A Mother’s Heart and God’s Love

Fourth Sunday of Easter (May 11, 2025)

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a clear message: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life.”

Today is both Good Shepherd Sunday and Mother’s Day. These two celebrations share a connection. A mother’s love and the love of Jesus, our Good Shepherd, have much in common.

Imagine the moment you were born. Even before birth, while in your mother’s womb, you could hear your mother’s voice. Medical research tells us that unborn babies recognize their mother’s voice and feel comforted by it.

A mother’s voice is the first voice we know, the first voice we trust, the first voice that gives us comfort. It is no coincidence that when children are hurt or afraid, they often call for “Mom” first.

In this way, we can better understand what Jesus means when he says, “My sheep hear my voice.” The voice of one who loves us completely has a deep intimacy and unmistakable clarity.

Listen again to Jesus’ words: “I know them, and they follow me.” In Scripture, “knowing” means more than just having information—it speaks of deep, intimate relationship. When Jesus says, “I know my sheep,” he means he looks into our hearts and knows our deepest fears and hopes.

Our mothers were likely the first to know us in this way. They recognized our cry among other children, understood our needs before we could express them, and recognized our unique personalities.

Mothers understand what it means to know a child this way. They remember the weight of a child in their arms, the special rhythm of a child’s breathing when asleep, the unique way a child smiles. This is not simply knowledge but understanding that comes from deep within.

In 1 Corinthians 13:12, Paul says, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” Paul tells us that we cannot yet fully see God, and we know God only in limited ways, as if looking through a dim mirror. But he promises that someday, just as God knows us completely, we will know God deeply too. This isn’t simply about knowledge, but about a deep heart connection with God. Just as God fully understands us, we will feel and understand God more closely.

God’s knowledge of us is even deeper and more complete than a mother’s knowledge of her child. As a mother remembers the warmth and breath she felt while holding her child, God knows the breath, tears, and whispers of our lives. God already hears the prayers we haven’t yet spoken. The beauty of our faith is that we are invited into this relationship of knowing.

There is another connection between mothers and the Good Shepherd. Jesus says, “I give them eternal life.” Earlier, in John 10:11, he also says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

Think about what it means to give life. Mothers understand this in their bodies—the physical sacrifice of carrying a child, the pain of childbirth, the continuous giving of themselves needed to raise a child. When Jesus speaks of giving his life for us, mothers perhaps understand this sacrificial love in a unique way.

Mothers are the most beautiful examples of love and care in our lives, but like all human relationships, they cannot be perfect. The natural limitations of human love actually show our instinctive longing for “perfect love.” God’s love shows us the most complete form of human love, and reaches beyond the limitations of human relationships to embrace us all completely.

Scripture features characters who experienced various family relationships. Joseph was sold by his brothers but later reconciled with them, Ruth formed a new family with her mother-in-law, and Moses was raised between his birth mother and adoptive mother. These biblical stories show that family relationships can sometimes be complicated and difficult, but even within them, God works to bring healing and reconciliation.

In such sadness and discouragement, Jesus the Good Shepherd comes to find us. Jesus knows what it means to feel abandoned. On the cross, he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Through his resurrection, he showed that God’s love can overcome any abandonment, any wound, any death.

The Good Shepherd calls us by name, knows us deeply, and holds us close even now. Where human love falls short, God’s love has no shortage.

A mother’s love doesn’t stop with her own children. A true mother’s heart extends beyond family to neighbors, community, and the whole world.

In Genesis 2:15, God placed humans in the Garden of Eden “to till it and keep it.” The Hebrew words here—”abad” (till) and “shamar” (keep)—mean more than simple cultivation or management; they speak of serving and protecting. This resembles how a mother serves and protects her children.

Just as mothers are sensitive to the smallest changes in their children and notice their needs before anyone else, we should have such sensitivity toward the world God created.

This care goes beyond environmental responsibility; it is practicing love for the creation God has entrusted to us. Caring for the environment is not a political choice but an expression of faith and spiritual obedience that gives life. When we care for creation with a mother’s heart, we follow God’s heart. Through this, we become God’s co-workers.

There is one more important similarity between a mother’s heart and Jesus, our Good Shepherd. We are all called to become voices of love for others.

In today’s reading from Acts, we meet a disciple named Tabitha, or Dorcas. Scripture introduces her as someone who “was devoted to good works and acts of charity.” When she died, the widows showed the clothes she had made for them while weeping. Tabitha didn’t just speak of love; she showed love through her actions.

When we deeply hear Jesus’ voice, that love begins to live and move within us and permeates our words and actions. We become people who pass that love on to our neighbors. This is exactly what mothers demonstrate in their lives. As their love for their children grows, it extends beyond their own children to embrace many others.

On this Mother’s Day, we give deep thanks to all mothers who have helped us experience God’s love through their love. A mother’s sacrifice, patience, and unconditional love are among the greatest gifts that reflect God’s love to us. Though no mother-child relationship is perfect, God reveals his greater and more perfect love even through these imperfect relationships.

In the Psalm, we confessed together, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1). This verse has provided deep comfort to countless people throughout the ages because we all long for the warmth of a mother’s embrace, and for the unchanging rest that is found in the love of God.

Just as a mother’s love is expressed differently across cultures, God’s love reaches us in various ways. Asian cultures emphasize filial piety and respect, Western cultures focus on personal expression, and many African cultures involve the entire community in raising children. What remains constant across these diverse cultural understandings is the essence of love.

On this Mother’s Day, let us remember those who have cared for us like mothers. And let us listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd who calls each of us by name.

Jesus continues to call us today. His call is an invitation to embrace us in love. That home is as warm as a mother’s embrace and as unchanging as God’s love—a place of rest.

Amen.

Meeting the Risen Lord

In John 20, when the disciples had locked themselves away in fear, Jesus stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” To those disciples trembling with fear, the risen Lord offered peace. This morning, we stand before the same question: How can we meet the risen Lord?

The Second Sunday of Easter is often called “Thomas Sunday.” Thomas’s story shows us how an encounter with the risen Christ can transform us. Thomas wasn’t there when the other disciples met Jesus. He declared he wouldn’t believe unless he could touch Jesus with his own hands. A week later, Jesus appeared again and said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands… Do not doubt but believe” (John 20:27).

Thomas’s response was a powerful confession of faith: “My Lord and my God!” This moment wasn’t just intellectual agreement, but a deep personal encounter. Thomas’s confession goes beyond acknowledging Jesus’s resurrection—it is the pinnacle of faith, confessing Jesus as true God.

Through today’s readings, let’s explore three transformations that come from encountering the resurrection:

The resurrection transforms our fear into peace. In John 20, the disciples had locked the doors in fear. Jesus appeared to them and said, “Peace be with you.” This peace wasn’t just a greeting, but the announcement of a new reality. In Christ, our relationship with God has been restored, and the power of death has been broken.

The gospel of resurrection doesn’t promise that all our suffering will disappear. Rather, it promises that the Lord enters into the midst of our pain. The Lord comes into our locked rooms, approaches our hidden fears and deep doubts, and there speaks: “Peace be with you.”

