The Good News

I invite you to turn with me to Luke’s Gospel and chapter 3.

May the love of Jesus fill me,
As the waters fill the sea;
[Christ] exalting, self abasing:
This is victory.

May the Word of [God] dwell richly
In [our] heart[s] from hour to hour,
So that all may see [we] triumph
Only [in your] power.[1]

For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Since the beginning of this third chapter, the spotlight has very clearly been on John the Baptist, and it is about to dim and then refocus on the person of the Lord Jesus. This follows the pattern of these opening chapters of Luke’s Gospel, where the focus of the spotlight has moved from the one who is to come to the one who has come.

And as we recognize this, we realize the strategic and significant place which this baptist-preacher had in the economy of God and in the purposes of redemption. We have noted that he was a striking individual, not least of all because of the clothes that he wore—camel-hair clothing, with a leather belt around his waist, and an interesting diet of locusts and wild honey.

He was at the same time a successful preacher, at least if we can judge success in terms of the crowds that were coming out to hear him preach. They were not arriving because of his wonderful location, because, as we’ve noted, he had a fairly difficult location. He had chosen under the direction of God to go out into the desert area, and it was in that desert region, in the Jordan Valley, that he found these crowds of people coming out to hear him. Indeed, one commentator, as we’ve noted in an earlier study, described the exact location where John was preaching as a “hot, uninhabited depression … wild in every way and removed from all civilization.”[2]

So it wasn’t as if they were going to a lovely conference center, as it were, on the banks of the Jordan, and there was stuff there for the children, and they said, “Well, you know, maybe we have to listen to him preach a couple of times, but at least we’ll have a terrific time.” There was actually nothing there for anybody at all. And indeed, the only thing that made it of significance was this striking character in a strange place—a kind of strange man.

And indeed, it should elicit from our minds the question, “Why would anybody ever go out there to hear this individual?” And the answer is, not because he was saying something but because he had something to say. It’s clear that preachers are supposed to say something, and nobody would be surprised by that. And so there is preaching taking place all across the city of Cleveland today and, indeed, all across this vast North American continent today, and there are folks who are standing up, and they are saying something, and people are listening to them saying things. But the real question is: Do these individuals, does this individual, have something to say? Because we are not really interested in simply hearing folks saying something.

And the great crowds that emerged to hear this John the Baptist were there because the word of God had come to John,[3] and John himself was then a vehicle, a conduit, through which the prophetic word of God was being brought to these large, listening crowds. John says of it, “There [was] a man … sent from God; [and] his name was John. … He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.”[4] And the expectant and wondering crowd, many of whom knew their Old Testament Scriptures, were beginning to see a striking resemblance to the prophet Elijah in this individual, John the Baptist.

Those of you who know the Old Testament will recall that Elijah essentially reaches the apex of his influence in the context of the confrontation with the prophets of Baal. And on that occasion, he calls his listeners to make a decision. He says, “If these deities that these Baal characters are worshipping be God, then go ahead and follow them. But if they are bogus and God is God, Yahweh is God, then follow him.”[5] And he sets before the listeners in his day the absolute necessity of a decision.

In the same way, John the Baptist steps onto the stage of human history, and he is not out tickling the ears of the gathering crowd. He is not finding ways to build up a big mass of people that will follow in his wake. Indeed, much of what he says comes across in a cutting, almost rude kind of fashion. And unless we really understand why he is saying what he is saying and the authority with which he speaks, then we may be tempted to turn a deaf ear to all of it.

But what we discover is that he is a preacher. It is God who makes preachers. Seminaries don’t make preachers. Seminaries can help educate people, but they can’t make preachers. God puts his Word in the hearts and minds of individuals and calls them, uniquely, to the awful responsibility, to the dreadful predicament, to the wonderful privilege of saying, “This is what God has to say.”

