Acts 2:37-41 | Cut to the Heart

And we do this as a sign of our obedience to Jesus and our as a confession that we have decided to follow Jesus and that we're telling everyone about it. And it's important to know that the there's nothing special about the water. The water that we use to baptize people, it's the same as any other water. It's the same as the water at your house that you use to cook and clean and the water that you drink. There's nothing special about the water. The water doesn't save you. Jesus is the only one who saves us. But baptism is still an important act of obedience that we should that we should choose to do after we become saved. So that's something to think about. If you have accepted Jesus as your Savior, if you are confident in your salvation but have not been baptized yet, that's something to think about and to talk to your parents about and then talk about taking that next step of obedience and following Jesus' example of being baptized. All right, that's it for today's lesson. We'll have a little treat and then we'll make our way back to our seats. Thank you. [applause] Are you kidding? Thanks for the introduction, Matt. Appreciate that introduction into the sermon. If you read your Bibles, and I hope you do, the passage today will be found in Acts chapter 2 37-41. There's some context before that will be included as well. Let's pray before we begin. Father, I pray that your word would accomplish your will in your way today. We give you the glory for it. Teach us.

Open our hearts. Jesus name. Amen. The caravan left Partha months ago. I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember the feeling, anticipation, and excitement. The road to Jerusalem is long, a thousand miles long. Plenty of time for your thoughts to wander. Plenty of time for questions to rise. Our caravan formed in Seucia. Families pilgrims traders each one with their own reason for going. The journey involves your senses such as the sense of smell. You have the musky, earthy tones of camels and donkeys, the pleasant aroma of leather from the sandals, the straps, and the bags, and the stale odor of perspiration of people who've been on the road for too long. And then you add to that sense of smell the sense of hearing. Step [snorts] tap. Step tap. Step tap. Feet against the ground and staffs against the dust. Add to that camels groaning that provides the bass sound. Children laughing adds a major key. Donkeys hooves add the percussion section. Leather squeaking adds the melody. There were no silent moments. We followed the Euphrates River northwest. It was on our left and it moved along just as we were moving along. You can't help but to notice all of the dust. It settles into your clothes, into your eyes, into your sandals, and into your throat. It sticks to everything. Each night we stopped. The heat faded, the wind cooled, the fires flickered, the wood smoke filled our camp.

And I sat there with a piece of coarse bread in my hand, still warm from the stones that it was cooked on, sapping up the lentils from my bowl. And when I was done, I leaned back onto the hard ground, looking up at the open sky above me. My mind did not rest, at least not completely. And even in my dreams, my thoughts were filled with the four spring feasts, Passover, unleavened bread, first fruits, Pentecost. Day followed day in our route took us past Adessa and past fields, some familiar and others not familiar. We the road changed from hardpacked gravel which jarred my knees to a softer gravel which slid underneath my sandals. As we moved along, we snacked on figs, on dates, on olives, bitter but filling, and we washed it down with water, sometimes cool and clean, and other times stale and stagnant. One morning, weeks into the trip, my calves were aching, my feet were burning, and my mind was just thinking, "How far away are we?" Then a voice from a man standing beside me lifted up his voice, and he said, "I lift my eyes to the hill." And automatically I joined in and said, "From where does my help come?" Then the entire caravan responded with, "My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth." And just like that, the road changed. Not the dust, not the distance, but how we carried ourselves with more purpose. We were moving towards something. We reached Damascus, a way point. The road splits here. We took the southern route on the king's highway. Along the highway, we could see terrace hills on both sides, olive trees gnarled and firm dotting the hillside and vineyards on the slopes. Even the road changed here. Hard stone paving that absorbed the sun through the

