Christ the Sinner’s Friend

I glanced up from a plate of bacon and eggs to see a world-renowned British actor only a table away. I peered again, unsure if I’d imagined it - perhaps this was just a regular bloke arriving for Saturday brunch - but after a minute or two, I was sure it was him. Having watched him perform alongside movie stars, I thought he might have opted for somewhere a little more high-brow than a greasy spoon cafe. Clearly even the celebs love a fry-up.

But while these ‘Why are you here?’ moments are a rarity in everyday life, they happen all the time in the gospels. In fact, Jesus often seems to be in the places you’d least expect. He never dined with kings or governors, but instead, regularly frequented the homes of tax collectors, sinners and the despised riffraff.

It’s no accident either - Jesus’ dining habits speak of his heart towards the outcast and the broken. And spending time with them over a meal was more than a nicety; it was an expression of companionship. To eat with someone was to say, ‘I count you as a friend.’


The Friend

Jesus’ heart towards sinners is the same today. He doesn’t only desire to be our king and master - these things are vital and true - but our friend too. As Jesus says to the disciples in John 15.15, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.”

Just like the tax-collectors and disciples, Jesus invites you to dine with him, to spend time enjoying his presence and to speak to him with the openness of a sibling or closest friend. In short, Jesus asks you - even you - if you’ll accept the joy of friendship with him.


…of Sinners

Yet when we hear this invitation, our minds often jump to objection after objection - mistakes, flaws, regrets. We discount ourselves with memories of past failures. ‘Jesus would never want to be a friend of mine’, we tell ourselves, ‘not if he really knew me’.

Except, the scandalous message of the gospel is that the sin we think exempts us from Jesus’ presence is exactly that which qualifies us to come to him as saviour. When the Pharisees confronted Jesus for eating with sinners, he highlighted this, saying: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Mark 2.17) 

The message is clear: Jesus came to save those who don’t have their lives nicely ‘put together’. Christ came for those who know that they fall short, who know that their soul is fatally sick and who know they can never attain perfection.

Perhaps you feel this too. Perhaps you’re racked with guilt and condemnation, aware of your brokenness and sin. Jesus came for people exactly like you. He entered the lowly places in search of you, eating around tables you’d never expect him. And now, just like back then, he invites you to call him friend.

Our new single, Christ the Sinner’s Friend, is out today and explores these themes. Listen here.
These articles are written without the use of generative AI.

Shocked by Mercy

A few years ago, I was driving with the music blasting when suddenly an ambulance struck my car as it rushed through an intersection on its way to an emergency. I didn’t realise it in that moment, but failing to yield to an emergency vehicle can carry severe consequences: a $10,000 fine and even jail time.

I stood before the judge, knowing I was guilty. He asked, “What were you thinking?” I told him, “Your honour, I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t hear the sirens, and I’m sorry.” I had no defence. No excuse. The judge looked at me, took a long pause, exhaled and said, “Next time, be more alert. Case dismissed. Next.”

What!

That was not what I expected. When he threw my case out, I really understood mercy for the first time. Mercy is God withholding the punishment we deserve. That's what I experienced in that moment, and it left me in shock.

Mercy has a way of doing that—it shocks us. Adam Ramsay, in his book Truth On Fire, says it this way: “Mercy changes us first by startling us with its unexpected presence. It is both jarring and gentle, it's both glorious and scandalous. And that’s because mercy is the very heart of God”.

I love that. Mercy is not a mood God slips into—it is His nature. The Old Testament prophet Micah tells us that God delights in showing mercy (Micah 7.8). Paul calls Him “the Father of mercies” (2 Corinthians 1.3). Mercy flows from Him as light flows from the sun.

But to truly grasp and appreciate God’s mercy, we must first understand the nature of sin. Sin is not a small thing in the eyes of God; it is an egregious offence against a holy God. So no one can ever say God owes them mercy. In the courtroom of divine justice, we all stand guilty. Paul reminds believers in Ephesians 2 that we were dead in our trespasses, children of disobedience, by nature children of wrath.

But Paul continues: “But God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us...made us alive together with Christ.” R.C. Sproul once said, “Those two words—But God—change everything.” We were dead, but God made us alive. We were guilty, but God showed mercy. We were condemned, but God gave grace.

What the gospel shows us is that mercy triumphs over judgment. And the implication for believers is that there will never be a day when God looks at us and says, “That’s it. I’m done forgiving you.” There is no future in which sincere repentance is met with divine exhaustion. Instead, each morning, we can expect God to meet us with fresh mercies (Lamentations 3.22–23).

When we grasp the mercy of God, it should cause our hearts to worship! Knowing that God does not give us what our sins deserve ought to lead us to declare with the psalmist, “I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever” (Psalm 89.1, KJV). As we ponder the mercy of God, let our song be: “Praise the Lord, His mercy is more—Stronger than darkness, new every morn. Our sins, they are many, His mercy is more.”

These articles are 100% man-made, without the use of generative AI.