Repentance — Part Two

And I’d like to read this evening from Luke 15:1:

“Now the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ were all gathering around to hear him”—that’s Jesus. “But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.’”

And so Jesus then tells them a parable, a story, about a lost sheep and the great joy that accompanies its being found. He then goes on to tell them a second parable concerning the losing of a coin. And he then goes on in verse 11 to tell them a third story illustrative of the same truth:

“Jesus continued: ‘There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, “Father, give me my share of the estate.” So he divided his property between them.

“‘Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

“‘When he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.” So he got up and went to his father.

“‘But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

“‘The son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”

“‘But the father said to his servants, “Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” So they began to celebrate.’”

Amen.

And if you turn back just a few pages to the third chapter of Luke’s Gospel, we return to the portion that we left this morning and to which we return now. And I’d like you to notice just one sentence in verse 8. John says to the crowds coming out to him, “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.”

Father, we pray that in these brief moments that we have in the study of your Word tonight, that you will grant to us clarity of thought, brevity of expression, and the kind of receptivity which only comes about as a result of your goodness and kindness towards us. We certainly do not want to fill our time up simply listening to a man talk, but we are genuinely interested in hearing from the living God through the powerful Word of God, to which we now turn our attention. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

I apologize to those of you who were not present this morning, but we were studying in these verses beginning in Luke 3:7, and essentially what happened was that we entertained a fairly lengthy introduction. And we came to the point of consideration of the nature of genuine repentance. And we quoted from the Anglican prayer book that God “pardon[s] and absolve[s] all them that truly repent and unfeignedly believe his holy gospel.”[1] And we then began to think together about “What, then, is this repentance?” If it is as crucial as the New Testament declares it to be, then it is surely imperative that we understand what it is so that we may then be able to determine whether we have actually done this or not.

What Is Repentance?

Now, I want to give you a fairly extensive quote from the Westminster Confession of Faith. Much of it will pass you by, but perhaps a phrase or two will strike you. This is the answer to the question concerning repentance in the Westminster Confession. It reads as follows: “Repentance unto life is an evangelical grace.”[2] In other words, it’s not a work. Don’t misunderstand repentance as something that we do in order to get God to do something. Repentance itself, the very willingness to turn from sin and to turn to God, is itself “an evangelical grace.”

By it, a sinner, out of the sight and sense not only of the danger, but also … the filthiness and odiousness of his sins, as contrary to the holy nature, and righteous law of God; and upon the apprehension of his mercy in Christ to such as are penitent, so grieves for, and hates his sins, [so] as to turn from them all unto God, purposing and endeavoring to walk with him in all the ways of his commandments.[3]

Now, if one thing strikes you, hopefully it is this: clearly, repentance means more than sorrow simply at having been found out—that repentance means something more than simply regret for a series of bad choices in the past.

And indeed, that’s why I read for us the parable of the prodigal son—actually, the prodigal sons, but we read only the first part of it. The predicament of the young man was grave. He was in a pigsty. He was dreadfully hungry. He was so hungry that he would have eaten what the pigs were eating, and nobody viewing his predicament came to give him anything at all.

Why was he there? He was there because he had turned his back upon his father and upon his father’s home. He had said, essentially, “I want to strike out on my own. I feel that I can do better on my own. If you will give me what I’m due and allow me the freedom in my life, then I will make a go of my life.” And in seeking to make a go of his life, he had made a total mess of his life. And here he sits in the pigsty.

But he comes not simply to a position of regret. It is not that he sits and bemoans his predicament in this situation and says, “You know, I regret dreadfully the things that I have done.” Because regret on its own would have left him exactly where it was. And there are a number of people who, in listening to the teaching of the Bible and in understanding their predicament before a holy God as one in which we have not done as we ought and we have done what we ought not to have done, are brought to the point of saying, “You know, I really regret that.” But that is not repentance. Because repentance brought the young man back up along the road of his sinful wanderings. The road that he had walked down away from God, represented in his departure from the father, is the road that he now walks back up again in seeking to return to his father’s embrace.

As we said this morning, repentance involves a turning from and a turning to. Clearly, he was turning from all that has represented his life. Now, Luke says that he had “wasted his substance” with all kinds of “riotous living.”[4] He had tried it out. He had tried it all. He had gone the way of profligacy. He had gone the way of abandoning himself to the indulgence of his senses, and as a result of it all, he was, as we see, in this dreadful predicament. But he simply did not turn from it. He turned back to God.

