. Later efforts to rebuild the temple are never able to recapture its former glory. All during this time, though, a steady drumbeat of Old Testament prophecies tell of another king who is coming, an even greater son of David whose kingdom and throne will endure forever. And it is this king who will build God's true and everlasting house. The prophet Isaiah speaks of God laying a precious cornerstone and that whoever trusts in it, in that cornerstone, will never be ashamed. Although introduced and developed in a way the Israelites and the rest of us could understand, a tent, a tabernacle, a great temple made of stone, the place where God ultimately planned to dwell with his people could never be contained within a building built by man, no matter how extravagant. What God had in mind was always going to be far, far grander in scope and scale and significance. When Jesus came in the flesh to dwell, to tabernacle with us on earth, it became clear that he was God's precious cornerstone. He was the new and better temple of God, a magnificent, vibrant, growing spiritual house built with living stones, those of us who have placed their faith, hope, and trust in Jesus' name. Now that's something. That's a big deal. We as believers are nothing less than living, breathing stones who are together being built into a magnificent house, a holy temple in which God lives by His Spirit. Let's take a moment to look around. I'm serious. Take a moment to look at the people on either side of you. Do it! In front of you and behind you. Please don't frustrate me. You are looking at living stones. God's royal priests. Members of a holy nation. I know, I know, it's a little rough, a little ragged in spots. Depending on who you're sitting near, it might at first blush, be a bit hard to fathom. But Peter has no qualms about asserting our true identities as that is who believers truly are in Christ. And those are more than just a bunch of fancy words and spiritual-sounding titles. For the same resurrection life that Christ experienced animates us now. We are truly living stones. And we are royal priests not simply because we now have direct and privileged access to God, but also because we offer our lives, both in word and deed, as acceptable and pleasing sacrifices to him. And as God's people, it is our high calling to represent his kingdom on earth, to be a people who make known what God has done. Not only does this have great implications for how we view ourselves, but it also has great implications for how we view the church. For if we are living stones being built together into God's great spiritual house, then our significance, activity, and purpose as individual believers cannot be realized apart from other believers. After all, one needs a bunch of living stones to build a spiritual house. In a very real sense, we belong to one another. And not only do we belong to and depend upon believers today, as in this faith community we call grace, for example, but we are also being built together and united with the living stones of all previous generations. And just as future generations of believers will be united and built together with us. Circling back to those early mornings I spent in that dimly lit little chapel in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of rural Angola, I shared earlier that as strange as it may have seemed, those mornings were a great blessing. But it no longer seems so strange to me. What I now realize is there was a reason why those mornings were so spiritually and relationally rich and abundant. For they were among the few times in my life, maybe the only times, that all the things that I normally associate with who I am, all the things that I typically assume make up my identity, had been removed. Like varnish stripping away all the many layers of paint. All that remained was my true and eternal identity. And I was privileged to be sharing a few sacred moments with people who weren't different than me at all, but who at their core and their fundamental essence were just like me. Living stones, royal priests, people who once were not a people, but now are the people of God, redeemed out of darkness and into his wonderful light. And for a moment, at least, I knew what Peter was talking about. So before I dismiss this this morning, I'd like to close by reading a passage from Psalm 118, verses 22 through 23. The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone. The Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes. Let's think about that as we leave this morning. Amen.
Amen. Good morning, Grace. Good morning online. Thank you, Steve. That was wonderful. It's good to see everybody. We've got some new folks venturing in this week, Braving the Elements. My name is Nate, for those of you that I haven't gotten to meet yet or for those watching online. This is the last part in our series called A Time of Kings. And as we think about questions like that, I really believe that there's one loud message that should come from the book of Kings. And I want us to see that this morning. And as I think about Kings, and remember I call it a book because originally it was written as one big long book. So as I think about the book of Kings, I really have realized as we've studied it together that this is a tragic book. This book is really sad. It's really sad because of the hope with which it starts and the devastation with which it ends. If you think back to the very beginning of the book of Kings, if you have a Bible at home, you can flip it there. If you have a Bible with you, you can look at 2 Kings 25. That's where we're going land today, and then we're going to jump to, I think, Samuel, and then Revelation, and John. So, you know, we'll be all over the place this morning. But if you think about the way that Kings begins, it's like the climax of hope. David is the king. You'll remember in the very first week of this series, if you've been watching along or listening along, that David