Rebellious Hearts, Redeeming Love

Date: 29 March 2026, 9.30 am

Speaker: Eld Sim Chow Meng Sermon Text: Hosea 9:10–11:11

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TRANSCRIPT

Introduction

Good morning, everyone. It is good to see all of you this morning and is a joy for us to gather in the church on this Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday is a familiar and precious part of the Christian calendar.

On Palm Sunday, we remember our Lord Jesus entering Jerusalem.

The crowds welcomed Him with palm branches. They cried out, “Hosanna! Blessed is the King that cometh in the name of the Lord.”

It looked like a great moment of devotion and joy, a scene of apparent submission. But we know how quickly the scene changed. Imagine the sorrow of watching a relationship once marked by love and commitment fall apart. The kind where love was real, promises were made, and yet somehow everything unravelled.

That is the kind of grief we are brought into in the book of Hosea.

But here, in the text before us this morning, it is not merely a human relationship breaking down.  It is God Himself looking at the people He loves and saying, in effect, “Remember how it began?”

That is the tragedy of the human heart.

We may speak words of praise, and yet still resist the rule of God. We may appear to welcome the King, and yet inwardly refuse Him. The same city that welcomed Christ did not truly want Him on His own terms.

They wanted a king, but not a King who came on God’s terms. They wanted salvation, but not repentance. They wanted deliverance, but not obedience. They wanted blessing, but not the rule of God over their lives. And that is why Hosea is such a fitting passage for Palm Sunday. Because Hosea lays bare the tragedy of God’s people.

They were loved by God, chosen by God, blessed by God, and yet they would not remain true to Him. Their lips may still speak religious words, but their hearts were far from Him. Their worship was corrupted, their desires were divided, and their lives were not surrendered.

And yet Hosea also shows us something else. 

The God whose ways are just is also the God whose love is astonishingly tender. He does not cease to be holy or relax His standards. But even in the face of deep rebellion, He speaks with the heart of a Father.

Before we enter the passage, let me briefly say a word about the many names in these chapters, because Hosea 9 to 11 can sound confusing when name after name appears.

These names are not random details.  They are memory markers. Through them, God is replaying Israel’s story: grace given, rebellion committed, false refuges trusted, and judgment deserved.

Some names recall places where grace became associated with shame and sin. Some remind us that these were God’s own covenant people, loved by Him and yet unfaithful to Him. Others point to the false securities Israel trusted instead of returning to the Lord. So, as we hear these names, we should not hear them as scattered historical details. We should hear the Lord calling His people to remember. He is rehearsing their whole story before them.

As we come now to Hosea 9:10 to 11:11, let us look at the passage in three sections:

First, from first delight to deep sorrow.

Second, the bitter harvest of a divided heart.

Third, the astonishing love of a holy Father.

And through it all, we will see how this prepares us for Palm Sunday and points us to Christ.

1. From First Delight to Deep Sorrow

The Lord begins in Hosea 9:10 with a very tender picture:

“Like grapes in the wilderness, I found Israel. Like the first fruit on the fig tree in its first season, I saw your fathers.”

This is a picture of delight. 

Imagine a traveller in the wilderness, tired and thirsty, unexpectedly finding grapes. Imagine seeing the first ripe fig of the season - something precious, refreshing, and deeply satisfying. That is how the Lord speaks of Israel. He had set His love upon them, not because they were great, not because they were deserving, but simply because He loved them. This is covenant love. Gracious love. God is not speaking here like a cold ruler, but like One who remembers with tenderness the people He had called to Himself. But the delight does not last long. 

The verse turns suddenly:

“But they came to Baal-peor and consecrated themselves to the thing of shame and became detestable like the thing they loved.”

The Lord remembers not only how it began, but also how quickly they turned away. At Baal-peor, Israel gave themselves to idolatry and shame. The people whom God loved gave themselves to what dishonoured Him. The people whom God had set apart for Himself set themselves apart to idols.

And that is the tragedy of sin. Sin is never merely the breaking of a rule. It is turning away from the God who loved us and even taking His gifts and using them against Him. It is responding to covenant love with unfaithfulness. That is why this section moves so quickly from delight to sorrow. In verses 11 and 12, the Lord speaks of judgment falling on Ephraim. Glory will fly away, and fruitfulness will be cut off. That which should have been associated with life and blessing becomes marked by grief and barrenness.

