Sermons

Dwelling in Dissonance: Love and Grief, Glory and Belief
John 11:1–44

Introduction: A Familiar Story, A Fresh Word

            As we begin the season of Lent, a six-week journey that leads us toward the cross and ultimately toward the resurrection, we are following the narrative arc of John’s Gospel, which brings us today to John 11, the story of Lazarus—his sickness, his death, the grief of Martha and Mary, and the moment when Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb. When I first saw that this was the lectionary text, my initial reaction was, “Really? We were just here,” because some of you will remember that we touched on this passage during Advent and explored it more deeply in our Bible study, and so it felt like a return to familiar ground. But as I sat with the passage again, I was reminded of something important, especially for those who know these stories well, and it is this: the text may not change, but we do, and the Spirit of God meets us in familiar passages with a word that is fresh for the season we are actually living in.

            John 11 is a story that refuses to flatten the tension of life into easy answers, because it holds together realities that we often try to separate too quickly—love and grief, glory and belief—and instead of resolving that tension, it invites us to dwell there long enough to discover that Jesus does not simply arrive with power to fix everything immediately, but that he enters into our sorrow, shares in our grief, and calls us to trust him even there.

A Testimony of Death and Resurrection

            I believe that the death and resurrection of Jesus was a literal, historical event that took place at a particular time in human history. Though I have never witnessed a literal resurrection, I have seen what I would describe as the death and resurrection of hopes and dreams, and one of those moments came early in my ministry.

            I was serving in the church I had grown up in, and I loved the people and the work. We began to see encouraging growth, and I believed this was where God had called me to serve. Then, unexpectedly, I was told that my role was coming to an end, not because I had failed, but because the direction of the church was shifting. I remember going for a long winter run that day, trying to process what felt like a loss I had not chosen. Something I believed God had given seemed to be taken away. And yet, in that season, something deeper was being formed in me. I was learning how to finish well, how to trust God when the path did not make sense, and how to remain faithful even when I was no longer on the path I had imagined. In time, after further conversation and prayer, I was invited to stay and continue in my role, and what had felt like a kind of death became, in a very real sense, a resurrection, as I continued in that ministry position for five more years of fruitful ministry.

            Sometimes find myself asking the same kind of questions we hear in John 11: why the delay, why the difficulty, and why did it unfold this way? Wasn’t there an easier path? I do not have a complete answer, but I have come to believe that God is often more concerned with what he is doing in us than what he is doing through us, and that some of the most important lessons we learn in following Jesus are formed not in ease, but in the tension of some of the most challenging experiences of our lives.

Three Invitations from John 11

1. Name the Dissonance Honestly in the Presence of Jesus
   One of the striking features of this story is that Martha and Mary do not attempt to tidy up their grief, but instead say plainly, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21, 32). This is both a confession of faith and an expression of disappointment. What we see in Jesus’ response is not correction but presence. He stays with them, listens, and ultimately enters into their grief. We are reminded that bringing our questions, confusion, and even frustration into the presence of God is not a failure, but often the place where faith begins to deepen. If you find yourself in a season where God’s timing does not make sense, you do not need to pretend everything is fine. Jesus is not threatened by your honesty, and he meets you in the reality of your experience.
2. Trust That Jesus’ Love Is Not Disproven by Delay
   John tells us that Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters, and yet John also writes that Jesus delayed going to them (John 11:5–6), which forces us to confront a tension that many of us feel, namely that love and delay can coexist. When God does not act as quickly as we would like, it is tempting to interpret that delay as absence or indifference. But this story challenges that assumption. Jesus does arrive. He enters the situation. He weeps (John 11:35). And he acts. But he does so according to a timing and purpose larger than what Martha and Mary can see. In other words, the presence of delay does not negate the presence of Jesus’ love.

3. Respond to Jesus’ Call and Allow the Community to Help Unbind You

            When Jesus finally arrives and stands before the tomb, he calls Lazarus by name, and Lazarus comes out (John 11:43–44). But L is still wrapped in grave clothes, still bound by what once held him. Jesus then turns to those around him and says, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” Resurrection is both personal and communal. Jesus brings life, but the community helps a person walk in that life. There are times when we need to hear the voice of Christ calling us out of places that feel like death, and there are also times when we need others to come alongside us and help remove what continues to bind us, whether that is fear, grief, or patterns that no longer align with the life Jesus has given.