There are, I think, a number of people who perhaps are sitting here this evening, and you’re thoroughly disillusioned. You don’t know why it is. I think I may have a sneaking suspicion as to why it is: because you have never truly repented. You have turned from, but you haven’t turned to.

You see, for the young man to have turned from his sins without turning back to his father would never have brought about the transformation. Indeed, the Prodigal could have determined on his own to clean up without ever going home. And that’s what a number of people determine to do: “I think that I’m going to change my way of life. I think I’ll make a stab at religion.” And so they engage in all kinds of religious pursuits, but there is no transformation. Indeed, it is possible to maintain a sense of wretched independence, staying away from God while all the time seeking to turn from our sins. And it is a dreadful predicament.

The message of the gospel is not self-reparation. God does not say to men and women, ‘Now, I want you to clean yourselves up.’ He says, ‘I want you to come to me.’

He could’ve said, “I’m not going back to my father. I’m prepared to admit that what I did was wrong. I’m prepared to admit that I’m in a royal mess. I’m prepared to admit that this is not the best way to live. But I will not go back and face my father. I will not go back and admit to him what I’ve done and who I am and that I need him badly.” So all of his regret, allied with his own selfish independence, would have left him in a grave predicament.

And so it is that self-righteous moral reparation is not the same as turning to God. And cleaned-up individuals may go to hell as readily as filthy individuals, because the message of the gospel is not self-reparation. God does not say to men and women, “Now, I want you to clean yourselves up.” He says, “I want you to come to me. And I want you, in coming to me, to acknowledge your distinct need of me.” And that, you see, was what these people did not understand in going out to hear John the Baptist preach.

A Matter of Urgency

It is on account of this that John’s language is so striking, as we saw it this morning. He says, “You’re the children of snakes. Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” Why is he so apparently rude? Why does he speak in such a striking way?

Well, the answer is because it is a matter of great urgency. Look at verse 9: “The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” He says to them, “Bear fruit that befits repentance.” That’s the King James Version: “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance.”[5] Why is it so vitally important? Well, because “the ax is already at the root of the trees,” and the trees that do not bear fruit will be cast out “and thrown into the fire.” It is an image of eternal punishment.

So you can understand that John is not about to be consumed with this message and then stand in front of a crowd and say, “However, just please yourselves. I mean, I don’t want to press myself upon you in any way. I don’t want to interfere with your lives. I know you’re a fine group of people, and I’m glad you’re around. And I hope you’ll have a wonderful life, and thanks for coming by and listening to me.” No, it’s a matter of urgency.

Think about it this way. Imagine a man in a burning building. He’s on the top floor of the building, and gradually the fire is licking at his feet. It is coming up the building floor by floor. And he finds himself on the top floor, with the fire coming up, and he’s leaning out of the window. And as he leans out of the window, a rescuer appears on the top of a ladder. And the rescuer calls to him, “You’re in grave danger! Flee! Take ahold of my hand. Put your arms around my neck. Trust in me! Get on this ladder, and get out of there.”

And the endangered man responds by saying, “Excuse me, sir, but I find your language a little too emotional, and your description of my predicament is rather unbalanced. I want you to know that I have stuff in this room here that is important to me—that I have plans and opportunities that are still before me, and I would like to make sure that I can engage in them, and I certainly don’t want to leave them behind. So, thank you for coming up the ladder. I don’t want to be saved at the moment. However, there are some older people, I believe, in the building. Some of them may be on the top floor along with me. Why don’t you take your trolley bus and your ladder and go and find some of those older people, whom I’m sure will be glad to be rescued?”

“Come on, now,” urges the man on the top of the ladder. “Trust me. Get out while you can. Put your arms around my neck, and trust yourself to me.”

“Certainly not,” said the man. “I don’t need an emotional crutch. I’m not going to rely on you. Why don’t you come back next week? Maybe next week I’ll be feeling a little more like this. We can talk some more. But incidentally, only come back if you promise not to be so melodramatic. I don’t like you on the top of the ladder, shouting like that.”

Now, obviously, to talk like that would be absolutely ludicrous. Anyone who spoke like that had actually lost his mind. If they were aware at all of the approaching flames, if they were aware that this brave man on the end of the ladder was their only hope, then they would reach out, they would grab him round the neck, and they would entrust themselves to him. And they would turn away from all that was behind them, and they would turn into the embrace of the one who had come to rescue them.

That’s what it means to repent of sin. That’s what it means to trust Christ. This idea of trusting Christ to add to the sum of our total happiness is an impertinence to Jesus—to trust Christ, as it were, as a sort of insurance policy for the future or somebody to bring around with you in your car, you know: keep him in the back seat, or maybe in the trunk, in the rear area, and bring him out as necessary. And you hear these people preaching in such a way: “Oh, please do this. It will make Jesus feel so happy if you’ll only give him a chance,” you know.

