Podcast on The Way

Dale Tompkins

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Christianity
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1d ago

Matthew 8:18-22

What does it actually mean to follow Jesus? Two men approach Him with two very different offers, and what He says to each of them cuts to the heart of genuine discipleship. The first is a scribe who boldly declares he will follow Jesus wherever He goes. His enthusiasm sounds sincere, but Jesus responds with honesty rather than applause, pointing out that He has no home, no steady income, and no place to rest His head. The real question Jesus is asking is not whether the man is willing to start following, but whether he is prepared to follow through. Enthusiasm and commitment are not the same thing, and Jesus refuses to let anyone get into the boat without understanding what the journey actually costs. The second man is already a disciple, and he uses the right word, calling Jesus Lord. But then he adds a condition: let me first go and bury my father. On the surface it sounds reasonable, even honorable. But scholars of Middle Eastern culture note that this phrase was commonly used to mean waiting until a living father had passed away. His father was likely still alive, and this man was essentially saying he would follow Jesus someday, just not today. Jesus responds by calling him to follow now, not later, using a present-tense command in the Greek that means not just begin following but keep following, continually, as a daily practice. Together, these two encounters reveal that the claims of the kingdom are absolute and immediate. Jesus is not building a crowd of volunteers willing to make a little profession. He is calling followers who understand what they are committing to and who keep showing up. And the reason He has the right to ask this of anyone is rooted in what He was willing to do Himself. The Son of Man, the King of all nations described in Daniel 7, laid His head on a cross so that every broken promise and every someday we have ever offered could be forgiven. He went homeless so that we could be brought home.
Sep 28

Matthew 8:14-17

Matthew 8:14-17 captures a single remarkable evening at the end of what had already been an extraordinarily long day for Jesus. He had preached the Sermon on the Mount, healed a leper, and engaged a Roman centurion, all before walking into Peter's house as the sun went down. What He did next reveals the heart of who He is. He noticed a woman lying sick with a fever in the back room, and He healed her without anyone asking. No request was made, no plea was offered. He simply saw her and acted. His grace did not diminish with the hour. The healing was just as complete at the end of the day as it had been at the beginning. Her response to being healed is just as significant as the healing itself. She rose immediately and began to serve. Matthew uses the same word here that the early church used to describe all forms of Christian ministry, the root of the word deacon. The order of events matters deeply. She did not serve in order to be healed. She was healed, and then she served. This is the pattern for every follower of Jesus. Serving is not the price of being raised up. It is the fruit of it. Those who have been trying to earn God's acceptance through enough volunteering, enough giving, or enough effort are serving from a sickbed. The invitation is to come to Jesus first, receive what only He can give, and then serve from that place of grace. The evening did not end there. The whole town gathered at the door with their sick and their suffering, and Jesus healed every single one of them. Matthew connects this to Isaiah 53, pointing forward to the cross where Jesus would carry not just illness but the sin that lies beneath every human wound. Even on the cross, He never stopped serving. He is the king who never clocks out, and He invites us into a life shaped by that same tireless, grace-fueled generosity. Before we serve, we go to Him. We let Him fill us. And then we pour out what He has given, not from our own strength, but from His.
Sep 21

Matthew 8:5-13

A Roman centurion approached Jesus in Capernaum, not for himself, but on behalf of his servant. To the Jewish crowd watching, this man was the face of occupation and oppression. Yet he knelt in the street, publicly humbling himself for someone society had completely written off. When Jesus offered to come and heal the servant, the centurion stopped Him, reasoning that Jesus only needed to speak a word. He understood authority from the inside out, and he recognized that sickness itself had no choice but to obey the command of Christ. Jesus marveled at this, declaring it the greatest faith He had encountered in all of Israel. That declaration came not from a priest or a scribe, but from a Gentile outsider. Jesus used that moment to make a sweeping announcement about the kingdom of heaven. Many would come from east and west, meaning the nations, the Gentiles, and sit at the table with the patriarchs of Israel. It was a breathtaking image of grace extended far beyond ethnic or religious boundaries. But the same breath carried a warning. Those who assumed the kingdom was theirs by right, the religious insiders with heritage and pedigree, would find themselves outside the feast. Being near the kingdom is not the same as being in it. Familiarity with Jesus is not the same as faith in Him. The centurion received what he asked for because he took Jesus at His word. He brought no credentials, no ancestry, and no religious resume. He simply believed that Jesus had both the authority and the willingness to act. That posture of humility and trust is the only thing that has ever opened the door to God's table. Before Jesus could host that feast, He went outside the gate Himself, bearing the rejection and darkness that belonged to us so that we could be brought in. The invitation remains open today, extended to insiders and outsiders alike, to anyone willing to come the way the centurion did.
Sep 14

