
I love stories, and life has given me plenty to tell. It has long been my plan to put them down on paper. My path has taken me through 15 years of entrepreneurship, travelling, and finally, immigrating. I found myself again in a new place as an employed software engineer, and now, five years onwards, I am transitioning back to independence.

I was born in soviet Moscow and went to school in a new, unknown country that had yet to define itself. I belong to the single, non-indoctrinated generation of Russians around: we were taught that anything was possible and that our only limits were those we set for ourselves. This played some bad jokes on me: Once my childhood was over, the country decided to make another turn, this time back to authoritarianism, and together with its people, happily embraced the old and familiar soviet dogmas.

So, a year after graduating high school, I jumped on the website development bandwagon that has carried me for the last 20 years.

My experience was not purely virtual: my severe first \[ad]venture was an e-commerce website that sold shoes and accessories (my friend brought the idea, not a passion for shoes!). The next one was even more grounded: a chain of gadget repair stores. The third I would call 'Chinese adventures', as I was involved in trading activities for many small-scale entrepreneurs like me in China. These adventures, spanning from 2000 to 2014, were thrilling but ended abruptly as Russia took a turn I couldn't follow.

That time, my country decided to be, once again, the bad guy and no one asked me if I wanted to participate, so I quit.

The word 'quit' is nice and short! Applying it to reality was a grilling experience. It took me several attempts and struggles to acquire a new true home: Israel. Most of my current stories are related to this land and its people.

I'm practical, so I write about entrepreneurship, technology, business, and ideas in general. I have never been short of ideas, and I believe in the power of sharing them to make the ideas a part of reality, to let them sprout and witness the fruits.

To set the record straight, I am a Christian, so my viewpoint is not so common in Israel or the world of tech. This lens offers a distinctive angle to my experiences and reflections.


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Immigrant, Enterpreneur, Husband, Father and Son

Rodion Kuprin


*Delivered at Immanuel Church, Tel Aviv — November 8, 2025*

**Readings:** Luke 18:1–8a

---

## The Widow Who Cannot Hide

A widow in first-century Judea, standing outside the courthouse. No husband to speak for her. No wealth to hire representation. In both Jewish law and Roman practice, a widow was the definition of vulnerability.

The Torah itself recognised this — again and again, God commands: _care for the widow, defend the widow, do not exploit the widow_. Why? Because she had no protector. No social safety net. She was, in the most literal sense, _defenceless_.

And yet here she is, Scripture tells us, approaching an unjust judge — a man who "neither feared God nor respected people."

Here she's using the only thing she has: her voice. Her persistence. Her ability to keep showing up and being a nuisance. The judge himself says it — "because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming." She has discovered the one power available to the powerless: the power to refuse to go away.

Jesus presents this example stripped of all nuance and loopholes: the widow desperately needs justice, the judge is indifferent, and yet she receives help because she is persistent. And Jesus doesn't leave us to puzzle over the meaning. He explains: if an unjust judge can be moved by persistence, how much more will our Heavenly Father hear us when we cry out to Him?

---

## The Widow's Posture: Helplessness Turned into Faith

Now, let's look at what made this widow's demands effective. Not eloquence. Not moral standing.

She had one man who could grant her justice, one door to knock on. So she knocked.

Her helplessness gave her clarity. Her persistence wasn't born from confidence or willpower. It was born from the desperate mathematics of having nowhere else to go.

This is what Jesus wants us to see: she responded to her situation with clear-eyed realism. She was powerless, yes — but she knew where power resided. And from that conclusion flowed everything else — her persistence, her refusal to give up.

The widow's clarity was unique in a way — Jesus has given us an imaginary, simplified example, drawn in stark lines. But this parable worked immediately for His audience because it was _recognizably_ close to their lives.

Most of Jesus's first hearers survived on things they couldn't control. Rain for crops. Safe roads. Successful fishing trips. Health without modern medicine. Their daily lives weren't quite as desperate as the widow's, but they were on the same spectrum. They understood helplessness not as an abstract theological truth but as a lived experience.

