Introduction

If you’ve ever tried to buy a birthday gift for someone who already has everything, you know the head-scratching feeling it brings. What do you give the person who lacks nothing? Now lift your eyes a little higher and imagine bringing your best to the God who has never needed a thing. We sometimes come with arms full—our good deeds, our promises, our carefully tied bows of behavior—thinking perhaps this might secure a smile from Heaven. But the good news, friend, is brighter and kinder than that. The smile of God is not for sale. His grace arrives like sunrise—steady, sure, without invoice.

Tim Keller once wrote, “The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.” That sentence is a soft blanket for a shivering soul. It reminds strivers to exhale. It tells the weary that grace has already pulled up a chair. It whispers to the envious heart, “There is more than enough in Jesus.”

In Acts 8, the Holy Spirit is moving through Samaria like fresh wind through a stale room. People are believing. Joy is breaking out. And into this scene steps a man named Simon, a famous figure in town, who sees the power of God and reaches for his wallet as if God runs a kiosk and the Holy Spirit comes with a price tag. Peter’s words to him are strong, but they are also surgical. He goes for the heart, the hidden chambers where motives marinate. Why? Because God loves us too much to leave poison in our cups.

Have you ever felt that tug on the inside—“If I just do a little more, God will surely be impressed”? Have you felt the ache of envy when someone else’s platform rises or their prayers seem to get answered quicker than yours? Have you known the sting of bitterness—the sigh that won’t surrender, the memory that won’t loosen its grip? The gospel moves toward all of that, not with shame, but with a Savior who gives what we cannot purchase and heals what we cannot fix.

This text carries three notes that sing together: God’s gift cannot be bought; bitterness blights and binds; faith and love make roomy space in the heart where envy once camped. Grace is a gift—pure, priceless, and placed in open hands. Bitterness is a thief—quiet at first, then loud and bossy. Faith and love are the gentle guardians—steadying our steps, simplifying our motives, and softening our speech.

Picture it like this: a child reaching to pay her father for a hug. Absurd, isn’t it? The father’s embrace is family, not a transaction. So is grace. And when a hug is secure, the heart relaxes. Relaxed hearts don’t clutch at applause or scramble for position. Relaxed hearts bless. They bend low to wash feet. They celebrate another’s win because they are already safe in the Father’s love.

So as we open the Word, bring your honest self. Bring the part of you that wants to earn it. Bring the corners laced with regret. Bring the places where comparison has been loud this week. There’s a better way. There is a freer way. God’s generosity is greater than our grasping. His kindness outlasts our impulses. He does not run on a scarcity budget, and He is not ticking a tally. He is giving Himself—fully and freely—in Jesus.

Scripture Reading: Acts 8:20-23 (KJV) 20 But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money. 21 Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter: for thy heart is not right in the sight of God. 22 Repent therefore of this thy wickedness, and pray God, if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee. 23 For I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.

Opening Prayer: Father, we come to You with open hands. We confess that we often try to bargain for what You only give by grace. Quiet our noise and still our striving. Where our hearts have been crowded by bitterness, cleanse us. Where envy has whispered, silence it with the song of Your love. Teach us to trust Your generosity, to receive Your gift in Jesus without fear, and to walk in faith and love that bless others. Shine Your light on our motives. Heal what is hurting. Free what is bound. And as Your Word speaks, help us to listen and to obey with joy. In the strong name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

The gift of God is not for sale

We live in a world that puts a price on nearly everything. We measure, we trade, we close deals. That habit sits deep in us. It can slip into prayer, worship, and service without a sound. We think effort creates credit. We assume sacrifice stacks up points. We act like we can move heaven with the right offer.

Acts 8 breaks that pattern. The scene shows power, healings, and real joy. In the middle of it all, a man tries to add money to the mix. He reaches for what he knows best. He tries to purchase influence in a holy work. The words that meet him are sharp. They need to be sharp. The soul needs clear lines here. The Spirit is a gift. The church is a family. The work is grace from start to finish.

