Passage 📖: Matthew 22:41–46 + Matthew 23

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👋 Introduction to Today’s Lesson

What happens when the ones you trusted to guide your soul… turn out to be blind themselves?

What if the people who taught you what “God” looks like were more obsessed with being right than being righteous?

More drawn to admiration than transformation?

That’s the tension Jesus walks into — and tears open — in today’s passage.

The Pharisees were the spiritual heroes of their day.

Respected. Polished. Unquestioned.

But Jesus doesn’t just challenge their answers —

He unmasks their ambition.

And what He says still echoes for anyone who’s ever worn a spiritual mask to fit in… impress others… or avoid being exposed.

Let’s dive in.

Last week, a Pharisee — an expert in the Law — approached Jesus with a question:

“Which commandment is the greatest?”

To many, it sounded like theological trivia.

But to Jesus, it was the heart of everything.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind.”

“And love your neighbor as yourself.”

Two verses.

One foundation.

Jesus didn’t offer a new rule — He revealed the essence of God’s Kingdom:

Love.

Not law-keeping. Not status. Not performance.

Just love — for God, for people, for real.

We were reminded that:

If you missed the lesson, click here to catch up.

While the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them a question:

“What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he?”

They said to him,

“The son of David.”

He said to them,

“How is it then that David, in the Spirit, calls him Lord, saying,

‘The Lord said to my Lord,

Sit at my right hand,

until I put your enemies under your feet’?

If then David calls him Lord,

how is he his son?”

And no one was able to answer him a word,

nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples:

“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat,

so do and observe whatever they tell you,

but not the works they do.

For they preach, but do not practice.

They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders,

but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger.

They do all their deeds to be seen by others.

For they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long,

and they love the place of honor at feasts and the best seats in the synagogues

and greetings in the marketplaces and being called rabbi by others.

But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all brothers.

And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven.

Neither be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Christ.

The greatest among you shall be your servant.

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

He’s teaching publicly in the Temple courts.

And by now, every major religious group has tried — and failed — to trap Him.

Each attempt was a setup.

But Jesus dismantled them all.

Now, the Pharisees regroup one last time.

But before they can try again — Jesus goes on offense.

He asks them a question:

“What do you think about the Messiah? Whose son is He?”

They answer easily: “The son of David.”

That answer was expected. It was obvious. It was… scriptural.

All Jews in that time knew the Messiah would come from David’s royal line.

It was the dominant hope of the Jewish people — a political and prophetic expectation wrapped into one:

For centuries, this vision of the Messiah had been passed down, taught, memorized, longed for.

So Jesus isn’t challenging Scripture —

He’s challenging their interpretation of it.

He quotes Psalm 110 — a psalm of David — where David refers to the Messiah as “my Lord.”

“If the Messiah is David’s son,” Jesus asks,

“Why would David — Israel’s greatest king — call Him Lord?”

It’s more than a riddle.

It’s revelation.

Jesus is unveiling a Messiah they hadn’t accounted for:

One who is both Son of David and Lord of David.

One who is human… but divine.

One who comes not just with a sword, but with authority over death itself.

And in doing so, Jesus reveals the devastating truth:

You don’t recognize the Messiah — because you’ve been looking for the wrong one.

It’s not just that their theology is a little off.

It’s that they’re staring God in the face and calling Him a threat.

That’s why this moment is so severe.

David — their greatest ancestor — recognized the authority of the Messiah.

But the Pharisees and Sadducees — in all their learning and status — do not.

It’s not a small disagreement.

It’s a catastrophic offense.

To deny Jesus as Lord is to stand against the very promise they claim to protect.

And that’s why they want Him gone.

He’s not just disruptive.

He’s dangerous — to their systems, their status, and their wealth.

He’s not playing their game — and He’s not asking for their permission.

That’s when Jesus turns from them… to the crowds.

And He doesn’t hold back.

He exposes not just their flawed theology — but their broken character:

He’s not just pointing out mistakes.

He’s revealing a spiritual sickness dressed in religious language.

And then He says something radical:

“The greatest among you must be your servant.

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled.

Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

In front of the crowds — and in front of the very people the crowds admired —

Jesus paints a picture of greatness that inverts everything they thought they knew.