Many of you may be facing various fears right now. Today, the risen Christ says these same words to you: “Peace be with you.” This isn’t a promise that everything will soon be perfect, but an assurance that you are not alone, and God’s love holds you firmly.

The resurrection also transforms our doubt into faith. Thomas is known as the doubting disciple, but in truth, he was a seeker of truth. He refused to believe easily and wanted certainty through his own experience. Jesus did not condemn his doubt. Instead, he came directly to Thomas and provided the evidence he needed.

The Lord did not rebuke Thomas for his doubt or shame him for his needs. Rather, Jesus came back for Thomas and showed him exactly what he had asked for. He invited Thomas to see, touch, and believe. Thomas’s doubt wasn’t simple stubbornness, but an honest cry arising from deep loss and grief.

Doubt is not the opposite of faith. Rather, doubt can often become a path to deeper faith. Serious questions lead to deeper understanding. Faith isn’t having all the answers but journeying with questions.

Psalm 118 says, “The same stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone” (Psalm 118:22). This is the paradox of resurrection. What we reject, what we cannot understand, often becomes central to God’s kingdom. What human judgment casts aside, God establishes anew. What seems broken and shattered, God uses as the foundation for new creation.

We may be going through times of doubt in our faith journey. Today, Jesus approaches us just as he did Thomas, saying, “Come and see.” Let us not be ashamed of our doubts. These questions can lead us to deeper faith.

The resurrection changes the object of our obedience. In Acts 5, Peter and the apostles stood before religious leaders. Though ordered not to teach about Jesus, Peter boldly said, “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29).

This is a fundamental declaration. All worldly authorities—political, economic, even religious—are under God’s authority. The risen Christ is “the firstborn of the dead” (Revelation 1:5) and “the ruler of the kings of the earth.”

Here lies the essence of resurrection faith. Resurrection gives us a different kind of courage. It’s not reckless defiance, but deep trust rooted in the living God who overturns the powers of death and injustice. Peter’s courage didn’t come from human stubbornness or pride. It came from the certainty that Jesus, whom the world rejected and crucified, was raised by God and now lives with God.

This doesn’t mean we can ignore worldly laws. But it does mean our ultimate trust is in God. The apostles chose to be witnesses to Christ even at the risk of their own lives.

Revelation 1 describes Jesus as one “who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father” (Revelation 1:5-6). In the risen Christ, we have received a new identity. Our calling is to bring God’s love and justice into this world.

Today, this may mean standing against the abuse of power, caring for the vulnerable, and advocating for the dignity of all people. It means living a life that shares Christ’s love with others.

Ultimately, the resurrection gives us a mission. In John 20, Jesus said to the disciples, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:21-22). An encounter with the risen Christ doesn’t end as just a personal experience. It leads to a mission for the world.

This breath reminds us of God’s breath that gave life to humans at creation. Now the disciples are no longer trapped in fear but commissioned as agents of reconciliation and forgiveness. The church wasn’t born from certainty or strength, but from grace, weakness, and the power of the Holy Spirit.

The apostles witnessed to Jesus’s resurrection through the power of the Spirit, and it changed the world. We have received the same Spirit. We too are called to share the same message of resurrection.

The final verses of John 20 summarize the purpose of this gospel: “But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31). This is the church’s mission. We help people meet Christ and receive life through him.

So how can we meet the risen Christ? Jesus said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29). This blessing is given to all believers across time and space. Though we haven’t seen Jesus with our physical eyes, we live in relationship with him through faith and love. Not because our faith is perfect, but because the Lord meets us even in our imperfection.

We meet him in Scripture, in the Eucharist, through prayer, and through one another. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

The resurrection encounter can happen for all of us today. Christ is still alive and still at work. He still calls each of us by name.

Faith isn’t pretending to have no doubts or fears. Faith is the courage to trust that the Lord is alive and with us, even when we can’t clearly see him. Faith is deciding each day to live by resurrection hope, even when the world still seems full of suffering and despair.

Psalm 118 proclaims to us: “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). This is the joy of resurrection. Death is not the end. We are not overcome by fear. We are not defined by our doubts. Christ is alive here and now, and we breathe and live together in his life.

In this world where political, cultural, and personal forces oppose each other, we are called. Not to be witnesses who shout loudly, but witnesses who demonstrate deeply through their lives. Witnesses who know that the rejected stone has become the cornerstone, who choose forgiveness over revenge, hope over despair, life over death.

This week, as you return to your daily routines, look for the risen Christ. Find him in your workplace, in your home, and in the people you meet. And like Thomas, may you also confess: “My Lord and my God!”

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. Blessed are all of us who embrace the living Christ even amid wounds and doubts.

Amen.

The Hope of Resurrection and a New Beginning

Today we gather on Easter morning not just to remember a past event, but to encounter the risen Christ who is alive even now. This day is when God’s love overcame death and brought true life. As the Psalm says, “On this day the Lord has acted; we will rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). Through the story of the resurrection, we hope to see our lives in a new light. May we discover the hope and peace we need today through the Word of the Lord.

The Gospel of John tells us that Mary Magdalene went to the tomb “while it was still dark” (John 20:1). This phrase refers not just to the time of day, but also to the inner darkness Mary felt and the suffering of the world. Her beloved teacher had died a painful death on the cross. All hope seemed lost. We, too, have moments like this in life. Sometimes we may look alive on the outside, but feel as if everything inside us is fading away. When our dreams collapse, when relationships fall apart, or when we lose our health or someone we love, we find ourselves walking toward the tomb, just like Mary, surrounded by darkness.

But resurrection does not begin with perfect faith. It begins in loss, in tears, and in confusion. As the Psalm says, “The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation” (Psalm 118:14). This is a song of faith sung in the heart of suffering.

When Mary arrived, the tomb was empty. At that moment, it was not a sign of hope for her, but a shock. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him” (John 20:2), she told Peter and the other disciple as she ran to find them. It felt as though the last thread of hope had also vanished. In times of deep confusion, we struggle even to name our emotions. But sometimes, it is precisely in these moments of the “empty tomb” that a new beginning is born.

Peter and the other disciple ran to the tomb and saw it for themselves. But the Gospel says, “For as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead” (John 20:9). We, too, often fail to recognize what God is doing in our lives. Even when we see signs before us, we may not immediately connect them with resurrection.

The turning point in the story comes when Mary is standing outside the tomb, crying. Then Jesus comes near and gently calls her name: “Mary” (John 20:16). In that moment, she realizes that the one standing before her is the Lord. The mystery of the resurrection begins here — in a personal encounter with Christ, who calls each of us by name.

To call someone by name is more than just speaking. It means recognizing that person as unique and valuable, someone meaningful in a relationship. Jesus did not call her “woman,” but called her “Mary.” He saw her not as one among many, but as a cherished individual. This is one of the most important messages of the resurrection.

In our lives, we often judge people by the groups they seem to belong to. We see them not as individuals, but through the lens of where they come from or what they appear to represent. But the risen Jesus called Mary by her own name. He recognized her for who she truly was — not as part of a group, but as a unique and beloved person.

