Everyone who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery, and he who marries one who is divorced from a husband commits adultery (Luke 16:18).

There is a lot of debate around a couple of verses in Matthew that seem to give an exception to the prohibition against divorce. While I have shared extensively about those verses, the overattention to those verses has completely overshadowed the clear teaching regarding the matter of remarriage.

Even if someone could find an exception clause for the prohibition against divorce, there is no such exception with respect to remarriage. It is always considered an act of adultery. As long as one party to the remarriage has been divorced, there you have adultery in the sight of God. I believe the reason for this is that God still considers the original union sacred. The expectation for those that have divorced is that they would remain unmarried or else reunite with the one they divorced, provided their spouse has not themselves remarried to someone else.

I believe the Bible never permits believers to divorce, for the marriage union pictures the indissoluble union between Christ and the church (cf. Ephesians 5:21–33). Even when there is permission for allowing an unbeliever to divorce a believer, the believer is commanded never to initiate it (1 Corinthians 7:12–16). The oath of marriage, namely, "till death do us part," is sacred before the Lord.

Therefore, those that have already sinned by divorcing their spouse, I counsel them not to remarry, for they would be adding sin onto sin. For those that have already remarried, I would counsel neither to divorce nor to remarry but to seek God's mercy and remain faithful in their current marriage union. What's done cannot be undone, but the Bible does not limit God's grace.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Luke 16:18 presents marriage as a covenant that cannot be dissolved casually to legitimate a new relationship. Its severity challenges the assumption that a legal arrangement alone determines moral faithfulness. Within the surrounding criticism of self-justification and the misuse of wealth, Jesus exposes a way of arranging life that may appear respectable while evading the claim of God. The original rightly resists treating a spouse as replaceable when a more attractive future becomes available. Marriage involves promises made to another person, not merely an ongoing calculation of personal advantage.

The original then adopts a strict conclusion about every divorce and remarriage. That position has a place within Christian interpretation, but other Christians understand the exception language in Matthew 19:9 to qualify the combined action of divorce and remarriage, and interpret 1 Corinthians 7:15 as allowing further freedom in abandonment. The disagreement cannot be resolved simply by asserting that no exception concerns remarriage; that assertion is itself part of the disputed reading. A careful discussion must consider the grammar, the relation among the Gospel accounts, and Paul’s instructions to different marital situations.

First Corinthians 7:10–16 is particularly important because Paul distinguishes his address to married believers from his counsel concerning a believing spouse married to an unbeliever. He values reconciliation and continued marriage while recognizing situations in which separation has occurred or an unbelieving partner departs. The chapter does not present every possible pastoral circumstance, but it does prevent a single abstract rule from replacing close attention to the actual relationship. The principle that God calls believers to peace must be considered alongside the seriousness of their vows.

Pastoral application also requires distinguishing the act that destroys a marriage from steps taken to obtain safety or acknowledge an existing rupture. A threatened person should not be required to remain in danger while interpreters debate marital status. Protecting someone, seeking help, and establishing truthful accountability are not equivalent to abandoning a spouse for convenience. Nor should responsibility automatically be assigned to the person who formally initiates a separation when another’s conduct has made continued life together unsafe. The text’s moral seriousness should protect covenant faithfulness rather than shield betrayal behind its outward form.

The author’s counsel against dismantling an already existing remarriage is notable because it resists the idea that another rupture necessarily repairs the first. Whatever conclusion a church reaches about a particular case, repentance should move toward truth, responsibility, care for dependents, and present fidelity. The aim is not to classify wounded people at a distance but to help them obey Christ within circumstances that may already involve irreversible losses. We can uphold the permanence and dignity of marriage while speaking carefully about contested passages, refusing simplistic blame, and making room for the mercy through which sinners learn to live faithfully again.

We seek fairness, but God is just and loving toward His children. This is the lesson that I learned from the parable of the lost son (Luke 15:11–32).

AI-Expanded Reflection

Stephen’s brief observation points to the emotional center of Luke 15:11–32: what happens when grace feels unfair to someone who has tried to do what is right? The younger son’s return is only part of the parable. Jesus also brings the elder son into view, angry outside a celebration he cannot accept. The setting explains why both sons matter. Religious critics have objected that Jesus receives sinners and eats with them (15:1–2). The elder brother gives that objection a voice from within the story.