---

## Our Modern Self-Sufficiency: The False Wealth

But step onto a morning train in Tel Aviv. Look around. Everyone has headphones in. Each person is absorbed in their own specialised world.

All of us have built something the widow never had: layers of protection. Our bank accounts. Health insurance. Professional networks. Retirement plans. Emergency funds. Education. We have learned how to make ourselves "un-desperate" and feel secure.

Our world isn't just more secure than theirs — it's vastly more complex. There are thousands of professions now where there were dozens then. Thousands of ways to invest resources and spend your time. We are rich in alternatives and the ability to solve our own problems — or at least to feel like we can.

And here is the spiritual danger: the more layers we build, the less we feel our need for God.

These layers are not evil. A bank account is not sinful. Health insurance is not a lack of faith. The danger comes when the layers become substitutes for God. When we live as if our security comes from our strategies rather than from the One who gives us breath.

No matter how much money we have in our accounts, how indispensable we are at our jobs, we remain creatures, not the Creator. Our days are still numbered. We need food, water, air, sleep — and we cannot add a single hour to our lives. The widow had nothing to hide behind and couldn't avoid this truth. We can avoid it for decades, building such elaborate systems of security that we live as functional atheists — saying we believe in God while our daily lives suggest otherwise.

---

## Faith as Dependence: The Heart of Prayer

Which brings us back to Jesus's parable and the question it forces us to ask: what is faith, really?

We often think of faith as certainty — believing that God exists, that Jesus is Lord, that Scripture is true. And these things matter. But Jesus's parable suggests that faith is something deeper than intellectual agreement with theological propositions.

Faith, in its essence, is recognition and sustained dependence on God.

Look at what the widow does. She has correctly identified where help comes from. She acts on that knowledge. Her dependence is visible in her feet, in her persistence, in her refusal to give up even when the judge keeps refusing her.

**This persistence toward an unjust judge — this is what Jesus says faith toward God should look like.** Not intellectual certainty, but sustained, persistent dependence.

Jesus tells this parable, "to show them that they should always pray and not give up." Prayer, then, is the fruit of faith. We pray because we have concluded that we need God. That we cannot save ourselves. That there is no other help for us.

Listen to Psalm 121, which has been prayed by God's people for millennia: "I lift up my eyes to the mountains — where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth."

From the One who doesn't sleep, the One who watches constantly.

This is what faith looks like in practice: knowing where help comes from and persistently turning there, even through delay.

True prayer isn't about convincing God of anything. God knows what we need before we ask. Prayer is about confessing our dependence. It's about coming back again and again to the One who is our help.

---

## Persistence and God's Timing

If God already knows what we need, and if God is good and loving, why must we be persistent? Why does Jesus tell us we "should always pray and not give up"?

Jesus answers this directly: "And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly."

God will bring justice soon, Jesus promises. But "soon" is measured in God's time, not ours. We are bound to time — we count minutes, we age, we wait. God is eternal. His "soon" is decisive and certain, but the timing is His.

So why persist in prayer if God's timing is His own?

Because persistence in prayer is about remaining in a relationship with God through the waiting. We are refusing to walk away when the answer doesn't come immediately. We are training our hearts to turn to God first, and not as a last resort.

The widow didn't have a backup plan. She didn't diversify her strategy. She kept coming back because there was nowhere else to go.

---

## Conclusion: Will He Find Faith on Earth?

Jesus ends this parable with a haunting question. It's not in today's reading — we stopped at verse 8a — but I cannot help but hear it echoing underneath everything we've said. Jesus asks: "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"

Think about that question. Not: Will he find churches? Will he find people who believe correct theology? Will he find moral people? But: Will he find faith?

What kind of faith is he looking for? I think he's looking for faith like a widow's conviction. Faith that has concluded its own helplessness. Faith that has nowhere else to go and so keeps knocking on God's door. Faith that persists through silence and delay because it has no backup plan.

And the question presses on us: In lives as distracted and "secure," is there still room for faith?

Or have we made a faith that fits comfortably within our layers — a faith that asks God to bless our plans rather than acknowledging we need Him to live at all?