This changes how we think about ministry. It shapes preaching, prayer, and giving. It keeps leaders small and God near. It guards the poor from shame. It guards the rich from illusion. No one buys a seat. No one earns a faster answer. No one upgrades the Spirit. We come with empty hands. We receive. We share. That is the rhythm.

This also changes how we think about ourselves. Guilt can push us to perform. Fear can push us to promise more and more. The text lifts that load. It tells us the source of life is beyond our reach and still within our grasp. We cannot secure it with price or pressure. We can ask. We can receive. We can walk in step with the One who gives.

“Thy money perish with thee.” Those words sound harsh at first read. They carry a warning that saves. Money can do many things. It can feed, build, and help. It can also bend motives. It can try to buy what only God can give. Peter names the danger. He puts money in its place. He treats it like a tool that turns poisonous when it touches holy gifts.

Think of how tempting it is to use money to speed things up. We fund events. We buy platforms. We pay for reach. None of that creates life in the soul. The Spirit is not a product. Faith does not grow through power moves. The warning tells the church to keep the marketplace outside the center. Give generously. Refuse control. Refuse leverage. Leave no price tag near the altar.

This warning also protects the weak. When cash gets linked to spiritual power, the poor get pushed to the edge. Shame follows them. Silence settles on them. Peter’s rebuke tears that system down. It tells every worshiper the same thing. Come as you are. Come without a bid. Let God be the giver. Let leaders be stewards, not vendors.

“Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter: for thy heart is not right in the sight of God.” The issue is not skill. The issue is not history. The issue is the inner life. “Part or lot” sounds like an inheritance term. Like a share in a family estate. Peter says the man has no share in this ministry at that moment because his heart leans the wrong way.

That is a sober word for any servant. Technique cannot replace trust. Position cannot replace purity. The Spirit cares about posture. The sight that matters is God’s sight. He sees through titles and applause. He weighs the thoughts that sit behind words and acts. When the heart points toward control, the hands start to grasp. The work becomes a stage. People become steps. This text calls that out.

There is hope even in this hard line. If a wrong heart blocks access, a straightened heart opens the way. Alignment matters. A quiet, honest, yielded heart is welcome. The Spirit fills what is empty and turned toward God. You do not need pedigree for that. You do not need a record of wins for that. You need truth in the inward parts. You need a simple yes.

“Repent therefore of this thy wickedness, and pray God, if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee.” Peter does not only diagnose. He gives a path. Turn. Pray. Ask for pardon even for the thought itself. The text reaches into the place where plans are born. That is tender. Many of us confess acts. Fewer of us confess aims. God forgives both.

Repentance here is not a public show. It is a change of mind and a change of direction. It happens where no one claps. It sounds like simple words said with faith. “God, I was wrong. Clean my mind. Wash my motives. Set my steps straight.” That kind of prayer opens windows. Fresh air comes in. The tightness in the chest eases. The grip loosens.

“Perhaps” may unsettle you. It does not mean God is stingy with grace. It means we cannot script Him. We do not control His timing or method. We do not turn forgiveness into a switch we flip. We come low. We ask. We trust His heart. That posture keeps the church safe. It keeps leaders humble. It keeps worship honest. It keeps prayer real.

“For I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.” The language is vivid. Bitter gall brings to mind bile. It colors taste. It sours the mouth. Bitterness does that to the soul. It leaks into words. It marks choices. It turns ministry into turf. It turns people into rivals. Peter sees this at work in the man. He names it as poison.

He also speaks of a bond. Sin ties knots. It narrows options. It makes new chains with old habits. You think you are steering. You are being pulled. That is how envy grows. That is how control grows. That is how anger grows. The text pulls the mask off. It says, “This is not power. This is a prison.”

Many of us know that taste. A prayer unanswered. A door closed. A person praised while we stand unseen. The taste rises. Words get sharp. The mind runs hot. Acts 8 invites us to bring that to God. Ask Him to clear the poison. Ask Him to cut the cords. Ask Him to fill the empty spaces with clean love and steady faith. A free heart blesses others. A free heart does not keep score. A free heart can serve in quiet places without a fuss.

Bitterness poisons and enslaves

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