The father’s welcome does not establish that the younger son’s conduct was harmless. The inheritance has been squandered, the family has been dishonored, and the son returns confessing sin. Grace meets a real wrong; otherwise there would be nothing to forgive. Yet the father runs to receive him before the son can construct a life worthy of readmission. The robe, ring, sandals, and meal announce restored belonging rather than a probationary arrangement in which he must purchase his way back through labor. Mercy recognizes the lost person’s return as an occasion for joy.

The elder son interprets his own life through the language of service and reward. His complaint is not merely that wrongdoing has consequences; it is that the father’s generosity toward another diminishes the value of his obedience. The father answers with affection and assurance: the elder remains his child, lives with him, and has not been dispossessed by the welcome given to his brother. The celebration is not a declaration that faithfulness is worthless. It is a declaration that the recovery of a lost family member is good and ought to be shared.

This distinction helps us refine the word “fairness.” Scripture does not ask us to abandon concern for justice, equal treatment, or the protection of those harmed. The problem is a form of comparison that can no longer rejoice when mercy reaches someone else. We may begin to believe that another person’s restoration steals something from us, even when it does not. The father challenges that scarcity of heart by naming the younger man as the elder’s brother. Relationship must shape the response more deeply than the desire to preserve a superior moral position.

The story ends without recording whether the elder son enters. Jesus leaves the invitation before the hearers, including us. We can identify with the younger son’s need for mercy while missing our resemblance to the elder son’s resentment. A practical response is to notice whose repentance we would find inconvenient, whose welcome would seem to cheapen our own service, and whether our obedience has become an unspoken demand for special treatment. God’s justice and love need not be set against each other. In this parable, the father neither calls evil good nor allows a comparative ledger to have the last word over a child who was lost and has been found.

He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous also in much. Therefore if you have not been faithful in the use of unrighteous wealth, who will entrust the true riches to you? And if you have not been faithful in the use of that which is another’s, who will give you that which is your own? (Luke 16:10–12).

One of the principles that this passage teaches is 'If one is faithful with a little, then one will be faithful with a lot. If one is unfaithful with a little, then one will be unfaithful with a lot.' The focus is put on the importance of being faithful regardless of the size of what is entrusted.

What is sometimes neglected in the exposition of this passage is the question of what is meant by being faithful or unfaithful. With respect to unrighteous mammon (i.e. worldly wealth), being faithful certainly does not mean hoarding it, for Jesus taught against this just a few chapters earlier.

Now, the unrighteous steward may be a good example of one who is unrighteous in a little (i.e. initially squandering his master's wealth) becoming unrighteous in a lot (i.e significantly cutting his master's wealth by forgiving large portions of those indebted to his master). But how does this apply to believers, who are here exhorted as "the sons of light" (cf. Luke 16:8).

The implied object of faithfulness here is the Lord. It is when we are faithful to the Lord with respect to the things He has given us in this life that we will be rewarded in heaven with true riches of our own in proportion to our faithfulness.

Remember, the priest Phinehas was commended and his descendants rewarded because he was zealous for the Lord in his day (Numbers 25:6–13). He was faithful with a little and so he was granted greater responsibility and honor. Moses was kept from entering the promised land because he did not honor the Lord at the waters of Meribah (Numbers 20:2–12). He became unfaithful in a little manner, so the greater responsibility of leading the people into the Promised Land was taken from him.

Remember also the Parable of the Talents, where the Master commends the two stewards to whom He gave five talents and two talents respectively because they were faithful to invest and bring a proportionate return to their Master. Listen to the statement of the reward, which was the same for both:

Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things (Matthew 25:21).

Then consider the outcome for the steward that buried his single talent and had nothing to show for the Master's investment in him:

So take the bag of gold from him and give it to the one who has ten bags. For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them (Matthew 25:28–29).

Friends, as we read these passages, the principle may seem obvious to some of us, but not all.

I will give you an example in this Martial Arts Organization.

It was founded and built by Grandmaster Han and bears his name. When a person denigrates his vision and rejects his heir, is it reasonable for them to think that they will be granted great responsibilities in the organization? Is it reasonable for still some other leaders to complain when they are marginalized by the rest of the organization after they have persisted in riding the fence of loyalty, having one foot in support of Grandmaster Han and another foot in support of a leader that deserted the organization?