So how do we, with all our complexity, recover the widow's clarity?

There is only one way: we must see ourselves as we truly are. Strip away the illusions. Whatever our place in society, whether we have many resources or few, we all breathe the same air. We are all mortal.

This is not comfortable. But it is true. And it is, strangely, liberating. Because when we stop pretending to be self-sufficient, when we stop exhausting ourselves building layers to feel safe, when we acknowledge our helplessness — that's when we can finally rest in the arms of the One who has always been holding us up.

You who have come today carrying burdens your layers cannot solve, you who are tired of pretending to be in control, you who are beginning to see your helplessness — there is One who hears, who doesn't sleep, who will bring about justice for you.

Keep knocking. Refuse to go away. Not because God is reluctant, but because that persistent knocking is what faith looks like when it has nowhere else to go.

---

Lord, strip us of our false confidence. Teach us to pray with desperation that trusts Your justice. Give us the clarity when we pray. Make us people who have concluded our helplessness, not as a sad fact but as the beginning of true faith.

Give us faith to keep knocking, not because we are strong, but because we have nowhere else to go. And when Your Son returns, may He find in us that faith — stubborn, persistent, utterly dependent — that refuses to let You go until You bless us.

In Jesus' name, Amen.


A sermon on the persistent widow, the layers we build against helplessness, and what faith looks like when there is no backup plan.

When We Have Nowhere Else to Go


*Delivered at Immanuel Church, Tel Aviv — November 1, 2025*

**Readings:** Luke 17:11–19 · 2 Kings 4:8–37

---

Picture the scene: somewhere along the border between Samaria and Galilee, Jesus encounters ten men with leprosy. Or more accurately, they encounter him from a distance.

"Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"

Notice what they don't say. They don't cry out, "Jesus, heal us!" They don't shout, "Jesus, cleanse us!" They use language that reaches higher — divine language. They call him "Master," and they ask not for healing but for _mercy_ — _eleēson_, the same word used in prayers addressed to God himself.

These men already know something about Jesus. Perhaps they've heard the stories filtering through from village to village. Perhaps they've even encountered him before. They know enough to believe that this man can speak into their situation with divine authority.

And they stand at a distance — which is exactly what Torah required. Anyone with such a disease had to live in separation from the community. Whether these ten men followed every detail of this requirement, we don't know. But they maintained their distance. They called out. They lived in the reality of separation that this disease demanded.

## The Torah-Observant Response

Jesus's response might surprise us. He doesn't touch them (as he did with other lepers in the Gospels). He doesn't pronounce them clean. He simply says, "Go, show yourselves to the priests."

They had approached him from within the Law's framework of separation. Now he responds within the Law's framework of restoration. According to Torah, when someone's skin disease healed, a priest had to examine them and officially declare them clean before they could rejoin the community. So Jesus sends them to take that first step — continuing within the same Torah-observant path they'd been walking.

## As They Went, They Were Cleansed

Here's where faith enters the picture.

Jesus didn't say, "You are cleansed — now go show the priests." He said, "Go show yourselves to the priests" — and they went.

And Luke tells us simply: "As they went, they were cleansed."

Look at the faith this required. Jesus gave them a command with no visible change, no immediate proof, no guarantee they could see. And they obeyed. They trusted Jesus's word enough to act on it.

This is the kind of faith Jesus had been calling for all along — the kind his own disciples sometimes struggled to demonstrate. When the storm threatened to sink their boat, he asked, "Where is your faith?" When they couldn't heal the demon-possessed boy, he said, "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed..." These ten lepers, standing at a distance, had that faith.

All ten men were healed. All ten received exactly what they asked for — mercy expressed as cleansing. All ten could now complete their journey to the priests and return to normal life.

The story could end here. Ten desperate men cry out to Jesus. Jesus responds. They're all healed. Everyone goes home happy.

## But Only One Came Back

One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus's feet and thanked him.