is the king, that the nation of Israel clamored for a king, and Samuel the prophet said, you don't need one, God is your king. And they said, we really want a king. We think that a king is going to bring about all the promises that God made to us, because they are God's chosen people. They live in an awareness of the promises that they have received, that the land of Canaan, that Israel is going to be theirs, that they're going to have a multitude of descendants, and that one of their descendants is going to bless the whole earth. And so they cling to these promises. And they don't see them coming to fruition in the time of judges. It was a dark time in the nation of Israel. And they said, you know what? If we have a king, that person can lead us into prominence and be God's chosen person. And so they elected Saul. He made the most sense. He was head and shoulders above everybody else. He was really good looking. When you looked at him, you thought, that guy should be king. If you need a good picture of who Saul was, he looked a lot like me. But that didn't work out. And David is God's chosen man to be king, and he was a great king. He established Israel into international prominence. He, in him, was this man who walked closely with God, who wrote the Psalms, who led well, who conquered enemies, who won victories, and certainly this king is the king that's going to lead us in the prominence that we have been promised. And David asks the father, can I build your temple? I want to build your home. He goes to God and he says, I want to build your home where your presence can reside with us. Because all the way back in the desert, when Moses was in charge, 450 years prior, God gave him instructions about setting up a tabernacle that could move with them. That's where they put the Ark of the Covenant. That's where they had the Holy of Holies. That's where the presence of God rested among his people. And it was time to build God a permanent home. And David said, let me do this. And God says, I can't let you do that. There's too much blood on your hands, but I'm going to make you a promise. And we're going to look at that promise in a minute. He said, among those promises, your son is going to build my house. And so the book of Kings picks up with the end of the incredible reign of David that has launched Israel into international importance. This high watermark in the kingdom. And then he has assembled all the goods and materials so that as soon as his son Solomon takes over, he can build the temple. And he does. And much of the beginning of Kings is dedicated to the dedication and construction of this temple. And there's a beautiful prayer that Solomon prays for the people then and for you and I. It's really wonderful. You should go read it. It's this high watermark in the history of Israel. It's the culmination of 450 years of hope. And you have to think, man, look at us. These kings are bringing about the desired results. They're pushing us into prominence and they're bringing about the promises of God. This king thing is really working out. Hope is high. Then Solomon's son is terrible. They descend into civil war, and the northern tribes never get a good king. The southern tribe gets some that they get to hope in. And in the northern tribes, when it looks like hope is lost and they have evil kings like Ahab, they're putting their hope in kings, and it's not going to be Ahab. He's not going to bring about the future that God desires for us. But God does bring some strong prophets into the reign of Ahab. He brings Elijah, who wins the victory on Mount Carmel, against the 450 prophets of Baal. And you read that and you go, okay, now, now God's promises are going to come true. Now we're going to have the king that we are waiting for that's going to set everything right. It seems like the tide has turned and the hearts of God's people are going to be turned towards him, but they're not. And then God sends Elisha to secede Elijah, and he does twice the miracles that Elijah does. And it's this glimmer of hope that maybe the hearts of God's people will be turned to him, but they're not. And then God sends sporadically these good kings, Hezekiah, who defeated the armies of Sennacherib through prayer, by taking the threatening letter and laying it down before the Lord in the temple and saying, God, please protect your people. And God does because of Hezekiah's faithfulness. And you think, maybe this is a good king. Now, as you're reading the narrative and you're following along and it's just bad news, bad news, bad news, this is when there's going to be good news. And by the end of his life, he's no good anymore. We wait for some generations and Josiah, this glimmer of hope that we talked about last week, comes along. And he eradicates all of the idols and he turns the hearts of the people towards the Lord. But God says, you know, it's too late. My people are already turned away from me. I'm going to take the kingdom from you in four kings. And sure enough, he does. Jehoahaz and Jehoakim and Jehoachin and then Zedekiah and then it's done. Four generations. And the very end of Kings, this book that began with so much hope, a king is going to come and he's going to set everything right and the world for God's people is going to look exactly as God intended it to look. The book of Kings ends like this in chapter 25. I'm going to read you a summary of what's happening in verse 8. This is pretty much what they're looking at. That's the scene as we finish this hopeful book. We watch king after king come in. Maybe he's the one. Maybe the prophet's the one. Maybe the tide is going to turn. And we're waiting for the hero. We're waiting for the uptick. We're waiting for the climax. There's going to be a resolution to this. And at the end of the story, King Nebuchadnezzar sends in his army. They burn down God's temple, Solomon's temple that he built. They burn it down. They burn down the palace. They burn down