Day and gave heat off on us all through the afternoon. We passed through towns without lingering, moving further southward. The root, this route was safer. It was familiar. It bypassed Samaria. It bypassed the coastal tolls. It bypassed trouble. But it was still not easy. Mornings were cool and heavy and damp. And I would wrap my cloak around myself as I walked. I could see my breath in front of me. But by midday, the sun claimed everything. Sleeves got rolled up, skin was exposed, and the heat pressed down without mercy. The road ahead of us shimmerred, and we kept moving forward. We were approaching our destination, and that was motivating. Our step was faster, straighter, as though someone was pulling us along. When we neared Jericho, everything changed. Things got green. We crossed the Jordan River there. Cool water flowing. No more stagnant water. No more rationed water. I let it run over my feet and wa wash away the dust. Now the climb begins up to Jerusalem. This is the final stretch. And suddenly we're joined on the road. It fills with camels, donkeys, sheep, goats, families traveling together, pilgrims in multicolored garments from many different lands, trade goods strapped to camels, different voices and different language from different lands. Up, up, up we climbed. The climb stressed my legs. My breath came more difficult now, but I welcomed it because I knew what came next. And before we even saw it, I could feel it. That moment that every pilgrim waits for. And there it was. Jerusalem, the temple

With the white stones reflecting the light and the gold glimmering in the sun. As we neared the city, the road was filled with palm frrons. I was glad when they said unto me, "Let us go to the house of Yahweh." The words left effortlessly. And then the next psalm says, "Our feet shall stand in your gates, O Jerusalem." Jerusalem was not just a destination. It was an experience. We had arrived before Passover on the 14th of Nissan, the feast we call Pesak with its bitter herbs, unleavened bread, its lamb, its blood, its sac substitute, its deliverance, its freedom. But I never really knew what Passover was asking of me. This year's Passover was unforgettable. Just as the lambs were being offered, a darkness settled in over the whole land and stayed for hours. And if that were not bad enough, in the middle of the darkness, the ground began to shake. Priest ran out of the temple screaming that the veil had been torn. I was struggling to figure out what was happening. Then on the very next day, the second feast began, the feast of unleavened bread, kag ha matsot. It was the 15th of Nissan. To me, unleavened bread represents the complete removal of corruption. Just like those three criminals that were executed outside the city yesterday, our people prepare for the feast of unleaven bread. I remember my imma, my mom. She would take a lamp and search through the entire house for levan. She looked under cushions. She looked inside jars. She looked in the corner for the smallest crumb that could be hiding. No leaven could remain. Not even a crumb. This seemed a little

Excessive to me. What difference could a little crumb make? And yet Emma searched every year, year after year. I also would listen to my Abba tell the stories of how Israel left Egypt. They left in haste, he would say. There was no time, he would say. Yahweh brought them out with a strong hand, he would say. I heard all these words my whole life. Yet, I still wondered. Throughout all those years, I noticed some things about the feast of unleavened bread. How easily a crumb could be missed, how quick, how quietly it hides, how thoroughly it must be sought out and removed. And it seemed, although I'm not sure, that it was about something much more important than just the house. It was about something inside of us, something I did not yet have words for. Then the very next day, the third spring feast began. The feast of first fruits. This sneaks up on me. It follows right on the heels he heels of Passover and unleavened bread. During this feast, the priest brings out a sheath of barley. It's small compared to the entire harvest in all of Israel. Very small. A single bunch of barley, not winnowed, >> not ground, not baked. The priest takes it and he waves it before the Lord and that's it. So simple. I wondered if I had misunderstood something. I would ask Aba and he would say, "Watch carefully, son." So I watched every movement, every gesture, every year I watched and still wondered, "What does this offering mean?" And then there was Yahweh's command