And what is a preacher supposed to preach? He’s supposed to preach good news. Therefore, it is no surprise that John the Baptist was a gospel preacher. For the word gospel simply means “good news,” and there in verse 18, Luke tells us that John actually did a ton of preaching that is not recorded in his Gospel or in any of the other Gospel records either. And what he was doing was he was engaging in the proclamation of good news. The Greek verb is euangelizomai, and it means simply to proclaim good news.

So, any who aspire to preach find here that that’s what you’re supposed to preach: the good news. Those who aspire to preach have in the example of John the Baptist a wonderful illustration of somebody who knew what he was about. There are a number of people who know what they are to preach, and they endeavor to preach it, but they don’t know what they’re about. And so when people listen to them, they don’t really listen to them. When they hear, they don’t really hear.

And John the Baptist, as you will note from all of his preaching, is masterful at bringing together two horizons, if you like: the horizon on which his congregation lives and the horizon of biblical truth, from which he comes.

There is a kind of preaching which is engaging always the people in their cultural milieu. So, you listen to someone preach, and they’ll tell you, “Well, I was here today, and I was there yesterday, and I read this in Time magazine and in Newsweek, and I know this about that and the next thing,” and it is very obvious that the person has done all of their homework to say, “I understand the horizon on which you are living.” What is scanty is, then, any reference to biblical truth, so that all of the emphasis is on this horizon and misses the biblical horizon.

John the Baptist, as you will note from all of his preaching, is masterful at bringing together two horizons, if you like: the horizon on which his congregation lives and the horizon of biblical truth.

Then you have other characters who spend all of their time on the biblical horizon and do a wonderful job of digesting it and regurgitating it, but the people are sitting out there, and they’re asking the question, “How does this actually relate to me as an individual living at the end of the twentieth century?” What have they failed to do? They have failed to do what John does masterfully, and that is to fuse the two horizons of the line on which people live and the horizon of eternity, from which God comes to speak.

Now, I set myself up for criticism in mentioning this, because I’m not suggesting for one moment that I, up to this point in my life, even approximated to the ability to bridge those two horizons. There are doubtless times when I fall down on one side or on the other, but at least it’s perhaps helpful for you to know that it is my endeavor. I believe that it is effective biblical exposition which is able to bring these two issues to bear.

So, let us look, then, at this good-news proclamation in light of that word or two of introduction. I want to draw your attention to three things.

The People’s Expectation

Notice, first of all, that John was aware of the expectation of the people to whom he spoke. He was aware of the people to whom he spoke. That’s what I’m talking about, about understanding the horizon. He wasn’t coming to answer questions that nobody was asking. He was aware of the fact that these people were out there, and they had expectant hearts, and they were actually wondering about something.

Now, this is perfectly understandable if we get underneath the burden of it for a moment or two. There would be people who were out in that crowd who’d been invited by their friends. Somebody had come by and knocked on their door or called in to them and said, “Hey, Levi, we’re going out, a few of us. We’re taking some stuff, and we’re going out to the Judean desert area. We wondered if you want to come.”

The person said, “Why do I want to go out there? What’s out there?”

“Well, actually, John the Baptist is out there.”

“Who in the world’s John the Baptist?”

“Well, he’s a really kind of weird dude. He’s wearing some far-out clothes, and he’s a forerunner of the hippies, and he is… But, I mean, you’ve got to go. We’re going, definitely. You can do what you like, but we are definitely going, because he seems to be answering the questions that we have been aware of for all these years of silence.”

And some of those folks would have been young people who had grown up in a home where they had heard, as I used to hear my uncles or my grandfather or my father debating points of theology as I fell asleep at night—and sometimes with raised voices. I would hear them from downstairs saying, “Oh, that’s not what it means at all!” And someone said, “Well, I think it means this.” It’s a wonderful heritage if you’ve had that. And they would have heard these people saying, you know, “There is going to come one. Malachi 3 must mean something—this ‘sending of my messenger ahead of you, the one who will prepare the way for you.’”[6] And indeed, every generation would grow up saying, “Perhaps in our generation, this figure will stand on the stage of human history.”

