Rain down fire? On who? You think this is conquest?
He's not marching to a throne. He's walking to
his death. For love. You've been walking for
weeks now. Through wilderness dust, manna mornings,
burning bushes, and bronze serpent mercy. And
now the road changes. Jesus is no longer wandering,
no longer lingering in the lessons of the desert.
Luke says he set his face towards Jerusalem,
not as a man chasing glory, but as a man who
knows exactly what love will cost him. The road
turns south. The door closes in a Samaritan village.
The disciples, they want fire. Jesus, he wants
mercy. And somewhere in that turn, Between the
flint -faced resolve and the refusal to destroy,
there's a word here for all of us. Tonight, we're
gathered around tables in the Fellowship Hall
just after our midweek meal. Our Bibles are open,
cups still sweating. A little tired, maybe, but
we're here. The chatter's settling down now.
The lesson is about to begin. So pull up your
chair in close, and let's walk this road together.
I'll see you on the other side. Before I begin,
our friend Wayne isn't here, so I'm going to
look to Wayne's table, and I get multiple thumbs.
Not even one thumbs down tonight. Not even one.
So I will begin, but before I actually begin,
for those of you that were with us on Sunday,
Honest Engine, did you know that the two verses
before John 3 .16 were about a snake fight? I
had no idea. Okay, all right, because I kind
of felt like that was one that... Most people
know their Bible, but when I tell them that,
I think there's going to be some folks who are
going to be like, I did not know that. So many
of you, I think everyone here, but at least many
of you have been with us throughout the entire
season of Lent so far. And maybe you have noticed,
maybe you haven't noticed, but you will after
I tell you, because we have all been walking
together for weeks now, not just tonight, but
through the entire season. And we have stood
before. a bush that was burning and was not consumed.
And we'd eaten manna that we couldn't store.
And we looked up at a bronze serpent on a pole,
and we'd been told that the remedy looks exactly
like the wound. But now, now the road is changing.
The road is narrowing. And you could feel it
in the man walking just ahead of you. Something
in his shoulders. The way a farmer turns towards
his field after the last frost doesn't seem to
come back inside until the work is all done.
Not because he isn't tired. Because something
heavier than tired has taken hold. The wilderness
is still visible behind us. It's close enough
we can still smell the manna. But the man ahead
of us isn't turning backward. He's already somewhere
else. His body just hasn't caught up with him
yet. And the road south towards Jerusalem does
not forgive hesitation. And Luke says it plainly.
When the days drew near for him to be taken up,
he set his face towards Jerusalem. Set his face.
The Greek word there is esterison. Esterison.
And it's used for laying a foundation stone.
It represents something permanent, unchangeable,
something that the whole structure can depend
upon. And there are moments when a decision stops
being something that you think about and something
that your body just does. And that's what Luke
is describing here. Not a thought, but a turn.
A man pointing his whole life at a city that's
going to kill him just for showing up. And it
begins not with a triumphant battle cry, but
with messengers sent ahead to book a room in
a Samaritan village. Friends, attune your ears
to the reading. of Holy Scripture this evening.
Our Scripture portion comes to us from the Gospel
account according to the physician Luke, chapter
9 of his Gospel account, beginning with verse
51. It came to pass, when the days were near
that he should be taken up, he intently set his
face to go to Jerusalem, and sent messengers
before his face, who went and entered into a
village of Samaritans to prepare for him. They
didn't receive him because he was traveling with
his face directed towards Jerusalem. And when
his disciples, James and John, saw this, they
said, Lord, do you want us to command fire to
come down from heaven and destroy them just like
Elijah did? But he turned and he rebuked them.
You don't know what kind of spirit you are. For
the Son of Man did not come to destroy men's
lives, but to save them. They went to another
village. This ends reading the Holy Scripture
this evening. The first step towards Jerusalem
is a closed door. The face is razor -sharp flint.
The road turns south, and the very first thing
that happens is a village that says, you can't
stay here. The road to the cross does not begin
with Roman nails. It begins with ordinary people
saying no. A village that looks at the Son of
God walking towards his own death and decides
that's not our problem. And that's not cruelty.
That's just people being people. You recognize
this situation because you've had more doors
shut in your face than you've had mails driven
into your hands. That's why he starts here. He
knew that his readers, you, recognize it. At
James and John, their first instinct. is to burn
the place down. Lord, do you want us to call
fire from heaven? They quote Elijah like it's
a weapon. And they got told no. And they wanted
somebody to pay for it. They still think power
proves that kingdom has arrived. Jesus already
knows where this road ends. Luke tells us just
a few verses earlier on the mountain. When Moses
and Elijah speak with him about his exodus, he's
already counted the cost. And his first response
to the first rejection is not fire, but a rebuke
aimed at his own people. You don't know what
kind of spirit you are. And when you think about
it, The very first pastoral act on the road to
Calvary is telling his own disciples to put the
fire down. And we often read this passage and
we hear it as a story of courage. Jesus decided
that he would go to Jerusalem with resolve and
determination, a hero walking into the fire.
But let's stay grounded. in the text for just
a moment longer. Just before this, just before
where I began, Luke 9 and 51, Jesus takes Peter,
James, and John up on a mountain. His face changes.