That’s not the gospel. It’s the opposite of the gospel! That allows congregations to sit arrogantly, saying, “Well, I don’t know if I will or not. I’m not sure. He’s rather melodramatic, that fellow. He’s making it out to be far more grave than it really is.” And then, if we decide that we might, we congratulate ourselves in saying, “You know, I’m sure that Jesus will be delighted to have me on his team. After all, I’m really quite a fine fellow, you know. Not everybody knows just how wonderful I really am, but I’m sure Jesus does, and he’ll be glad to have me.” Listen, let me tell you something: you’re in a burning building, he’s on the end of the ladder, and if he rescues you, the privilege is all yours. The privilege is all yours.

Christ comes in judgment every time the gospel is preached, even as he has come in judgment today. For when the good news of the gospel is proclaimed, there will be some who open their hearts, and for them it is salvation, and there will be others who close their hearts, and for them it is judgment. It is inevitable. “This child is destined for the rising and falling of many,”[6] we have seen in the earlier chapters of Luke. So it is not that Christ somehow or another is on the sidelines waiting for a chance, but it rather is that when we realize the gravity of our situation and the urgency of it and the immense privilege of it, then we will want to run to him.

“Just as I am,” we will say, “without one plea”—without returning for my hand luggage, for my photographs, for my hopes and my dreams—

Just as I am, without [any] plea
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidst me come to thee,
[Lord Jesus Christ], I come.[7]

So we say to the person, “Well, why was it that you came to trust in Christ?”

“Because I had to.”

“Why did you have to?”

“Because I was in the wrong, and it was a matter of great urgency.”

I wonder: Do we realize tonight just how urgent it is?

A Matter of Sincerity

It is a matter also of great sincerity. “Produce fruit,” he says, “in keeping with repentance.” It is absolute hypocrisy to want forgiveness of my sins without deliverance from my sins. It is not repentance, but it is simply disappointment at having been discovered, when a child cries because they were caught with their hand in the cookie jar: “Oh, I’ll never do this again. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I knew you were coming home.” And then the mother softens up and buys it, goes through the garage to get something. Bam! The hand is in the jar again. That was not repentance. That was regret at being discovered. Repentance turns from sin and turns to Christ.

Without sincere repentance, we will never, ever meet Jesus, either in this life or in the life to come.

And it is, I say to you again, a hypocrisy to want to have my sins forgiven but not to want to be delivered from them. That’s why the Bible says that “without holiness no one will see the Lord.”[8] That’s what we were referring to this morning in this kind of easy-believist approach to Christianity, which says, “You know, you can embrace Christ and all of his forgiveness without ever being delivered from your sins.” That is not true. And that kind of attempt at Christianity not only brings disillusionment to the professor but brings total confusion to the observer. Without sincere repentance, we will never, ever meet Jesus, either in this life or in the life to come.

A Matter of Practicality

So, repentance, then, is a matter of grave urgency, it is a matter of sincerity, and it is a matter, finally, of intense practicality. This is the significance of the question that is asked three times. You will notice: “What should we do then?” (verse 10), “What should we do?” (verse 12), “And what should we do?” (verse 14).

Now, when you look at that, you might think that it’s actually three different questions, but it’s actually the same question. It’s incidentally a question with which doctors are not unfamiliar. And Luke, of course, was a doctor and would perhaps have been very familiar with people saying to him, “Well, in light of the diagnosis, Dr. Luke, what do you think I ought to do? I mean, am I supposed to take three tablets and lie down for a week, or what should I do?” And Luke would have been very familiar with giving to people the medicine that was necessary. These individuals are asking the question, “What behavior is appropriate, then, to those who have repented?”

Now, it’s quite striking that John does not call them to his particular mode of life. He doesn’t say, “Well, what you have to do is you’ve got to eat locusts and honey, you’ve got to dress in a hairy camel’s outfit, and you’ve got to come and live with me in the desert.” That would have to been to start a little John the Baptist cult. It doesn’t say anything about that—no locusts and wild honey, no hairy jackets, and no living in the desert. Nor does he tell them that they have to leave their jobs and withdraw themselves from the culture. No, the answers are very straightforward.

The first question that is asked by the crowd—“What should we do then?”—he said, “Well, if you live amongst people of selfishness, as you do, then your life from this point on should be marked by generosity.”