Then in verse 15, the Lord says something very sobering:

“Every evil of theirs is in Gilgal; there I began to hate them.”

Gilgal had once been a place of remembrance. A place tied to God’s saving mercy. But they had turned it into a place of rebellion, so what should have reminded them of grace became a witness against them.

And the same pattern continues in chapter 10, verse 1:

“Israel is a luxuriant vine that yields its fruit.”

Israel was fruitful. God had blessed her. But what did she do with that fruitfulness?

“The more his fruit increased, the more altars he built; as his country improved, he improved his pillars.”

In other words, the more God gave, the more they used His gifts against Him. Their prosperity did not lead to gratitude. It led to greater idolatry. Their fruitfulness became fuel for false worship. That is the perversity of the sinful heart. God gives, and we forget Him; He blesses us, and we use His gifts to worship something else.

And is that not still true of some of us?

When God prospers us, we can become proud. When He blesses us, we may begin to rely on ourselves instead of Him. And when He is patient with us, we may even take that patience for granted.

So what is the root problem?

Chapter 10, verse 2 tells us:

“Their heart is false."

The KJV puts it this way:

“Their heart is divided.”

That is the real issue. Not merely bad behaviour. Not merely poor choices. A divided heart. It is a heart that wants both God and idols, that wants the language of worship without yielding self-rule, and that desires covenant privilege without covenant faithfulness.

And brothers and sisters, this is not only Israel’s problem. It is ours too. We may not bow before Baal, but our hearts can still be divided. We can still sing, pray, attend worship, and serve, and yet inwardly resist the Lord.

We can still want the comfort of religion without the cost of obedience. We can still want God near enough to bless us, but not near enough to rule us. Outwardly, there is devotion; inwardly, there is rebellion. So, this is how first delight changed into deep sorrow. And the sorrow is not because God’s love was small. The sorrow is precisely because His love had been so great. The deeper the love, the deeper the grief of betrayal.

And that reminds us of Palm Sunday. For when Jesus entered Jerusalem, He came to a people who knew the language of worship, but whose hearts were still divided. Palm branches were in their hands, but their hearts were not surrendered to Christ.

As John 1:11 says,

“He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”

2. The Bitter Harvest of a Divided Heart

In chapter 10, verses 5 to 8, everything Israel trusted apart from God begins to collapse.

They tremble for the calf of Beth-aven, but their idol could not save them. It was carried away. Their king disappeared like a twig on the surface of the waters. Their high places were destroyed. Thorn and thistle grew over their altars. In the end, every false refuge gives way.

What they trusted instead of God could not hold them or save them.

What we worship shapes us, and whatever we trust in place of God will finally undo us.

One of the saddest lines comes in verse 3:

“For now they will say: We have no king, for we do not fear the Lord; and a king - what could he do for us?”

That is a revealing confession.

They wanted security, strength, and leadership they could trust, but they would not fear the Lord. And because they would not fear the Lord, even their king proved useless.

That is the tragedy of misplaced trust. When the heart is wrong before God, everything else eventually gives way. That is why Hosea still speaks so powerfully to us.

The bitter harvest of self-rule is not only Israel’s story. It is ours as well. The heart that will not bow to God still wants blessing, rescue, and peace - but on its own terms. That is why the crowds could welcome Jesus for a moment yet reject Him when He would not serve their agenda.

Here again is the Palm Sunday connection.

Jesus entered Jerusalem as the true King. Not on a war horse, but on a donkey. Not in worldly splendour, but in humility. Not to crush Rome first, but to deal with sin first. But that was precisely the kind of King many did not want.

They wanted rescue on their own terms, glory without repentance, and the crown without the cross. They wanted a king who would serve their desires rather than One before whom they must bow. That is Hosea’s world. And it is also ours too.

But even here, the mercy of God still appears.

In verse 12, the Lord says:

“Sow for yourselves righteousness; reap steadfast love; break up your fallow ground, for it is the time to seek the Lord, that he may come and rain righteousness upon you.”

What a gracious call. Before judgment falls fully, God still summons them to return. Their hearts are hard like unploughed soil, but He tells them to break up that fallow ground. It is still time to seek the Lord.

But they do not return.