Resurrection is not just an idea or doctrine. It becomes real in a living, personal encounter with Christ. Even in our darkest moments, Jesus comes to us and calls us by name.

Jesus told Mary, “Go to my brothers and say to them” (John 20:17). After she met the risen Lord, Mary ran to the disciples and said, “I have seen the Lord” (John 20:18). Her sorrow turned into hope, her loss into discovery, and death into new life.

It is powerful that the first witness of the resurrection was a woman — someone often overlooked in that society. This reminds us that the kingdom of God is revealed first among the humble and the marginalized. As Paul says in 1 Corinthians chapter 15, “Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures.” He goes on to say that although he once persecuted the church, meeting the risen Christ completely transformed his life.

When we encounter the living Christ, the things within us that seemed beyond hope — our dreams, relationships, sense of purpose — can come back to life. The darkest places in our lives can become holy ground, where resurrection breaks through. And this resurrection power is not only for today, but also the promise of eternal life in Christ.

In Acts 10:34–35, Peter says, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” This is one of the greatest fruits of the resurrection: It breaks down all walls that keep people apart and reveals the wide embrace of God’s love for all. The risen Lord is not a conqueror, but a healer — not a ruler by force, but a liberator by love.

At Pentecost, the risen Christ sent the Holy Spirit so this message could reach all nations. Through the Spirit, we are now called to live as witnesses of the resurrection — to participate in God’s vision for a renewed humanity, where love transcends boundaries and every life is honored as part of God’s unfolding grace.

There may be “empty tombs” in our lives — hopes, dreams, or relationships that seem lifeless. But that is not where the story ends. Like Mary, we may begin in the shadows, but we can still discover the light of resurrection.

To live as witnesses of the resurrection means proclaiming new life wherever we are. Like Mary Magdalene, we are called to hear the Lord’s voice and carry his light. And this begins when we see those around us not as categories or labels, but as people with their own names and dignity.

The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not just a historical event from 2,000 years ago. It must become real in our lives today. Even when all seems lost, Jesus calls us by name and invites us to begin again.

So today, to those around us and to our own hearts, let us proclaim once again: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord” (Psalm 118:17).

Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.

“The Way of Humility, the Way of Glory”

Today, we begin Holy Week with the celebration of Palm Sunday. We recall the moment Jesus entered Jerusalem, riding humbly on a donkey, as crowds shouted with joy, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” It looked like a parade of victory, a royal entrance. But we know that the shouts of welcome would soon turn into cries of “Crucify him!” This week brings us face to face with the mystery of Christian faith—how joy and suffering, glory and shame, triumph and seeming defeat coexist in the story of our salvation.

Today’s Scripture readings invite us into this sacred paradox. From Isaiah’s suffering servant, to the psalmist’s lament, to Paul’s hymn in Philippians, and the passion narrative in Luke, we are shown again and again that what the world sees as failure, God transforms into victory.

Isaiah speaks of a servant who is taught by God and who listens with the heart of a disciple:
“Morning by morning he wakens—wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught.” (Isaiah 50:4)

The servant does not turn away from suffering. He gives his back to those who strike him, his cheeks to those who pull out his beard. He does not hide his face from insult and spitting.

This passage is traditionally known as one of the “Servant Songs.” In the following verse, Isaiah 50:10, it says, “Who among you fears the Lord and obeys the voice of his servant?”. This makes it clear that the one speaking in this passage is indeed the servant of the Lord.

From a worldly point of view, this servant appears defeated. But he declares,
“The Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame.” (Isaiah 50:7)

This servant’s quiet strength, rooted in trust, finds its full embodiment in Jesus. Jesus listened to the will of the Father and responded with obedience, compassion, and courage—even as he faced betrayal, arrest, and death. As disciples, we too are called to listen first, and then speak and act with faithfulness and love.

The psalmist cries out from a place of anguish:
“My eye is consumed with sorrow, and also my throat and my belly… I am forgotten like a dead man, out of mind; I am as useless as a broken pot.” (Psalm 31:9,12)

These words express the rawness of grief, abandonment, and despair—experiences that many of us know too well. Yet even here, faith rises:
“But as for me, I have trusted in you, O Lord. I have said, ‘You are my God. My times are in your hand.’” (Psalm 31:14–15)

Jesus echoed this very prayer from the cross:
“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

Even in death, Jesus entrusted himself wholly to God. This radical trust is the beating heart of our faith. It invites us to surrender our fears and burdens, to place our lives—especially our suffering—into God’s hands.

Paul urges us:
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 2:5)

And what was this mind? It was the mind of humility:
“Though he was in the form of God… he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave… he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:6–8)

The Greek word kenosis—“he emptied himself”—is the essence of Jesus’ way. He did not cling to power or privilege but chose the path of servanthood, love, and obedience. And because of this,
“God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name.” (Philippians 2:9)

In this self-emptying, we find the paradox of Christian discipleship: the way down is the way up. True greatness is found not in self-assertion but in self-giving. As followers of Jesus, we are called to this same humility in our homes, churches, and communities.

Luke’s Gospel presents Jesus not as a ruler demanding loyalty, but as one who serves:
“But I am among you as one who serves.” (Luke 22:27)

He heals the ear of the soldier who comes to arrest him. He forgives those who crucify him:
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

He speaks words of hope to the thief on the cross:
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43)

And finally, he commends his spirit to God in trust.
These are not the actions of a defeated man, but of a King whose power is love. A King whose crown is made not of gold but of thorns. A King who reigns from a cross.

Palm Sunday confronts us with a question: What kind of king do we follow?
Are we looking for a victorious leader who will grant us success and comfort? Or do we dare to follow the King who suffers, serves, and sacrifices?

Jesus did not conquer with violence or fear. He overcame the world by emptying himself in love. And this is the path he invites us to walk.

In our culture of self-promotion and competition, this message may sound foolish. But the Gospel insists:

Sometimes, surrender is victory. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words. Sometimes, the cross becomes the doorway to new life.

As we begin this Holy Week, let us walk with Jesus. Let us remember that the call to follow him is not just a matter of belief, but of embodying his humility, trust, and compassion in our lives.

May the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus. May we, too, set our faces like flint, trusting that the path of the cross leads not to defeat, but to resurrection.

Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!
In the name of the humble and exalted Christ, Amen.

An Invitation to Life for the Thirsty Soul
Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent

All of us carry a deep thirst in our hearts. Especially during difficult times, we may feel like travelers wandering a long road, searching for just one sip of water. This thirst cannot be fully satisfied by anything in the world. It reminds us of God’s invitation to return to Him and be filled again.

In today’s psalm, we hear the voice of someone speaking as if to a close friend:
“O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,
as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.” (Psalm 63:1)

These words come from someone walking through a hot desert, longing for shade and water. Yet in the middle of that deep thirst, the psalmist discovers something most precious in life:
“Your steadfast love is better than life,
so my lips will praise you.” (Psalm 63:3)

We have all had “desert times” in our lives—times of grief, illness, loneliness, or pain. During such times, we are often led to ask, “What do I truly need?” Like the rain after a long drought, these wilderness experiences can deepen our longing for God. And when that longing is met, we can find true satisfaction, like someone feasting on rich and nourishing food.