In this organization built by and around Grandmaster Han, being faithful in a little means embracing his vision and supporting the leaders that he has chosen. It does not mean demanding greater authority and seeking more money. It means trusting him and the leadership that he has chosen to effectively guide the organization with respect to its management and financial health. When someone demonstrates their faithfulness to honor and support this over time, such a person will not be neglected when the time comes again for awarding great responsibilities, financial benefits, as well as honor.

Friends, this is true of every organization and of heaven itself. If we would be rewarded with great riches in heaven, we must be faithful with what we have been granted here on earth, whether that be a little or much. Now, it is also true that to whom much is given much is required, and to whom little is given, little is required (cf. Luke 12:48). But how awesome would it be for some of us, who may have been given little, to do disproportionately much with it, so that, though little was expected, we honored and served our Lord much.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Luke 16 begins with a troubling manager whose conduct cannot simply be copied as an ethical example. The master commends his shrewdness, not dishonesty as such. Interpreters debate whether the reductions involve the manager’s commission, unlawful charges, or his master’s actual claims; the parable does not supply enough accounting detail to settle every reconstruction. Its force lies in his decisive use of present opportunity in view of a future he knows is approaching. Jesus then turns toward the faithful use of wealth, generosity, and the impossibility of serving both God and money.

That sequence helps explain the saying about faithfulness in little and much. Money is significant because its use reveals allegiance, yet it is “little” in comparison with the true riches God entrusts. The test is not whether a person has learned to extract the maximum private advantage from an organization. It concerns reliability with what belongs, ultimately, to another. Luke 16:13 makes the contrast especially sharp: a steward cannot treat wealth as the ruling master while claiming that God occupies that place. Good stewardship begins by refusing that divided service.

The original organizational illustration identifies a real concern. People entrusted with responsibility should not undermine their stated commitments while seeking the benefits of leadership. Honesty about loyalties, respect for agreed responsibilities, and dependable work are practical expressions of integrity. However, the analogy reaches a limit when trust in a human founder or successor is treated as equivalent to trust in God. Organizations can make unjust decisions, leaders can be mistaken, and faithful service may require a respectful objection. Scripture does not promise that every honest worker will receive promotion or financial reward from an employer.

Phinehas also requires careful contextual handling. Numbers 25 describes an exceptional action within Israel’s covenant history and a particular judgment. It cannot become a warrant for coercion or private violence by people defending a contemporary leader or institution. More broadly, biblical narratives should not be selected merely because they appear to reward intense loyalty. Their covenant setting, moral purpose, and relationship to Christ’s instruction matter. Christian fidelity includes truthfulness, justice, and care for those with less power; it cannot be reduced to defending whoever currently holds authority.

The enduring application is both more ordinary and more demanding than a strategy for advancement. We can handle money transparently, keep commitments, avoid using access for personal enrichment, and take responsibility for work that receives little notice. We can also ask whether our definition of success has drifted toward status and compensation rather than faithful service. Luke 12:48 reminds us that responsibility corresponds to what has been entrusted; it does not excuse small betrayals when the amount seems insignificant. Nor does it imply that a person with few resources has little spiritual importance. The widow’s offering elsewhere in Luke exposes that assumption. Faithfulness is measured before the Master who sees truly, whose judgment is not constrained by an organization’s reward system, and whose riches cannot be equated with a larger salary or a more impressive title.

Abraham says that if they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead (a reference to Luke 16:31).

Jesus tells a story about two men, one rich and one poor. One lived in luxury, the other suffered. When they died the beggar was carried to Abraham's side while the rich man was in torment. The rich man does not appear to have fully realized how bad it would be. He begs Abraham to send someone to warn his brothers so they would not share his fate. But Abraham insists that the testimony of Scripture should be sufficient.

The rich man appeals to the power of the miraculous. Abraham's answer is remarkable: if they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead. If they do not believe the Scriptures, neither would they believe on the basis of a miracle.

This has led one theologian to argue that miracles confirm faith rather than create it. I think there is truth in that, since Paul writes that faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God (a reference to Romans 10:17). Perhaps this is why Jesus did not do many miracles in His hometown — Matthew says He did not do many there because of their unbelief (a reference to Matthew 13:58).