the homes of all the prominent people in Jerusalem. And they tear down the walls. It's left in shambles. It is an ash heap of a city, and they take all the richest and wealthiest and most capable with them, only leaving behind the most impoverished and the most destitute. That's the picture of God's chosen people at the end of the book of Kings. It's utter devastation. It's utter and complete devastation. And you're reading this book and you're waiting for someone to come along. You expect to turn the page and then it's like, but then this happened and it's not. It's just somebody else telling the story, telling the same stories in Chronicles. There's no page turn here. You're expecting the hero to come. You're expecting the king to come, the right one to come along and restore everything, and it doesn't happen. As I'm studying in my office this week, I'm going, man, this really stinks that the book of Kings ends this way. Really find another story to just talk about and maybe we'll just let them discover this on their own, their own leisure. But it dawned on me that the devastation in Kings is very purposeful. This is really the point of the book. It's meant to end this way when we place our hope in earthly kings. The devastation is designed to display the reality that an earthly king will never be enough. The devastation in kings is designed to display the reality that an earthly king will never be enough. They kept waiting on an earthly leader. They kept waiting on someone to come and sit on the physical throne and usher them into prominence and make them a great nation, and it just wasn't going to happen, and God was letting them slowly, painfully realize the thing you're hoping in to fix your lives is not the thing that's going to do it. Boy, that's a whole sermon in and of itself, isn't there? How many slow, painful lessons have we learned putting our hope in the wrong thing? But it's meant to show his people an earthly king will never be enough. And if you're paying attention to the Old Testament, if you're paying attention to the things that God is saying to his people, even in the time of kings, when their hope is placed in an earthly king, if you're listening to what he's saying to his people, you will hear that he is telling them you are looking for the wrong kind of king. I referred earlier to 2 Samuel 7. This is where God made David a promise. It's referred to as the Davidic covenant. It's where he doubles down, he triples down, he reminds the people of his promise to them. And he promises that he's going to send a king to sit on David's throne. And these are the words of God. Look at what he says in verse 14. He says, So he's talking about Jesus here. He's going to be a son for me. He is going to pay a penalty for you. And then when he does that, he's going to sit on the throne forever. This is kingdom language. This is king language in the middle of the time of kings that they're not listening to. And then God sends prophet after prophet that we have in the major and the minor prophets in the rest of the Old Testament to tell them of their coming king, of the coming Messiah, most pointedly in the book of Isaiah. When Isaiah tells God's people, Isaiah is a prophet during the reign of Hezekiah, one of the good kings during this time. And he says that God is going to send someone and that by his stripes we will be healed and that he will be Emmanuel, God with us, and that he will be the King of kings and the Lord of lords. What God is trying to communicate to them that they can't seem to capture is that what they really need is a divine king. What they need is Jesus. What they're waiting on is the Messiah. They continue to look to an earthly king to make their problems right, to make things go away, to confirm and restore the promises of God. And what God is trying to tell them all along, through his promise to David, through the voice of his prophets, is, hey guys, you're looking for the wrong king. You're not paying attention to the right things. You don't need another earthly king. You need a divine king. You need Jesus. And this language isn't just in the Old Testament. We see king language throughout the Bible. You'll remember, if you were here in the spring of 2019, we went through the book of John for I think 12 or 14 weeks. And one of the themes we see is the people of Israel when they meet Jesus continually clamoring to make him king. He had to disappear from their midst so that they wouldn't start a revolution too early. He had to heal people and say, but don't tell anybody because he didn't want word to get out that the Messiah was here. He didn't want to foment revolution. This is why he did his ministry in the far-flung corners of northern Israel rather than coming down south to the capital of Jerusalem until later in his life because he knew that it would set into motion a series of events that he could not reverse because they were clamoring to make him king. They were clamoring so badly to make him king that at the end of his life when he was on trial with Pilate, the Roman governor, Pilate, he was accused by the people who were trying to kill him of being someone who was leading a revolution, who claimed to be the king of the Jews. And he's trying to overthrow Roman rule. And Pilate, you should care about this deeply. And so Pilate asked him, they say you're a king. Is that what you? And Jesus says, yeah, but not of this. You can have this. This is too small for me. I don't want this kingdom. I have a kingdom, but it's not here. If it were here, my angels would come and defend me, but they're not, because my kingdom is eternal. My kingdom is divine. My kingdom is universal. And with his death, he bought our citizenship into that kingdom. And then, as the narrative of the Bible continues to press forward, and we continue to wait for our king, along with the children of Israel, when is our king going to return and set things right? When is he going to restore things