And now this great crowd goes out into the Judean wilderness with the distinct notion that since this man is so striking, since he has appeared so suddenly, since he is so rigorous in his self-denial, so clear in his call to repentance, so unbelievably forceful in calling even the children of Abraham to be baptized, they’re saying to themself, “This is no ordinary character.” And indeed, the speculation is that maybe he is actually the Messiah himself.

John tells us that they sent a committee to ask John this very question. They went to him, and they said, “Who are you? Are you Elijah?” He said, “No.” “Are you the Prophet?” He said, “No.” Then they said, “Well, tell us something about yourself. Tell us who you are.”[7] The kind of question that many of us love, don’t we? We might not be able to say very much until the question comes: “Tell me something about yourself.” Then we find our tongues: “Oh, I’m glad you asked. Let me give you one or two things. What would you like to know about me? Do sit down. I have a number of things to mention.” Is that John’s approach? No.

John’s Clear Presentation

He was very aware of the expectation of the people. That’s the first observation. Secondly, he was very clear in his presentation to the people. He was aware of their expectation, and he was clear in his presentation.

Now, clearly, we’re following a line here on different levels. In terms of understanding how to preach, we would say to those who want to preach: it’s good to be aware of the people’s expectation, but if you stop there, you’re done, because you need to be clear in your presentation. And you will find that he is equally clear. Now, I may not be as clear as he was, but you’re used to that by now. But if you’ll read your Bible, you’ll find that he was perfectly clear. All the cloudiness has to do with us, not with the Bible. The Bible is a self-interpreting book. The Holy Spirit makes it clear to us.

So, what is John, then, at pains to do? Look at it: they “were all wondering in their hearts if John might possibly be the Christ.” And “John answered them all.” In other words, he says, “Okay, if this is the question that’s buzzing around the crowd, let me just mention to you…” And he establishes his inferiority. He establishes his inferiority.

Now, that ought to take our breath away for just a moment. Because that is so counterculture to our day. Anybody who is gathering a large crowd and who is being useful, as John the Baptist was, when the people come around to interview him and ask him the question, “And who are you, and what have you been doing, and where are you going?”—you would fully anticipate that he would use it as an opportunity to let everybody know really how wonderful he was and why he is not surprised at all at all the people who are coming. But no, he says, “I want nobody to be in any doubt that I am absolutely inferior.”

Now, I was thinking about the word inferior this week and how it immediately has a negative connotation. The word inferior is immediately viewed as negative. So we talk about someone who has an inferiority complex. We understand what that means. But what about feeling inferior when we should? What about being honest enough to say, “I am not as good as you”? And that’s what he says. He says, “Let me tell you where I am inferior. I am inferior in terms of my identity, because I’m not the Messiah; and I am inferior in terms of my activity, because my baptism is subservient to the one that he will usher in.” And if you look here and you compare it to the rest of the Gospels, you will discover that John expressly and unconditionally places himself in the background.

Now, this is hard to preach about. It’s hard to preach about preaching when you’re a preacher, because you know that everybody’s going, “Oh, well, you’re not doing that. Maybe you’d like to try that.” Yes! He knows his place. Do I? Do you?

He’s the best man; he’s not the Bridegroom. And there is a difference, right? I mean, the bridegroom gets the bride. We understand that. But it’s the bridegroom’s day—the bride’s day first, then the bridegroom secondly, and the bride’s mother third, and then whatever the pecking order is—but the best man, no matter how best he is, he just shows up and clears off. That’s it! He prepares the way and gets out of the way.

A bad best man is like a bad master of ceremonies who, on every occasion that he stands up to introduce the next group that is coming, uses it as an opportunity to tell you something else about himself, or something that he’s been discovering, or something he’s been thinking. And everybody says, “Why don’t you just dry up, get out of the way, and let the guy who’s supposed to be here, be here?” You go to a wedding reception, the best man: “Well, I remember when I was… And I remember when I was… And when I was… And I was…” “And why don’t you just head for the hills, buddy, and let us see the bride and the bridegroom?”