And then Luke adds a detail that would have shocked his first readers: **This man was a Samaritan.**

For Jesus's Jewish audience, this wasn't just about ethnicity. Samaritans weren't simply foreigners — they were people with the _wrong_ theology. Wrong temple (Mount Gerizim instead of Jerusalem). Wrong scriptures (only the Torah, rejecting the prophets). Wrong understanding of the covenant. They were seen as heretics who had corrupted the true faith.

Jesus notices: "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?"

Think about what Jesus is highlighting here. Nine insiders who knew the scriptures, who grew up in the covenant community, who had correct theology — they kept going. One theological outsider, one who had the "wrong" beliefs about God, turned back.

The man with incorrect theology got the relationship right. So what made the one leper return? What did he understand that the nine missed?

## The Right Posture

To answer this, let's go back in time and look at the story of the Shunammite woman in 2 Kings 4. This happened in the time of Prophet Elisha, he was travelling through the region on his prophetic work, going from place to place as God directed him. The Shunammite woman and her husband happened to meet him on a few occasions and offered him their hospitality. They weren't seeking him out for help — they recognised a holy man of God passing through their town, fed him and at some point decided to build him a room as an act of reverence and hospitality. Without being asked. Without expecting anything in return.

When Elisha asks what she needs, she essentially says, "Nothing. I'm content." It's Elisha who insists on blessing her, and through God's power, she conceives and bears a son — God's gift, precious beyond measure.

Years later, that boy suddenly dies. She travels to find Elisha. When she reaches him, she falls at his feet and won't let go. She will not settle for less than God's man coming to her house.

This woman's request is bold, and probably very emotional — she wants her dead son, God's promised gift, restored. Elisha comes and shuts the door of his room. He and his servant pray. He stretches himself over the boy. The child's body grows warm. The whole process takes time, and it's not easy for the prophet. Then, the boy sneezes seven times. He opens his eyes.

And then Elisha calls the Shunammite and says to her, "Take your son."

Watch what she does at this moment.

Does she rush to embrace her child? Does she check his breathing, examine him, make sure he's truly alive? Does she immediately begin caring for him?

**No. First, she bows.** She falls at Elisha's feet in worship. Before she even looks at her restored son, before she touches the miracle that has just occurred, she acknowledges the man of God.

This woman isn't a prophet; she has no special spiritual training or religious authority. But she has something more important than credentials: **She has the right posture toward God.**

She understands that there is nothing in all creation — not even the resurrection of her beloved child — that compares with the presence and power of God. The gift must point her to the Giver. The miracle is not the end of the story; it's an occasion for worship.

## The Uncomfortable Mirror

The Shunammite woman shows us what the returning leper understood. But before we see what made him different, let's consider where we actually find ourselves in this story.

I've heard it preached many times with a familiar application: The nine who didn't return represent our neighbours, friends, and family members — the ones who claim to believe in God, who pray when they're desperate, but never show up at church or Bible study. They receive God's blessings and disappear back into their everyday lives. And we, sitting here, are like the one Samaritan who came back to worship and give thanks.

But I wonder if that lets us off too easily.

Most of the time, **we** are the other nine at best!

Think about it: We're trained in obedience. We're well-read in scripture. We have good instincts about daily situations. We have solid worship habits.

And yet — here's the hard truth — we can do all of this while losing focus on the main reason we're here at all.

All ten lepers were doing everything right, according to the Law and Jesus' own instructions.

The nine aren't condemned for disobedience. They got back their religious obligations and normal life. They received the gift and kept walking.

And we do this too — perhaps especially those of us who are serious about our faith. We go to church. We read scripture. We serve. We pray. We're "going to the priests" in a thousand ways, fulfilling religious obligations, doing what seems right.

But are we dwelling in God's presence? Are we bowing before the Giver?

## What Made the One Different

The returning leper understood something the others missed: **He had encountered God himself.**

He saw his healed skin and recognised not just what had happened, but **who had done it.** Like the Shunammite woman, he understood the right posture — bow first, before anything else.

So he turned back. He came to Jesus, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus's feet in complete recognition of who stood before him.

This is what worship is: the proper response to seeing God truly.

And he was told: "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."

## Saved, Not Just Healed

Wait — weren't all ten made well? All ten were cleansed. But notice the word Jesus uses when he speaks to the one who returned.