to the way that he intended them to be? And we fast forward to the book of Revelation, where we see more king language. In Revelation chapter 6, we have the cries of the martyrs. It's are the exact cries of the hearts of the saints in 2 Kings 25. And God's chosen people are in the middle of total devastation. Their hearts cry out, God, when will you make this right? How are you letting this happen? Why are you letting King Nebuchadnezzar do this? This is evil, God. This is not your plan. This is not your promise. Why is it going this way? Why are you allowing this devastation? It's the same cry that was in the hearts of the martyrs in Revelation 6. God, how long will you let this happen before you avenge what they've done to us? How long will you watch devastation occur in your creation? It's the same thing. It's the same cry of the hearts of the people who had to witness the terror of slavery, who had to endure the persecution of Nero, or the persecution that continues to happen in closed-off countries to this day. It's the same devastation that cries out to God in our own lives when we have a diagnosis or we have a loss or we exist in the rubble of a relationship. And we say, God, this doesn't feel right. How much longer will you let this happen? We need our king to make it right. And in Revelation 19, we get it. It's the most hopeful chapter in all the Bible when we see the king that we've always wanted, that we've always hoped for, that the nation of Israel longed for without realizing it. I love this passage. I always get emotional when I read this passage. Revelation 19, beginning in verse 11. This is the appearance of Christ as king as we finish the Bible. The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True. and fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty on his robe and on his thigh. His name is written King of Kings and Lord of Lords. That's Jesus. And when he comes to make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue, when he comes to fix the devastation, when he comes to restore his creation and claim his throne, he is no longer coming as the Lamb of God. He is coming as the Lion of Judah. And he's going to answer those cries of our heart. And he's going to respond to the devastation. And he's going to speak right to the hearts of the people in Israel, watching their loved ones be carried away as slaves. As the palace burns and the walls lay in rubble, he is going to speak directly to their hearts as he establishes his divine eternal kingdom. And so what I want us to see as we think about the book of Kings and the lessons that we learn from it is that the entire book is meant to end in devastation and allow that devastation to point God's people for their need for Jesus so that they can see that Jesus is the hope of God's people in the midst of devastation. Kings ends that way on purpose. It's not a mistake by God. It's not like God was watching history and go, well, that didn't work out as expected. I was really hoping one of these kings would be the guy. He knew that it would end bad. He told Samuel when they were clamoring for a king, he says, you give them one, but it's not going to end well. And it didn't. He knew this was going to happen, but he let it happen so that his people would see their need for a divine king, and that devastation would point them to Christ. Jesus was their hope in the midst of devastation. And in the same way, our lesson from Kings is that Jesus is our hope in the midst of our devastation too. When things aren't going right, when we identify with the martyrs crying out to God, how much longer are you going to let this happen? You've made me some promises, God. You've said that everything I pray will be yes in your name. You said that if I ask for things that you will give them to me. You've said in Romans 28 that one day everything's going to work out for the good of those who love you and are called according to your purpose. When's that coming, God? Because this stinks. That frustration and devastation is meant to point you to Christ and remind you that we all collectively are waiting for Revelation 19. We all collectively are waiting for the return of our King who will make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue, who will sit on the throne of David forever, who will restore his creation to exactly what it is meant to restore, who will bring about the reality of Revelation 20 where it says God will be with his people and his people will be with their God and there will be no more weeping and no more crying and no more pain anymore for the former things. All the things that caused devastation, all the things that caused us to cry out with the martyrs, those things have passed away because Jesus has won a victory over them. And for all of eternity, we exist in a perfect kingdom with our perfect king. Kings is designed to help us anticipate that future and cling to that hope. And when we experience devastation in our own life, that is there to point us to our need for Jesus. Sometimes it's a simple devastation of our souls. We come to the end of ourselves, and we realize that our way is not working. We realize that there is something about this life that is making me unhappy. There is something that is missing. There is something that I need. That devastation is designed to point us to our need for Christ. If you're here this morning or you're watching online and you're experiencing that devastation of your soul, you need Jesus. You don't need another earthly king. You don't need another earthly fix. You don't need to read another book or a new regimen of discipline. You need Jesus. The devastation of our relationships points us to our need for Jesus. When people disappoint us, it points us to a person who won't. When we lose someone that we love so much and we cry out and we say, God, this isn't fair. Why'd you take them? It was too early. Our King has died for us and conquered that death to assure us