Now, this is exactly the picture that John uses: “The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine,” says John the Baptist, “and … is now complete. He must become greater; I must become less.”[8]

Now, there is a fundamental principle here in all of life, preacher or nonpreacher: to the extent that we take honor and glory to ourselves, God will not share his glory with us. Therefore, we will put the shine on our faces by ourselves, but it will not be a shine that God puts upon our faces. We may walk under a spotlight, but it will be a humanly created spotlight; but it will not be the spotlight that comes from the smile of God.

To the extent that we take honor and glory to ourselves, God will not share his glory with us.

So, fundamental to what John does and all who follow him is this essential principle. And that’s why he says, “There’s another one who’s more powerful than me coming”—in the middle of verse 16—“the thongs of whose sandals I’m not worthy to untie.” This is the most menial part of the slave’s activities. Indeed, certain slaves were supposed to do everything up to the point where they took the sandals off. And the person said, you know, “You don’t have to take my sandals off. That’s okay. You can get the stuff, get the water, various things, but you don’t have to take my sandals off. Don’t touch these things.” And John says, “I’m not even worthy to start at the point that is not even demanded of the most menial slave.”

And when he speaks about his baptism, he speaks about it in the same way. He recognizes that as necessary and as important and as effective as his baptism is, it still anticipates a greater baptism, when “he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire”—that baptism which will provide inwardly what is outwardly symbolized by John’s baptism in water. That is why when we baptize people, we say to folks, “This baptism is an external indication of an inward reality.” In other words, the baptism in water is expressive, in part, of the baptism of the Holy Spirit, which is the baptism with which we are baptized in regeneration and into the body of Christ. You can read about it in 1 Corinthians 12:13.

So, as necessary and as vital and as significant and as efficacious, if you like, as John’s baptism was for repentance and for the forgiveness of sins,[9] John says, “This is still pointing forward.” And in his preaching, he is sounding this note of judgment. And he sounds it most clearly for those who are tempted to depend upon their background. If you allow your eyes to run back up the page, you know, he says to these individuals, “Do[n’t] begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’”[10] He gives a severe warning to the Pharisees and the Sadducees.

That’s the significance of his opening statement when he begins his sermon, “You brood of vipers!”[11] There’s a bit of a sting to that, isn’t there? What’s he saying to these people? Aren’t you supposed to say, “Oh, I’m so glad you came to church this morning. Thank you for coming! We’re glad you’re here.” He doesn’t do any of that. He says, “You brood of vipers! What are you doing snaking around in the grass like this?”

Now, what is he saying? He’s saying, “Listen, you’re the characters who say that by your ritual and by your legalism, salvation is yours. Well, if you really believe that by ritual and by legalism and on the strength of your background, salvation is yours, why are you even coming out into the desert to get baptized by me? I mean, if you really believe that you’re saved by legalism and by religious orthodoxy, then there’s no reason for you to come out here. What are you doing, just covering your bases? Do you think that if you come down in the water and get baptized, that that’ll take care of it for you?” He says, “It’s not going to take care of it for you.” You don’t get set right with God as a result of baptism—neither John’s baptism nor the baptism in here. “No,” he says, “I want you, if you’re honest about this baptism, to make sure that you bear fruit that befits repentance. Because,” he says, “the woodman has his ax at the root of the trees already.”[12] It’s a graphic picture!

Playing on a golf course just a couple of weeks ago here in Cleveland, we came on one of the holes on the back nine, and they had all kinds of equipment bringing down trees. And one of the persons with whom I was playing spoke to one of these gentlemen, and he said, “Hey! How many more are you going to take down?” The fellow said, “We’ve got hundreds still to take down.” My friend said, “Why? To make the golf course easier? For cosmetic purposes?” “Oh, no,” he said. “Look at these trees!” And then as we began to look at the trees, we realized that all through this burgeoning forest, there were dead trees everywhere. And so the woodman’s ax was already at the root.

