Sermon On the Mount
He Is Risen… Now What?
Reflections on Hearing – Really Hearing – the Sermon on the Mount
Yesterday, as I stood in front of our church family and said, “He is risen,” I could feel the weight and wonder of those words in the room. Some of you came in full of joy. Others came in heavy, grieving, anxious, or numb. And yet the same invitation of the risen Christ was extended to each of us:
“Come boldly to the throne of grace. Bring all of it. I’m alive, and I’ve already won the victory.”
That’s the starting point for everything we talked about yesterday, and it’s the only way to honestly approach what came next: hearing the Sermon on the Mount.
Why We Started Our Series This Way
For months, as a teaching team, we’ve been talking about how to handle Matthew 5–7. The Sermon on the Mount is often called “the greatest sermon ever preached,” but it’s more than that. It’s Jesus describing:
what His kingdom is like,
what life looks like for His disciples here and now,
what it actually means to belong to Him and bear fruit for Him.
We decided to begin this “mini-series” within Matthew by doing something very simple and very counter-cultural: we just listened.
Before explaining.
Before dissecting.
Before debating.
Before asking, “What does this mean for me?”
We asked a prior question:
Am I willing to hear Jesus speak?
So we read Matthew 5:3–7:27 straight through—Jesus’ own words, without commentary. That in itself is an act of surrender.
A Hillside, a Rabbi, and a Crowd Like Us
Matthew sets the scene like this:
“Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them.” (Matt. 5:1–2)
Jesus wasn’t in a classroom or a church building. He was on a hillside. The crowd around Him was a mix:
the curious,
the desperate,
the skeptical,
the hungry,
the broken.
Not that different from a Sunday morning crowd in our sanctuary.
His disciples drew close—not because they understood everything, but because they wanted to be near Him. He was their rabbi. They wanted to learn how to see, think, love, and live like Him.
And then Jesus began to teach—not just about “religion,” but about life:
anger,
lust,
marriage and divorce,
enemies,
giving,
prayer,
fasting,
money,
worry,
judgment,
discernment,
obedience.
He painted a picture of a kind of life that is actually good—a life that reflects the heart of God and stands firm when the storms hit.
Hearing the Sermon on the Mount Hurts (and Heals)
If you listened carefully yesterday, you likely felt a mix of things. I did too.
Some of Jesus’ words are deeply comforting:
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.”
“Do not worry about tomorrow.”
“Ask… seek… knock…”
Other words are confronting and unsettling:
“Anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment.”
“Anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven…”
There are phrases that almost make you want to say, “Jesus, I can’t do that. That feels impossible.”
And in a very real way, that reaction is the point. The Sermon on the Mount is not a cozy inspirational quote for your wall; it’s a radical invitation into a new life that we cannot live apart from the grace and power of Jesus.
Discipleship: More Than Agreeing With Jesus
As a church, we’ve defined a disciple this way:
A disciple is one who surrenders to Jesus, obeys His commands, reflects His goodness, and makes other disciples.
Notice what’s missing:
“A disciple is someone who knows a lot about the Bible.”
“A disciple is someone who agrees with Christian doctrine.”
“A disciple is someone who goes to church.”
Those things have value, but Jesus ends His sermon with a far sharper distinction:
“Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock…
Everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.” (Matt. 7:24–27)
Both people heard.
Both people “knew.”
The difference was obedience.
It’s uncomfortable to say this out loud, but I need to:
My life is not built on what I know or agree with. It’s built on what I actually obey.
That’s confronting for me as a pastor, not just for you as a congregant. I can preach sermons about loving enemies and still avoid the difficult person in my life. I can teach about worry and still stay up at night rehearsing worst-case scenarios.
The Sermon on the Mount exposes that gap between what we profess and how we actually live.
And yet—it does so as an act of love.
The Loving Confrontation of Jesus
I confessed yesterday that there are sections of this teaching that I would honestly like to skip. They cut too close. They expose my own sin, my own self-righteousness, my own comfort.
But the very places where we bristle are often the places where Jesus is doing His most loving work.
Why? Because the things He confronts in us—lust, anger, contempt, hypocrisy, greed, worry, judgment—are not small quirks. They are destructive. They destroy marriages, families, churches, communities, souls.
It is not unloving for Jesus to say, “Beloved, that way leads to death. Come out of it. I have something better for you.”
It may feel harsh at first, but underneath is the heart of a Savior who looks at us in all our brokenness and says:
“You’re a mess.
You’re My mess.
And I love you.
I want to make you whole.”
The Question for This Week: Will I Listen?
Over the next several weeks, we’re going to move slowly through the Sermon on the Mount. We’ll take it section by section and ask together:
What is Jesus actually saying here?
Where does this confront my current way of living?
How is He inviting me to change, repent, or trust Him more?
What would obedience look like in my real life?
But before all of that, we have to begin with a simpler, deeper question:
Will I listen to Jesus and begin to build my life on His words?
Not: “Will I admire His teaching?”