that we will see that person again one day. So we turn our eyes with hope to Revelation 19 when faithful and true comes out of the sky. When Jesus comes as the Lion of Judah to restore his kingdom and restore order to the way that it should be. And the devastation of finances and the devastation of just life events and the devastation of disappointment, big and little. Little disappointments are meant to turn our eyes to Jesus and say, yeah, this place isn't perfect. We need you to come make it perfect, God. We usher in, we pray for your return. Come soon, Lord Jesus. Big devastation, huge things from which we don't know if we will recover are intentionally designed to point our eyes towards Christ and say, yes, Jesus, this stinks. We are waiting for you. We are yearning for you. We are inviting you in. Come soon, Lord Jesus. The devastation in Kings is intentionally left in the Bible and is allowed intentionally to occur so that it will forever point God's people to Jesus in the midst of their devastation. If we remember nothing else from the book of Kings, remember that the whole book is designed to point us there. And remember that if you are experiencing some form of devastation or disappointment or disillusionment in your life, that the point of that, just like the point of it happening in Kings, is that you would point your eyes towards Christ and eagerly anticipate the return of your King, who is going to make all the wrong things right and the sad things untrue. Let's pray. Lord, we love you. We are grateful for you. Jesus, we need you. Come soon to get us. God, you have watched from your throne all kinds of devastation. You have watched all sorts of divisiveness and violence. You have watched evil. And you are as fed up with it as we are. God, now in our time, it's hard to turn on the news or pick up your phone and not see something that disappoints us, something that breaks our heart, something that seems evil. God, you see it too. We need our king. Would you send him soon to rescue us? And God, while we wait, would you set our eyes on him? Would you set our gaze on you? Would you fill us with your spirit and give us the peace of hope? May we be a people who continually turn our eyes towards you. It's in our king's name that we pray. Amen.
Amen. Good morning, Grace. Good morning online. Thank you, Steve. That was wonderful. It's good to see everybody. We've got some new folks venturing in this week, Braving the Elements. My name is Nate, for those of you that I haven't gotten to meet yet or for those watching online. This is the last part in our series called A Time of Kings. And as we think about questions like that, I really believe that there's one loud message that should come from the book of Kings. And I want us to see that this morning. And as I think about Kings, and remember I call it a book because originally it was written as one big long book. So as I think about the book of Kings, I really have realized as we've studied it together that this is a tragic book. This book is really sad. It's really sad because of the hope with which it starts and the devastation with which it ends. If you think back to the very beginning of the book of Kings, if you have a Bible at home, you can flip it there. If you have a Bible with you, you can look at 2 Kings 25. That's where we're going land today, and then we're going to jump to, I think, Samuel, and then Revelation, and John. So, you know, we'll be all over the place this morning. But if you think about the way that Kings begins, it's like the climax of hope. David is the king. You'll remember in the very first week of this series, if you've been watching along or listening along, that David is the king, that the nation of Israel clamored for a king, and Samuel the prophet said, you don't need one, God is your king. And they said, we really want a king. We think that a king is going to bring about all the promises that God made to us, because they are God's chosen people. They live in an awareness of the promises that they have received, that the land of Canaan, that Israel is going to be theirs, that they're going to have a multitude of descendants, and that one of their descendants is going to bless the whole earth. And so they cling to these promises. And they don't see them coming to fruition in the time of judges. It was a dark time in the nation of Israel. And they said, you know what? If we have a king, that person can lead us into prominence and be God's chosen person. And so they elected Saul. He made the most sense. He was head and shoulders above everybody else. He was really good looking. When you looked at him, you thought, that guy should be king. If you need a good picture of who Saul was, he looked a lot like me. But that didn't work out. And David is God's chosen man to be king, and he was a great king. He established Israel into international prominence. He, in him, was this man who walked closely with God, who wrote the Psalms, who led well, who conquered enemies, who won victories, and certainly this king is the king that's going to lead us in the prominence that we have been promised. And David asks the father, can I build your temple? I want to build your home. He goes to God and he says, I want to build your home where your presence can reside with us. Because all the way back in the desert, when Moses was in charge, 450 years prior, God gave him instructions about setting up a tabernacle that could move with them. That's where they put the Ark of the Covenant. That's where they had the Holy of Holies. That's where the presence of God rested among his people. And it was time to build God a permanent home. And David said, let me do this. And God says, I can't let you do that. There's too much blood on your hands, but I'm going to make you a promise. And we're going to look at that promise in a minute. He said, among those promises, your son is going to build my house. And so the book of Kings picks up with