You see what a graphic picture this is? He says, “God looks over the lives of men and women—those who are religious, those who are legalists, those who think they’ve got it right—and his ax is already at the root of some of their lives.” Why is this? Because for all of their professions and all of their protestations, they’re actually dead. There’s no leaves on their branches. They’re like a couple of trees in my backyard that must be taken down. There is no prospect of life for them. You may as well go and put the ax to the root.

Don’t you think that would have really struck these folks? Especially the ones who said, “Well, I understand what you’re saying, but, of course, we are the children of Abraham, you know. We have the right kind of background.” He said, “Listen, don’t get smart about being the children of Abraham. That’s no big deal.” Said, “Let me tell you how big a deal that is: God can raise up a generation without physical ancestry that will be more obvious recipients of his grace than you folks that are in here saying, ‘We have the right kind of background, we are doing the right kind of things, and we think we’re okay.’ Well, then, if you think you’re okay,” says John, “you brood of snakes in the grass, why are you coming in here scouring around this baptism business?”

Now, I don’t want to use his language, but I want to ask some of you the very same question. Your background is in ritualism and it is in legalism. I know that because you’ve told me that. You’ve also told me that you spent twenty years in the wilderness. You went away from religion completely, and now you’ve come back around. You’re a baby boomer. You’re classic. You’ve got the garage door openers, the bad mortgage, and everything else, and you’re back. “Maybe there’s something in this at all.” You’ve been coming to our baptism service, and you’ve been saying to yourself, “Maybe that’s what I need to do.”

That’s not what you need to do—at least not first. ’Cause the baptism is the wedding ring; it’s not the marriage license. It’s the sign outside the shop that says “Under New Management,” but it’s not the transaction behind the scenes. It is the soldier’s uniform, but it’s not the enlisting in the army. There needs to be that silent, quiet enlistment. And I warn you that the ax is already at the root of many of the trees.

And this Christ has come with his winnowing fork in his hand so that he may pick up the grain and, as it has been trampled by the oxen under foot and as it has been separated the grain from the husk, he may take shovelfuls of it, as it were, and cast it up in the air. And as the wind blows through it, the chaff is blown out from it, and the grain, which is heavier, falls back down into the pit, and from that it is gathered up and stored away in barns. But they go around with shovels, and they go around with brushes, and they take the chaff, and they set fire to it, and it is gone forever.

It’s not politically correct, but it is the Bible. Verse 17: there it is. “This Jesus that I want to introduce you to,” says John the Baptist, “has come with a winnowing fork in his hand. He’s clearing his threshing floor. He’s gathering the wheat into the barn, and he will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire.” So the question is: Am I wheat, or am I chaff? Am I grain, or am I about to be burned up?

John is sounding here a note of judgment, also a note of promise. Those who sincerely confess their sins and flee to this Messiah, to whom he points for refuge, will be purified from sin, and they will be delivered from its penalty and its power. But—and it is an important but—those who persist in sin will be destroyed.

See, this is the missing link in so many aspects of our culture, is it not? The absence of any kind of punitive retribution. That’s why there is chaos in the classroom; that’s why there is chaos in the home: because judgment is removed from the equation. As soon as you remove judgment from the equation, then anything can go, anything will go, and anything does go. And this is the exact same in religion. But you cannot remove it from the Bible. And you cannot remove it from the preaching of the good news.

Isn’t this striking? He says, “And with many other words he exhorted the people as he proclaimed to them the good news.” Good news that begins, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” Good news which says, “His ax is at the root of the trees!” Good news which says, “His winnowing fork is in his hand.” Good news which says, “The chaff will be burned up, and the grain will be stored in the barns.” That’s the good news? That’s the good news! That’s the only good news!