His clothes turn white. Moses and Elijah appear
and speak with him about the exodus he will accomplish
in Jerusalem. And Peter panics. Remember, he
tries to build shelters as if the mountain could
somehow become their permanent address. Now,
then they come down, and Jesus heals a boy that
the disciples couldn't heal, and he predicts
his own death again. And the disciples, after
that, begin arguing with themselves about who
among them is greatest. Mountain glory, then
failed healing, a prediction of death, petty
arguments about rain. And then he sets his face
towards Jerusalem. He does not turn his head
towards Jerusalem in the midst of triumph. He
turns, knowing exactly what the men beside him
cannot do, will not understand, and refuse to
accept. He walks towards a cross. while the people
closest to him are arguing about who's in charge.
And if you think about it, from his perspective,
that's loneliness. Plain and simple. And he goes
anyway. So what's pulling against Jerusalem?
Not cowardice. The text. Won't allow for that.
Luke says he set his face intently. This is a
man leaning into a headwind, not retreating from
a threat. And that headwind is love. Love for
the people he is about to leave. Love for the
mountain where glory was visible. The road was
short. No one wanted him dead. Love for Peter.
who got it wrong almost every single time, but
never once faked it. Love for the life he could
have had if he had just stayed in the Galilee,
healing folks, teaching, eating fish by the shore
with his friends. That's what's pulling against
Jerusalem, not the bad stuff that's coming. The
good stuff, he's leaving. every good thing he'd
have to walk away from. Obedience is not always
leaving bad things. Sometimes it's leaving beloved
things. And that's harder. Luke 9 and 28 gives
us that mountain glory experience. Luke 9, 51,
where we're seated this evening, gives us the
beginning of the road south. And the distance
between them is the distance between being loved
and being killed. And he crosses it in 23 verses.
We have been taught to read this story like steel.
But it's closer to heartbreak. It's finally made
a decision. The man who will weep at Lazarus'
tomb. Sweat, blood, and Gethsemane, and ask for
the cup to pass, is not fearless. He is full
of love and full of fear. And love wins by a
margin thin enough to require that flint edge.
And here, here's where the Lenten arc converges.
Moses stands on Mount Nebo, sees the land he's
never going to enter. His face has been in God's
presence so long, the people can't even look
at him. He gets the vision, but he doesn't get
the crossing. Jesus comes down from his own Nebo,
the transfiguration, and his face is altered
there too. Same glory, same God. But Moses looks
across the Jordan and grieves. Jesus looks south
towards Jerusalem and walks. Moses removed his
sandals at the burning bush because the ground
is holy and he needed to stop long enough to
hear. Jesus puts his sandals on and walks south
because he's heard. And now... Now it's time
to obey. Sandals off to listen. Sandals on to
obey. This has been the whole season. The wilderness
was the address. We learned that. The manna fell
every morning. We learned that. The bush burned
where holiness was at least expected. The backside
of the desert. We learned that. And now the man
who taught us all of this sets his face towards
the one place where the teaching will end up
costing his body on a cross. And I want to show
you one other thing because Luke also uses one
more word that matters. One almost unnecessary
word. He says, Jesus set his face because the
days were near for him to be taken up. That word,
analepsis, shows up nowhere else in Luke's gospel,
except for it's the ascension word, which means
Jesus is not just looking towards the cross when
he starts walking south. He's looking through
it. Jerusalem is not where he goes to die. It's
where he goes to finish. The wilderness may not
feel like it. It's been good to us this Lent.
The bush burned, the manna fell, the ground was
holy. Some of us needed it every single week.
Some of us needed to hear that being tired is
not the same thing as being faithless. Some of
us need to know that... What felt like exile
can actually be the address. But the desert can
be the place where we find the most intimate
provision from God. But the face is now set in
this road. Well, friends, it only now goes in
one direction. We're just a few days from when
we're going to talk about Lazarus coming out
of the tomb. 13 days from palms on the road.
19 days from a table with bread and wine and
a man washing his buddy's feet. 20 days from
the cross. The remaining road is short. Jerusalem
is getting close enough to start counting the
trees. And Jesus is still walking ahead of you,
not looking back. Not because he doesn't care
what's behind him, but because love has made
its decision and the decision doesn't need to
be made again. So the question is not, will you
be brave and follow? The question is actually
simpler and harder. Will you choose to walk with
a man who already knows what this costs and turns
towards it anyway? So, may the God who set his
face towards the hardest road give you grace
to keep walking when the village says no and
the door stays shut. May you know the difference
between steel and heartbreak. Choose heartbreak
every time. Because that is what love looks like
when it finally makes a decision. And friends,
may the road ahead short as it is. Carry you
all the way to the table where the bread still
smells like hope. A man who walks beside you,
standing there holding a towel over his arm.
Amen? Amen. Thanks, guys. Hey, maybe here's the
word you need for today. That Jesus didn't set
his face towards Jerusalem because the road was
easy? but because love had made its decision.
And maybe that means some of what feels heavy
in your life right now is not proof that God
has left you. Maybe it's just what faithfulness
feels like when it has to keep walking through
closed doors, misunderstood motives, and weary
miles. So take heart. The Lord is not asking
you to manufacture steel out of thin air. Tender
enough to love and steady enough to keep going.
That's hard mercy. But it is mercy all the same.
And if something in this study gave you fresh
thought today, if you heard an old text in a
new way or found yourself seeing Jesus a little
bit differently than you did before, throw a
little like in the offering plate, just like
we used to do down at the church. And if you'd
like to keep walking with us all the way to Jerusalem
and Resurrection Sunday, go ahead and tithe your
subscribe. That way, you'll know when we start
walking again. And until then, friend, be blessed.