Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
The danger is not destruction. It is reduction.
MacArthur’s courage to speak Scripture’s truth, no matter the audience, should be commended.

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Christian preaching always has an eschatological ring to it. It takes place during the “in-between” times—the days between Jesus’ first and second comings. But this eschatological perspective tends to fade into the background as Christians (and preachers) go about their business week-in and week-out. The end of the church year provides an opportunity to reorient the Christian life around Jesus’ promise to return.
We tell our children if they work hard and play by the rules, they’ll succeed in life. Jerks, cheaters, and thieves won’t. They’ll end up in the gutter. Or jail. Or worse.
The desire to go home—or to find the place where one truly belongs—is latent in every human being.
Two major themes seem to be running through the readings for the 25th Sunday after Pentecost. The first weaves together the widow who gave of her poverty in Mark 12 and the story of the widow of Zarephath from 1 Kings 17, who also gave to the prophet everything that she had… However, the other theme comes by way of the Epistle from Hebrews 9:24-28, which is about the temple made without hands.
Both the scribes and the widow were in the temple that day. They were close in proximity, but, in relation to the kingdom of God, they could not have been farther apart. Jesus himself highlights the contrast, which invites us to pay close attention.
Consolation is the breath of life filling our lungs, hearts, and minds with the fresh, incorruptible air of the new creation.
The striking truth of this festival is not that the church remembers the saints who have gone before us, even though we rightly chime the bells and speak the names of those who in the past year have flown away (Ps. 90:10). The real joy of this day is that those who have departed are counted together with us as the church and we are counted together with them.
There is a man in this text—a scribe, nonetheless—who is not far from the kingdom of God. Jesus says so himself. That is no small thing, especially considering what had been happening to Jesus ever since his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.
What do Habakkuk and Israel have? Nothing but the word of God. Nothing but the promise of God. Nothing but God himself. They have the vision that Yahweh gives, the words of hope he utters. And that, amazingly, is enough.
Rather than calling me to pick burrs off my coat, God’s love strips me of my delusions and cuts to the heart of my disease.
What do you think of when you hear the term “self-esteem”?
It’s by no means an ivory-tower theological question. It’s as real as the weight we’ve lost from the stress of our divorce. As real as the bottle of antidepressants on our nightstand. We believe in him. We love him. But every voice inside us and every shred of evidence outside us points to his abandonment of us in our hour of deepest need.