Gooding, David: 11 - Setting Out on the Path

It was never going to be possible, my good friends and very patient listeners, that we should cover the whole of the Gospel of Luke in this week. And therefore I have concentrated on the first half of the Gospel hitherto. I do not expect that I have convinced you of all the literary patterns that I have suggested in the talk so far. But at least I hope that I have begun to persuade you that the Gospel of Luke is not just a haphazard collection of stories. It is not like a box just full of old photographs from which you might take one or t other in any order, and it doesn't particularly matter in which order, because as you look at each individual photograph, the photograph itself is the main thing, and it doesn't really matter to you in what context the photograph was originally taken. Nor does it matter how one photograph relates to another photograph. Uh, you just study whichever one you happen to like and pick out. Of course, if we want so to do, we can take an incident from the Gospel of Luke, and because Luke is recording something that actually happened, is a bit of history, it is open to anyone to deduce from that event any lesson that can properly be deduced from it. It is history. You may care to deduce from some of Luke's stories points that he did not himself probably intend as the main point of his narrative, but because it was history, it is quite legitimate for you to take hold of that particular point and develop it within the normal canons of historical criticism. But, uh, as I say, I hope I have suggested to you that when God chose Luke to write his gospel, as the other gospels, he chose a someone who had, uh, uh, thoroughgoing ideas of how to write history. You will notice the difference between ancient historians and modern historians. Modern historians are not content to tell you facts, but having told you facts on the basis of that, they will treat you to their own explanation of the facts, with many a comment and many a conclusion that they draw from the facts. And indeed, if modern historians didn't do that for us, but, uh, contented themselves with just listing a lot of facts, we should scarce call them historians. We should call them rather chroniclers, and we wouldn't pay so much for their books. But, uh, the ancient historians had a different way of coming at history. The, uh, uh, father of history himself in Europe, Herodotus, well, he told a lot of yarns, but even they are not unconnected, nor are they carelessly put together. The so-called father of scientific history, Thucydides, made it a rule to say as little as he possibly could, just record the facts as he could ascertain them after much research. The only places, perhaps, where he allowed himself some comment of his own, more notably than elsewhere, is in the speeches that he records that were made by certain historical figures. It is unlikely that Thucydides always had access to shorthand copies of the speeches that had been given, so he puts into the mouths of his characters speeches that he thought it was likely for them to have, um, pronounced on this and that, uh, critical occasion. But in addition to that, Thucydides, if you will look closely at him and be prepared to think, that's the trouble with ancient historians, they ask you to think. But never mind, if you really take their work seriously, uh, Thucydides will do similarly as Luke does. He will describe the Athenians holding forth on the principles of justice and so forth that they appeal to, uh, in face of other powers. And then presently and very discreetly, he will tell you about the Melians, who complain about the way the Athenians are treating them. And putting the two situations together, if you've remembered long enough, uh, about the first one, you will perceive what Thucydides is doing without comment, helping you to perceive the inconsistency of the Athenians who claim for themselves political rights that they were not prepared to give to such people as the Melians. In other words, the ancient historians are somewhat more objective than the modern ones. With very little comment of their own, they will take, uh, the historical facts and relate them, but so arrange them as you can come to your own conclusion and perceive what they had in mind, or what you should have in mind anyway, by pondering the stories and seeing them side by side. We'll see significance in the collocation. When God chose the psalmist to write psalms, he chose men that already had some thoroughgoing knowledge of poetry as it had been developed in the ancient world. We don't study the psalms, of course, simply for the sake of their poetic structure, but then we do find it helpful to notice, one, they are poetry that accounts for the kind of language they use, and at the same time to notice, uh, the poetic method with their parallelisms and so forth and so on. And noticing their poetic structure can contribute a lot to our understanding of the meanings that they get across. And so when God chose Luke and others to write the Gospels, he wrote men that were well acquaint both with the Hellenistic manner of writing history and also with the Hebrew Old Testament historians who do very similar things to what Luke does in his gospel. Just a few remarks, uh, before I, uh, proceed tonight. Eh, a warning, if I may, in my