Jesus' Baptism For You - Matthew 3: 13-17

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

A few moments ago, we read from the Small Catechism about the benefits of Baptism: “It works forgiveness of sins, delivers from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe this.” Lest anyone think Luther was merely playing in a water fountain, he cites the word of Christ: Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.” In the gift of Baptism, water and word are combined by the power of the Holy Spirit to kill the old Adam, the old Eve, the sinful nature that is within each of us, and bring a new, spirit-filled child of God, to life. Baptism drowns, Baptism births new life; Baptism kills, Baptism makes alive; Baptism buries, Baptism raises.

Yet, Matthew says, “Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John to be baptized by him.” John’s was a baptism for repentance, calling sinners to the waters of the Jordan River to turn their lives, in faith, towards the Coming One. The kingdom is coming, John preached. His job is to prepare; the One Greater is coming and coming soon. John had been thundering out against the chief priests and teachers of the law, calling them a brood of vipers, declaring that the ax is at the root of the tree, that the winnowing fork is sharpened and ready, that the fires are stoked to burn up the waste. John baptized sinners who were reptant because of his message, but there stood Jesus, wanting to be baptized. The sinless Son of God, the Lamb of God who has come to take away the sins of the world, is asking to be baptized? It doesn’t seem to make sense? Even John gets this – he argues that he should be baptized by Jesus, not the other way around; John realizes he’s not worthy of untying the shoes of the sinless Lamb of God, yet Jesus comes to him to be baptized?

It is to fulfill all righteousness. Isn’t that an interesting phrase? If you were to chase that phrase through the Scriptures, you would discover that righteousness is not something that is demanded or commanded by God of His people. It is in fact that exact opposite: righteousness is a declaration, something given by God to His people. In the Old Testament, and especially in the Psalms, righteousness is the saving deeds of God that HE does on behalf of His people. The Germans have a wonderful word for this – heilsgeschichte – that loosely means the story of salvation. Over and over the story of salvation is grounded in the righteousness and saving acts of God. These are so closely related that it’s as if Jesus is saying, “Do this, John, to fulfill my Father’s plan of salvation.”

Jesus must submit to John’s baptism, not for himself, but to save the very people John has baptized, that the Church has baptized, that have been baptized in this font. In that Jordan river moment, you see a picture of how Christ will save His people from their sins: He stands among us, with us, and for us. He takes our place, and in receiving the sinner’s baptism from John, it’s as if all of the world’s sins that have been washed away from us are washed onto Him. God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us. This baptismal picture is a foretaste of what is to come. Jesus doesn’t stop standing among us, with us and for us when he leaves the river. He continues in our place all the way to the cross. Ultimately, that is where all righteousness is completed and fulfilled, where and when the innocent Lamb of God is offered as the once-for all, one-for-all sacrifice in the place of many. That is why it is fitting for Jesus to come to the Jordan and be baptized to – literally and spiritually – stand in the place of many.

Still dripping from the baptismal washing, Jesus climbs out of the water. Immediately, “Behold, the heavens were opened to Him and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on Him.” We speak of once-in-a-lifetime event; usually those are milestone firsts – a first kiss, a first step, a first child’s birth. This isn’t as much a first, but an end-times event: the heavens are opened, the Spirit descends as a dove. It’s as if the Father is answering any questions even before they are answered: “Who is this guy, and what’s all the fuss from John about baptizing him?” Jesus, who is the perfect Servant of God, having now received the Spirit of God, will perform the work of bringing righteousness to the nations, ministering to the crushed reeds and smoldering wicks – the repentant, contrite and faithful - remaining in Israel.

A second call, “Behold,” this time alerting us to the Father’s voice: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The voice of the Father identifies Jesus as His Son. I think this is a bit of a Divine play on words here. Not only is Jesus God’s Son by virtue of the Virgin Birth conceived in Mary by the power of the Spirit, but He is also the entire summation of all of God’s people reduced into one. In other words, Jesus, the Son, embodies all of God’s people. Christ, the sinless Son of God, stands in the place of God’s son, Israel – and the Church – that needs saving. The One who has come to be baptized in the place of sinners does so as God’s sinless Son by right, so that He can save God’s “son” that is lost in sin. Jesus is truly the Son of God who fulfills all righteousness for His Father’s people.