The judgment of God is absolutely fearful, it’s absolutely fair, and it’s absolutely final.

You see what I’m saying? Why did anybody go and hear this stuff? He wasn’t out there going, you know, “It’s good news! Come on out, and let’s have some fun in the wilderness, you know—groovin’ in the sun.” No, the guy’s come out, and he hits on them real fast: “You brood of vipers! What are you coming out in the wilderness for? What are you on the front row for?” This is good news? Yeah!

It’s a striking statement of the certainty of judgment. Examine the Bible, and see if what I tell you is true. It teaches that the judgment of God is absolutely fearful, it’s absolutely fair, and it’s absolutely final. It’s absolutely fearful, it’s absolutely fair, and it’s absolutely final.

John’s Bold Proclamation

Now, let me just mention my final point. He’s not only aware of their expectation and clear in his presentation, but it is obvious and inherent in all that I’ve noted that he was bold in his proclamation. He was a fearless preacher of righteousness.

But I want you to notice this: we ought not to think of John the Baptist as some red-necked, ugly character somehow getting a charge out of putting on his uniform and his belt and going out and telling the people, “You’re a brood of vipers, the whole lot of you, you know!”—then going home and saying to his wife, “Boy, I told them this morning. I gave them the ‘brood of vipers’ sermon. You should have seen them, you know. They were just like this: ‘Whoa!’ I told them, I said, ‘The ax is at the root.’ Yes!”

No. He’s going home, and he’s saying to his wife, “I don’t know if I can say that one more time to these people and not have them respond! I don’t know if I can bear the burden of the challenge, bear the burden of the proclamation, stand before the people and say, ‘Do you understand there is a heaven and there is a hell, there is a judgment to be feared, there is a heaven to be gained?” Do you think he stood up and said, “Na-na-na!” No! And anybody who does should be banished from the pulpit, should be thrown off the airwaves. I heard somebody this week say that when his believed “rapture” took place and he went away and left the godless behind, he was looking forward to the opportunity to say as he went up, “I told you so!” Does that sound like compassion?

No, you see, it is a matter of integrity for this character. He has nothing else to say. The word of God came to him. Therefore, he says the word of God. Is it painful? Yes. Is it full of promises? Yes. Does it wound? Yes. Does it heal? Yes. But it’s the word of God that does it all. He simply speaks and leaves. And he will be buried, and the wind will blow over his place, and he will be remembered no more.[13] He is not that significant. He is not the Bridegroom. He is merely the best man.

And his integrity demanded that he could not stand in the desert and say to the milieu, “Listen, there is a judgment to be faced,” and then go to the king’s garden party—Herod and all of his dirty activities—and go into the king’s garden party and say, “Oh, I’m so glad that you invited me over, Herod. Yes, oh, God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life, and don’t worry about Herodias, and don’t worry about your adultery, and don’t worry about your incest, and don’t worry about that stuff, you know. I’m a nice guy. I’m John the Baptist, you know. And I love it when you invite me here to the White House. I like sitting here. I love coming up the front drive like this. It gives me a charge.”

No, he says to Herod, he says, “Herod, I’m sorry, man, but integrity demands I’ve got to tell you: you’re in deep trouble. There is a judgment of God. It’s absolutely final, it’s absolutely fair, and it’s absolutely fearful.” And Herod and his wife and the rest of them said, “We’re not going to listen to this stuff. Put the guy in the jail.” And when the dancing-dirty one finally got her way, they took his head off. ’Cause he told the truth.

But let me end with this. And we’ll have to wait till heaven to find out, but I say to you again: I don’t think you find John the Baptist somehow or another feeling great at the opportunity to say these striking things. If you go back to the picture of three weeks ago and the burning building, this is not John the Baptist three buildings away with a large claxon, going, “Hey, you folks, sorry you’re stuck over in the burning building. Pity you couldn’t get over here beside me. It’s very nice over here. They’re sending orange juice and coffee. Sorry you’re burning. Yes, I can see you burning. Okay, well, you had your chance. Good night, and thank you. This is all from John the Baptist. Bye-bye! And bye-bye.”