advanced old age, uh, to my younger brothers and sisters. Beware of studying scripture just to look for structures, and to think you have got the meaning of scripture if you have seen a parallelism or a structure or a pattern or a symmetry or something. These literary devices are only means to an end, and uh, if we have understood uh, the structures rightly that we think we have seen, you should test them by saying, how do they contribute to the message that is being got across? And if you can see how they contribute to the message, two similar stories that are making complementary points and one balancing the other, then if you don't have to, don't talk about structure. Just point out to the congregation the first week that the story teaches this, and then next week, that this story teaches that. Oh, you happen to remember what the story said last week, do you? It said this, didn't it? Well, now look, and you needn't mention the word structure. It is bad for some people's hearts, you'll see, if you mention structure too often, you'll see. Uh, get the result of perceiving structure and so forth, and put the result across. True structures are an integral part of the meaning, and in the end, the meaning that they're getting across is very preachable, like the rest of the Bible is, of course. In my own studies, I have, uh, constantly reminded myself, particularly in narrative books, but it also, uh, applies in other places, that there are three things, amongst others, that one may look for. The first is thought flow, the second is structure, and the third is pattern. They are three different things, though closely related. So, thought flow, how you start from the one beginning of the story and of the thought, how does the thought go- thought flow go down to the end of the story, and does the thought flow proceed beyond that story to the next one, and so forth? Where do you start, and where does the this particular thought flow finish, and the writer turn to some other scene? Thought flow, therefore, it is e- every bit important. And as Murray, uh, uh, and Neville have shown us today, in even in epistles, as well as in Old Testament stories, thought flow, of course, reigns supreme when you have understood the words and the background, uh, and each sentence and so forth, then of course the thought flow between one clause and another, one sentence and another, one paragraph and another, and so forth, this is of supreme importance. If in following thought flow, you then perceive structure will alter the good. If you are playing a, a, a complicated piece of music, it's good to know before you start where the slow movement ends and the fast movement begins, is it not? Rather embarrassing if you, uh, if you take the slow movement on halfway through the, the, the fast movement and then stop there, you'll see. They are different movements, aren't they? And though they contribute to the whole, we need to know where one thought flow finishes and another begins. Particularly is that true in narrative books, you'll see. And structure, therefore, determined by thought flow ra- uh, more than anything else, is important, uh, and it's good to know. Structure will tell you where the great climaxes are, uh, you'll see. And if you are expounding a passage of scripture and you have the time, uh, to do it, that's not always so, but it's a good thing to know where the climax of a particular thought flow is, so that when you come to the climax, you can thump the desk, if that is your habit, you'll see, and put the point home to people and don't start, uh, uh, finish seven-tenths of the way through and miss the climax to which the Holy Spirit, in his inspired text, is leading us. Thought flow, therefore, and structure combined are important. And sometimes patterning also is important. We saw a kind of pattern this afternoon in the fifth section of Luke, a kind of a mirror image, and saw how that might be relevant to the discerning of the main message. Thought flow, structure, and pattern, these three, but the greatest of these is thought flow. What I want to do tonight is simply now to look at the second half very briefly, and just to throw out one or two suggestions, as one student to you, my fellow students, about some of the ideas that you might like to consider or will come across, eh, when you come round to reading again the second half of this gospel. The second half of the gospel has notoriously given to the commentators, the expert commentators, I mean, uh, puzzles, if not headaches. It begins, as we have now several times observed, at Luke's gospel chapter nine and verse 51. And it came to pass, when the days were well nigh come that he should be received up, he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem. And thereafter, as we saw on several occasions ago, Luke from time to time interrupts his narrative to remind us that our Lord is on his journey toward Jerusalem. That comes to its climax, of course, in the final chapters of the book. Though the goal of that journey, just let me repeat once more, was not Jerusalem. The goal of it was, as Luke says, the days were well nigh come that he should be received up, that is into heaven, that is referring to his ascension. But when people have taken that framework of the narrative and asked themselves, now, is that the dominant theme for the second