Luke describes all ten being "cleansed." But when Jesus speaks to this one man, he uses a different word — a word that means not just healed, but made **whole**. It's a word that carries both physical and spiritual restoration, the kind of complete healing that touches not just the body but the soul.

This is the same word Jesus uses throughout Luke's gospel when something deeper than physical healing has occurred — when he speaks to the woman caught in adultery, to the woman who touched his cloak, to the paralytic lowered through the roof. Each time, he's pointing to a restoration that goes beyond the visible.

All ten were cleansed. But only the one who returned was made completely whole and received something far greater than he'd imagined when he cried out for mercy: restoration to God himself.

"Your faith has saved you." Not your ethnicity. Not your religious credentials. Not your Torah obedience. Not even your correct theology. Your faith — the faith that saw past the gift to the Giver, that recognized God and responded with worship, that chose to dwell in his presence rather than simply collect his blessings.

## Where We Find Ourselves

So bring everything to God this week. Bring the foolish requests and the profound ones, ask God to send you the bus when you need it, to get your beloved healthy and to keep us in peace and everything else, big and small.

But when your prayers are answered — and they will be, in God's wisdom and time — remember the Shunammite woman. Before you rush to enjoy the gift, bow first. Acknowledge the Giver.

Because the difference between being healed and being saved is this: whether we see the gift or the Giver, whether we get what we came for and leave or discover that dwelling in God's presence is what we needed most all along.

**And our Lord, Jesus Christ, stands waiting patiently for us to turn around, come back, and dwell with him.**

In the name of the Father, who visits us; the Son, who saves us; and the Holy Spirit, who opens our eyes to see. Amen.


A sermon on the ten lepers, the one who returned, and the difference between being healed and being saved.

Lepers in Samaria and Galilee


*Delivered at Immanuel Church, Tel Aviv — August 16, 2025*

**Readings:** Luke 11:1–13 · Genesis 18:20–32 · Colossians 2:6–15

---

## Opening

Brothers and sisters, today's readings invite us to think about how we pray, how we trust, and how we forgive.

Jesus' disciples once asked, "Lord, teach us to pray," and what he gave them was a formula and a way of life: a prayer that touches our deepest needs and transforms our outlook on God and our neighbour.

The words of this prayer are familiar, yet in Luke's Gospel the prayer is shorter. It begins simply with **"Father."** In Matthew, however, we find the longer version beginning with _"Our Father."_ Early Christian writings like the _Didache_ also preserve this prayer, showing how central it was from the very beginning of the church's life. Whether Luke or Matthew, the spirit of the prayer assumes that it is communal. We never pray alone; whenever we call upon God as Father, we are standing alongside countless others who call Him by the same name. From the first pages of the Bible, beginning with the story of creation, we see that humanity is one family — descendants of Adam by flesh and, through faith, children of Abraham.

---

## Boldness in Prayer — Abraham and the Friend at Midnight

In Genesis we hear Abraham's bold intercession for Sodom. Notice how daring he is: he bargains down from fifty righteous to just ten. And he does so not for himself but for strangers. He already knows God, and therefore he dares to ask. Prayer, then, is not timid; it is a wrestling with God's justice and mercy. Abraham calls himself "dust and ashes," yet he still speaks — because God has chosen to listen.

Jesus echoes this boldness right after teaching the prayer. He tells the parable of a neighbour who knocks at midnight until he gets bread. Shameless persistence, Jesus says, is how we should approach the Father. _"Ask, and it will be given; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened."_ This parable becomes even more vivid when we read it alongside how Abraham welcomed the three visitors, going to great lengths to serve them. In both stories, the request is not for personal hunger but for hospitality — for the sake of others. Abraham prepared a feast for strangers; the neighbour in the parable begs for bread to welcome a guest.

We are called to pray with that same audacity: not shy, not selfish, but brave enough to ask for others as well as ourselves. And when we pray for one another, we are no longer just individuals bringing lists before God — we are becoming the church, the family of God, bound together in intercession.