The novel Silence by Shusaku Endo also explores this kind of deep longing. There is a character named Kichijiro, who often falls and denies his faith. Yet even in his weakness, he continues to long for God. Though he may seem cowardly, his struggles help us see what true thirst for God looks like, and what repentance really means. Faith is not about being perfect. It is about standing up again and again, each time we fall, and turning back toward God.

In the Epistle, Saint Paul reminds the Corinthians about the history of the Israelites. Like an elder telling the story of the family’s past, he invites them to remember the journey of their ancestors.
The Israelites were blessed with many miracles: they followed the cloud through the wilderness, crossed the Red Sea, ate manna from heaven, and drank water from the rock. Paul says, “The rock was Christ.” (1 Corinthians 10:4)

Yet, even after all these gifts, many of them fell. They worshiped idols, complained, and tested God. Paul tells us this as a warning:
“So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.” (1 Corinthians 10:12)

No matter how long we’ve walked in faith, we must always remain humble. Salvation is not a one-time event—it is a daily journey with God.

But Paul also gives us comfort:
“God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but… he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” (1 Corinthians 10:13)

We may fall, like the Israelites or like Kichijiro in Silence. But God’s love is deeper than our failures, stronger than our betrayals, and wider than our sins. God knows that we are weak. And still, He loves us. That truth gives us the strength to rise again.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus speaks of two tragic events: Pilate killing Galileans, and a tower falling and killing eighteen people. (Luke 13:1–5) At that time, people believed such tragedies were punishments for sin. But Jesus says, “No.”
“Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners…? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” (Luke 13:2–3)

Jesus is not telling us to judge others. Instead, he urges all of us to repent. Repentance is not just saying “I’m sorry.” It means turning around. It’s like walking north and then suddenly turning to go south. It means turning away from sin and back toward God.

Jesus then tells a parable about a fig tree. For three years, it has borne no fruit. The owner says, “Cut it down!” But the gardener says,
“Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it.” (Luke 13:8)

“One more year”—this is grace. This is the time God gives us to turn around. Lent is such a time. It is like an oasis in the desert. How will we use this precious time?

Throughout today’s readings, we hear a clear message. The psalmist speaks of true longing. Paul speaks of learning from past failures. Jesus speaks of repentance and God’s patient love.

All of them ask us:
What kind of fruit are we bearing in our lives?

In Isaiah, God says,
“Listen carefully to me… so that you may live.” (Isaiah 55:3)
Like rain after drought, God’s Word brings life to our souls.

Jesus, the gardener, pleads for us: “Give them one more year.” Like a patient farmer caring for his orchard, Jesus tends to us—digging, watering, and waiting. Our task is to accept his care, listen to his Word, and drink his living water.

Faith without fruit is like a flower without fragrance, or a tree without leaves. Our faith must bloom in love, forgiveness, mercy, and kindness.

Life is always changing, like the seasons. Spring brings new shoots, summer brings green leaves, autumn brings fruit, and winter brings rest. What season is your faith in right now? Let us live in a way that bears fruit for God.

Today’s message gives us three lessons:
First, we must turn away from empty longings and seek God. Only God can satisfy our thirsty souls.
Second, though trials will come, God is with us. Like a strong friend walking beside us, He walks every path with us.
Third, we are called to repent and be renewed, and to bear fruit in our faith.

This Lent, let us reflect on what our souls are truly longing for. Let us look honestly into our hearts, as if standing before a mirror.

God says to us today,
“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters.” (Isaiah 55:1)

Let us answer that invitation, drink from the water of life, and live a fruitful life.
Let us give thanks for God’s constant love and patience. And may our lives bloom with that love, like flowers in a well-tended garden.

Amen.

Wings of Promise, Citizens of Heaven

Second Sunday of Lent – Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

Lent is a time to deeply reflect on Jesus’ suffering and death, while also looking forward to the promise of resurrection. During this season, we may feel fear as we face our sins and weaknesses, yet we also trust in God’s promise of salvation and in the hope of resurrection. As our Lenten journey deepens, it’s natural to experience alternating feelings of fear and faith, doubt and trust.

Today’s Scripture passages show us what it means to live as citizens of heaven, even in uncertain circumstances. These passages capture the essence of the Lenten journey: self-reflection, spiritual renewal, and faith in God’s unchanging promises.

In Genesis 15, we see Abram honestly expressing his heart. God appears to him saying, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.”But Abram openly expresses his deep concern: “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” This isn’t mere doubt, but rather wrestling with God’s promise in the face of seemingly impossible circumstances.

Many of us, like Abram, have experienced situations that seem to contradict God’s promises. We too sometimes ask, “Lord, how can this be possible? What evidence is there that your word will be fulfilled in my life?”

God’s response is remarkable. Instead of rebuking Abram’s doubt, God takes him outside to look at the night sky full of stars: “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them… So shall your descendants be.” Scripture tells us, “And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.”

What follows is even more astonishing. In ancient covenant ceremonies, animals would be cut in half, and both parties would walk between the pieces. Both sides of the covenant typically walked between the divided animals, implying, “If I break this promise, may I become like these animals.” But in this story, God alone—appearing as a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch—passes between the pieces. This sends a clear message: “I take full responsibility for fulfilling this promise.”

This is the foundation of our faith. It rests not on our unwavering certainty, but on God’s unchanging faithfulness. Like Abram, even when we find ourselves in darkness, we can look up at the stars and remember God’s promises that shine brighter than our doubts.

This theme continues in Psalm 27. Here we hear a voice of strong confidence: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?” But this isn’t naive optimism. The psalmist speaks of enemies, adversaries, and armies surrounding him—real threats causing genuine fear.

Amid these dangers, the psalmist’s deepest desire is revealed: “One thing have I asked of the Lord; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life; to behold the fair beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.” Ultimately, his greatest longing is to be with God.

Perhaps the most moving verse is verse 14: “Though my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord will sustain me.” Even if our closest family relationships fail us, God’s embrace remains a secure refuge.

Reading this passage reminds me of Viktor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist during World War II. He lost his family and everything in Nazi concentration camps. In his book Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl shares that even in extreme suffering, he discovered an important insight: “the freedom to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance.” Like the psalmist, Frankl found inner light amid profound loss and pain. By thinking of his beloved wife and holding inner conversations with her, he realized that love is the true meaning of human life. This realization gave him strength to continue.

Frankl’s insight demonstrates that even in extreme situations, humans retain the freedom to choose their attitude. Similarly, in our faith, we can choose to trust God regardless of circumstances. No matter how difficult the world becomes, as citizens of heaven, we can choose an attitude of trust in God. This is our true freedom.

The psalm concludes with powerful encouragement: “O tarry and await the Lord’s pleasure; be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; wait patiently for the Lord.” Lent invites us into this kind of waiting—not passive resignation, but active, hopeful trust that builds spiritual strength for the journey ahead.

In Philippians, Paul emphasizes our identity. He declares, “But our citizenship is in heaven.” To the Philippians, proud of their Roman citizenship in a Roman colony, this was a challenging statement.