half of Luke? Does Luke intend us to see what follows as our Lord's journey from this earth to the, to glory, to the ascension? Uh, and therefore, does Luke, uh, uh, include his special material, which there's a great deal that he has and nobody else has in this particular section of his gospel. Does Luke intend those, that special material to be related to this theme of the journey? That great expert on the exposition of Luke, Professor Howard Marshall, having examined the matter in great detail and the thoughts of many, uh, commentators and experts, decides that, uh, uh, no, the journey motif does not control the other material. The material is not ranged, so to speak, around a journey theme because the material is quite diverse. The journey theme, therefore, is, so to speak, a mere geographical structure, and we may leave it there. Professor Marshall doesn't suggest it is simply a brute fact, the background brute fact that our Lord was on a journey, but otherwise it's irrelevant. Of course not, because the journey itself, uh, through Jerusalem to the ascension is a highly, profoundly significant thing in itself. He is suggesting that the material that Luke records within the framework of that, uh, journey is not necessarily related to the theme of the journey. And who am I to dispute the experts where they have given so much detailed, uh, study to the matter? I do not either want to claim that all that our Lord said and did in this part of the gospel is immediately relevant to the fact that he was on a journey. What our Lord talked as he was consciously himself walking from Galilee through Jerusalem, up back to where he came from, what he taught on that journey we leave to his sense of suitability, of course. We study it for its own sake. But I have, uh, listed here, uh, uh, as my, uh, vague suggestions for you, when you might be returning to read seriously this part of Luke, some themes that have appealed to me. I personally believe that within the journey narrative, there are five stages, and I would claim that Luke has marked them out in the same and similar literary devices that he has used in the first half of the book. Sometimes he uses little introductory or concluding phrases, general phrases, to mark the beginning and end of a passage. On other times, he will put at the beginning some idea, some theme, and when you come to the end, you will find that same theme repeated with, uh, variations. For instance, uh, uh, uh, the, um, first time of going, if you look at chapter nine fifty one again, you will see that the immediate story that follows, which is fifty two to fifty six, we have the record of some rather ill-behaved Samaritans. Our Lord was going through on his journeys. He sent messengers before his face, and they went and entered into a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him, but they did not receive him because his face was as though he were going to Jerusalem. There was great animosity between Samaritans and Jews over the matter where was the right place to worship God. The Jews said in Jerusalem was the right place to worship. The Samaritans said, nonsense, Mount Gerizim is the right place to worship. And the disagreement had often burst out into bitterness and offensive action. So then, when the disciples came to this village to seek out a lodging for the Lord Jesus that night, and the village was a Samaritan village, when the Samaritans discovered that, uh, these Jesus and his apostles were on their way to Jerusalem, they slammed the door in their face and would not, uh, receive them. The apostles were for calling down fire from heaven on their heads for the insult that they had thus offered to the Lord, not to speak of themselves. Of course, our Lord rebuked them and said, you know not what spirit you are of. He had not come to destroy people. He was prepared to put up with their inhospitality, their rudeness, their positive insults, for he loved them. And some of those Samaritans, when subsequently after Pentecost, Philip the Evangelist went and evangelized them, some of those Samaritans doubtless came and found salvation. It's good job John and James hadn't destroyed them, isn't it, by fire from heaven before they got the chance to be saved, you'll see. But anyway, I wonder, as usual, here are bad Samaritans, so to speak, at the beginning, and the section ends, doesn't it, with that delightful story that was given in reply to the lawyer, uh, from verse thirty to thirty seven. This is a story of what we, of what we call the good Samaritan. It was not with, by accident that our Lord, when he told this parable, uh, uh, gave the character of the good man to a Samaritan. So you start the section with bad Samaritans, so to speak, and you end it with a good Samaritan. That's a typical device that Luke has, but itself carries, of course, an important, uh, message. Eh, so then I want to suggest to you that by these devices we may discern that Luke perhaps has five sections, five stages in the second piece, as he had in the first. And if you ask what sort of general caption would you put over, uh, inadequate as they are, I should say the first section will talk to you about setting out on the path to glory. The second section will talk to us about determining life's necessities, priorities, and proportions. In view of the fact that we're not here