And it’s not just about the Pharisees.

It’s a warning to anyone who thinks spirituality is about image, performance, or applause.

He doesn’t say, “Try harder.”

He says, “Go lower.”

This is the final public teaching of Jesus before His death.

And He doesn’t use it to defend Himself.

He uses it to reveal what God is really like — and to unmask what religion without love always becomes.

He leaves the people with a choice:

Build your life on appearance…

or build it on truth.

Impress the world…

or be transformed by love.

And for the religious leaders, that truth was too much.

So they didn’t just walk away.

They started plotting how to can kill Him.

When Jesus asks, “Whose son is the Christ?” the Pharisees answer with confidence:

“David’s.”

They weren’t wrong. But they weren’t fully right either.

They had reduced the Messiah to a political figure.

A national hero.

A son of David who would sit on an earthly throne and overthrow Rome.

But Jesus quotes Psalm 110 to reveal something deeper:

The Messiah is not just David’s son — He is David’s Lord.

He’s not here to take sides — He’s here to take over.

This moment isn’t just about theological nuance.

It’s about spiritual blindness.

They had studied Scripture their entire lives…

but they couldn’t recognize the Word made flesh standing right in front of them.

And we can do the same, can’t we?

We shrink Jesus to fit our expectations.

We look for a God who fits our categories — rather than surrendering to the One who defies them.

So here’s the question:

Have you made Jesus too small?

Is He just a comforter, but not a King?

A good teacher, but not the One who rewrites the rules?

Let today be a reminder:

If your version of Jesus always agrees with you, always makes sense to you, always fits inside your plans — it might not be Jesus you’re following.

Jesus doesn’t question the Pharisees’ knowledge — He questions their integrity.

“They preach, but do not practice.”

“They tie up heavy burdens, but won’t lift a finger to help.”

“They do everything to be seen.”

These men had all the right answers.

But they had built a life on applause, not surrender.

Their spirituality was impressive — but it wasn’t transformative.

Jesus isn’t just critiquing hypocrisy.

He’s showing us what hollow religion looks like:

And this doesn’t just happen to Pharisees in temples.

It happens to all of us — when we confuse spiritual image with spiritual formation.

So here’s the question:

Have you become more polished than present?

Do you look the part… but feel disconnected from God in your heart?

Jesus isn’t asking you to throw away your faith.

He’s asking you to bring it back to the center.

Not to impress.

But to embody.

Not to be seen.

But to serve.

In a world where everyone wanted the best seat,

Jesus gave His followers a different assignment:

“The greatest among you will be your servant.”

“Whoever exalts himself will be humbled…

Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

This isn’t a suggestion — it’s a spiritual law.

In the Kingdom, greatness doesn’t look like being above people.

It looks like getting beneath them to lift them up.

The Pharisees sought honor, titles, admiration.

Jesus sought towels, tables, and crosses.

And He calls us to do the same.

So here’s the question:

What would it look like to embrace hiddenness, not hype?

To choose humility — not just as a posture, but as a practice?

Maybe it’s listening when you’d rather speak.

Maybe it’s serving without being noticed.

Maybe it’s letting go of your spiritual résumé — and asking God to shape your soul.

This is the invitation of Jesus:

Not to climb higher… but to go lower.

Because the way up in the Kingdom is always down.

This was Jesus’ last public teaching before the cross.

And He doesn’t use it to defend Himself.

He uses it to unmask every system, every heart, every performance that pretends to be righteous — but refuses to be real.

He doesn’t come for applause.

He comes for honesty.

He comes for surrender.

And if that makes us squirm — it’s supposed to.

Because the scariest part of Matthew 23 is not how wrong the Pharisees were.

It’s how right they looked.

They dressed the part.

They knew the words.

They had the spotlight.

But Jesus saw through it all.

And what broke His heart wasn’t their failure — it was their refusal to admit it.

And that’s the danger:

Not sin.

But self-deception.

So Jesus doesn’t offer a spiritual self-help plan.

He offers Himself — and says, “Follow Me down.”

Down into humility.

Down into servanthood.

Down into the kind of love that doesn’t need to be seen to be real.

Because in the Kingdom, the way up… is always down.

Blessings,

Michael