Paul warns about “enemies of the cross of Christ” saying, “Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.” The people Paul warns against aren’t outsiders without faith, but those within the church who distort or ignore the gospel’s essence. While claiming to be Christians, they follow their own desires instead of God, prioritize worldly values over faith, and reject the sacrifice and humility of the cross.

This heavenly citizenship isn’t about escaping reality. It’s not about withdrawing from the world, but living in it with different values, different priorities, and different hopes. It means knowing that our true allegiance lies with God’s kingdom, not the kingdoms of this world.

Paul continues: “He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.” This promise reveals how great and wonderful the glory we await is, giving us courage to continue on the path of discipleship, however difficult it may be.

In the Gospel, Jesus himself shows what heavenly citizenship looks like in practice. When warned about Herod’s threats, Jesus responds with calm resolve: “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.'” Even political threats couldn’t deter Jesus from the sacred mission he received from God.

As Jesus laments over Jerusalem, we witness one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the Gospels: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

In this scene, God’s love appears as warm and embracing, like that of a mother. God is not a distant king but like a mother hen who, though appearing vulnerable, wholeheartedly embraces her children. Jesus wants to gather God’s people under his wings—into a space of protection and love. But the people rejected this love.

As we journey through Lent, this question touches our hearts: When do we turn away from God’s protection in our lives? Where are we choosing our self-made false security over God’s warm embrace?

For us walking the Lenten path, today’s Scriptures converge into one message. Abraham, who believed in seemingly impossible promises while gazing at the stars; the psalmist, who found light even in darkness; Paul, who reminded us of our heavenly citizenship; and Jesus, who demonstrated God’s protective love. They all invite us on a journey from fear to trust.

But this journey isn’t about manufacturing certainty through our own efforts. Rather, like Abraham, it’s about recognizing that God’s promises depend not on our perfection but on God’s faithfulness. Like the psalmist, it’s believing that even in our darkest moments, God is our light and salvation. Like Paul taught, it’s embracing our identity as citizens of heaven. And like Jesus showed, it’s experiencing true protection and love within God’s embrace.

As we continue our Lenten journey, let us take Paul’s exhortation to heart: “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”

Standing firm doesn’t mean never doubting or questioning. Rather, like Abraham, it means honestly bringing our questions before God and waiting for His response. Like the psalmist, it means seeking God’s face even in difficulties. Like the heavenly citizens Paul described, it means living according to eternal values, not temporary ones. And as Jesus demonstrated, it means dwelling under God’s wings of love, experiencing true safety and transformation in Him.

This week, how can we live as citizens of heaven in our daily lives? When we wake up in the morning, let’s ask ourselves, “Which kingdom’s values and priorities will I follow today?” When making decisions, let’s consider, “Is this fitting for a citizen of heaven?” When facing difficulties, let’s remember, “I am protected under God’s wings.” Through these small daily moments, we can demonstrate God’s kingdom values in this world.

This Lent, may we grow deeper in faith. Like Abraham, who believed God’s promise while looking at the stars, may we trust and rely on God’s word. Like the psalmist who strengthened his heart while waiting for the Lord through hardships, may we also wait patiently and trust God’s timing. Like Paul who lived as light and salt in the world as a citizen of heaven, may we also live faithfully in the world according to God’s will. And accepting Jesus’ invitation, may we experience not only protection in God’s embrace but also the grace of transformation into new life.

As Paul exhorts us: “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”

Amen.

The Wilderness: A Place to Meet New Life

Lent 1st Sunday Sermon

On this sacred first Sunday of Lent, the Gospel of Luke brings us to Jesus’ time in the wilderness. After fasting for forty days, Jesus encountered three fundamental temptations. This story is not just a historical event or a moral lesson; it is a profound revelation of the essence of human life and the mystery of God’s kingdom. Through this story of the wilderness, we will explore the deeper meaning of our own wilderness experiences in life.

In Hebrew, the word for wilderness is Midbar (מִדְבָּר), which shares its root with the word for “speech” or “word.” In the Bible, the wilderness is an important place. Moses met God in the burning bush in the wilderness, the Israelites received the law there, and Elijah heard God’s gentle whisper in the wilderness. The wilderness is not merely a barren land; it is a place where we lay everything down to meet God. In today’s reading from Deuteronomy, the Israelites bring the first fruits and confess, “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.” This confession is not just a historical story; it acknowledges that their true identity lies in being wanderers—essentially empty and dependent. To be God’s people means living by God’s grace alone, not by what we possess or achieve. The emptiness of the wilderness creates space for God’s word and presence. Just as an empty cup can be filled, the emptiness in our lives becomes a place for experiencing God’s grace. When we rely not on our pride or achievements but solely on God’s grace, we find true abundance.

In our modern society, we continue to experience the wilderness. Loss, failure, illness, and broken relationships can all become wildernesses in our lives. One of my favorite Korean novelists is Park Wan-suh. She went through a deep and painful wilderness after suddenly losing her son when he was 25 years old. In her essay “Only Say the Word,” she reveals a sorrow that is raw and intense. Yet, in that pain, she came to understand the suffering of others more deeply. When her own desires, control, and self-centered worldview were shattered, she gained a new perspective. Our wilderness experiences can be similar. When everything we rely on seems to disappear, that empty space can become a place for a profound encounter with God. The wilderness is not just a place of suffering but a place to experience God’s transforming power.

The devil’s first temptation, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread,” was not merely about satisfying hunger. It was a test of Jesus’ identity: “Prove that you are truly valuable.” This question touches a deep anxiety in all of us—”Am I truly valuable?” or “Is my existence enough?” Jesus’ reply, “One does not live by bread alone,” is not just about prioritizing the spiritual over the material. It reveals a deep insight into human nature. We are not defined by what we possess or accomplish but by our relationship with God. There are moments in life when everything that supported our identity—success, relationships, health, security—seems meaningless. It is then we realize that our true self is not defined by these external things but by being loved by God. The wilderness is where we discover a new understanding of ourselves.

In the second temptation, the devil shows Jesus all the kingdoms of the world, saying, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority if you will worship me.” This was not just a temptation for power or fame. It was a question about how to change the world. The devil’s offer was to save the world by using force and domination—the way the world often works. Jesus’ response, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him,” was not a rejection of power itself but a complete transformation of what power means. The cross shows a different kind of power—one that saves the world not by force but by self-giving love. After experiencing deep pain, we often gain a new understanding of how to influence others and the world—not through control and achievement but through empathy and compassion. The wilderness is where we gain a new understanding of true power.

In the third temptation, the devil quotes Psalm 91 to tempt Jesus to prove God’s protection by throwing himself down from the temple. This was not just about testing God’s power; it was about reducing faith to a guarantee of safety and miracles, as if God must respond to our demands. Jesus’ reply, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test,” shows that the essence of faith is not controlling God but trusting God, even amid pain and uncertainty. On the cross, Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” yet also prayed, “Into your hands, I commend my spirit.” Faith is not an illusion that everything will be solved immediately but a trust that finds meaning and grace even in suffering. The wilderness is where we gain a deeper understanding of faith.