No, it’s John the Baptist up fifteen flights of stairs in the burning building, pulling people out with his bare hands, going, “Hey, guys, you don’t want to stay in here. Don’t stay in here.”

Souls of men! Why will you scatter
Like a crowd of frightened sheep?
Foolish hearts! Why will you wander
From a love so true and deep?[14]

This is the spirit of Jesus: ninety-nine safely in their beds for the night, but one out wandering.[15]

You look around a building like this, you say, “Well, look at all these people that came out. They all came out in the first service, and they all came out in the second service, and they’re all in their seats. Just go home and have your lunch.” The question is not “Are we in our seats?” The question’s “Are we saved?”

There were ninety and nine that safely lay
In the shelter of the fold,
But one was out on the hills away,
Far off from the gates of gold. …

[And] none of the ransomed ever knew
How deep were the waters crossed,
Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through
Ere he found [the] sheep that was lost.[16]

He is the God who comes for the one. And you may be the very one today. There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine people who show up business-as-usual.[17]

John’s preaching was marked by gravity. God save us from preaching just a bunch of funny stories and three jokes and five illustrations about Labrador dogs with a vague, tenuous link to the Bible. And every time you hear me approximate to that, you have my permission to come up and cuff me right round the back of the ear. We can build a crowd that way, but Christ will not build his church that way. I fear that my preaching is not grave enough.

It was marked by clarity. Nobody could be in any doubt when John preached. He said it before them straight as this. I long for that kind of clarity. It was marked by integrity. We misfire there too. It was marked by a passionate urgency. This is urgent. God “commands all [men] everywhere to repent.”[18] Therefore, you may repent, and you must repent.

Let’s pray:

God, our hearts recoil when we see how easy it is for us to talk about ourselves and so little of Christ, when we see how easy it is to make sure everybody’s happy rather than calling one another to holiness, when we see how prone we are to congratulate ourselves on the fact that most of the flock seems to be in place, when we see you out on the hillsides for the ones and for the twos. We thank you that

There’s a way back to God
From the dark paths of sin;
There’s a door that is open
That we may go in.
It’s at Calvary’s cross,
That’s where we begin,
When we come as a sinner to Jesus.[19]

If God has spoken into your heart today and you want to talk with someone about this, receive literature, perhaps pray together, through the doors to my right and your left you’ll find our prayer room—just a nice, comfortable room with kind faces, and those who are learners from the ones who know the answers’d be glad to talk with you.

And now may the grace of the Lord Jesus, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit rest upon and remain will all who believe, today and forevermore. Amen.

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[1] Katie Barclay Wilkinson, “May the Mind of Christ My Savior” (1925).

[2] R. C. H. Lenski, The Interpretation of St. Luke’s Gospel: 1–11, Commentary on the New Testament (1946; repr., Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2008), 176.

[3] See Luke 3:2.

[4] John 1:6, 8–9 (NIV 1984).

[5] 1 Kings 18:21 (paraphrased).

[6] See Malachi 3:1.

[7] John 1:21–22 (paraphrased).

[8] John 3:29–30 (NIV 1984).

[9] See Luke 3:3.

[10] Luke 3:8 (NIV 1984).

[11] Luke 3:7 (NIV 1984).

[12] Luke 3:8–9 (paraphrased).

[13] See Psalm 103:16.

[14] Frederick William Faber, “Souls of Men, Why Will Ye Scatter?” (1854). Language modernized.

[15] See Luke 15:3–7.

[16] Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane, “There Were Ninety and Nine” (1868).

[17] See Luke 15:7.

[18] Acts 17:30 (NIV 1984).

[19] E. H. Swinstead, “There’s a Way Back to God.” Lyrics lightly altered.