Jesus' Enduring Questions - Why do you call me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not what I say? - Pastor Donnell T. Wyche - a2cc.org. Watch our livestream Sundays @ 11:00am - vimeo.com/annarborcommunitychurch Summary: We've been exploring Jesus' penetrating questions throughout this series, the way he comes to us not first with answers, but with inquiries that expose our hearts. Like God in the garden, moving toward Adam when Adam was hiding, Jesus approaches us with questions that give us a clear chance to practice honesty and find intimacy with him. And today, he asks one of the most unsettling questions in the Gospels: "Why do you call me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say?" Let's sit with this for a moment, because it's more layered than it first appears. The repetition, kyrios, kyrios, carries both authority and intimacy. This isn't formal, liturgical language. It is personal, even desperate. These aren't outsiders Jesus is addressing. These are people who know him, claim him, call on him. They show up. They listen. They use all the right words. And their words are correct. That is the thing we need to understand. Jesus isn't saying their theology is wrong. Their confession, "You are Lord," is exactly right. They have what the early church would come to call orthodoxy, right belief. They know who Jesus is. They can name it. They can sing it. They can say it with conviction, even with tears. But Jesus sees something missing. The word he uses for "do," poieite, is present tense, ongoing, habitual action. He is not asking for one dramatic moment of obedience. He is asking about the shape of a life. He is asking about orthopraxis, right practice, consistent behavior that flows from what we say we believe. And here is the tension Jesus is naming, one of the deepest struggles of the spiritual life. It is entirely possible to believe the right things and not live them. You can sing "Jesus is Lord" on Sunday and ignore him on Monday. You can feel moved in worship and remain unchanged in your relationships. You can be right about Jesus and still resist him. Now watch what Jesus does next. He does not give a lecture. He tells a story about two builders. And do not miss this. Both builders hear his words. Both are in the room. Both are part of the community. Both are building something with their lives. This is not a story about believers and unbelievers. It is a story about two kinds of disciples. The first builder comes, hears, and puts Jesus' words into practice. The Greek word for "comes," erchomenos, suggests ongoing relationship, not occasional visits. This person is in consistent, intentional connection with Jesus. And they dig down deep, eskapsen, costly, intentional work. They go beneath the surface, beneath what is convenient, beneath what is quick, and they lay their foundation on rock. The second builder hears the same words. Maybe they are even taking notes or sharing insights afterward. Maybe they feel inspired in the moment. But they do not dig. They build on the surface. They go with what is convenient. The same words are heard, the same houses are built, but the outcomes are completely different when the storm hits. So what is the difference? It is not simply doing more religious activities or trying harder. The difference is something deeper than behavior. It is what I would call orthopathy, right heart. Orthopathy is the kind of heart that actually wants to dig. Orthodoxy says, "Jesus is Lord." Orthopraxis says, "So I live differently." Orthopathy says, "I actually want to follow him." It is the posture of the heart that connects belief to action. It is the affection, the reverence, the longing for God that makes obedience more than duty. It makes it response. It is why one builder digs and the other does not. Not because one has more willpower, but because one has been captured by the reality of who Jesus is. The builder who digs deep is not just more disciplined. They are more oriented. Their love for Jesus makes the digging worth it. Their reverence for his words makes obedience feel like life rather than obligation. The builder who stays on the surface still has intact orthodoxy. They can say "Lord, Lord" and mean it in the moment. But something in the heart has not caught up to the confession. The belief is real, but it has not gone deep enough to reshape how they live. And this is where Jesus' story becomes urgent, because he does not say if the storms come. He says when. The storm might look like a diagnosis you did not expect, a relationship that fractures, a moment when your faith feels thin, or a season where what you believed does not seem to hold. Both houses face the same storm. One stands, and one collapses completely. The storm does not create the problem. It reveals what was already true about the foundation. This is why the integration of orthodoxy, orthopraxis, and orthopathy matters so much. This is not a theological exercise. It is storm preparation. What sustains you is not just what you believe about Jesus, and not just your habits of obedience, but whether your whole self, mind, heart, and life, has been built on the rock of who he is. Now let me be clear, because this can start to sound like a spiritual performance review, and that is not what Jesus is doing. Remember the context. Jesus has just been teaching about God's radical, indiscriminate grace, blessing the poor, the hungry, and those who mourn. He has taught us to love enemies, to not judge others, and to deal with the log in our own eye before the speck in someone else's. This is not legalism. This is love. The foundation of rock is not our moral achievement. The foundation is Jesus himself, the solid ground of God's unchanging love for us in Christ. We do not dig deep to earn his affection. We dig deep because of his affection. Orthopathy, right heart, is not something we manufacture through effort. It is something the Spirit cultivates in us as we remain connected to Jesus. And that is the good news inside this challenging passage. The rock is already there. You do not have to go find it. Jesus is inviting you to build on what is already solid, his word, his character, his faithfulness. The digging is simply clearing away the sand we have been building on instead. From that secure foundation, we can risk honesty. We can acknowledge the gap between our confession and our practice without drowning in shame, because our identity is not based on our consistency. It is based on his faithfulness. So Jesus' question stands before us today. Why do you call me "Lord, Lord," and do not do what I say? It is not an accusation. It is an invitation. Maybe your orthodoxy is strong, but your orthopraxis has drifted. You know what is true, but you have not been living it. That is not condemnation. That is the starting place for grace. Maybe your practices are there, but your heart has gone cold. The doing is present, but the delight is missing. Jesus wants to meet you there too. Or maybe you just feel the gap, the exhausting space between who you say you are and how you actually show up. Jesus is not asking for instant perfection. He is asking for honesty and a willingness to start digging. Digging might look like forgiving someone you have been avoiding. It might look like telling the truth where you have been managing appearances. It might look like returning to prayer, not out of obligation, but to reconnect your heart. The rock is already there. You do not have to find it. You just have to decide what you are going to build your life on.