Instead, verse 13 says:

“You have plowed iniquity; you have reaped injustice; you have eaten the fruit of lies.”

What we sow, we reap.

That was true for Israel, and it is true for us. If we sow self-will, we reap sorrow. If we sow deceit, we reap corruption. If we sow compromise, we reap ruin. If we sow idolatry, we reap emptiness.

Sin always promises freedom and life, but in the end, it brings bondage, death, and a bitter harvest. And this is where we must let the Word search us. We sang recently, “His ways are just.” But do we still believe that when His Word corrects us, restrains us, or calls us to costly obedience?

Take one example.

When someone has hurt us deeply, and Scripture calls us to forgive, to put away bitterness, and to leave vengeance to the Lord, how do we respond? Do we obey because we believe His ways are just? Or do we cling to our anger because obedience feels too costly? Yet if God's ways are just, then His command to forgive is not naive, weak, or uncaring. It is holy, wise, and good.

Another example.

When telling the truth may cost us something - our reputation, our advantage, our comfort - what do we do? When Scripture calls us to honesty, integrity, and clean dealings, do we obey believing that His ways are just? Or do we shade the truth, hide things, and excuse ourselves because it seems more convenient? But if His ways are just, then His command to walk in truth is not burdensome or unreasonable. It is good, righteous, and life-giving.

That is where the real test comes. When His Word crosses our will, do we bow, or do we begin to resist and think that His commands are too hard, too severe, or too restrictive? But if His ways are just, then His commands are never cruel. His ways may be painful to our fallen desires, but they are never wrong.

That is part of the tragedy in Hosea. Israel still had the language of religion, but their hearts would not bow to the goodness and justice of God’s ways. They wanted covenant privilege and blessing, but without covenant faithfulness or true submission. And we must be careful that we are not like them. We may sing truth and still resist it. We may honour God with our lips and yet inwardly refuse Him. We may say, “His ways are just,” and still rebel when those ways cross our desires.

So, before we move into chapter 11, let us feel the weight of this.  The bitter harvest of a divided heart is not only seen in ancient Israel. It is seen wherever people refuse the rule of God while still wanting His blessings.

And that is what makes chapter 11 so astonishing. After all this resistance, refusal, and bitter fruit, the Lord still speaks as a holy Father whose heart is full of compassion. But let us not take that lightly. God’s compassion is not permission to continue in sin; His mercy is meant to humble us, break us, and draw us back to Him in repentance.

3. The Astonishing Love of a Holy Father

Verse 1 begins:

“When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son.”

Again, the Lord remembers His people in tenderness. He loved them, called them, delivered them, and brought them out of bondage.

But then comes the sorrow of verse 2:

“The more they were called, the more they went away; they kept sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols.”

The more God called, the more they wandered.

Then listen to the tenderness of verses 3 and 4.

The Lord says, in effect:

I taught Ephraim to walk.

I took them up in My arms.

I led them with cords of kindness and bands of love.

I bent down to them and fed them.

What a picture of tender love.  This is not the language of a distant deity. It is the language of a Father — patient, caring, gentle, showing undeserved love from beginning to end. And yet they did not recognise His hand. They received His care and still turned away. And is that not so often our story too?

God preserves and provides for us, yet we so easily take His mercies for granted; He spares us, carries us, teaches us, and feeds us, and still we wander.

So, judgment must come. Assyria will come. The sword will fall upon their cities.

Their rebellion has consequences. God’s holiness is real. His warnings are not empty.

And then suddenly, in verses 8 and 9, we are brought into one of the most astonishing moments in Scripture:

“How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my burning anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and not a man, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.”

This is not God becoming soft on sin. This is not God forgetting justice. This is the amazing compassion of a holy God. Human love is mixed, human patience runs out, and human anger is unstable.

But God says, in effect,

“I am not like that. I am God, and not man.”

His holiness does not make Him less compassionate. His holiness makes His compassion deeper, purer, and more glorious than anything we know. He will discipline His people, yes, and He will not leave sin unaddressed. But judgment will not have the final word over His covenant purpose.

Verse 10 says:

“They shall go after the Lord; he will roar like a lion.”

And verse 11 says His children will return trembling. He will bring them back and place them in their homes. The Lord who disciplines is also the Lord who restores.