The Gospel Beneath the Story

            While Lazarus is raised, this is not the final victory over death, because Lazarus will die again. This moment functions as a sign pointing forward to something greater.

            In John’s Gospel, the raising of Lazarus sets in motion the events that lead to Jesus’ own death. Unlike Lazarus, Jesus will not simply be called out of the tomb by another, but will enter death fully and break it open from the inside through his resurrection, securing a victory that is not temporary but final.

            This means that when we find ourselves living in the tension between what is and what we long for, we are not abandoned. The story of Jesus assures us that love is present even in grief, that tears are not a sign of failure but of participation in a broken world that God is redeeming, and that glory is not absent but often hidden, waiting to be revealed in God’s time.

Conclusion: Dwelling in Dissonance with Jesus

            So as we begin this season of Lent, I want to invite you not to rush past the unresolved places in your life, but to dwell in them with Jesus, trusting that he is not afraid of your questions, your grief, or the tensions you carry.

            Because Jesus meets us in those places, not with quick answers or easy resolutions, but with his presence, and as we walk with him, he leads us, often slowly and sometimes mysteriously, toward the hope of resurrection that stands at the center of our faith. Amen.

Renew: Overcoming Evil with Good

Introduction: A Message That Stuck

            I want to invite you to think back to your teenage years. Do you have some good memories? When I was about thirteen or fourteen, I went with my church youth group to a convention with about 1,500 students gathered in the Duckworth Centre at the University of Winnipeg. I still remember one moment from that weekend. The speaker had us stand in sections and shout out Romans 12:11: “Never be lacking in zeal! But keep your spiritual fervour! While serving the Lord!” It was loud and energetic, but it left a mark on me. And, as it turns out, my wife was there too, even though we wouldn’t meet until years later. Something was deposited in both of us: a call to live a life dedicated to Jesus. But the truth is that zeal looks different in different seasons of life. As a teenager, it might look like energy and enthusiasm. In young adulthood, it might look like meaningful conversations. In midlife, it often looks like raising a family. In retirement, it becomes investing time and reflecting on the goodness of God. And for many in our church who are in their later years, the question becomes: How do I finish well? How do I continue—not lacking in zeal—but serving the Lord with joy? That question brings us to Romans 12:14–21.

A Renewed Mind Under Pressure

            In Romans 12:1–2, Paul calls us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. But here, in verses 14–21, he shows us what that renewed life looks like when it is tested. Paul is very realistic. Following Jesus does not mean your problems disappear. You will be wronged. You will be insulted. You may even face opposition or persecution. And when that happens, the instinct of the old self is to respond in kind. If you curse me, I curse you. If you hurt me, I hurt you. But Paul calls the church to something different. He calls us not to symmetrical responses, but asymmetrical ones. Instead of mirroring evil, we respond with good. Instead of retaliation, we respond with blessing, empathy, peace, and trust in God.

And everything in this passage builds toward one central statement: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21, NIV). That is the thesis. That is the invitation. So the question I want to ask is this: How are you doing? I hope you are not just “doing fine,” but doing good—actively participating in the work of good that Paul describes.

1. Life with Your People: Community in Harmony

            Paul begins with our life together: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15, NIV). This is a call to emotional solidarity. To be attuned to one another. Not just sharing space, but sharing life. I’ve seen this lived out here at First Mennonite Church. We pray together at our Sunday services for people in need. That is part of what it means to be the body of Christ.

            I remember when my wife and I first started dating. She was in Winnipeg, and I was here in Saskatoon. We could have just texted or called, but instead we wrote letters—real letters, with stamps and envelopes. We were learning to listen, to understand each other. There was a line from a U2 song I used to listen to while writing those letters: “I want a trip inside your head… to hear the things you haven’t said.”

That is the kind of attentiveness Paul is talking about.

            During a Prayer and Share time as a church, I had the opportunity to listen deeply to many of you. And one thing that stood out was how much this congregation values being a caring community. That is part of our congregational DNA. Paul goes on to encourage us: “Live in harmony with one another… do not be proud… do not be conceited” (Romans 12:16, NIV). If I could summarize it simply:
Empathy + humility = unity.

