The Sweetness of Jesus

Austin Gardner • May 10, 2026

Why Our Songs and Our Sermons Often Sound So Different

I was sitting in a small church in Peru years ago when the congregation began singing "Jesus es mi Rey Soberano" – Jesus is my Sovereign King. The melody was tender. The words spoke of His sweetness, His gentleness, His love. Old women wept. Young men closed their eyes and lifted their hands. There was something beautiful happening in that room.

Then the sermon started.

Within minutes, the preacher was shouting. His message was all about our failures, our lack of dedication, our need to do more, be more, sacrifice more. Jesus became a distant judge, measuring our performance. The sweetness evaporated. The tenderness disappeared.

And I realized something I'd seen a hundred times before but never put into words: We sing about one Jesus and preach about another.

The Jesus We Sing About

Open almost any hymnal, and you'll find it. "O How I Love Jesus." "Jesus, Lover of My Soul." "Fairest Lord Jesus." "What a Friend We Have in Jesus." The language is intimate, tender, personal. Jesus is sweet. Jesus is gentle. Jesus is near.

These aren't new songs. Christians have been singing like this for centuries. Fanny Crosby wrote "Blessed Assurance" – not "Divine Obligation." Charles Wesley gave us "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" – not "Jesus, Taskmaster of My Performance."

When we sing, we tell the truth about who Jesus really is. We let ourselves feel His nearness. We admit we need Him. We rest in His love. The songs pull something out of us that the rest of church life often pushes down.

Singing lets us be weak. Singing lets us be loved. Singing lets us be held.

And for three or four minutes, we believe it.

The Jesus We Often Preach

But then something shifts when the sermon starts.

Not always. Not everywhere. But often enough that most of us have felt it.

The Jesus of the sermon can feel different. Harder. More distant. More demanding. He becomes the One who expects more, requires more, judges more. The message, even when it's biblically sound, can leave us feeling measured, evaluated, and found wanting.

We move from "Jesus loves me, this I know" to "Here's what you're not doing right."

I'm not saying preachers intend this. Most don't. But somewhere between the pulpit and the pew, the sweetness gets lost and the pressure gets loud.

We hear more about what we should do than about what He has already done. We hear more about our failures than about His finished work. We leave singing "Just as I Am" but feeling like we need to be something else first.

Why the Disconnect Happens

Part of it is the nature of teaching. Sermons often address problems. They correct. They instruct. They challenge. That's necessary. We need to be taught. We need to grow. We need correction.

But another part of the disconnect comes from something deeper: We're more comfortable with a demanding Jesus than a tender one.

A demanding Jesus makes sense to us. He fits our performance-based world. He rewards effort. He grades our work. He keeps us at arm's length until we measure up.

A sweet Jesus? A tender Jesus? A Jesus who loves us exactly as we are right now? That's harder to preach. That feels too easy. Too soft. Too risky.

Matthew 11:28-30 "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Read that again. "Meek and lowly in heart." That's how Jesus describes Himself. Not harsh. Not distant. Not measuring. Meek. Lowly. Gentle.

That's the Jesus we sing about. And that's the Jesus we're often afraid to preach.

The Biblical Picture of God's Sweetness

The Bible doesn't shy away from God's tenderness. David knew it. He wrote about it constantly.

Psalm 34:8 "O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him."

David invites us to taste. To experience. To savor God's goodness. This isn't abstract theology. It's a personal encounter. It's sweetness.

Or consider how God describes His own heart toward His people:

Hosea 11:8 "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim? how shall I deliver thee, Israel? how shall I make thee as Admah? how shall I set thee as Zeboim? mine heart is turned within me, my compassions are kindled together."

That's not a distant judge. That's a Father whose heart breaks at the thought of losing His children. That's tender. That's sweet. That's the God we often miss in our preaching.

The same God who spoke the universe into existence also wept over Jerusalem. The same Jesus who will return as a roaring lion also came the first time as a humble lamb. He holds both. And so should we.

What We Lose When We Only Preach Pressure

When our preaching loses the sweetness of Jesus, we lose something vital. We lose people.

We lose the broken who need to know they're still loved. We lose the weary who need rest more than another challenge. We lose the guilt-ridden who are already crushing themselves under the weight of their own expectations.

We lose them because we're giving them law when they're dying for grace.

I've watched it happen. I've been that person. I spent years of my life trying to measure up to the demanding Jesus I heard preached. I worked. I performed. I pushed. And I came very close to walking away entirely.

What saved me wasn't another sermon about doing more. What saved me was finally tasting the sweetness I'd been singing about.

I discovered that the Jesus of "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" was the real Jesus. The actual Jesus. The one who meant it when He said His yoke was easy and His burden was light.

And that discovery changed everything.

Bringing the Sweetness Back

So how do we close the gap? How do we make our preaching match our singing?

We start by believing what we sing.

When you stand to preach, remember that the people in front of you are not projects to fix. They're sheep who need a shepherd. They're weary souls who need rest. They're beloved children who need to know their Father delights in them.

Preach the whole counsel of God, but do it from the foundation of His love. Correct, but do it gently. Challenge, but do it with compassion. Teach obedience, but ground it in grace.

Let them hear the sweetness in your voice. Let them see the tenderness in your eyes. Let them feel the warmth of a God who is not disappointed in them.

Because here's the truth we need to remember: God is not waiting for us to get better so He can finally love us. He already loves us, and that love is what makes us better.

That's not soft theology. That's the gospel. That's the big leap of faith we all need to take – believing God loves us exactly as we are.

An Invitation to Taste

If you've been living with a harsh Jesus, I want to invite you to taste again.

Go back to those hymns. Read the words slowly. Let them sink in. "Jesus loves me, this I know." Believe it. "What a friend we have in Jesus." Experience it. "Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." Rest in it.

The Jesus you've been singing about is the real one. The sweetness isn't a lie. The tenderness isn't weakness. The gentleness isn't compromise.

It's who He actually is.

And He's inviting you to come. To rest. To taste and see that He is good. Not after you've fixed yourself. Not after you've measured up. Now. Today. Exactly as you are.

Because the same Jesus who will judge the world in righteousness is the Jesus who said, "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more" (John 8:11).

He holds both. Justice and mercy. Holiness and compassion. Truth and grace.

And when we let our preaching reflect all of who He is, including His sweetness, we finally start telling the whole story.

The story our hearts have been singing about all along.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does emphasizing Jesus' sweetness mean ignoring His holiness and justice?

Not at all. Jesus is both perfectly holy and perfectly loving. The point isn't to ignore His justice but to remember that His justice was satisfied at the cross. We can preach the fullness of who He is – including His holiness while still communicating the tender heart He has toward His people. The two aren't in conflict.

How can I experience Jesus' sweetness in my daily life, not just when I'm singing?

Start by slowing down. Spend time reading passages that reveal His heart – the gospels, Psalm 23, Romans 8. Talk to Him like the friend He says He is. Let yourself be loved before you try to do anything for Him. The sweetness isn't found in trying harder; it's found in resting deeper.

If Jesus is so sweet and gentle, why does He allow suffering in my life?

This is one of life's hardest questions. But here's what I've learned: Jesus' sweetness doesn't mean the absence of suffering. It means His presence in the middle of it. He doesn't always remove the pain, but He promises to walk through it with us. His gentleness is found in how He holds us, not in whether He removes every hardship.