the end of the incredible reign of David that has launched Israel into international importance. This high watermark in the kingdom. And then he has assembled all the goods and materials so that as soon as his son Solomon takes over, he can build the temple. And he does. And much of the beginning of Kings is dedicated to the dedication and construction of this temple. And there's a beautiful prayer that Solomon prays for the people then and for you and I. It's really wonderful. You should go read it. It's this high watermark in the history of Israel. It's the culmination of 450 years of hope. And you have to think, man, look at us. These kings are bringing about the desired results. They're pushing us into prominence and they're bringing about the promises of God. This king thing is really working out. Hope is high. Then Solomon's son is terrible. They descend into civil war, and the northern tribes never get a good king. The southern tribe gets some that they get to hope in. And in the northern tribes, when it looks like hope is lost and they have evil kings like Ahab, they're putting their hope in kings, and it's not going to be Ahab. He's not going to bring about the future that God desires for us. But God does bring some strong prophets into the reign of Ahab. He brings Elijah, who wins the victory on Mount Carmel, against the 450 prophets of Baal. And you read that and you go, okay, now, now God's promises are going to come true. Now we're going to have the king that we are waiting for that's going to set everything right. It seems like the tide has turned and the hearts of God's people are going to be turned towards him, but they're not. And then God sends Elisha to secede Elijah, and he does twice the miracles that Elijah does. And it's this glimmer of hope that maybe the hearts of God's people will be turned to him, but they're not. And then God sends sporadically these good kings, Hezekiah, who defeated the armies of Sennacherib through prayer, by taking the threatening letter and laying it down before the Lord in the temple and saying, God, please protect your people. And God does because of Hezekiah's faithfulness. And you think, maybe this is a good king. Now, as you're reading the narrative and you're following along and it's just bad news, bad news, bad news, this is when there's going to be good news. And by the end of his life, he's no good anymore. We wait for some generations and Josiah, this glimmer of hope that we talked about last week, comes along. And he eradicates all of the idols and he turns the hearts of the people towards the Lord. But God says, you know, it's too late. My people are already turned away from me. I'm going to take the kingdom from you in four kings. And sure enough, he does. Jehoahaz and Jehoakim and Jehoachin and then Zedekiah and then it's done. Four generations. And the very end of Kings, this book that began with so much hope, a king is going to come and he's going to set everything right and the world for God's people is going to look exactly as God intended it to look. The book of Kings ends like this in chapter 25. I'm going to read you a summary of what's happening in verse 8. This is pretty much what they're looking at. That's the scene as we finish this hopeful book. We watch king after king come in. Maybe he's the one. Maybe the prophet's the one. Maybe the tide is going to turn. And we're waiting for the hero. We're waiting for the uptick. We're waiting for the climax. There's going to be a resolution to this. And at the end of the story, King Nebuchadnezzar sends in his army. They burn down God's temple, Solomon's temple that he built. They burn it down. They burn down the palace. They burn down the homes of all the prominent people in Jerusalem. And they tear down the walls. It's left in shambles. It is an ash heap of a city, and they take all the richest and wealthiest and most capable with them, only leaving behind the most impoverished and the most destitute. That's the picture of God's chosen people at the end of the book of Kings. It's utter devastation. It's utter and complete devastation. And you're reading this book and you're waiting for someone to come along. You expect to turn the page and then it's like, but then this happened and it's not. It's just somebody else telling the story, telling the same stories in Chronicles. There's no page turn here. You're expecting the hero to come. You're expecting the king to come, the right one to come along and restore everything, and it doesn't happen. As I'm studying in my office this week, I'm going, man, this really stinks that the book of Kings ends this way. Really find another story to just talk about and maybe we'll just let them discover this on their own, their own leisure. But it dawned on me that the devastation in Kings is very purposeful. This is really the point of the book. It's meant to end this way when we place our hope in earthly kings. The devastation is designed to display the reality that an earthly king will never be enough. The devastation in kings is designed to display the reality that an earthly king will never be enough. They kept waiting on an earthly leader. They kept waiting on someone to come and sit on the physical throne and usher them into prominence and make them a great nation, and it just wasn't going to happen, and God was letting them slowly, painfully realize the thing you're hoping in to fix your lives is not the thing that's going to do it. Boy, that's a whole sermon in and of itself, isn't there? How many slow, painful lessons have we learned putting our hope in the wrong thing? But it's meant to show his people an earthly king will never be enough. And if you're paying attention to the Old Testament, if you're paying attention to the things that God is saying to his people, even in the time of kings, when their hope is placed in an earthly king, if you're listening to what he's saying to his people, you will hear that he is telling them you