Hebrews 12:6 tells us, “For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.”

God’s chastisement is never an act of rejection. He is not out to destroy completely. Rather, it is an act of covenant love, full of mercy. Whom the Lord loves, He chastens. He wounds in order to heal. He makes His children tremble, not to cast them off, but to bring them home. And we see this in the life of King David.

David did not merely stumble in a small way. In that one dark episode, he broke quite a number of God's commandments. He set self above God, coveted another man's wife, committed adultery with Bathsheba, took what was not his, lied to cover his sin, arranged Uriah's death, and so brought dishonour to the name of the Lord.

But what did the Lord do? In divine grace, He sent Nathan the prophet to confront him. That confrontation was painful. It was chastisement that exposed him, stripped away every covering, and brought him under the searching light of God. And yet that chastisement was not the cruelty of rejection. It was love.

The Lord did not leave David to harden himself in sin or abandon him to his deceit. He came after him. And what is striking is how David responded. When Nathan said, “You are the man,” there is no long bargaining, no piecemeal confession, no record of Nathan having to keep pressing him for the confession. David says, “I have sinned against the Lord.” The hand of God had found him, and by grace his heart was broken.

Yes, there were still painful consequences. Chastisement is real, but so is mercy. God forgave him and restored him. And in grace, He kept the kingdom intact under David rather than cutting him off at once as his sins deserved.

That is the kind of love Hosea is pointing us to here. The Lord makes His children tremble, not because He delights in crushing them, but because He purposes to bring them back. His chastisement is severe, but it is never spiteful. It is holy love pursuing His own.

Now here the Palm Sunday connection becomes even more precious.

Hosea 11:1 says, “Out of Egypt I called my son.”

In Matthew’s Gospel, those words are applied to Jesus.

Jesus is the true Son. He is the true Israel. He is the faithful One who succeeds where Israel failed.

Israel was called out of Egypt and rebelled. Jesus was called out of Egypt and obeyed.

Israel was beloved, yet disobedient. Jesus is the beloved Son, perfectly obedient.

Israel received God’s care and turned away. Jesus received the Father’s will and embraced it fully.

So when Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, He enters not merely as another prophet, not merely as another leader, but as the true Son of God, the faithful Son, the obedient King.

And He enters Jerusalem knowing exactly what awaits Him. He knows the palms will soon give way to rejection. He knows the cries of “Hosanna” will soon be replaced by cries of “Crucify Him.” He knows the city does not truly understand Him. He knows He is riding toward the cross. Why does He still come? 

Because the holy love of God will not let go of His saving purpose. Because the Father who says in Hosea, “How can I give you up?” will save His people not by ignoring justice, but by satisfying justice in His own Son.

That is where Palm Sunday leads.  It leads to Good Friday, where justice and mercy meet. It leads to the cross, where the judgment our sins deserve falls upon Christ. It leads to the empty tomb, where the victory of the true King is declared.

Conclusion

So, what shall we take away from Hosea 9:10 to 11:11?

First, let us not make light of a divided heart. God does not. A heart that outwardly worships Him while inwardly resists Him is a serious thing. We must not sing truth and then refuse it in practice.

Second, let us remember that His ways are just. When His Word crosses our will, the problem is never with His Word. The issue is our heart. His commands are never cruel, His ways are never unfair, and His holiness is never unloving.

Third, let us marvel at the astonishing love of God. The God of Hosea is not sentimental. He is holy: He warns and He judges. And yet He also says, “How can I give you up?”

That love finds its fullest expression in Jesus Christ, the true Son, who came into Jerusalem for us. Palm Sunday, then, is not a celebration of man’s faithfulness. It is a celebration of God’s saving mercy. The crowds were mixed, the disciples were weak, and the nation was unready.

But the King still came. He came for divided-hearted sinners. He came for those who had resisted God’s just ways. He came for those who needed not only instruction, but redemption. Jesus came for you and me. 

Reflection Questions:

1. In what ways might my heart be divided, wanting God’s blessings but resisting His rule in some area of life?

2. When God’s Word crosses my desires, do I humble myself and submit, or do I resist inwardly while maintaining outward religion?

3. How does God’s tender love in Hosea 11, and its fulfilment in Christ on Palm Sunday, lead me to repentance, gratitude, and renewed trust?