AI-Expanded Reflection

The irony in Abraham's closing line is almost certainly intentional on Luke's part, and it is worth naming: within weeks of Jesus telling this story, a man named Lazarus would be raised from the dead, and John reports that the response of some was to plot killing Lazarus too (John 12:10). The parable predicted its own reception.

The maxim about miracles confirming rather than creating faith holds up reasonably well against the Gospels, though with some qualification. Signs do produce belief in John's account — the water into wine leads the disciples to believe, and many believe after the raising of Lazarus. What the Gospels consistently deny is that signs compel belief in someone determined otherwise, which is the Pharisees' case: they do not dispute that Jesus performs miracles, they reassign the source.

The parable's own emphasis is worth keeping in view too. The rich man's problem was not insufficient evidence. Lazarus lay at his gate, and Moses and the Prophets had a great deal to say about the poor at one's gate. He had the information and the opportunity daily.

In the well-known parable of the lost son, there is another message Jesus makes through the older brother. The father has just welcomed the younger son back, forgiving him completely and throwing a celebration.

Meanwhile the older son is in the field. Coming near the house, he hears music and dancing, and asks a servant what is happening. He's told his brother has come home and his father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound. The older brother becomes angry and refuses to go in, so his father comes out and pleads with him. He answers that all these years he has slaved for his father and never disobeyed an order, yet was never given even a young goat to celebrate with his friends — but when this son of his, who squandered the property, comes home, the fattened calf is killed for him. The father replies that the son is always with him and everything he has is his, but that they had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found (a paraphrase of Luke 15:25–32).

The older brother reveals his heart in his anger at the father's decision to forgive quickly. He shows he is more concerned about his own reward, complaining that his faithful obedience did not result in even a goat. Jesus is conveying that if our motive in serving the Father is reward, we serve with the wrong motive.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The word choice in the older brother's complaint carries the diagnosis. He says he has slaved for his father and never disobeyed an order — describing years of life in a household as employment under a master, which is exactly the status the younger brother had rehearsed asking for on his way home and did not receive. Both sons, it turns out, have been thinking of the father in terms of what can be earned from him. One concluded he had forfeited any claim; the other that his claim had gone unpaid.

The father's answer addresses that directly: you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. The thing the older son complained of never receiving had been available the whole time, and what he lacked was not a goat but any sense that the relationship was something other than a ledger.

Luke's framing makes the target clear. This parable is told to Pharisees and scribes who had complained that Jesus welcomed sinners and ate with them. The older brother is not an incidental character — he is the audience. Notably, Jesus leaves the ending open: the father is still outside pleading, and we are never told whether the son goes in.

Friends, there is so much to share in today's reading. First, we have the remarkable statement by Jesus in Luke 14:33,

Whoever of you does not forsake all that he has cannot be My disciple.

This sounds very much like Jesus' challenge to the rich young ruler, who was told to sell everything he had, give it to the poor, and then follow Jesus. In that context, Jesus showed that the rich young man trusted in his riches more than Christ, and that only God could accomplish salvation for people.

In this context, Jesus is speaking about counting the cost of things. A builder has to make sure that he has enough money to finish building. A king has to make sure that his army is of sufficient strength to win a battle. So also, those who would follow Jesus would need to count the cost of doing so. Following Jesus would mean family antagonism and even death. Jesus had previously said that He would bring family division and strife:

Do you suppose that I came to give peace on earth? I tell you, not at all, but rather division. For from now on five in one house will be divided: three against two, and two against three. Father will be divided against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law" (Luke 12:51–53).

In Mark 13:12–13, we read,

Now brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; and children will rise up against parents and cause them to be put to death. And you will be hated by all for My name’s sake.

This is why he says, "If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple" (Luke 14:26). Following Jesus would mean ostracism from family, friends and community. In fact, some would even be put to death because of their faith in Jesus. Would the followers of Jesus remain faithful to Jesus in the face of such persecution?

We read in Luke 14:25 that "great multitudes went with Him." Jesus wanted these people to understand that following Him was not going to be an easy road. There was a cost. They could lose their friendships, their families, and even their lives. Therefore, he says, "Whoever of you does not forsake all that he has cannot be My disciple" (Luke 14:33).

This is also why He said to His disciples earlier in Luke 9:23–26,

If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and is himself destroyed or lost? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father’s, and of the holy angels.