are looking for the wrong kind of king. I referred earlier to 2 Samuel 7. This is where God made David a promise. It's referred to as the Davidic covenant. It's where he doubles down, he triples down, he reminds the people of his promise to them. And he promises that he's going to send a king to sit on David's throne. And these are the words of God. Look at what he says in verse 14. He says, So he's talking about Jesus here. He's going to be a son for me. He is going to pay a penalty for you. And then when he does that, he's going to sit on the throne forever. This is kingdom language. This is king language in the middle of the time of kings that they're not listening to. And then God sends prophet after prophet that we have in the major and the minor prophets in the rest of the Old Testament to tell them of their coming king, of the coming Messiah, most pointedly in the book of Isaiah. When Isaiah tells God's people, Isaiah is a prophet during the reign of Hezekiah, one of the good kings during this time. And he says that God is going to send someone and that by his stripes we will be healed and that he will be Emmanuel, God with us, and that he will be the King of kings and the Lord of lords. What God is trying to communicate to them that they can't seem to capture is that what they really need is a divine king. What they need is Jesus. What they're waiting on is the Messiah. They continue to look to an earthly king to make their problems right, to make things go away, to confirm and restore the promises of God. And what God is trying to tell them all along, through his promise to David, through the voice of his prophets, is, hey guys, you're looking for the wrong king. You're not paying attention to the right things. You don't need another earthly king. You need a divine king. You need Jesus. And this language isn't just in the Old Testament. We see king language throughout the Bible. You'll remember, if you were here in the spring of 2019, we went through the book of John for I think 12 or 14 weeks. And one of the themes we see is the people of Israel when they meet Jesus continually clamoring to make him king. He had to disappear from their midst so that they wouldn't start a revolution too early. He had to heal people and say, but don't tell anybody because he didn't want word to get out that the Messiah was here. He didn't want to foment revolution. This is why he did his ministry in the far-flung corners of northern Israel rather than coming down south to the capital of Jerusalem until later in his life because he knew that it would set into motion a series of events that he could not reverse because they were clamoring to make him king. They were clamoring so badly to make him king that at the end of his life when he was on trial with Pilate, the Roman governor, Pilate, he was accused by the people who were trying to kill him of being someone who was leading a revolution, who claimed to be the king of the Jews. And he's trying to overthrow Roman rule. And Pilate, you should care about this deeply. And so Pilate asked him, they say you're a king. Is that what you? And Jesus says, yeah, but not of this. You can have this. This is too small for me. I don't want this kingdom. I have a kingdom, but it's not here. If it were here, my angels would come and defend me, but they're not, because my kingdom is eternal. My kingdom is divine. My kingdom is universal. And with his death, he bought our citizenship into that kingdom. And then, as the narrative of the Bible continues to press forward, and we continue to wait for our king, along with the children of Israel, when is our king going to return and set things right? When is he going to restore things to the way that he intended them to be? And we fast forward to the book of Revelation, where we see more king language. In Revelation chapter 6, we have the cries of the martyrs. It's are the exact cries of the hearts of the saints in 2 Kings 25. And God's chosen people are in the middle of total devastation. Their hearts cry out, God, when will you make this right? How are you letting this happen? Why are you letting King Nebuchadnezzar do this? This is evil, God. This is not your plan. This is not your promise. Why is it going this way? Why are you allowing this devastation? It's the same cry that was in the hearts of the martyrs in Revelation 6. God, how long will you let this happen before you avenge what they've done to us? How long will you watch devastation occur in your creation? It's the same thing. It's the same cry of the hearts of the people who had to witness the terror of slavery, who had to endure the persecution of Nero, or the persecution that continues to happen in closed-off countries to this day. It's the same devastation that cries out to God in our own lives when we have a diagnosis or we have a loss or we exist in the rubble of a relationship. And we say, God, this doesn't feel right. How much longer will you let this happen? We need our king to make it right. And in Revelation 19, we get it. It's the most hopeful chapter in all the Bible when we see the king that we've always wanted, that we've always hoped for, that the nation of Israel longed for without realizing it. I love this passage. I always get emotional when I read this passage. Revelation 19, beginning in verse 11. This is the appearance of Christ as king as we finish the Bible. The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True. and fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty on his robe and on his thigh. His name is written King of Kings and Lord of Lords. That's Jesus. And when he comes to make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue, when he comes to fix the devastation, when he comes to restore his creation and claim his throne, he is no longer coming as the Lamb of God. He is coming as the Lion of Judah. And he's going to answer those cries of our heart. And he's going to respond to the devastation. And he's going