As we reflect further on these temptations, let us consider what they teach us about new life emerging from difficult places. Psalm 91 declares, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.” This psalm, which the devil twisted in the temptations, actually teaches that God does not remove all pain but is present with us in it: “I will be with him in trouble” (Psalm 91:15). In the Book of Romans, Paul says, “If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” This confession—that “Jesus is Lord”—was a revolutionary declaration in the Roman Empire, where people were expected to proclaim, “The emperor is lord.” It was a bold statement that redefined all worldly values. When we confess Jesus as Lord, it means that all values in the world must be reevaluated in the light of the cross. The wilderness experience is not an ending but a new beginning. The wilderness is the place where everything we thought we knew—our identity, power, and faith—is reborn. Many people, after enduring profound pain and loss, come to possess a deeper understanding and wisdom. Just as a seed sprouts in the darkness, new life can begin to grow even in the darkness of suffering.

Now, as we journey through this season of Lent, we intentionally enter the wilderness. It is not just a season of fasting or self-denial but a time to deepen and renew our understanding of ourselves, the world, and God. The offering of first fruits in Deuteronomy was not just a religious ritual but a confession that all we have is a gift from God. It was a reminder that every part of life can be seen anew through God’s grace. In the silence and loneliness of the wilderness, we discover a deeper dimension of faith. Even when we do not find answers to our “why” questions, we find a mysterious strength to trust God’s providence that goes beyond our understanding.

We all encounter wilderness moments in life—loss, failure, illness, broken relationships, or crises of faith. These moments are painful, but they are not just trials or endings. In God’s hands, the wilderness becomes a place of grace where new life is born. Our best response to the wilderness is to acknowledge our weakness and trust in God’s transforming love. It is not about turning stones into bread but about seeing the stones differently. It is not about gaining power but about understanding power differently. Faith does not solve every problem but helps us find meaning in every situation. Just as Jesus overcame temptation in the wilderness, may we also discover new possibilities for life in our wilderness experiences this Lent. May we stand again before the simple yet life-changing truth: “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.”

Amen.

The Paradox of God’sKingdom: LiftingUptheWeak and AwakeningtheRich

Today’s passage shows Jesus coming down from the mountain and proclaiming the paradox of God’s kingdom to a large crowd in Luke 6. People came not only from Judea and Jerusalem but also from the Gentile regions of Tyre and Sidon. They wanted to hear Jesus’ words and be healed of their diseases and freed from evil spirits.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we read the well-known “Sermon on the Mount,” but in Luke, Jesus comes down from the mountain to meet people on a “level place.” He did this to be closer to them and to communicate more directly. This is connected to Luke’s emphasis on the values of God’s kingdom. Jesus’ sermon on the plain is not just about the physical location. It symbolizes the meaning and direction of His ministry. The Gospel of Luke highlights Jesus’ concern for the poor and the marginalized. It shows how Jesus comes down to be among those who suffer and are oppressed.

Sometimes, we also feel blocked by huge walls of problems in life. We may even struggle to reach out to God. But we must remember that Jesus does not stand far above us and simply look down. Instead, He is always with us in the midst of our everyday lives.

 

Jesus gives two declarations to the crowd on the plain. First, He says, “Blessed are you who are poor, who are hungry, who weep, and who are hated because of Jesus.” Second, He warns, “Woe to you who are rich, who are well fed, who laugh now, and who are praised by everyone.”

Usually, we think that the poor, the hungry, and those who weep seem unhappy, and that the wealthy, the well-fed, and those who are always cheerful seem blessed. But Jesus says the opposite.

Why does Jesus give such a “paradoxical” teaching? It shows that God especially cares for the weak and the suffering, while those who have more are called to share and take greater responsibility. We often consider happiness to be a stable or improved situation in our own lives. However, Jesus teaches that true happiness is fulfilled when we live by the values of God’s kingdom.

The paradox of God’s kingdom is not just about flipping our usual standards of happiness and unhappiness. It shows that the world’s values and God’s values are fundamentally different.

To understand this teaching more deeply, we need to consider the social structure of first-century Jewish society. Back then, the rich often exploited the poor, and those in power sometimes used religious authority to bind the weak. The wealthy had the resources to study and keep the Law in detail, but the poor struggled daily just to survive. They had little chance to learn the Law properly and were often labeled “sinners” because they could not keep every rule. This unfair system caused them ongoing suffering.

Knowing this context helps us see why Jesus proclaimed, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” He came first to the oppressed and marginalized. He comforted them by saying they are the most precious in God’s kingdom. Meanwhile, to those who already enjoyed wealth and power, He strongly warned that if they only seek comfort without sharing or serving, they have already received their consolation in full.

 

Jesus tells the poor, “You are blessed. The kingdom of God belongs to you.” Here, poverty does not refer only to lacking money. It includes any situation of social helplessness, injustice, or being treated as an outcast. Jesus reaches out to those people first and gives them the gift of God’s kingdom.

We may also face economic hardships, illness, or loneliness. Yet these trials do not distance us from God. On the contrary, God comes into our suffering, wipes away our tears, and gives us strength to rise again.

 

On the other hand, Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.” Being wealthy is not a sin in itself. But if we use our wealth only for our own comfort or power, it becomes a problem. God expects greater responsibility from those who have more. Our money, talents, and power are not meant to serve only ourselves. They are gifts entrusted to us so that we may share them with our neighbors.

Ever since I was young, I have learned that hard work and perseverance lead to good results. There is a saying that shows this well:

“A fine horse runs 300 miles in one day, but even an ordinary horse can travel 300 miles in ten days.”

These words come from Xunzi (荀子), a Confucian thinker in ancient China who was influenced by Confucius. I have gained a lot of encouragement from his teaching about “steady effort.” I still find it to be an excellent lesson.

But in our modern world, we often run fast without thinking about where we are going. Maybe we also need to consider direction. If we work hard but move in the wrong direction, our effort could be wasted. If Xunzi stressed patience and consistent effort, we can add one more question: “Effort toward what goal?”

How hard we work is not as important as where we are going. We may pursue our goals without checking our direction and later discover we are far from what we truly want. Working diligently is good, but it is even more important to know our destination.

 True wisdom comes from both perseverance and discernment. We need to see if our efforts fit a larger purpose and lead us to the place we are truly called to be.

In Luke’s Gospel, we see the story of Zacchaeus, who had built his fortune dishonestly. But after encountering Jesus, he repented and generously shared his wealth with the poor. He chose a new path. This shows that Jesus’ warning is not simply a threat or punishment; it is an invitation to repentance and an opportunity to change.

 

In this passage, Jesus does more than just preach. He heals people who are sick or tormented by evil spirits. The kingdom of God is not just an idea or a doctrine. It is a real event that changes lives. This calls us to think about the role of the church today.

If the church truly wants to share the “good news,” it must hold the hands of people who are in trouble and meet their practical needs. That could mean praying for neighbors in crisis, offering them real help, or working for a society where the vulnerable can live with dignity. Jesus’ healing ministry shows that God’s kingdom is about raising up the oppressed and helping everyone live freely and equally.