2. Life in Public: A Witness of Integrity

            Next, Paul turns outward: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone” (Romans 12:17, NIV). This is about our public witness. When I was in Bible college here in Saskatoon, I spent most of my time surrounded by other Christians. But every day I would go to the university to run track, and suddenly I was in a completely different environment. That became an opportunity to live out my faith in front of people who did not share it. Paul continues: “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:18, NIV). That doesn’t mean we control everyone else. It means we take responsibility for our side of the street. Your apartment floor, your workplace, and your neighbourhood should be a more peaceful place because you are there. I see this lived out in simple ways: checking on neighbours, sharing coffee, making phone calls, dropping off bulletins. These are not small things. This is love in action.

3. Life with Enemies: The Radical Way of Jesus

            Finally, Paul brings us to the hardest part: “Bless those who persecute you… do not curse” (Romans 12:14, NIV). And again: “Do not take revenge… ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:19, NIV). This raises a crucial question: Who is the boss? Because If I am the judge, then I have to carry the burden of justice. But if God is the judge, then I am free to let go of vengeance and trust Him. Paul even says: “If your enemy is hungry, feed him… do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:20–21, NIV). How we treat those who do not treat us well is a true test of how well we are living out the radical commitment to be like Jesus! I learned something about this in a season when I was serving as a missionary. We had to raise our own support—what I sometimes jokingly call an “eat what you kill” budget. Over time, we eventually raised a few hundred thousand dollars, often though it mostly came in small amounts. One day, I received a letter from a partner organization—one that I trusted deeply—saying they were ending all their partnerships. That support was gone. Emotionally, it felt like being chopped down. But after taking time to pray and gain perspective, I realized something. This wasn’t an attack. It was simply life. And what felt catastrophic was actually manageable. A new church partner or a few small individual donations could replace that monthly support that was now gone.

Jesus is our Model

            Sometimes, when we feel wronged, we interpret it as persecution. But not everything is persecution. Sometimes it’s just life happening. And if we let our emotions take over, we can end up responding in ways that don’t reflect Jesus. In moments like that, we need to remember Jesus. As He was being crucified, He said: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He entrusted justice to the Father—and chose love instead.

Conclusion: Love as Our Strategy

            So here is the truth I want to leave you with: Leaving justice to God frees me to pursue peace.

Paul is not naive. He knows evil is real. But he also knows that if we respond to evil with evil, the cycle continues. But if we trust God—if we release our need to control justice—then we are free. Free to bless.
Free to do good. Free to love. And even if it doesn’t change the other person, it keeps us from being conquered by evil. So, let me ask you again: How are you doing? My hope is not just that you are doing well. My hope is that you are doing good—living out a renewed mind, overcoming evil with good, and making love your vocation in every season of life.

Anabaptism at 500: Renewal Through Trust and Yieldedness

Proverbs 3:5–8; Matthew 18:1–5
Pastor Calvary deJong

Introduction: Yield Signs and Life with God

When I was growing up in Winnipeg’s blue-collar neighbourhood of Transcona, big red four-way stop signs seemed to mark nearly every corner of our former railway town turned suburb. Later, when I moved to Saskatoon, I noticed something different—many intersections in historic neighbourhoods like City Park, Nutana, and Riversdale had yield signs instead. Rather than forcing every lane of traffic to stop, vehicles were able to flow more freely because one direction was willing to yield the right of way to the other. These triangular traffic signs illustrate a larger principle for life: yielding means recognizing the world doesn’t revolve around me. This is more than traffic engineering—it’s a picture of discipleship. The early Anabaptists used the German word Gelassenheit to describe this posture of yieldedness: a calm release, a surrender of self-will, and a trustful openness to God. It wasn’t passivity. It was active obedience—choosing to set aside personal preference to follow Christ and love others.

As we continue our series, “Anabaptism at 500,” we remember that the Radical Reformation didn’t begin with programs or structures, but with people whose lives were radically reoriented around Jesus. Renewal came as they trusted God completely and yielded their whole lives to Him. That same call comes to us today.