Not: “Will I debate the finer points?”
Not: “Will I apply this to other people who really need to hear it?”
Will I listen?
Will you listen?
Will we let His words have authority over:
our anger,
our sexuality,
our marriages and singleness,
our money and possessions,
our anxieties,
our relationships,
our enemies,
our secret lives?
That is the real fork in the road between the house on the rock and the house on the sand.
A Simple Practice: Pay Attention to Where You Bristle
One practical step for this week:
As you reread Matthew 5–7 (and I strongly encourage you to do that), notice your internal reactions.
Where do you feel comforted?
Where do you feel convicted?
Where do you feel defensive, cynical, or overwhelmed?
Where are you tempted to say, “That can’t possibly be what He means,” simply because you don’t want it to be?
Instead of running from those places, bring them to Jesus in prayer:
“Lord, this part makes me bristle.
I don’t like it. It feels impossible.
If this really is Your word, I need Your grace.
Change my heart. Show me what obedience looks like here.
Help me trust that Your way is better than mine.”
That honest, humble posture is where transformation begins.
Building on the Firm Foundation of His Love
We ended our gathering by singing, “I will build my life upon Your love, it is a firm foundation.” That line is not sentimental. It’s deeply connected to Jesus’ closing image in the Sermon on the Mount.
We don’t build our lives on:
our own willpower,
our performance,
our spiritual résumé,
our theological precision.
We build on His love—demonstrated at the cross and proven in the empty tomb.
The same Jesus who says, “Love your enemies,” is the One who loved His enemies all the way to death.
The same Jesus who says, “Do not worry,” is the One who holds your future in His pierced hands.
The same Jesus who says, “Be perfect,” is the One who gives you His righteousness as a gift.
Obedience to the Sermon on the Mount is not the ladder we climb to earn God’s love; it is the response of people who have already been radically loved and rescued.
As Your Pastor
Let me end this the way I ended yesterday:
You and I are, in many ways, broken messes.
And Jesus looks at us and says, “You’re Mine. I love you. I want to make you whole.”
So as we walk through the Sermon on the Mount in the coming weeks:
Don’t run from the hard parts.
Press into them.
Take them to the Lord.
Ask for grace to obey, not just to understand.
My prayer for you—and for myself—is that we would be people who don’t just admire the words of Jesus, but actually build our lives on them. That when the rains come, the streams rise, and the winds beat against our lives (and they will), we would stand— not because we are strong, but because our foundation is.
He is risen.
He is alive.
His words are still speaking.
Let’s listen. And let’s build.
Reflections on Hearing – Really Hearing – the Sermon on the Mount
Yesterday, as I stood in front of our church family and said, “He is risen,” I could feel the weight and wonder of those words in the room. Some of you came in full of joy. Others came in heavy, grieving, anxious, or numb. And yet the same invitation of the risen Christ was extended to each of us:
“Come boldly to the throne of grace. Bring all of it. I’m alive, and I’ve already won the victory.”
That’s the starting point for everything we talked about yesterday, and it’s the only way to honestly approach what came next: hearing the Sermon on the Mount.
Why We Started Our Series This Way
For months, as a teaching team, we’ve been talking about how to handle Matthew 5–7. The Sermon on the Mount is often called “the greatest sermon ever preached,” but it’s more than that. It’s Jesus describing:
what His kingdom is like,
what life looks like for His disciples here and now,
what it actually means to belong to Him and bear fruit for Him.
We decided to begin this “mini-series” within Matthew by doing something very simple and very counter-cultural: we just listened.
Before explaining.
Before dissecting.
Before debating.
Before asking, “What does this mean for me?”
We asked a prior question:
Am I willing to hear Jesus speak?
So we read Matthew 5:3–7:27 straight through—Jesus’ own words, without commentary. That in itself is an act of surrender.
A Hillside, a Rabbi, and a Crowd Like Us
Matthew sets the scene like this:
“Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them.” (Matt. 5:1–2)
Jesus wasn’t in a classroom or a church building. He was on a hillside. The crowd around Him was a mix:
the curious,
the desperate,
the skeptical,
the hungry,
the broken.
Not that different from a Sunday morning crowd in our sanctuary.
His disciples drew close—not because they understood everything, but because they wanted to be near Him. He was their rabbi. They wanted to learn how to see, think, love, and live like Him.
And then Jesus began to teach—not just about “religion,” but about life:
anger,
lust,
marriage and divorce,
enemies,
giving,
prayer,
fasting,
money,
worry,
judgment,
discernment,
obedience.
He painted a picture of a kind of life that is actually good—a life that reflects the heart of God and stands firm when the storms hit.
Hearing the Sermon on the Mount Hurts (and Heals)
If you listened carefully yesterday, you likely felt a mix of things. I did too.
Some of Jesus’ words are deeply comforting:
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.”
“Do not worry about tomorrow.”
“Ask… seek… knock…”
Other words are confronting and unsettling:
“Anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment.”
“Anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven…”
There are phrases that almost make you want to say, “Jesus, I can’t do that. That feels impossible.”
And in a very real way, that reaction is the point. The Sermon on the Mount is not a cozy inspirational quote for your wall; it’s a radical invitation into a new life that we cannot live apart from the grace and power of Jesus.
Discipleship: More Than Agreeing With Jesus
As a church, we’ve defined a disciple this way:
A disciple is one who surrenders to Jesus, obeys His commands, reflects His goodness, and makes other disciples.
Notice what’s missing:
“A disciple is someone who knows a lot about the Bible.”
“A disciple is someone who agrees with Christian doctrine.”
“A disciple is someone who goes to church.”
Those things have value, but Jesus ends His sermon with a far sharper distinction:
“Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock…
Everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.” (Matt. 7:24–27)
Both people heard.
Both people “knew.”
The difference was obedience.
It’s uncomfortable to say this out loud, but I need to:
My life is not built on what I know or agree with. It’s built on what I actually obey.
That’s confronting for me as a pastor, not just for you as a congregant. I can preach sermons about loving enemies and still avoid the difficult person in my life. I can teach about worry and still stay up at night rehearsing worst-case scenarios.
The Sermon on the Mount exposes that gap between what we profess and how we actually live.
And yet—it does so as an act of love.
The Loving Confrontation of Jesus
I confessed yesterday that there are sections of this teaching that I would honestly like to skip. They cut too close. They expose my own sin, my own self-righteousness, my own comfort.
But the very places where we bristle are often the places where Jesus is doing His most loving work.
Why? Because the things He confronts in us—lust, anger, contempt, hypocrisy, greed, worry, judgment—are not small quirks. They are destructive. They destroy marriages, families, churches, communities, souls.
It is not unloving for Jesus to say, “Beloved, that way leads to death. Come out of it. I have something better for you.”
It may feel harsh at first, but underneath is the heart of a Savior who looks at us in all our brokenness and says:
“You’re a mess.
You’re My mess.
And I love you.
I want to make you whole.”
The Question for This Week: Will I Listen?
Over the next several weeks, we’re going to move slowly through the Sermon on the Mount. We’ll take it section by section and ask together:
What is Jesus actually saying here?
Where does this confront my current way of living?
How is He inviting me to change, repent, or trust Him more?
What would obedience look like in my real life?
But before all of that, we have to begin with a simpler, deeper question:
Will I listen to Jesus and begin to build my life on His words?
Not: “Will I admire His teaching?”
Not: “Will I debate the finer points?”
Not: “Will I apply this to other people who really need to hear it?”
Will I listen?
Will you listen?
Will we let His words have authority over:
our anger,
our sexuality,
our marriages and singleness,
our money and possessions,
our anxieties,
our relationships,
our enemies,
our secret lives?
That is the real fork in the road between the house on the rock and the house on the sand.
A Simple Practice: Pay Attention to Where You Bristle
One practical step for this week:
As you reread Matthew 5–7 (and I strongly encourage you to do that), notice your internal reactions.
Where do you feel comforted?
Where do you feel convicted?
Where do you feel defensive, cynical, or overwhelmed?
Where are you tempted to say, “That can’t possibly be what He means,” simply because you don’t want it to be?
Instead of running from those places, bring them to Jesus in prayer:
“Lord, this part makes me bristle.
I don’t like it. It feels impossible.
If this really is Your word, I need Your grace.
Change my heart. Show me what obedience looks like here.
Help me trust that Your way is better than mine.”
That honest, humble posture is where transformation begins.
Building on the Firm Foundation of His Love
We ended our gathering by singing, “I will build my life upon Your love, it is a firm foundation.” That line is not sentimental. It’s deeply connected to Jesus’ closing image in the Sermon on the Mount.
We don’t build our lives on:
our own willpower,
our performance,
our spiritual résumé,
our theological precision.
We build on His love—demonstrated at the cross and proven in the empty tomb.
The same Jesus who says, “Love your enemies,” is the One who loved His enemies all the way to death.
The same Jesus who says, “Do not worry,” is the One who holds your future in His pierced hands.
The same Jesus who says, “Be perfect,” is the One who gives you His righteousness as a gift.
Obedience to the Sermon on the Mount is not the ladder we climb to earn God’s love; it is the response of people who have already been radically loved and rescued.
As Your Pastor
Let me end this the way I ended yesterday:
You and I are, in many ways, broken messes.
And Jesus looks at us and says, “You’re Mine. I love you. I want to make you whole.”
So as we walk through the Sermon on the Mount in the coming weeks:
Don’t run from the hard parts.
Press into them.
Take them to the Lord.
Ask for grace to obey, not just to understand.
My prayer for you—and for myself—is that we would be people who don’t just admire the words of Jesus, but actually build our lives on them. That when the rains come, the streams rise, and the winds beat against our lives (and they will), we would stand— not because we are strong, but because our foundation is.
He is risen.
He is alive.
His words are still speaking.
Let’s listen. And let’s build.
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