 

Jesus comes down from the mountain with His disciples and says to the poor, the hungry, and those who weep, “You are blessed,” while warning those who enjoy wealth and comfort, “Be careful.” He is not merely dividing people into rich and poor. He is asking us to think about what we value most. It may sound paradoxical by worldly standards, but from the perspective of God’s kingdom, it is the natural truth.

Jesus focuses not on possessions themselves but on our attitude toward them. Happiness is not about how much or how little we own. It is the joy that comes from living by the values of God’s kingdom.

Whether we have a lot or a little, what truly matters is how we live in God’s love. In the first-century Jewish world and in our own time, people who are poor and powerless are often pushed aside or ignored. But Jesus draws near to them first, declaring that no one is excluded in God’s kingdom.

At the same time, He calls those who have plenty to discover the joy of sharing and serving. The issue is not having wealth but how we use it. When we share the blessings we have received and live for others, we show the true values of God’s kingdom.

As we hold these words in our hearts and leave the church today, let us ask ourselves, “For whom do I truly live?” Have we been so focused on success or satisfaction that we have become indifferent to anyone outside our family or close circle? Those who live in abundance can find greater joy through sharing, and those who struggle can find hope by leaning on one another. Walking together in this way is the path of true happiness that Jesus shows us.

May the core message of today’s Scripture come alive in each of you, and may you share its grace with many people.

Amen.

The End of Waiting, the Beginning of a New Era

(Luke 3:15–17, 21–22)

Our Gospel passage for this day invites us to reflect on the long wait the people of Israel endured for the Messiah. They lived under the yoke of the Roman Empire and local rulers, longing desperately for God’s promise of salvation. However, the weight of reality pressed down on them, and faith rooted too heavily in temple sacrifices and legal observances could sometimes drain their spirits. At that time, religious life largely depended on priests who oversaw temple sacrifices and enforced the Law. These sacrifices were sacred ways to stand before God and seek forgiveness. Yet people sometimes risked losing sight of God’s heart if they only focused on following rules and formal rituals. The poorest among them could barely afford the offerings required, and certain temple authorities—like the Sadducees—used their positions to hold power over the people.

In the midst of this difficult situation, a voice rang out in the wilderness. It spoke against legalistic thinking confined to the temple. It proclaimed true repentance and opened a new way for salvation. That voice belonged to John the Baptist. We know that, in Jesus’ and John’s day, there were three major religious groups in Jewish society. The Pharisees honored both the Torah (the five books of Moses) and oral traditions, believing in the resurrection and angels, yet they were sometimes criticized for formality and hypocrisy. The Sadducees were mostly made up of priestly aristocrats with strong control over the Jerusalem Temple. Because they only accepted the Torah, they denied teachings like resurrection and angels, and after the Temple was destroyed, they disappeared from history. The Essenes left the cities and the corrupted temple system, retreating to remote locations for strict purity and communal living—like the Qumran community, which is known for the Dead Sea Scrolls.

John the Baptist adopted a life that seemed similar to the Essenes—wearing camel’s hair and eating locusts and wild honey. However, unlike the Essenes, who tended to live in closed communities separated from the outside world, John stayed in the wilderness yet preached repentance publicly. This was his special calling. He was born to Zechariah, a priest serving in the Temple, and Elizabeth, who was related to Mary, the mother of Jesus. According to Scripture, John received a special calling even before his birth, and his very birth was miraculous. Although he came from a priestly family, John did not remain in the Temple system but went out into the desert. That wilderness was harsh and lonely, but there he devoted himself entirely to God’s Word. His camel’s hair garment and simple diet symbolized his firm commitment to focus on God alone, in a time he believed to be spiritually corrupt.

When we look at John’s choice to live in the wilderness, his modest eating habits, and his rough clothing, we see they were not just for show. He was determined to avoid worldly temptations so he could respond wholeheartedly to God’s call. A life of strict discipline is not its own goal, but rather a way to love God deeply and listen to God’s will. As we reflect on our own faith, we have to ask: “What truly comes first in our lives?” Like John, are we ready to put aside worldly success or ambition to remain faithful to God’s calling?

During John’s ministry, people who wanted forgiveness from sin normally had to go to the Jerusalem Temple and offer sacrifices. This burdened the poor, and the Sadducees and priests who controlled temple rituals profited from it. Such a system limited God’s grace to the privileged classes. John overturned this pattern when he began to offer a “baptism of repentance” in the wilderness. He insisted that genuine repentance and inner change mattered more to God than ritual alone. He taught that if people received baptism with water and turned their hearts to God, they would receive God’s forgiveness. This was a shocking idea at a time when the Temple’s authority was absolute. Yet it opened the possibility of grace to everyone, including the poor.

John’s ministry not only challenged religious authorities but also took on political power. He publicly condemned Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee, for taking his brother’s wife—an immoral act. This bold prophetic stance put John’s life at risk. Herod feared the people’s respect for John and hesitated to harm him, but Herod’s wife, Herodias, resented John. Through her daughter Salome’s request, she had John arrested and eventually beheaded (Mark 6:17–28). This shows John was more than a religious innovator; he was a true prophet who spoke against corruption. He drew large crowds in the wilderness, and some even thought he might be the Messiah. But John was clear about his identity. He once proclaimed, “He must increase, but I must decrease,” signifying that Jesus should become greater while he became less. Thus, John accepted his role as “a voice” preparing the way for Jesus.

At this point, we recognize how John rose above ordinary human desires and focused entirely on God’s plan. We might recall Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: starting with physiological needs like food and water, then safety, then belonging and love, next esteem or honor, and finally self-actualization at the highest level. While many seek esteem—recognition, status, or honor—John the Baptist deliberately chose to forgo this fourth level of need, prioritizing instead his ultimate calling. He did not seek worldly fame but dedicated himself fully to revealing Jesus to the world. This was not merely self-denial but a conscious pursuit of his God-given mission, which led him beyond the need for esteem to a deeper self-actualization. To the world, it may have seemed as if he was lowering himself, but in the grand story of salvation, he was actually achieving the fullest realization of his purpose.

When Jesus came to be baptized by John (Luke 3:21–22), we see a powerful sign of a new age beginning. Even though Jesus was sinless, He entered into the very place where sinners repented, taking upon Himself the burdens of humanity. This action points to a new era. John’s call—“Repent and change from within!”—found its deeper completion in Jesus. Yet John’s humility and restraint stand out as well. Some believed he was the Messiah because he was so popular, but John insisted: “I am only preparing the way for the One who is far greater.” He knew how easily people can be tempted by success or admiration, and he was determined to remain faithful to God’s bigger plan.

Sometimes we also rely on rituals or outward forms for a sense of security. But John’s message is that without genuine repentance, these forms are empty. True repentance is not merely regret; it is a complete change of our life’s direction. Rather than just fixing one mistake, it involves moving the very center of our lives back to God. This kind of repentance shakes our inner being and leads us to act differently. Even though John spoke boldly about radical change, he never tried to be a hero. He always pointed people to Jesus and stepped back, so that God’s plan could be revealed more clearly through him.