About this feast. And you shall eat neither bread nor grain, parched nor fresh, until this day, until you have brought the offering before Yahweh. This is a statute forever for all your generations in all of your dwellings. That's the way it was. Not a taste, not a handful until that sheath was offered to Yahweh. That prohibition always unsettled me a bit. The harvest was plentiful. The grain was ready. And yet we must wait until this one important sheath was lifted up. Sometimes when I stood in the field in Partha, I would grab a sheath and wonder, is this just like the sheath that the priest list lifts in the temple? How can one sheath make an entire harvest acceptable? I don't know. But every year when the priest lifts that R and moves it before the Lord, I feel something I cannot explain. A kind of permission, a kind of hope, a kind of promise as though something was being accepted. Then from Passover on the 14th of Nissan, we count seven sevens, seven weeks of seven days. 50 days after Passover comes the fourth and final feast of the spring, Pentecost. We offer 10 burnt offerings, seven lambs, one bull, two rams. Then we offer a sin offering, a male goat. After that, there are four peace offerings, two lambs and two loaves of bread, leavened loaves. That morning on Pentecost, I entered through the Hula gate in the southern wall of Jerusalem. As I entered, the priests were busy

Singing in the courtyard. Their melody, harmony, and volume blended with the instruments in the background. If someone had entered distracted, their music would have helped them to focus on what was at hand. The two lambs of the peace offering were offered first. The fire did its work. The smoke rose. The aroma rose. I remember asking Aba, "But what about those two loaves, Aba? Why 11, Aba? Are we not supposed to keep leavenan away from our offerings? He was not troubled by my question. They are peace offerings, he said. Then the priest brought out the two loaves. Everything seemed to slow down, golden, thick, unmistakably made with levan. The priest lifts them and waves them between the altar and heaven. The altar in heaven. When it was time to leave, I exited by a different gate. The crowd moved me towards the Shushon gate. Not quickly, not roughly, but steadily, like waters finding a path. Inside the temple, everything had been bright. But as I crossed underneath that gate, the air cooled, the footsteps echoed, and the singing dampened. On the other side of the gate, the light hit me again, brighter now. I was beginning to wonder in a way I never had. I had not come to see an offering. I'd come to be an offering. All those years of leaving the leaven behind me. The years of lifting up the sheath. All those years of the two unleavened loaves. They had led me to this point. And although I couldn't quite figure everything out, I knew this. Yahweh was guiding me and he would help me to understand. Moving away from the temple,

Something got my attention. It was it just the shift in the air? Was it the strange echo between buildings that happens in Jerusalem with the narrow streets? Sounds echo throughout the narrow streets. But then I heard it again, stronger this time. Not loud exactly, like something moving. I slowed down and others did too. Did you hear that? They would ask. It's not like a song. It's not like voices. It's more like wind. Not the kind of wind you feel on your skin. Not the kind of wind that you hear, but a low rushing sound from somewhere ahead. People began moving towards it. Not out of curiosity. It was a summons. Arriving at a group of houses, the crowd had already begun to assemble. People pressing, craning to see. The sound got stronger there, as if it were coming out of one home. But how could one home hold that kind of a sound? I stopped and listened. The sound, it sounded like wind, but wind scatters. Wind drives things apart. And this was drawing people together. My mind flashed back to Mount Si, which happened about 50 days after Passover when the Israelites left Egypt. Yahweh had come down with fire and wind on top of the mountain. But this storm, it's moving people towards it. In that day, it moved people away. I stepped close enough to hear more than just wind. Voices, many voices, and then what seemed to be fire over each man. Again, my mind flashed back to Sinai with the fire in the storm. The men inside were all speaking, but not in their normal Galilean language. Then I froze. I heard it. Parthion, my language, clear, fluent,

Unmistakable. I searched for the speaker and found a Galilean. His clothes, his accent, everything about him said, "Not from my part of the world. And yet he spoke of Yahweh. He spoke of his power, his mighty works, his faithfulness. His words seemed alive around me. Others reacted as I did. Heads turning, eyes wide, voices trembling. How we hear them in our own tongues. Before I could gather my thoughts, a man stood above the rest, not shouting, his voice carried, steady, certain undeniable. Men of Judah, he said, and all who dwell in Jerusalem, listen. And I did. I leaned forward and I hung on every word. For these people are not drunk as you suppose since it is but the third hour of the day. In the last days it shall be Yahweh says that I will pour out my spirit on all flesh. Your sons will prophesy. Your daughters Your young men will see visions. Your old men will see dreams. Your male servants will prophesy. Your female And it shall come to pass that everyone who calls upon the name of Yahweh shall be saved. Then he said, "Men of Israel, Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by Yahweh, with mighty works, with wonders, and with signs that Yahweh did through him in your midst, as you yourselves know." This Jesus delivered up according to the definite plan and fornowledge of Yahweh. This Jesus you crucified and killed by the hands of