It’s very practical, isn’t it? You have two tunics; you should be prepared to give one to someone in need. You have plenty of food; you should be able to help those who do not have food. You have a lot of time; you should be prepared to use your time for the concerns of the gospel. I’m gravely concerned when people meter out their time in the affairs of the worship of God: “Well, you know, I don’t like to be here for more than an hour,” or “I don’t like to come more than once on a Sunday. After all, it is an infringement on my time.” Listen. Listen. Use your time for God. Use your time!

That would be an evidence of repentance. Because before, I lived with a crowd who didn’t use any of their time for God, who had no time for God, for whom the idea of church was a joke. And certainly the idea of going twice was absolutely mind-boggling lunacy. And so your friends would say to you, “What happened to you?” And you’ll tell them, “I repented. And one of the things that I recognized that I must do was give my time to God.” It’s a fruit of the repentant heart.

You see, it’s not repentance that says, “Well, that’s it. I’m all forgiven now, and I’ll just jolly well get on with my life and do exactly as I please. Thankfully, Christ loves me and is very pleased with me now, I believe, and so let me get on with it just exactly as I was before.” No, not at all. That would be to stay in the pigsty, wouldn’t it?

Well, the second group come to him, the tax collectors. They came to be baptized, and they said, “Well, what do you think we ought to do?” He says, “Well, don’t collect any more money than you’re required to.” Because that was what they were known for. They were known for fiddling the books. He says, “You’re a fiddler. You take a little for the government and a little for yourself. Everybody knows you do. It’s part of your job. Okay, you want to turn from your sin? You want to turn to God? You want to have the baptism of repentance towards God for the forgiveness of your sins? Then let me tell you what to do: don’t fiddle the books. Don’t take any more money than you’re required to. And then you’ll be like Zacchaeus.”

And then the soldiers came, and they said, “Well, what do you think we ought to do?” And he said, “Well, don’t extort money, don’t accuse people falsely, and be content with your pay.” It’s almost striking in its simplicity, isn’t it? In other words, it is not enough simply to embrace truth and to define it in our language, unless there is the evidence of it in a changed life.

You see, what would have been the impact for these people in their communities? Dramatic. Whether their friends ever came to their worship services or not, in one sense, it would hardly have mattered a rap. Because all of the drama would have unfolded itself when suddenly Mr. So-and-So was down at the door: “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

“Yes?”

“I noticed your son down the street. It was freezing, and I saw he was just out in a T-shirt. My wife and I were talking at dinner; we wondered if you might be able to use one of these.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve come to collect your rent, Mrs. Levi. No, no, it won’t be seventy-five this month. It will only be sixty-five.”

“Oh, it’s been reduced, has it?”

“Well, yes, Mrs. Levi, you could say that.”

“It’s been seventy-five ever since you were visiting me, sir.”

“Yes, I know. But I was down in the wilderness just the other weekend. I met John the Baptist. I was baptized. I professed repentance of my sins, and I said that I wanted to turn to God and love him and serve him and follow him. And I asked John, I said, ‘What do you think I ought to do?’ And he said, ‘Well, go back to Mrs. Levi, and just take the right amount of money from her.’”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Levi. “That’s dramatic. Maybe you’d like to come in and have a cup of Jewish coffee? Samuel, you’ve got to hear this one! The rent’s down by ten. Something’s happened to the guy. I’ve invited him in. Put your slippers on! Come here!”

And the soldiers, who by the might of their position and the strength of their arms were able to manhandle people into subjection and to extort money from them, suddenly, despite their authority and their uniform and their status in society, were exercising grace and kindness. And the people who met them said, “Something happened to this chap.” And that is what baptism is about: “Bear fruit that befits repentance.” I’d rather see a gospel than hear one any day! And that, of course, is the profound impact of changed lives.

Somebody has put it in this way:

Each station in life has its peculiar temptations and sins. Repentance will show amendment especially in avoiding [those] sins. Failing in this is proof of spuriousness. It is especially hard in any profession to oppose its common practices, which always elicits ridicule, perhaps even persecution, by the impenitent. Hence the avoidance of these sins is a good test of … repentance.[9]

And put down at the level of the teenager: if you play on the soccer team with a crowd of guys that cuss like sailors on the field for an hour and a half, and you have as good a mouth as any on you, and you profess to follow Jesus Christ, more than anything else, there will be the change in your tongue which makes your friends say, “What happened to you?” Not that you wear a cap on that says, you know, “Jesus is Lord”—that’s easy—or buy a bumper sticker that says, “Come to church this weekend.” That’s easy. What’s hard is, with God’s help, to get ahold of this and in so doing bear fruit that befits repentance.