Matthew used the word, behold, two times. Behold means to look at something, to see something, and to do so with great attention for detail. So, let’s do that very thing: let us behold what this means for us. Close your eyes for a moment: Behold! See Jesus, standing in the river with water cascading down his face. Behold! Look closely – look at features, face, hands, body. Zoom out just a bit. Behold! Do you see the Spirit descending, the dove alighting? Behold! See the heavens parting? Now, zoom back in at the face. Do you see Jesus? Now, I want you to let His face morph and change so that you see your own face. See your own face standing in the Jordan. Behold! Christ stands there for you! Behold! Christ stands in your place! Behold! Christ takes your sins onto and into Himself and, in your baptism, His holiness and righteousness is washed onto you. Behold! You are made holy. The transformation is so complete that – Behold! – as you look upwards, even with water dripping in your eyes, the heavens are opened for you. Behold, the Spirit of God comes upon you and delivers all of the blessings of God upon you, the baptized, creating, strengthening and enabling faith to believe these gifts of God. Behold! The Father speaks, this time to you, “You are my beloved, my Son, my Daughter, and with you I am well pleased.” Hold that picture, for just a moment.

Behold…  Now, open your eyes.

There is one unfortunate thing about your baptism: the water has long left your head. There is no tangible evidence that remains. For most of us, there isn’t even a memory. Yet, Baptism remains. It never needs to be re-done, renewed, or remodeled. The cleansing, saving water of Holy Baptism never evaporates. The sign of the cross, made on your forehead and over your heart, stands as a sign of Christ’s eternal victory. The water, once poured over your head, continues to give life. The Triune name of God, spoken over you, does not fade into history. Any time, every time, you doubt; any time, every time, you are repentant; any time, every time you feel the devil’s hot breath and hear his lying words; any time, every time you wonder, “Is Christ for me?” return to your Baptism. With the sign of the cross, with the words of absolution, with bread and wine, with the Word preached and read, Christ returns you to your Baptism.

Behold: the word of your heavenly Father: You are His beloved. With you, He is well pleased.

Jesus Is...For Parents - Luke 2: 40-52

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson. Luke 2:40-52.

As a parent, this text infuriates me. I would have been livid had I been Joseph. For a child to so completely disrespect his parents, to not follow obediently and trave with them – at least be in the same group! – is unconscionable. He shows complete disregard, not only for Mary and Joseph’s parental authority, but for their parental responsibility, their fears, and their concerns. Overall, it seems that Jesus simply doesn’t care about Mary and Joseph one whit.

As a parent, I empathize with Mary and Joseph deeply. You parents, you grandparents, you probably do as well because you’ve had that experience of having a child disappear while you were at the grocery store or the mall or at the ballpark. Your son, your daughter, your grandkid – he or she was right next to you just a second ago, but when you turn around it’s as if – poof – they disappeared. The frantic search, as concern quickly accelerates to angst and then fear; the terrible “what if” thoughts; the scurrying down aisles, looking under clothes racks, below the bleachers, to finally find them stretched out beneath a rack filled with coats, simply needing a nap, them waddling towards you with two boxes of their favorite cereal under their arms, or down the toy aisle staring at the latest and greatest thing they saw at their friend’s house, or playing quietly with a couple other friends, totally oblivious to your frantic and panicked search. Thankfully, most of the time, these panicked searches end up well, but with a bag of mixed feelings: joy the lost child is found, frustration the child left in the first place, and shame that you missed the fact that your child disappeared without your knowledge.

Because you’ve experienced this, you can understand and imagine Mary and Joseph’s frustration, fear, and concern. Luke wants us to see this story through their eyes. He wants us to know their grief and pain, their frantic efforts to find their son. At the evening camp, after a day’s journey – fifteen to twenty miles – from Jerusalem, they discovered Jesus wasn’t there. A quick search among their traveling companions identified Jesus was not among them. Then, the frantic return to the city, swollen in population for Passover, growing and blossoming hour by hour, stretching into a three-day search for their son, their twelve-year old son, their only son.

They went to the temple. I wonder if their return to the Temple was motivated by spiritual, as much as physical and emotional, need? You know how it is – in times of great crisis, literally going to the house of God for prayer, solitude and – perhaps – answers? A sense that they’ve tried everything else, so perhaps this was the final option? Or was it less spiritual, and simply checking the last place they remembered seeing Jesus?  

And, then, I can imagine – as can you – their mixed bag of emotions when they discover Jesus there, in the Temple, surrounded by the great teachers of the Law. It was apparently an incredible give-and-take between the boy and the men: Jesus both listening to them and asking questions, but also answering and demonstrating great understanding. Mary and Joseph, astonished at what was before them, both seeing and hearing this dialogue; frustrated at their son’s seeming lack of respect and concern; relief to find him safe.