forever, our destiny too is eternal glory, and that will determine for us our sense of what are really necessary things in life, and which are our priorities and proportions. That section starts with a delightful story of Martha and Mary, and how the Lord came in his journey to their house. You remember it well, don't you? And, uh, dear old Martha, she got a chance to entertain the Lord. We should all be disappointed in her, shouldn't we, if she didn't, hadn't decided to put on the best dinner that the Lord had ever had in the whole o- of the land of Israel, you'll see. Core of five course, uh, cordon ble- uh, dinner would not have been enough in master's estimation for which to entertain the Lord. Meanwhile, halfway through, you know how difficult these things are when you've got a distinguished guest, don't you, you see, and potatoes aren't boiling at the right time, and somebody who's supposed to look after the carrots has gone off and forgotten to come back again, you know, it's difficult. And, uh, Mary had broken off, and she'd left Martha and gone to sit at the Lord's feet to listen to him, you'll see. And Martha got a bit upset, you'll see, and presently she felt it was so unfair that she came and chided the Lord. Why you now allow Mary to sit here listening to your word. I should like to be listening to your word too, but here she is hogging all the nice bits and leaving me the chores, do you see? It ain't fair, she said. Bid my sister come and help me. And we can understand her, can't we? Ah, do you see, we must, uh, be careful not to blame Martha. In my assembly, when I was a youth, there was a dear lady. Her face shone like the sun. You'll say gracious, gracious lady she was. She was, how shall I put it, childlike in her simplicity, you'll say. She wasn't so sophisticated as some, though she could hurl a barb or two when occasion demanded. And she ran a kind of a guest house, you'll see, and the church, when it had visiting preachers, were in the habit of lodging the preachers with her, you'll see. So one night the visiting preacher held forth on this story and berated Martha, uh, to the full. So she took him home, and she showed him into the front parlor, and it was dead of winter, and there was no fire, and she left him there for a while to cool his heels, do you see? While she busied herself in the kitchen making supper. And when she had thought he'd frozen his toes enough, she reappeared and said, uh, uh, uh, you have been in Mary's room, my dear sir. Would you care to come to Martha's, do you see? Point. Point delivered. I don't know whether it was taken. But then when you have said that, you see... There was another angle on it, wasn't it? Gently, not with any ingratitude, our Lord said, but Martha, Martha, you're troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. If we are thinking of life's absolute necessities... Well, if you're call- if you're going on holiday to the Ritz Hotel in the south of France, you won't need to take anything because they're, uh, all the wealth. If you're going to a tent in s- in France, you'll have to decide whether you really must take two television sets or whether one is enough on your camping holiday. If you're going with a backpack, you'll have to decide very seriously whether you do really need two tin openers or could make do with one. And if you haven't all the time that there is, we shall have to decide our priorities, can't we, and our necessities. The Lord was passing through. Perhaps they would not see him again till the days before the crucifixion. These were precious moments when he might sit and talk to them, and they to him. Good as Martha's intentions were, her love for the Lord, what do you think the Lord himself would have preferred? A five-course dinner that kept Martha so busy that she hadn't the time to talk to him? Or a two-course dinner, ploughman's lunch or something, that enabled Martha too to come and spend the most of the time personally talking to the Lord? Which would he have preferred? We can't do everything in life, can we? Not even we, even if you propose to live to ninety six and a half, you won't do everything in life. We have to decide what life's necessities are. One thing is necessary, said Christ. This section ends with the story of another woman. She was bowed down, had been for eighteen years, and could no longer lift herself up. Came into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and as she came in, the Lord, uh, released her from her bondage, and she stood up straight on the Sabbath day. You'll see. And the ruler of the synagogue was annoyed and rebuked the people and said, look, this is Sabbath. If you want to be healed, you come some other day. And the Lord rebuked him too. He said, if you had an ox or an ass bound, would you not loose the binding on the Sabbath and lead it away to watering? Oh, but that's a necessity, isn't it? Because you see, if the old ox can't be loosed and and go to the water and drink, the poor ox might, um, give up the ghost, and you can't afford to lose oxen, they represent money. But this woman, must she be made to wait? Said our Lord, and ought not this woman, whom Satan has bound these eighteen years, be loosed from her bond on the Sabbath? This is an overriding necessity. And any rule or regulation that says souls must be kept in bondage to Satan because