to speak right to the hearts of the people in Israel, watching their loved ones be carried away as slaves. As the palace burns and the walls lay in rubble, he is going to speak directly to their hearts as he establishes his divine eternal kingdom. And so what I want us to see as we think about the book of Kings and the lessons that we learn from it is that the entire book is meant to end in devastation and allow that devastation to point God's people for their need for Jesus so that they can see that Jesus is the hope of God's people in the midst of devastation. Kings ends that way on purpose. It's not a mistake by God. It's not like God was watching history and go, well, that didn't work out as expected. I was really hoping one of these kings would be the guy. He knew that it would end bad. He told Samuel when they were clamoring for a king, he says, you give them one, but it's not going to end well. And it didn't. He knew this was going to happen, but he let it happen so that his people would see their need for a divine king, and that devastation would point them to Christ. Jesus was their hope in the midst of devastation. And in the same way, our lesson from Kings is that Jesus is our hope in the midst of our devastation too. When things aren't going right, when we identify with the martyrs crying out to God, how much longer are you going to let this happen? You've made me some promises, God. You've said that everything I pray will be yes in your name. You said that if I ask for things that you will give them to me. You've said in Romans 28 that one day everything's going to work out for the good of those who love you and are called according to your purpose. When's that coming, God? Because this stinks. That frustration and devastation is meant to point you to Christ and remind you that we all collectively are waiting for Revelation 19. We all collectively are waiting for the return of our King who will make the wrong things right and the sad things untrue, who will sit on the throne of David forever, who will restore his creation to exactly what it is meant to restore, who will bring about the reality of Revelation 20 where it says God will be with his people and his people will be with their God and there will be no more weeping and no more crying and no more pain anymore for the former things. All the things that caused devastation, all the things that caused us to cry out with the martyrs, those things have passed away because Jesus has won a victory over them. And for all of eternity, we exist in a perfect kingdom with our perfect king. Kings is designed to help us anticipate that future and cling to that hope. And when we experience devastation in our own life, that is there to point us to our need for Jesus. Sometimes it's a simple devastation of our souls. We come to the end of ourselves, and we realize that our way is not working. We realize that there is something about this life that is making me unhappy. There is something that is missing. There is something that I need. That devastation is designed to point us to our need for Christ. If you're here this morning or you're watching online and you're experiencing that devastation of your soul, you need Jesus. You don't need another earthly king. You don't need another earthly fix. You don't need to read another book or a new regimen of discipline. You need Jesus. The devastation of our relationships points us to our need for Jesus. When people disappoint us, it points us to a person who won't. When we lose someone that we love so much and we cry out and we say, God, this isn't fair. Why'd you take them? It was too early. Our King has died for us and conquered that death to assure us that we will see that person again one day. So we turn our eyes with hope to Revelation 19 when faithful and true comes out of the sky. When Jesus comes as the Lion of Judah to restore his kingdom and restore order to the way that it should be. And the devastation of finances and the devastation of just life events and the devastation of disappointment, big and little. Little disappointments are meant to turn our eyes to Jesus and say, yeah, this place isn't perfect. We need you to come make it perfect, God. We usher in, we pray for your return. Come soon, Lord Jesus. Big devastation, huge things from which we don't know if we will recover are intentionally designed to point our eyes towards Christ and say, yes, Jesus, this stinks. We are waiting for you. We are yearning for you. We are inviting you in. Come soon, Lord Jesus. The devastation in Kings is intentionally left in the Bible and is allowed intentionally to occur so that it will forever point God's people to Jesus in the midst of their devastation. If we remember nothing else from the book of Kings, remember that the whole book is designed to point us there. And remember that if you are experiencing some form of devastation or disappointment or disillusionment in your life, that the point of that, just like the point of it happening in Kings, is that you would point your eyes towards Christ and eagerly anticipate the return of your King, who is going to make all the wrong things right and the sad things untrue. Let's pray. Lord, we love you. We are grateful for you. Jesus, we need you. Come soon to get us. God, you have watched from your throne all kinds of devastation. You have watched all sorts of divisiveness and violence. You have watched evil. And you are as fed up with it as we are. God, now in our time, it's hard to turn on the news or pick up your phone and not see something that disappoints us, something that breaks our heart, something that seems evil. God, you see it too. We need our king. Would you send him soon to rescue us? And God, while we wait, would you set our eyes on him? Would you set our gaze on you? Would you fill us with your spirit and give us the peace of hope? May we be a people who continually turn our eyes towards you. It's in our king's name that we pray. Amen.
