A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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Luke chapter 11 feels like one of those chapters where Jesus really pulls the curtain back on what it means to follow Him—not just the “pretty” side of prayer and miracles, but the challenge of living a real, consistent, God-centered life. When you read it, you can almost hear the intensity in His words, especially when He’s correcting the Pharisees and scribes. But there’s also tenderness, especially in the way He teaches about prayer.
I remember the first time I read Luke 11 seriously. I was younger, maybe late teens, and I had this idea that prayer had to be these fancy, long, kind of “holy-sounding” words. Then I come across Jesus saying basically, “When you pray, say this…” and it’s so simple. Almost too simple, like a child could say it. And that’s kind of the point, right?
So let’s walk through the chapter piece by piece, and I’ll share some thoughts, reflections, and maybe a few tangents (because real life study often goes that way).
This is probably the most famous prayer in all of Christianity. The disciples had seen Jesus pray so often that they finally asked, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” That always struck me—Jesus didn’t force them into prayer lessons, but His own prayer life was so compelling they wanted to learn. That’s leadership by example.
The prayer itself is short:
“Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead us not into temptation.”
It’s like five lines. No complicated theological jargon. Just essentials.
Notice the rhythm: it begins with God’s holiness, then His kingdom, then our needs (bread), our hearts (forgiveness), and finally our protection (temptation). It’s both vertical (God first) and horizontal (how we treat others).
Something personal—I once tried praying this every day for a month, slowly, one line at a time. And wow, it messed me up in a good way. “Give us our daily bread” reminded me not to hoard tomorrow’s worries. “Forgive us… as we forgive” was harder because I realized how grudges sneak in. Jesus wasn’t giving us a formula just to repeat, but a framework to shape how we think and pray.
Jesus then tells a little story about a guy knocking on his friend’s door at midnight asking for bread. The friend says, “Don’t bother me, I’m in bed.” But the man keeps knocking until finally, out of annoyance or persistence, the friend gets up and gives him what he needs.
Some folks misunderstand this—like God is the grumpy neighbor and we’ve gotta pester Him until He gives in. But no, Jesus is showing that if persistence works even with reluctant people, how much more with a good Father who actually wants to give?
Then comes that beautiful line: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened.”
I’ve wrestled with this verse. Sometimes I asked and didn’t get what I thought I needed. But over time, I realized the asking-seeking-knocking is less about twisting God’s arm and more about relationship. Like a kid who keeps coming to their dad—not always to get candy, but to know dad’s there.
And then Jesus compares God to earthly fathers: if your kid asks for a fish, you won’t hand them a snake. If sinful parents know how to give good gifts, how much more will your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit? That last bit—the Holy Spirit—is interesting. He doesn’t say money, or health, or success. He promises God’s own Spirit. That’s the best gift.
Next, Jesus casts out a mute demon, and people are divided. Some are amazed, others accuse Him of using demonic power. Classic—people always find a way to criticize even good works.
Jesus responds logically: a kingdom divided against itself can’t stand. Why would Satan fight himself? Then He says something striking: “If I drive out demons by the finger of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you.” That’s powerful imagery. Just the finger of God is enough to overthrow darkness.
There’s also that little parable about the strong man guarding his house—until someone stronger comes and overpowers him. That’s Jesus. He’s the stronger one.
Then He warns about what happens when an evil spirit leaves but the person doesn’t fill the empty space with God—it comes back with seven worse spirits. Kinda like cleaning your house but leaving it empty; soon it’s messier than before. Spiritual life needs not just cleansing but filling.
I remember seasons where I tried to “quit bad habits” by sheer willpower. It worked for a while, but without filling that space with God’s Word, prayer, or healthy practices, the old patterns crept back worse. Jesus’ words ring true.
And then that little moment when a woman cries out, “Blessed is the mother who gave you birth!” Jesus replies, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” It’s not about biology or even proximity—it’s about obedience.
The crowds want a sign, but Jesus says the only sign they’ll get is Jonah. Just like Jonah was a sign to Nineveh, Jesus is the sign to this generation. Jonah’s three days in the fish foreshadowed Jesus’ resurrection.
He mentions how the Queen of the South traveled far to hear Solomon’s wisdom, and Nineveh repented at Jonah’s preaching. Both outsiders responded better than Israel was responding to Jesus. Ouch. Sometimes those we least expect—outsiders, foreigners, “the wrong people”—respond to God better than the religious insiders.
That still stings today. Churches can be full of folks demanding “signs” while people on the margins are actually hungry for God’s word.
Jesus goes back to imagery about light: no one lights a lamp and hides it. The eye is the lamp of the body—if your eyes are healthy, your whole body is full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, you’re full of darkness.
I used to read this and think it only meant “don’t look at bad stuff.” But it’s broader: what you focus on shapes you. If your inner perspective is clouded, it distorts everything.
I once knew someone who was always suspicious, always assuming the worst. Even kind gestures, they’d interpret negatively. Their “eye” was unhealthy, and it colored their whole world. Jesus is calling us to clarity, to let His light fill us so we can see truthfully.
Here comes the fire. A Pharisee invites Jesus for a meal, and the first thing noticed is that Jesus didn’t wash before eating. Not talking hygiene, but ritual purity washing.
Jesus uses this as a teachable moment: “You Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness.” What an image—shiny on the outside, rotten within.
He pronounces woes:
They tithe tiny herbs but neglect justice and love.
They love the best seats and public greetings.
They’re like unmarked graves—people walk over them without realizing the corruption.
Then an expert in the law protests, “Teacher, you insult us too.” And Jesus doesn’t back down. He adds woes for them as well:
Loading people with burdens but not helping them.
Building tombs for prophets their ancestors killed, continuing the same rejection.
Taking away the key of knowledge, not entering themselves and blocking others.
By the end, the Pharisees are furious, plotting against Him.
Honestly, this section is uncomfortable. It makes me ask—do I clean the outside of my life (church attendance, good appearances) but neglect justice, mercy, love? Do I secretly crave recognition?
There’s a smell memory here: I once visited a cemetery after rain, and the ground was soft, almost too soft. Jesus saying “unmarked graves” reminds me of that—like you’re stepping on something foul without realizing. Hypocrisy hides death under a nice surface.
Luke 11 is both inspiring and unsettling. It calls me to deeper prayer (simple, persistent, trusting), to openness to God’s Spirit, to inner integrity instead of outward show.
Some big themes I carry away:
Prayer is relational, not performative. It’s daily bread, forgiveness, help against temptation—not lofty speeches.
God’s generosity is greater than we imagine. He gives not just “things” but Himself—the Holy Spirit.
Division and hypocrisy kill spiritual life. A divided kingdom collapses; a shiny outside with rotten inside fools no one forever.
Light vs. darkness begins in the eye. How I perceive shapes who I become.
Religious pride is deadly. Better to be humble and responsive than to build fancy religious appearances while ignoring justice and love.
Sometimes reading Luke 11 feels like Jesus sitting across the table, looking straight into my soul, both encouraging and confronting me. The Lord’s Prayer comforts me; the woes unsettle me. And maybe that tension is the point. We need both comfort and challenge.
If I had to sum it up: Luke 11 is about alignment—aligning our prayers, our persistence, our eyes, and our hearts with God’s kingdom, not with empty religion.
And maybe tonight, before bed, I’ll whisper that prayer again: “Father, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come…”
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