of some ceremonial rule is patently false. There are overriding necessities, are there not? And you see it at the beginning, and you see it at the end of this section in the case of these women. The third section, let's spend just a little more time on the third section, because it's an interesting one, uh, from many points of view. Well, all are interesting, but this is an easy one, and I'm all for doing the easy ones. Eh, uh, you'll see thirteen twenty two, it begins. Well, thirteen twenty three to be sure, because thirteen twenty two is one of those general remarks that ancient authors used to divide their narrative, and it's a journey remark, as you see. So twenty three, and one said unto him, Lord, are they few that be saved? And he said unto them, strive to enter in by the narrow door, for many, I say unto you, shall seek to enter in and shall not be able. When once the master of the house has risen up and has shut to the door, and you begin to stand without and to knock at the door, saying, Lord, open to us, and he shall answer and say to you, I know you not whence you are. Then you shall begin to say, we did eat and drink in thy presence, and thou didst teach in our streets. And he shall say, I tell you, I know not whence you are. Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity. There shall be the weeping and gnashing of teeth when you shall see Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, and yourselves cast forth without. And they shall come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and shall sit down. The Greek word is recline, reclining as they would at a banquet, at a sumptuous banquet they reclined in those ancient days. They shall recline, sit at table, if you like, uh, in the kingdom of God, and behold, there are last which will be first, and there are first which will be last. This is the first story in this third stage of the second half. And it's interesting, therefore, because it is the story of people that will be excluded from the messianic banquet at last. But then, of course, as you read through this section, you will find that there are four prominent stories. I have, uh, extricated them and put them down together on one sheet, as you'll see. In this section, there are four stories about people who miss salvation. There's these people, uh, and, uh, they miss, uh, getting into the banquet. Then the second story is of the, uh, uh, great feast made, you see, the messianic banquet again, and when the time is ready, the invited guests receive a messenger to remind them, now the dinner is ready, please will you come? But at that stage, they refuse to go in, and so they miss the banquet, and the master of the feast is angry, and he says, none of those men shall taste my banquet now. Then there is the, uh, third, uh, lot of parables, uh, and the last one is the story of the prodigal son and how that when he came home, the father made for him a welcome home banquet, uh, but the elder brother would not go in. And finally, there is this fourth story about the rich man in Lazarus, and now Lazarus was taken to Abram's bosom, the rich man found himself in Hades. Four stories in this particular section. Four stories about the destinations that await men and women at the end of the journey. And for the redeemed, what delightful metaphors our blessed Lord uses to describe the joys of the blessed and the redeemed in glory, in terms of banquets, you'll see, delightful banquets with delightful company. You shall see Abraham at the Sarah's well, and Abraham and Isaac and all those, uh, you'll see sitting at table, uh, as honored guests reclining at the tables at this ri- uh, rich banquet. All four about, uh, glorious, uh, banquets, and even, uh, the Lazarus, the rich man of Lazarus, he is now comforted and is Abraham in Abraham's bosom. But as I said the other night, when in scripture you'll find two or three or four things very similar. Then when you have noticed the similarity, the more important thing is to notice the difference, do you see? To do what the medical people in our part of the world call differential diagnosis. I gave the illustration the other night, you remember, of a sore throat. Do you see? three men come to a doctor with a sore throat. He doesn't just, uh, prescribe aspirin for all the lot of them. He first have a look, has a look down the caverns as they are presented to him, and sees that the diagnosis of the first one is sore, right, but he's been shouting for the All Blacks, and he's told to go home and shut up for a while, and that will cure him. And the next man, it's sore again, but he's got tonsillitis and will need some kind of medicine. And the third man is sore, but alas, perhaps it's cancer of the throat. He will need a different treatment. All sore throats are different. Four lots of people that miss the eternal blessing. Ah, but it's not just ditto repeato, is it? We must look at the differences between them. You can see that some are more s- uh, have uh, things in common with another one more than they have with the rest. For instance, in this first story, those outside find to their horror that the door is shut, and the master of the house will not open it. There's a barrier then between them and getting into the feast. And in this final one, a great gulf is fixed, you'll see. Those two have more in common with each