Lawless men. The words struck [snorts] struck me sharply. They cut through every defense. I had heard that name. Everyone had Jesus. Caiaphas claimed that his body had been stolen a couple days after he was buried. There had been rumors traveling throughout Jerusalem of him being seen after his death meeting with his disciples. Yahweh raised Jesus up. Then it came, it came to me, raised Jesus up. Just like the first fruits, Jesus was the first fruit. The man said, "Let all of is the house of Israel therefore know for certain that Yahweh has made Jesus both Adonai and the Messiach, the Lord and the Messiah. This Jesus whom you crucified." And then he said something that made my chest tighten. This strange speaking, the fire, the wind. This was from him, from the one we had rejected. Yahweh has made Jesus both Lord and Messiah. I called out, "Oh Yahweh, be merciful to me a sinner." The realization of my guilt pressed in from every side. Then a voice broke through the crowd behind me and yelled out, "Brothers, what shall we do?" Silence fell, but the answer came quickly. "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission or forgiveness of your sins. Repent. Don't perform. Repent. Don't prove. Repent. Don't clean yourself up and then come, but change your thinking. Turn from what you were trusting in. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Just like that barley loaf. The first had already been accepted. I stood there unmoving. And for the first time in my life, I understood this was not about an imagery or a pattern. It was about a path. Not become clean then come, but instead the first has been accepted, so now come. And with many other words, he bore witness and continued to exhort us, saying, "Save yourself from this wicked generation." When I stepped forward from the crowd from my wicked generation, I was not trying to solve anything anymore. Many moved together with me slowly, not forced, not hurried, but purposeful. Then the man who had spoken Parthion, my language, led us toward the temple to one of the ritual immersion pools. They're called the mikvaote. They're small. They're not fancy. No gold, no white stones. Just water and stairs going down and stairs coming up. There were a line of people as far as I could see. When my turn came, I stepped forward. Ankles, then shins, then my knees. With each step, the world grew quieter, then my waist, then my chest. It seemed that every step was a border or a boundary I was crossing. I stood before the man who spoke Parthion and he asked me, "Have you changed your mind?" I thought for a moment of my sin, of what I had been hiding my whole life. And then I thought of the message of Jesus and said, "I have changed my life. I have changed my mind." He asked, "Do you trust the lamb, your substitute, the one God accepted and glorified?"

And I said, "I do trust him." Then he said, "Be baptized." And he put his hand behind my back, leaned me back into the water. The waters closed over me. The light dimmed, the sounds dimmed, and for a moment it was darkness. Then he lifted me up out of the water. Air filled my lungs again. Light filled my eyes and things were not the same. I stood there dripping with my from my hair, from my beard, from my clothes. And the world was different around me. I exited out of the mikva and I looked at the people all around. It was the same people. It was the same dust that followed me for a thousand miles on the trail. And yet nothing was the same. The questions gone. The striving gone. The quiet things that I had kept hidden in my heart gone. I moved aside and the next man entered into the pool. Behind him, dozens more, hundreds. And beyond them, still more coming. I looked at their faces as they came out of the water. Different ages, different lands, different tongues, but the same expression on every face. As if they had finally stopped looking for a way in. All of the these feasts had never been about me bringing something to Yahweh. It had been about him bringing me to him. All the journeys, all the questions, they were leading me to this place, to this moment. The leaven bread was my own corruption. The hidden things, the quiet things in my heart, the parts of me that I could not clean. The sheath was Jesus. He had to be lifted first. Now, the sound in the city carried on. The merchants yelled. You could hear the footsteps. You could hear voices. But I didn't hear them in the same way anymore because now I knew where I stood. Not outside, not waiting, not trying to