---

## A Childhood Memory — Desire and Blindness

When I was a little boy in Russia in the early nineties, I longed for things we did not have. Advertisements on TV showed a different world: children eating Snickers bars, families enjoying Uncle Ben's pasta. I wanted those things desperately, without noticing the struggle of my parents, who were working hard simply to provide bread on the table.

Just like that, we can be so consumed by our own requests that we do not notice the needs of others. Abraham teaches us a different way: pray not only for yourself but for those you may never meet. Ask for your brother, and your brother will ask for you. In this, our prayers intertwine, and we become a family under God.

---

## The Practice of Interceding for Others

There is a saying I once heard from a Russian monk who practised hesychasm (a repeated prayer). Struggling with pride, he was advised to change his repeated prayer. Instead of always saying, _"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,"_ he began to pray: _"By the prayers of those who love me, have mercy on me."_ It is a strange and humbling shift. Instead of focusing only on his own voice, he learned to lean on the prayers of others.

This practice comes from a different theological framework than ours and is shared here as an illustration, not as something we adopt. But it carries a truth: we should not stop praying ourselves, yet sometimes we must trust others to pray for us. Jesus himself, in the garden of Gethsemane, asked his disciples to keep watch and pray with him. They failed, falling asleep, but their presence shows us something important: if possible, prayer is not meant to be carried alone. Even the Son of God wanted the prayers of his friends. And though those disciples failed that night, perhaps our brothers and sisters will not.

When our own words run dry, when we feel desperate or too weary to pray, we may rest in the assurance that others are carrying us. This is what "Our Father" truly means — we are sustained by the prayers of one another. And when we say _"Our Father"_ together, we may think of the great cloud of prayer that surrounds us: brothers and sisters in every part of the world, some of whom we will never meet.

One of the important missionary efforts of Immanuel Church is very simple: we keep our doors open and we talk to people who enter. Sometimes a visitor comes into Immanuel Church, saying he was here twenty years ago, or served as a volunteer, and that he still prays for us. We are blessed by hundreds, perhaps thousands, who are lifting us before God even now. Think about that when you say _"Our Father."_

---

## Daily Bread — Trust for Today

Having reflected on Abraham's intercession and on how others may carry us in prayer, we now turn to the most basic of petitions in the Lord's Prayer. After speaking boldly for strangers and trusting the prayers of our brothers and sisters, we are reminded that prayer is also simple: asking God for what sustains life today.

Bonhoeffer once warned that hoarding shows a lack of trust. The manna in the wilderness spoiled if people tried to save it overnight. In the same way, our worries about tomorrow rarely help. If we can act, we should act — finish the task, help a neighbour. But when we cannot, anxiety only traps us in a circle of helplessness, as we are trying to control what is not ours to control.

Daily bread prayer brings us back: it is God's world, God's time, and God's provision.

---

## Forgiveness — Receiving and Sharing Mercy

Next, Jesus teaches us to pray, _"Forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us."_ This is perhaps the hardest line. Forgiveness is not a simple feeling, but a hard choice and a process. It may begin in our hearts, but it should eventually manifest itself outwardly through actions.

Paul in Colossians reminds us that God _"forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the charge of our legal indebtedness; he nailed it to the cross."_ This is the source: we forgive because we have been forgiven. We forgive not because others deserve it, but because God's mercy has first reached us.

Forgiveness is a command, not an option. Jesus underlines this again and again: _"If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you."_ (Matt. 6:14). To love is to forgive, and love in Scripture is always action, never mere sentiment. Two weeks ago, we reflected that love is not only a feeling but a force that transforms action. Forgiveness works the same way — it moves us from resentment to generosity.

And forgiveness can manifest itself through many actions. My personal touch is this: if you are struggling to forgive someone, ask yourself how you can help that person, how you can ease the burden for him or her. By doing so, you promote love, and forgiveness becomes one of the fruits of love, as Paul wrote.

---

## Core Message

**Because God is our Father, we may pray with bold trust for today's needs, and we are called to extend the forgiveness we have received.**

This is the identity we carry: children of God. It means to pray with boldness like Abraham, to depend daily on God's provision, and to forgive as those whose debts were nailed to the cross.