other than they do with the others, perhaps. Here, then when we look a little bit deeper, we shall find there are other interesting differences. These people here who were shut out are horribly surprised. They never intended to be lost. They thought, in fact, they were saved. And when, to their horrid dismay, they find the door shot in their, shut in their faces, they begin to knock hard on the door and say, Lord, Lord, open to us. And the voice from inside says, but uh, no, I, I never knew you. They said, of course you did. We heard you preach in our streets, and we were sometimes guests in the same house when you were a guest. You, we ate and drank in your presence. Of course you know us. And the voice behind the door says, but I, no, I never knew you. These are people who miss salvation, but they never intended to. And this man here, this rich man, he missed salvation too, but he never intended to. Why did they miss salvation? What were the reasons why? These two, on in both these stories, the people who miss the banquet miss it on purpose. They never did intend to go in. This lot here, they were invited, presumably gave nominal assent, but when the hour of the feast drew near and the servants were sent to bid them come, they looked at their diaries and found out they had other, uh, prior engagements, uh, and they were very sorry, and they said it politely, but they found they had other engagements, you'll see. Uh, married a wife or something, or bought a f- a field and wanted to go and look at it, but fancy buying it without looking at it. And he got these oxen and things, you'll see. Ha ha. Why do people like excu- uh, make excuses like that? Well, perhaps you know how it is when Mrs. uh, Malaprop or somebody, uh, comes along and says she's got a party coming up next, uh, Friday, three weeks from now. Uh, would you like to come? And you say inside, well, perhaps you don't, but rude people would, yeah, ooh, I hope I've got some other engagement on that day. Because, uh, uh, no, I can't. I've got an engagement on really on that day, and you open your diary, and to your dismay, the engagement's on the next day and not that day. Oh, you say, yes, well, that's true, but the grass is growing long, and I have to cut it, you see, and I can't come. Because you have had per- previous experience of her dinner parties, you see. And you're making excuses because you think the dinner party wouldn't be good enough. They don't want to come. They would prefer their business to the dinner party, thank you very much. In their estimate, it wouldn't be good enough. Whereas the poor from the byways and the highways are glad of a crust of bread, and to be invited to a banquet is them nearly the millennium begun. And this last lot, when the father made, uh, the welcome home banquet for the prodigal son, the elder brother would not go in. Why? Because he thought the banquet wasn't good enough? No, for the very opposite reason. He thought the banquet was too good. To s- put on a banquet like that for the rotter and waster that his brother had been. Now that seemed to him to deny all true molar- mo- morality, to undercut genuine hard work. And he thought this doctrine of a free banquet for, for sinners that have wasted their substance and now come home and said sorry, and they're going to be treated to all this banquet that was not fair, and it wasn't just, and it was undermining morality, and he wouldn't go in. So even those two stories, though both lots miss it because they intend to miss it, this lot miss it because it is not good enough in their estimation, and this lot miss it because they think it's too good. Four stories then, I'm not going to spend any more time on them because you've preached them doubtless more often than I have, but all I'm showing is that these, uh, Luke in these sections, he does this kind of thing. You'll see he's got four stories. They're separated in the le- in the, in, in the narrative, but they call for thought, don't they? Four stories, very similar, on a similar theme, but with very important variations, and it's important to see the different reasons. The, uh, people here, uh, thought they were inside when they never were. And this good man never thought he would be in hell. And the reasons why he never thought it would be important to see, wouldn't it? But now let us notice while we're at that, you'll see, um, another thing that Luke will do, for the man is a very sophisticated writer. In that same section three, you have him do this kind of thing. Here are two stories, one after the other, not separated in the text now, but one after the other. The first one is the Messianic Banquet. Mm-hmm. Here. Following the s- the story, the parable of the Messianic banquet, where the invited guests refused to go in. That banquet was free, of course, and the poor and the hungry were glad to come in and enjoy the banquet free. As that is why some of them thought it would be not worth going to. But look at the next story. If the banquet is free, that is perfectly true, followed by a lesson on discipleship. You'll see, uh, uh, you'll see, uh, uh, and uh, who of you doesn't first sit down and count the cost? And so forth and so on. As has often been said, the gospel is absolutely free. Salvation is free. But for many people to come and take it, could cost them everything they have. And