While there is a general principle here for all followers of Christ, Jesus was giving His disciples a very picturesque perspective of what they would really face in their lives. Tradition says that all but one of the Twelve disciples were martyred. When you look at the experience of Peter and John and later Paul in the Book of Acts, there is little doubt that there lives were always on the line for their testimony about Jesus. In these early years for Christians, as well as the experience of Christians throughout the centuries, persecution seems to have been the norm.

Today, we hardly know anything of persecution, except for stories we hear in some parts of the world. Christianity has in some sense become accepted as one religion among many. And the lives of most Christians are not so radical so that anyone would take notice. The interests and ambitions, the struggles and failures, the goals and priorities of Christians seem not far removed from those of anyone else. In His day, Jesus stirred things up so much that anyone who wished to follow Him would certainly have to give up everything. But who needs to give up anything to follow Him today?

AI-Expanded Reflection

The crowds following Jesus must distinguish enthusiasm from the allegiance his mission requires. The tower builder and the king considering battle illustrate the seriousness of beginning something without reckoning with its demands. Jesus brings the issue into the closest relationships and even one's own life. Discipleship is not an additional interest accommodated wherever existing loyalties leave room; it places every loyalty under his claim.

The language of hating family must be interpreted alongside Jesus' wider teaching. Matthew 10:37 speaks of loving father or mother more than him, clarifying the comparative demand. Luke's severe wording should retain its force without being used to authorize cruelty, abandonment, or cultivated contempt. The issue is what happens when family expectations and allegiance to Jesus come into conflict. The command to bear a cross makes the potential cost unmistakable in a world where crucifixion was an instrument of public execution. Read Luke 14:25–33 and Matthew 10:34–39.

Renunciation is not presented as a sum of sacrifices large enough to purchase salvation. It describes the relinquishment of rival claims to final authority. Possessions remain significant precisely because they can make obedience negotiable. A person may verbally confess Christ while reserving an area of life in which his command will not be heard.

The original contrasts early persecution with the relative comfort of its own setting. That observation should remain situated in the author's experience rather than generalized to all Christians. Traditions about the deaths of every apostle also vary in their historical strength. Neither point diminishes the text's challenge. Comfortable circumstances do not remove the need for costly fidelity: truthfulness, generosity, reconciliation, and refusal of injustice can carry real consequences even where public worship is permitted. Counting the cost asks whether Christ's worth will govern those choices before the moment of pressure arrives.

Friends, do you feel the same sharp rebuke I feel in Jesus's words here — that when hosting a reception, we should invite the poor, crippled, lame, and blind, since we'll be blessed precisely because they have no way to repay us, and will instead be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous (a paraphrase of Luke 14:13–14)?

We host so many receptions for family, friends, and coworkers — but which of these does God actually call "blessed"? Yet we're told eternal blessing comes from inviting and serving those who can't return the favor: the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind. How revolutionary our witness would be if we practiced this with any real consistency, not just in church but in our own homes. Am I alone in thinking this? Am I misunderstanding the teaching? Was this only meant for Jesus's own day? I'd love to know who among you would join me in putting this into practice.

It's now exactly one year since I first shared this. Reflecting on the past year, I confess I've made no real progress here, and haven't put forth genuine effort toward it. Even so, I'll keep this before me, trusting that though change comes slowly, by God's grace it will come in due time.

It's now exactly two years since I shared this, and I still haven't put this into practice. I can only confess the persisting darkness of my own heart, and thank God for His grace.

It's now exactly three years, and still nothing. I think this reminder has simply become a reminder of my own depravity, and my constant, ongoing need for grace.

It's now exactly eleven years since I shared this post. I'm just as needy of God's grace today as I was eight years ago, the last time I updated this entry.

AI-Expanded Reflection

This comment's own eleven-year trail of honest, unresolved confession is itself a more compelling illustration of biblical humility than a tidy success story would have been. Paul describes his own ongoing struggle in remarkably similar terms — not triumphantly resolved, but honestly ongoing, doing the very thing he doesn't want to do, and calling himself, in that state, a wretched man in need of rescue (a paraphrase of Romans 7:15–24). What makes both examples genuinely instructive isn't the failure itself, but the refusal to either abandon the standard or pretend to have met it. An eleven-year-old unmet conviction, still returned to honestly year after year, may reflect more real spiritual seriousness than most resolutions people actually manage to keep.