“Are you coming down to the club tonight, Joe?”

“Ah, no, I won’t be coming tonight.”

“Joe, we always go Fridays.”

“Well, I don’t want to come anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a long story.”

“Well, give me the bottom line.”

“Well, the bottom line is I professed repentance towards God, and I turned to him.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Ah-ha! Hey guys, guys—come here, come here. You’ve got to hear this from Joe. This is fabulous. Joe, just do it again for everybody. Go ahead, say it again. Say it again.”

Now, do you know how hard that is? You do know how hard that is, because that’s where you live your lives. And all of the temptation is to say, “Yeah, sure, I’ll go. Yeah, sure, I’ll stay. Yeah, sure, I’m no different from you. I’m the same as you.” And the reason the church makes so little impact in contemporary culture is because we are so little different in relationship to these things. And that’s why John says to them, “You’re like a pile of snakes. You want to scurry away and flee the rush of the fire. You want to find it in externalism, or you want to find it in some kind of relationship with a religious figure.” He says, “I’ll tell you what to do: you bear fruit that befits repentance.”

Now, it’s hardly surprising that Luke would include such an emphasis—and with this I close. Because if you think about Luke, he had the two books, didn’t he? He had the Gospel of Luke, and then he had the Acts of the Apostles. And he was traveling around with Paul, and he was listening to Paul preach. And when he listened to Paul preach, he was taking notes—he must have been!—so that he could then record these things in what we have as the Acts of the Apostles. And as he went and listened to the preaching and the explanations, then he would have made this very clear statement indelible in his mind.

For example, Acts 20:21: “I have declared to both Jews and Greeks that they must turn to God in repentance and have faith in our Lord Jesus.” “Turn to God in repentance.” “Have faith in our Lord Jesus.” Acts 26:20, before Agrippa: “Then, King Agrippa, I was[n’t] disobedient to the vision from heaven. First to those in Damascus, then to those in Jerusalem and [to all in] Judea, and to the Gentiles also, I preached that they should repent and turn to God and prove their repentance by their deeds.”[10]

And, of course, Luke ends his Gospel with the words of Jesus. In 24:47: “Then he opened their minds,” verse 45, “so they could understand the Scriptures. He told them, ‘This is what is written: The Christ will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day’”—and here it is—“‘and repentance and forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem.’”

Repentance is a matter of intense practicality, repentance is an issue of sincerity, and repentance is a matter of extreme urgency. And I ask you again: Have you ever truly repented?

Let us pray together:

We ask, O God, tonight that you will take your Word and write it in our hearts. Help us, Lord, we pray, first of all to understand you and then to obey you. We pray that in our lives we may bear fruit that befits repentance.

We pray that tonight you will give to us compassion for the homeless, for those who live in crowded chaos—that you will bless those who minister amongst them and to them, that you will stir the conscience of our nation, and that you will free us from the grip of covetousness.

We pray tonight for those of our church family who are involved in the caring professions, particularly for those who care in the realm of health—some who work tonight as we worship, others who will work during the night as we sleep, and some for whom the challenges of tomorrow are great and profound. Bless them, we pray. May they follow in the footsteps of Christ, the Great Physician.

And for each one who this week returns to the realm of education and commerce and industry, we pray that you will grant to them evidence in their lives, in quiet, unspoken ways, in gestures of kindness, in acts of tenderness, in a holy boldness that will cause their friends and neighbors to say, “I wonder, really, what it is about you.”

We pray tonight for parents and for children. We pray for purity and love in our hearts and in our homes.

And last of all, we pray for those who are near to death, that you will be with them in the valley of the shadow,[11] and that you will assure them in the very center of their being that when they awake, they will have your very likeness.[12]

We bring to you our offerings and our lives afresh. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

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[1] The Book of Common Prayer.

[2] The Westminster Confession of Faith 15.1.

[3] The Westminster Confession of Faith 15.2.

[4] Luke 15:13 (KJV).

[5] Luke 3:8 (paraphrased from the KJV).

[6] Luke 2:34 (paraphrased).

[7] Charlotte Elliott, “Just As I Am, Without One Plea” (1835).

[8] Hebrews 12:14 (NIV 1984).

[9] R. C. H. Lenski, The Interpretation of St. Luke’s Gospel: 1–11, Commentary on the New Testament (1946; repr., Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2008), 196–97.

[10] Acts 26:19–20 (NIV 1984).

[11] See Psalm 23:4.

[12] See 1 John 3:2.