the cost of discipleship for all of us is large and persistent. And it's good, isn't it, to have the balance in two consecutive stories. And look at the next one, the next two. The prodigal son story tells us you can waste life resources, repent, come home penniless, and it makes no difference at all. Isn't that what the story of the prodigal son implies? The man had wasted his substance with riotous living and reduced to abject poverty and hunger. Having wasted everything that he had, he comes home, and it makes no difference to the father's forgiveness and the father's welcome. He is dressed with a new robe, the fatted calf is killed for him, he's welcomed back into the home. How many gospel preachers have used it with delight to tell of the great mercy of God, that though we waste our lives' resources, yet suppose we came home at eleven fifty five before midnight, then God would forgive and welcome us back, and the fact we had wasted our goods would make no difference. Yes? Oh, the next story says, I w- I wouldn't waste your goods if I were you. Our Lord told the parable to which Murray referred this, uh, earlier today or yesterday, about the unjust steward who was found out by his boss to be wasting his lord's goods, to the point where his lord said, well, you can no longer be steward then. You're going to, I'm going to give you a month's notice or so, and you will be out of a job. So then the steward came to his senses and, uh, sat down and puzzled a moment. What would he do? He said, I'm soon to be out of a job, you know, and when I'm out of a job, I shall have no money, and I'm ashamed to beg, and I've no strength to dig. So he hit upon a plan. He was not called unjust to it for nothing. He, while he had command of his, uh, lord's goods, you see, he called his lord's creditors and said, uh, my bo- my boy, how much do you owe? Uh, uh, Ten thousand dollars? Ooh, sit down and write, uh, well, let's say five thousand, and that will do. You'll remember me, won't you, uh, when you see me around the streets after this. And thus he did, you see, and he made friends with the money that he had in his hands, his lord's money, while he was still in his job, so that when the money was no longer in his hands, he would have friends to welcome him into their homes. Says our Lord, not approving, of course, unjust dealings, and make your friends like yourself friends by means of the mammon of unrighteousness, that when it, that is the mammon, fails, they, I take it to be the friends, may receive you into eternal habitations. At least that is my interpretation. Be warned, the experts, uh, are trying to disagree. But there you are. Make friends by means of the mammon of unrighteousness, that when it fail, they may receive you. It would be foolish, wouldn't it? And a waste of life's resources not to listen to the Lord Jesus here. You say, friends? But in the eternal tabernacles, when we get home to heaven, we shall have friends, shall we? I mean, all of us will be alike. Everybody was is friend with everybody else in heaven, aren't they? Are you saying that some people will have more friends than others? Well, Paul was looking forward to go to heaven. He told the Thessalonians that when he, when he got there, you'll see, they, his converts, would be his crown of joy and rejoicing. Yes? Common gratitude won't cease just because we're in heaven, will it? I liken it myself to the situation, you see. Suppose you, at the end of a week, having gave paid all your necessary bills and had every comfort you would like, and you find yourself you've got fifty dollars over, you'll see. So you send it to the Bible Society, it buys some New Testaments, it's sent to some far off tribe, the members read it, and the tribe comes to faith in Christ. When that detail comes out at the judgment seat of Christ, will not those glorified primitives come and put their glad arms around your neck and thank you for all eternity? And they shall be your crown and joy of rejoicing, shall they not? That you under God were used to bring them to salvation. And I, being in the same position with fifty dollars over, decide to buy the biggest ice cream that it is possible to eat at one go. And if and when that comes out at the judgment seat of Christ, Gooding spent it on an ice cream. Well, I suppose heaven will take notice of it for a split second. Oh, did he? I don't know that anybody will come and fling their heavenly arms around my neck and say, thank you for eating that ice cream, unless it be the ice cream maker or something. Make to yourselves friends, that when the mammon fails, they may receive you into their eternal tabernacles. Gratitude, my brothers and sisters, will not cease just because we get home to glory. Then let me take just one more example, and then I will tonight behave and stop short of the time. Stage four of the second half of Luke's Gospel. I have put under the general, uh, uh, uh, under the general title of Preparing to Reign with Christ. Why so? Because it talks on the coming of the kingdom, and then it talks of entry into the kingdom. It talks explicitly of the coming of Christ in that third paragraph there, the coming of the Son of Man, universally visible. And what is more, at the end, there's the story of these ten servants who, when their Lord returns, are called to account for how they have used