Matthew 8:1-4

Most people have no trouble believing God is powerful enough to change a life. The harder question is far more personal: would He want to change yours? In Matthew 8, immediately after the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus comes down from the mountain and does something that stops everyone in their tracks. He reaches out and touches a man with leprosy, the one person in the entire crowd that no one else would go near. Under the law, lepers were declared unclean and forced to live in isolation, separated from family, worship, and human touch. This man had likely not felt another person's hand in years. And yet he walks straight to Jesus and kneels before Him, saying he has no doubt Jesus is able to heal him. His only uncertainty is whether Jesus would want to. Jesus does not scold him for the doubt. He does not lecture him on faith. He simply reaches out His hand, touches him, and says two words that answer the deepest question of the man's heart: I will. What makes this moment even more striking is that the touch was not necessary. Later in the same chapter, Jesus heals someone from across town without being in the same room. The touch was a message. Under the law, uncleanness always traveled upward when a clean person made contact with an unclean one. But when Jesus reached out, the opposite happened. His cleanliness was stronger than the man's defilement, and the healing flowed down. The crowd witnessed something the universe had never seen before. Throughout Scripture, leprosy serves as a picture of sin. It starts small, spreads from the inside out, separates us from God and from one another, and cannot be cured from within. The same Jesus who healed this man on a hillside in Galilee went further still on a hill outside Jerusalem, taking our uncleanness upon Himself on the cross so that we could be made righteous before God. He also sent the healed man to the priest, not just to confirm the miracle but to ensure his full restoration, back to his family, his community, and his place of worship. Jesus did not want him merely cured. He wanted him completely home. Whatever part of your life you have decided is too far gone, the King's answer has not changed. He is not only able. He is willing.
Sep 7

Matthew 7:24-29

This study examines the closing words of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus ends the greatest sermon ever preached not with a summary or a blessing but with a house crashing down. After three chapters of teaching that began with the Beatitudes, Jesus tells of two builders. One builds his house on the rock, and one builds on the sand. In dry weather the two houses look identical, with the same walls, roof, and doors. The difference stays hidden until the storm comes, and then the same rain, wind, and flood that beat on both houses reveal which one was truly founded. Jesus ends with a warning because he is not interested in being admired; he is interested in being obeyed. Church on the Way heard three movements in the passage. First, you can agree with a King you have never obeyed. The people in verses 21 to 23 call Jesus Lord, Lord and even do mighty works in his name, yet he says, I never knew you. Their confession is orthodox, fervent, and public, but there is a difference between agreeing with Jesus and submitting to him. Agreement costs nothing; the real test comes when God's will crosses ours. Second, the storm does not build your house, it reveals it. Storms come to everyone who follows Jesus, not as punishment but as the common experience of life in a fallen world. What we truly believe about God, deep in the control room of the heart, is what determines whether we stand or fall. Third, we must walk off the sidewalk. Building on the rock means admitting three things: I am a sinner, I cannot fix myself, and I cast myself completely on Jesus as Savior and Lord. This is not a one-time event but a daily direction, a lifestyle of repenting and believing again each morning. The rock, unnamed in the sermon itself, is revealed in Matthew 16 to be Christ. The King who speaks with all authority is the same King who went to the cross and took the storm of God's judgment in our place. The gospel turns the parable inside out: we build not by performing well enough to come to Christ, but by coming with empty hands, poor in spirit, resting our whole weight on the One who loved us and gave himself for us.
Aug 31