Become worthy. I had been brought near. The harvest has been has begun because the first fruit was lifted and now the rest of the harvest could be brought in. I took a step forward into the street and for the first time I was not searching after Yahweh. I was walking with him. It was Yahweh's truth about Jesus that made me repent. It made me change my mind. It was my own emotions about and sorrow for the what I had put Jesus through that made me repent and change my mind. It was Yahweh's kindness, his tolerance, his patience that made me repent and change my mind. And for the first time in my life, I understood. Now I am the offering to Yahweh, a living sacrifice to be used by him. It is a little embarrassing that it took me so long to put all these pe pieces together. I was surrounded by religion, a regular in the temple, taking part in worship, giving my shekels, singing Yahweh's psalms, traveling thousands of miles for the feasts, deserving of death, trusting in a religious system instead of trusting in the Messiah. It is so easy to be surrounded by religion. To be a regular worshipper, to be a giver, to be a singer of songs, to be one who needs to repent, one who needs to change your mind, to be at peace with Yahweh. Yahweh says his promise is for you and for your children and for all who will are far off. Everyone whom Yahweh our God calls to himself. That applies to me and to you. I had come to Jerusalem to bring something to Yahweh. But I left Jerusalem knowing I had been brought as an offering, a living

Sacrifice, just a leavened loaf offering to serve Yahweh. Let's pray. Father, your word is living. It's powerful. It's alive. And it changes hearts. And we do pray Lord that you would accomplish your purpose, that your word would not return void, but it will accomplish what you set it forth to do. And we trust you with the results in Jesus name. Amen. As we come to the communion table this morning, it's a vivid reminder of the Gospel. We remember the Gospel that God sent his only begotten son to be our Savior, the propitiation for our sins through Christ. Our sin debt has been paid in full once and for all, past, present, and future. Propitiation means that sin requires death as payment to be atoned for. And Jesus died, was buried, rose again on the third day, and later ascended to heaven. Even now he is seated at the right hand of the father, interceding for all who believe in him. You guys can go ahead and start passing out the bread. When we view the Gospel, when we think about the communion table, the Gospel changes the way that we see God's commandments. When we rightly understand the Gospel, we realize that it that if God loved us enough to sacrifice his only son for us, then he is motivated by that same love in every command that he gives us. We do not see his commands as punitive or dictatorial, but instead we receive them as the guidance of our faithful shepherd, leading us into a life that is full and abundant. As Jesus says in John 10:10, "The thief comes only to steal and to kill and to destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." This abundant life is not only a future promise, but also something we begin to

Enjoy even now. And we do not have to wait until Christ returns to experience that life that he gives. As we celebrate this communion, this the Lord's table, there are some responses that we're offering. We obey this his command. Do this in remembrance of me. We remember the Gospel and we celebrate the abundant life that he gives us and we look forward to his return when we will join him at the marriage supper of the lamb. I invite you as we wait to take the bread together just to be considering the Gospel the impact that has had and the difference that it has made in your life. Heat. Heat. [music] >> [music] >> Are you [music] >> [music] >> Pray with me. Father, I thank you for these symbols that remind us of the debt that has been paid. Your body that was broken and pierced for us. And I pray that Father, we would not see this, we would not celebrate this carelessly, but that we would celebrate it with full awareness of that abundant life that you so freely give us and want us to enjoy. We thank you for this in your name. Amen. Take ye in do this in remembrance of me as he says >> [music] >> In the same way, he took the cup also after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this as often as you drink in remembrance of me. I invite you now to join in singing the duology. Praise him all creatures here. Praise [snorts and singing] him above heaven.

Praise father son and holy ghost. Thank you. Don't forget the benevolence offering and if you've not come prepared, you by all means can do that online as well. So, thank you.