the pounds entrusted to them. A parable easy of interpretation, for the Lord has entrusted to us all kinds of resources, to this one this and to that one that, and when he comes, he will call us before him to consider what we have done with the resources he gave us, how well we have profitably we have served him. That is what it says will happen when the Lord comes again. So I have generally entitled that section with a very vague title, on preparing for the coming of the kingdom, on preparing to reign with Christ. You will observe, even by the slight, uh, uh, look at that list, that it has some interesting comparisons and contrasts, will you not? It starts with ten lepers. Only Luke has the story. Of those ten lepers, one, but alas, only one, was grateful. And whereas the other lepers were healed, but went off home without coming personally to meet the Savior, one of them, in gratitude for his physical cleansing, came back to give thanks to the Lord, and in so doing, found a deeper relationship with the Lord that spelled salvation. So he got two things. He got the physical cleansing, but then he got salvation in the deeper or the higher sense, you'll see. Good job he was grateful, wasn't it? Ten servants, therefore, one of whom was grateful and the others not. And you end up with a story, a parable of ten servants, one of whom was bad, wasn't he? And what was wrong with the bad one? Well, listen to the man, as the Lord calls this servant before him. This is the man that had taken his pound and wrapped it in a napkin and buried it in the ground or something. Why didn't you just wrap it in an acorn? Said the servant to his master. It's your fault, said he. My fault, my man? How is that? It's your fault. You see, I know you. You're a hard man, always looking for something for nothing. That's the trouble with you. You want to reap where you've never sown. You want to pick up where you've never put down. And I knew you, and I was afraid of you, always demanding something for nothing. That's why I didn't work for you. Afraid of you. I'm a hard man, am I? said his master. And I'm always expecting people, uh, to work for nothing and, uh, expecting things for nothing. Well then, my good man, let me tell you, I'm your master still, and if you were thus afraid of me, you ought to have worked all the harder. You're a wicked man. That was a parable. What about the reality? Will any man stand before Christ at his judgment seat? And when the Lord says, good man, why didn't you work for me? Will any one of us reply, it's your fault, Lord. You shouldn't have expected it from me. You're always expecting something for nothing. That's you? Expecting to reap where you haven't sown. You say, how would a believer ever talk like that to the Lord? Not a believer, surely. But when the Lord gave himself for us, gave his blood for us, how could anybody be so ungrateful to Christ as to forget what Christ has done for us and regard his demand that we serve him as an arrogant and unreasonable demand, expecting something for- from us for nothing. I hope no believer is ever in that position, but let's not get anywhere near it, shall we? Oh, like that leper. Don't let's be content to take all the physical blessings that Christ gives and then be so wrapped up in our homes, we have no time to come back to Christ and thank him and to forge relationship with him and enter into the depths of his salvation. Ingratitude to Christ is an exceedingly dangerous vice. Or is gratitude for what the Lord has done for us. That will impel us with increasing force as the years go by, with the thought, if he did so much for me, nothing that he could possibly ask me to do would be unreasonable in the asking. But if it is so that heaven watches us already, we are not serving to the best of our ability, just going our own, on our own selfish interests, though we're not saying it with our mouths. What do you suppose our behavior is saying to the Lord who gave his everything for us and sees us so ungrateful that we think it unreasonable that we should be expected to do much for him. These then are ragged, uh, uh, uh, uh, thoughts. They are merely suggestions thrown out. You don't have to be convinced by them, but so long as you take the, uh, an idea that perhaps this second part of Luke is very carefully written, and it is very balanced, and its very selection and arrangement are pointing us to the lessons that these stories teach. Then if that happens and you profit thereby, then I have done my little task. Shall we pray? Our Father, we thank thee again for Luke's fine artistry and for the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit that chose him for this task. But we perceive, Lord, that behind the artistry there lies these profounder and much more important things. Issues that at once we see are eternal in their significance and crucial in our living. Help us, Lord, to pay attention to these lessons, to study them deeply and carefully and constantly, that we may see all that thy Spirit intended for us to see in them, that we may ourselves apply them to ourselves, and that we in turn may be given some grace and attractiveness and yet faithfulness, to preach the lessons to all those around us who need their message of hope, who need to be warned by their message of judgment. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.