---

## Conclusion

So let us pray as Jesus taught — not rushing, not hoarding, not clinging to grudges, but living as children of a generous Father. As we go from here, let us carry these images with us: Abraham daring to plead for others, the neighbour knocking until bread was given, the manna reminding us of daily trust, and the cross where our debts were cancelled. When worry rises, recall the prayer for daily bread. When bitterness stirs, remember the forgiveness we have received. When fear holds you back, remember that God welcomes bold prayer, even from dust and ashes.

And remember too: it is **Our Father.** We do not walk this road alone. We carry one another in prayer, and others carry us. That is the mystery of the family of God.

Let us close by saying together the Lord's Prayer, as both our plea and our practice, as it is recorded in the Gospel of Luke:

> 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.


A sermon on the Lord's Prayer — bold intercession, daily bread, and the forgiveness we receive and share.

Our Father


*Delivered at Immanuel Church, Tel Aviv — March 15, 2025*

**Readings:** Luke 13:31–35 · Philippians 3:17–4:1 · Jeremiah 17:5–10

---

## Jerusalem

Jerusalem is the place like no other: it's the only city that exists simultaneously here, on earth and in Heaven. The city after God's liking. Medieval maps placed Jerusalem at the very center of the world, and in many ways, it remains at the center even today.

Jerusalem remains a beacon of hope, a sacred place of worship, a focus of political struggle, and sadly, often a battleground. The name itself contains עיר (city) and שלום (peace) — the City of Peace. Yet since Jesus walked its streets, Jerusalem has changed hands more than twenty times. What an irony!

## Immanuel Congregation and Jerusalem

It's not easy to speak about Jerusalem from within the Holy Land. Every person here has an intimate relationship with the city. For us, Jerusalem is not a mere idea or a story; it's not stones, hotels, or tour guides.

It's a living testimony of our ultimate foundation: Jesus's Sacrifice, death, and resurrection. On many levels, this is the reason for our presence here today, both in the Church and the Holy Land.

## Jesus's Lamenting Is Alive

In our Gospel reading, we hear Jesus's heartfelt cry:

> **"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."**

God, a master of past, present and future, laments over Jerusalem not just two thousand years ago, but standing from within his eternal now.

When we look at Jerusalem today, we still see division and tension. Jesus's lament echoes through the centuries and remains as relevant today as it was two thousand years ago. What follows this lament is even more striking — a prophetic declaration about Jerusalem's future that will forever change how we understand our relationship with God.

## Empty City

> **"Look, your house is left to you desolate."**

Yes, the temple is going to be destroyed. Yes, the whole city is going to be in ruins. Yes, the Jews are going to be expelled and permitted in only one day in a year: 9th of Av, to mourn. But Jesus was revealing something even more profound.

Jerusalem had functioned like an embassy of God's Kingdom on earth, but now God has withdrawn his presence. The embassy is left in ruins and only one wall is standing. There is no place to bring a petition or negotiate.

## No Visa Required

The destruction of Jerusalem and its temple was indeed catastrophic. The sacred center, the place where heaven and earth met, was lost. Yet, even in this apparent disaster, God wasn't abandoning his people — he was transforming their relationship with him. The physical center was changing, but God's faithful presence and promises remained.

As Jesus predicted Jerusalem's desolation, he was simultaneously establishing something new. God was extending his kingdom beyond walls and borders, beyond one holy city to encompass the whole world.

This is why Paul could confidently declare in our Philippians reading:

> **"Our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ."**

This is the astonishing truth of the gospel: We no longer need special visas or permits to access God's presence, and we don't need to make pilgrimages to a physical embassy. Through Christ, we have been granted full citizenship rights in God's kingdom.

When the temple veil was torn from top to bottom at Jesus' crucifixion, it wasn't just fabric that was split — it was the barrier between humanity and God. The embassy model was replaced with direct citizenship.

## Rights and Duties

Being citizens of God's Kingdom comes with both privileges and responsibilities. The disciples listened as Jesus laid out the constitution of this new Kingdom through his teaching, parables, and healings.