In this way, John teaches us what it looks like to say, “I’m not the main character—God is the one directing the story of salvation, and I am just a humble servant.” When we understand our proper place and carry out the task God has given us, we too experience true repentance and a new beginning. Just as the Messiah came to an Israel weakened by formality and oppression, Jesus promised to baptize us “with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Luke 3:16). The first step to enter this promise is to turn our hearts back to God. And that repentance must include humility and self-restraint, like John’s, so that we do not glorify ourselves but reveal God’s work in our lives.

Even now, the voice crying out in the wilderness echoes in our hearts, inviting each of us to reflect on how we respond to this call. True humility allows God’s presence to shine more clearly in our lives, and as we open our hearts and turn to Him, we are led beyond formality into true transformation. May we follow the path of John the Baptist—not seeking to exalt ourselves, but finding true renewal as we take our rightful place in God’s grand design. Then, we will discover that the end of our waiting indeed becomes the beginning of a new era. Through genuine repentance and inner renewal, we will enter the gate of God’s kingdom.

Amen.

Faith That Grows in Waiting and Praise
Scripture: Luke 1:39-55 (Fourth Sunday of Advent)

Today, we celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent, bringing us closer to the joy of Christmas. During
this season, we have journeyed in faith—seeking light amid darkness and readying our hearts for the
Lord’s arrival despite life’s uncertainties. Advent is not passive waiting; it is an active embracing of
God’s promises, held deeply in our hearts.
As we draw near to Christmas, I invite you to reflect on the story of Mary and how her response to
God’s promise can guide us in our own times of anticipation, fear, and faith. In Luke chapter 1, we find
not only Mary’s courageous decision but also her profound song of praise. Both reveal a heart fully
dedicated to God, even in moments of risk and uncertainty.
In the ancient world, marriage customs were quite different from ours. Mary was likely a teenager
when she conceived Jesus through the Holy Spirit. In ancient Jewish society, it was common for
women to become engaged between 12 and 14 and marry by 16. While her exact age is unknown, her
acceptance of God’s call at such a young age, despite the risks, was a profound act of faith. Accepting
God’s call at that stage of life, especially when it could lead to misunderstanding, criticism, and even
put her safety at risk, was a remarkable act of faith.
When the angel Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, her response was brief yet
profound.
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)
This becomes even more meaningful when we think about the challenges Mary faced in her society. In
her culture, becoming pregnant before marriage could result in harsh outcomes. Women in such
situations were often met with public disgrace, rejection from their communities, and even the threat of
death by stoning, as prescribed in the Mosaic law (Deuteronomy 22:20-21). Their families, too, would
face shame and rejection from society, making her choice even more challenging.
Yet, despite these risks, Mary entrusted herself to God’s will. She let go of her fears, placing her trust
in God’s plan and showing obedience by embracing 디the uncertainty of her situation with courage.
This remarkable faith, despite the risks, reveals the profound courage and devotion within Mary’s
heart.
We all face moments when a simple “yes” or “no” is not enough. Sometimes we need a faith-filled
“yes” that comes with real risks attached—moments where the future feels uncertain, and the stakes
are high. Like Mary, we may wrestle with fear. However, Mary’s willingness to trust God beyond her
fear invites us to do the same. It is in precisely those moments that God’s plan unfolds in ways beyond
our imagination.

After Mary visited her relative Elizabeth, who was also expecting a child through God’s miracle,
Elizabeth’s greeting sparked a powerful response in Mary—a song of praise we often call the
Magnificat. This hymn flows directly from the depth of Mary’s spirit:
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…” (Luke 1:46-47)
In this hymn, Mary extols God’s faithfulness and justice, celebrating the Lord who lifts up the lowly and
brings down the mighty. It is a grand reversal of worldly values, showing us a kingdom where humility
is honored and pride is humbled. Mary’s song invites us to reflect on the character of God: one who
sees and cares for the humble and neglected, and who brings down the proud from their high
positions.
We can learn so much from Mary’s praise. Praise deepens our connection with God. When we sing or
speak our gratitude, we become more aware of God’s constant presence in our everyday lives. It is
not that God needs our praise to be God; instead, when we praise God, His grace works through us,
helping us grow and follow His plans. In turn, we become more open to the ways God can work
through us to bless others.
It is easy to read Mary’s story and assume it was straightforward, but the reality is that her decision to
say “yes” carried real-life consequences. She faced not only social and cultural risks but also personal
uncertainty about her future. Yet Mary trusted God’s providence and believed that her “yes” would
lead to something greater than she could imagine.
Likewise, we face important decisions in our lives: “Am I supposed to take this risk?” “What if I fail?”
“What will people think?” Such questions can keep us stuck in hesitation. However, if our choice aligns
with God’s will—if it is something that honors God and benefits our neighbor—then perhaps we are
being called, like Mary, to trust God for the outcome.
Trusting God does not guarantee a life without challenges. However, through faith, we recognize that
even life’s hardships can be used by God for greater purposes. Seeing challenges through God’s
control frees us from regret and gives us hope to move forward.
Advent is a season that challenges us to remember God’s promises and respond with obedience. We
might think of waiting as passive, but in fact, biblical waiting is anything but idle. Mary’s example
shows us that genuine expectation goes hand in hand with readiness to serve. She actively traveled to
Elizabeth, offered support, received confirmation, and burst into praise. Waiting on God means staying
attentive to His voice and ready to act in love—whether through offering encouragement to someone
in need, reaching out to the lonely, or showing kindness in unexpected ways. These small actions can
make God’s love tangible in daily life.
This active waiting calls us to look around for neighbors in need. It can mean a kind note for someone
discouraged or a listening ear for someone who feels alone. These seemingly small gestures can
become powerful testimonies of faith, preparing the way for the Lord’s presence in our communities. It
is in these tangible acts of kindness that the miracle of Christmas takes root in our daily lives.

God shapes us through our waiting, using the time to mature our faith and deepen our compassion. If
we are willing to respond with openness, trusting that God’s timing is perfect, we will find that our
hearts grow bigger, and our deeds reflect the love we have first received from Christ.
As we conclude this Advent journey, let us remember Mary’s extraordinary “yes” to God—a “yes” that
involved real risk and yet led to the salvation of the world. Her example teaches us that when we yield
our fears to God and stand resolute in faith, God can do marvelous things through our ordinary lives.
Faith is more than a feeling; it is a trust that matures in waiting and expresses itself in praise. Mary’s
Magnificat shows us that genuine faith inevitably results in gratitude, reverence, and an unshakable
conviction that God values the lowly and cares for marginalized.
What about us? As we stand on the threshold of Christmas, how will we say “yes” to God’s call in our
lives? Perhaps it is stepping out to help a neighbor, supporting a ministry in the church, or standing
firm in a decision that honors God and blesses those around us. Let us do so without regret, letting
God transform our small acts of obedience into streams of blessing for others.
May we embrace this season of Advent not by simply counting down the days, but by actively
participating in God’s unfolding plan—seeking opportunities to love, serve, and offer praise. When we
rest our lives on God’s promises, our faith opens the way for the Holy Spirit to work within us, and our
praises become a living testimony that Christ has indeed come near.
Amen.