Matthew 7:21-23

Matthew 7:21-23 contains some of the most unsettling words Jesus ever spoke, and they are aimed not at atheists or obvious rebels but at religious people who were completely certain they were right with God. In that passage, people stand before Jesus pointing to prophecy, exorcisms, and miracles performed in His name. They are not sneaking in through a back door. They are confidently presenting their spiritual resume. And yet Jesus responds with the most devastating sentence imaginable: 'I never knew you.' The question this raises for every honest heart is a deeply personal one. How do I know if I am truly His? Three things emerge clearly as insufficient grounds for assurance. Words alone will not save anyone. Calling Jesus Lord is the right thing to do, but a confession is not necessarily a conversion. Works alone will not save anyone either. Even genuine spiritual activity, including ministry, miracles, and visible results, is not proof of a genuine heart. It is entirely possible to love what Jesus can do for your reputation without ever truly loving Jesus. What actually saves a person is a real relationship with Him. When Jesus says 'I never knew you,' He is using covenant language, the language of deep relational bond. He is not describing a failure of memory. He is making a formal and final declaration that no true relationship ever existed. The good news hidden inside this sobering warning is that today is not that final day. The same Jesus who will one day sit as judge is right now standing as Savior. He lived the life of perfect obedience we never could, went to the cross absorbing the sentence we deserved, and was cast out so that we could be brought in. Assurance is not found by staring into a mirror of your own performance. It is found by resting in what God, who fully knows you in Christ, has already done. The Father does not look at those hidden in His Son and say, 'I never knew you.' He says, 'This is my beloved child, and I know him well.'
Aug 23

Matthew 7:15-20

Jesus placed His warning about false prophets immediately after describing the narrow road to life, and that placement is not accidental. The hallmark of a false prophet is denying that the way is hard. They offer easier paths, avoid the topics of sin and repentance, and say peace where there is no peace. They are not outsiders throwing rocks. They are insiders claiming a seat at the table, wolves wearing wool, deliberately disguised and ravenously using others to build a following rather than to build the kingdom. The test Jesus gives for identifying false prophets is fruit, and the mercy of this passage is that anyone can inspect fruit. Fruit includes how a person lives, what they actually teach, and what is growing in the lives of the people who sit under them week after week. It is not crowd size, book sales, or how someone feels on the drive home. It is real, observable change over time. The test is reliable but slow. It requires proximity and patience. It cannot be run from a podcast or a YouTube channel. And it is not a license to go hunting. A false prophet is not someone who makes a mistake. He is someone who misrepresents God and the gospel at the level of the fundamentals and resists correction when it comes. Before applying this test to anyone else, the passage turns the mirror inward. A tree bears what it is. No amount of effort can turn a diseased tree into a healthy one. Something has to happen to the tree itself. That is exactly what the gospel offers. Not a program for better fruit, but a promise that God takes dead things and makes them alive. The Son of God lived the life we have not lived, died the death we cannot earn, and rose again so that barren trees could be made new from the root. For those already in Christ, even good trees get a few bad apples. God does not demand perfect fruit. He forgives the bad and strengthens us to bear better fruit, and that is part of what worship is.
Aug 20

2 Timothy

Suffering is something every person faces, yet it often catches us off guard. Second Timothy 2 offers a clear and honest answer to the question of how we keep going when life is hard. Before addressing suffering directly, it is worth examining how we think about our relationship with God. It is easy to slip into a transactional mindset, giving God our obedience and church attendance while expecting comfort or relief in return. This approach places the gift in front of the Giver and turns God into a vending machine rather than a Father. True faith calls us to seek God not for what He gives, but for who He is. Paul writes to Timothy with a simple but demanding message: keep going. He opens with a call to be strengthened by grace, not willpower, and reminds Timothy that faith is meant to be passed down to others. He then makes a direct turn toward suffering, using three metaphors to illustrate faithful endurance. The soldier keeps his focus on pleasing the one who enlisted him. The athlete competes according to the rules of God's Word. The farmer works hard and gets a front-row seat to what God is building. Each picture points to a life of focused, disciplined, and joyful faithfulness in the middle of difficulty. The second half of the passage shows what suffering actually produces in the life of a believer. Paul, writing from prison, anchors everything in two great hopes. First, Jesus is really alive. Because He endured suffering and rose from the dead, we will too. Second, Jesus is really at work. The word of God cannot be imprisoned, and His purposes will not fail. Union with Christ means that even in our failures and wandering, He remains faithful to us. The right question in suffering is not when it will end, but what God might be doing through it. Suffering is not a sign of abandonment. It is often the very place where God draws closest and does His most transforming work.

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Creator

Dale Tompkins
Years Active

2018 - 2026
Episodes

100
Rating

Clean
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Podcast on The Way