The picture is becoming increasingly grim: Jesus demanded radical transformation. Love your neighbors, yes, but also love your enemies. Forgive not just once but seventy times seven times. No shortcuts, no loopholes, were permitted.

The disciples asked the question we all wonder: "Who then can be saved?" Jesus's answer reveals the very nature of our heavenly citizenship:

> **"With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."** (Matthew 19:25–26)

This was a complete reversal of their expectations. They had lived under Roman rule, awaiting a Messiah to drive out the oppressors and establish a new earthly power. Instead, Jesus taught them about a different kingdom: one that starts in the heart and transforms its citizens from the inside out.

The constitution of this kingdom isn't just a set of rules to follow — it's a new way of being. A way that is only possible through God's power working in us. This was difficult for the disciples to digest, and it remains challenging for us today. Yet this is the reality of our citizenship in God's kingdom.

## Walking as Kingdom Citizens

As citizens of heaven, we face a practical question: What does this citizenship actually look like in our daily lives? Is it about paying spiritual taxes or serving in God's army? Not quite, but close! It's about defending the truths of God's Kingdom, sharing what we have with others, and, as Paul urges in Philippians 4:1, "standing firm in the Lord."

This wonderful Citizenship isn't just a legal status, it's our identity. Think about how we describe ourselves: husband, wife, parent, child, friend. These roles matter, but first and foremost, we are Christ followers. This identity shapes everything else about who we are and how we live.

And here's the encouraging promise Jesus gave us:

> **"I am with you always, to the end of the age."** (Matthew 28:20)

We don't follow a distant ruler. Christ isn't far away in some heavenly throne room, detached from our struggles. No, Christ walks beside us every day.

## Symbols of the Citizenship

We in the Middle East are privileged to live in a society where faith is often openly displayed. Religious symbols and practices are visible everywhere, expressing people's beliefs and values and ensuring that others understand what to expect of them.

For us it might not be traditional to wear our faith in bold symbols — perhaps just a tiny cross tucked under the shirt — but shouldn't we also let our true identity shine? Jesus addressed this directly in the Sermon on the Mount:

> **"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven."** (Matthew 5:14–16)

This light shines through a life changed by Christ. It appears when we:

- Choose patience when frustrated
- Stay honest when dishonesty is an easy choice
- Give generously beyond what's comfortable
- Forgive even when the hurt is still fresh
- Do not ask for the debt to be returned

The words we speak about our faith only gain their power from the lives we lead. This everyday testimony, shown through our actions **and words**, is the beginning of "standing firm in the Lord."

## Palm Sunday in Jerusalem

We're approaching Easter, the pinnacle of our Church year. A week before, on Palm Sunday, we remember Jesus entering Jerusalem as crowds shouted, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"

Visit Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and you'll witness a powerful contrast. Most of the city continues as normal — trams and cars move through streets, shops open, life goes on. Jerusalem, like in Jesus's time, remains largely unaware.

But something remarkable happens: Christian children gather in scout uniforms on the Mount of Olives. They follow Jesus's ancient path into the city, their drums and voices filling the air with "Hosanna!" Children boldly proclaim the King's arrival in a city that is half ignorant and half hostile.

This living picture connects directly to our Gospel reading: "You will not see me again until you say, 'Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.'" And remember Jesus's lament? "How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks." On Palm Sunday, we see this gathering happening — not through political power but through faithful witness.

These young believers demonstrate what true citizenship means: standing firm in both earthly and heavenly identities. Like Jeremiah in today's readings, they speak God's truth despite opposition.

As citizens of heaven in the Holy Land, we share this calling. Whether in Jerusalem or here in Tel Aviv, our lives proclaim that Christ has come, Christ will come again, and through Him, our desolate houses become places where heaven touches earth.

This is what it means to stand firm in the Lord.


A sermon on what it means to be citizens of heaven while living in the land where Jesus walked, died, and rose again.

Luke

When We Have Nowhere Else to Go

Lepers in Samaria and Galilee

Our Father

Standing Firm in Our Heavenly Citizenship While Living in the Holy Land