Trusting God, Not Ourselves (Proverbs 3:5–6)

Proverbs invites us to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” In Hebrew poetry, this is an example of parallelism—two lines that echo and sharpen each other. The first is positive: place your whole weight upon God’s wisdom and character. The second is negative: refuse to prop yourself up with your own limited perspective. Together, the lines remind us that trust is more than mental agreement—it is dependence.

To lean on our own understanding is to insist that we know best. By contrast, yielding means giving God the right of way in every decision, resting the full weight of our lives on Him. Verse 6 continues the thought: “In all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Here, submission is to yield. To put trust in action—acknowledging Jesus as Lord in every aspect of life. The promise is not that the road will be easy, but that it will be straight—aligned with God’s good purposes. Yieldedness shows up in the details of daily life. Every time we pray before making a decision, every time we set aside our own agenda to listen for God’s leading, every time we choose faithfulness over self-reliance, we are practicing the way of trust.

The Way of Childlike Humility (Matthew 18:1–5)

The disciples once asked Jesus, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” They assumed the kingdom of God worked like every other system of worldly power—with ladders to climb and honours to win. But Jesus turned their assumptions upside down. He placed a child in front of them and said, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Children in that culture had no real status or power. They were vulnerable, overlooked, and dependent. Yet Jesus said greatness belongs to those who take the lowly position of a child—those who yield, trust, and welcome others with humility. True greatness in the kingdom is not about achievement but about surrender. This challenges us in a culture that constantly tells us to push forward, take charge, and prove ourselves. Jesus calls us to yield, to trust, to be willing to stoop low. The Kingdom of heaven belongs not to the self-promoting but to the surrendered.

Michael & Margaretha Sattler and the Cost of Yieldedness

The story of Michael Sattler and his wife Margaretha illustrates the radical nature of Gelassenheit. Sattler helped draft the Schleitheim Confession (1527), the first Anabaptist confession of faith, which boldly declared that baptism belonged only to repentant believers. It condemned infant baptism as “the highest and chief abomination of the Pope,” and called Christians to reject violence. These convictions were not abstract theology—they were embodied surrender. The cost was severe. Michael was arrested, tortured, and executed, praying for his persecutors as flames rose around him. Margaretha, too, was drowned for her faith. Their witness shows us that yieldedness is not merely an inward posture—it is a costly, outward faith that may lead even through suffering. And yet, in their surrender, they testified to a greater trust: that the Lord who calls us is faithful, even unto death.

Yieldedness in Everyday Life

Not all acts of yieldedness are as dramatic as martyrdom. Sometimes they take the form of daily choices. Sociologist Donald Kraybill tells of the Amishin the modern-day USA, descendants of the Anabaptists, who resisted putting bright orange triangles on their buggies because it conflicted with their values of simplicity and humility. They were willing to face fines rather than compromise their convictions.

Our lives look very different from the Amish—we use technology, drive cars, and engage the modern world. But the call remains the same: to yield daily decisions, priorities, and desires to Christ. Yieldedness today might mean letting go of control in family conflicts, resisting the urge to always demand our own way, or learning to listen deeply before we speak.

The Gospel Invitation: Jesus Our Example

Here is the good news: Jesus has already walked this path of yieldedness. In the Garden of Gethsemane, facing the cross, He prayed, “Not my will, but yours be done.” He yielded to the Father fully—even when it meant suffering. He did it so that we could be forgiven and free. And by His Spirit, He gives us strength to walk the same road. Yielding is not something we can achieve by willpower alone. Left to ourselves, we cling to control. But when we yield to Christ, we discover the paradox of the kingdom: when we release, we receive; when we stoop low, God lifts us up; when we yield, we find true freedom. This is the renewal that Jesus offers.

Questions for Reflection & Action

• Where am I leaning on my own understanding instead of trusting the Lord?
• How is Jesus inviting me to take the lowly position of a child?
• What would it look like for me to practice Gelassenheit—yieldedness—in my daily relationships?

Prayer of Response

Lord Jesus,
You call us to trust You with all our hearts and to lean not on our own understanding.
Thank You for walking this road of yieldedness before us, praying “Not my will, but yours be done.”
By Your Spirit, renew us to live with surrendered hearts—so that our lives may testify to Your kingdom.

Amen.