And I have to wonder if she remembered the day she and Joseph brought Jesus to Temple for His circumcision, that strange day that the old man, Simeon, held the baby in his arms, sang the Nunc Dimittis – Lord, let your servant depart in peace – and then he looked at Mary and said:

This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, 35 so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Did she wonder if this moment was the first of more to come? Was there understanding that in her Son, God deigned to dwell among man, not in a Tabernacle, or even in the Temple, but in human flesh? Did she have any inclination that the day would come when those same teachers of the law would turn against Jesus, instead of sitting and engaging with Jesus in teaching and learning they engaged instead in plotting to kill Him? Could she have any idea that He would, in 30 years, make His final journey to Jerusalem for Passover? Was there any inkling in her mind that then He would be left behind again – this time not by parents but by everyone – including His Heavenly Father? Did she understand that there would be another three-day period where she would be separated from her son who lay, dead and buried, behind a sealed stone and where she would finally find Him, but mistake Him for the gardener?

No…I don’t think so. Standing there in Temple, watching her 12 year old son with pride and curiosity, with frustration and anxiety, she didn’t have any idea of what lay ahead for Jesus and what was necessary for Him to fulfill His name and be Savior. What she knew is that it was time to go home, back to sleepy little Nazareth, and for Jesus to go with her. He did, Luke noting that He continued to grow in wisdom and in stature with God and man. She had found her Son, where He was most at home – in His Father’s house. But it was time to leave the Temple behind for another year.

I started this sermon by putting us parents in the shoes of Mary and Joseph. Whether you count your child’s lifespan still as weeks and months, or by the decade, whether you push him or her in a stroller or they sometimes push you in a wheelchair, you have had those moments and experiences of anger and frustration – some were righteously felt, but if we’re honest, others not so much. Parenting is one of God’s great gifts and children are a blessing. It is the primary relationship of all mankind, parents and children, and it is to be one where grace and mercy is freely practiced and love and compassion are exercised.

But, when this relationship breaks, it causes terrible heartache and heartbreak. 

The devil cannot abide a peaceful, loving home. So, the devil loves to take the gift and fill us with frustration and hurt so that we call parenthood a burden, and he loves to take the blessing and fill it with harsh words and broken hearts so that we call motherhood and fatherhood a curse.  He fuels society to call children a disposable choice, much like the terrible Christmas sweater that you discarded last week. Love and compassion are surrendered to getting even and showing who’s boss. Grace and mercy are given over to self-justification and self-righteousness. And then, when we realize our mistakes and our sins against our kids,  the devil takes that all and wraps it up with a horrible, thorny bow and delivers it to us again as shame and guilt. He brings up memories from weeks, years, even decades ago, that Christian parents would never have thought such things, or felt such things, or done such things toward their children. He leaves us parents in our own despair, seeing only our failures and our homes as anything but places where the Spirit of God dwells.

Parents – moms and dads of all ages – hear this Word of God. Christ comes for you. He, who descends to earth as a human boy, who in holiness perfectly submitted to earthly and sinful parents, is your Savior. For all of those parental melt-downs, and fatherly conniption fits, and motherly tantrums, and exasperated grandparent “that’s not how we did it in our day,” Jesus is yours. In repentance, surrender them to Him. As this year begins and the old year disappears into the rearview mirror, do the same with your sins. They are in the past, forgiven, abandoned at the cross. Jesus didn’t drag your sins up from the grave with Him on Easter. Don’t let Satan continue to weigh you down with those moments. In faith, know, believe, trust and rely that you, too, are forgiven by Christ. In humility, confess your failing to your kids and ask them for their forgiveness, too, without excuses or condition (you know, the “I’m sorry I yelled, but if you would have cleaned up your room…”) and pledge to do better next time. When you do that, you give your child the wonderful opportunity to share the Word of God with you, the Word that says, “I forgive you, Mom; I forgive you, Dad.” You might have to teach them to use those words; that’s OK, and it’s worth teaching. Because there, in the family, united with Christ in Baptism and grounded in the Word, there is Christ.

Amen.

Beautiful Feet on Christmas Day - Isaiah 52: 7-10

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The text is the Old Testament Lesson, Isaiah 52, especially these words, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”

There is great beauty and wonder in a newborn’s feet and hands. I wonder if Mary and Joseph sat there, in the stable, counting Baby Jesus’ fingers and toes. I have an honest curiosity that is probably greater than most, you might say. Even after the sonogram technician assured us with each of the three kids that each had ten fingers and ten toes, no more and no less, I still counted for myself. I remember sitting there holding the children, having just witnessed the wonderous birth event – technically, perhaps, not a miracle in that the laws of physics and nature were not changed, but nevertheless often considered as if it were a miracle in that it was the gift of life brought into the world – sitting there, holding this wonderous baby but being most particularly fascinated at their teeny tiny feet. It was as if the wonder were reduced down to just two feet, ten toes. Do you know that a normal foot has 26 separate bones with 33 separate joints and 19 muscles that work together to make that magnificent appendage work? I rubbed the arch and the foot curled slightly, the toes wiggling in their new-found freedom, already seeking for space to move, to crawl, to walk. Beautiful feet, indeed.

What is it that makes feet beautiful? It doesn’t take long for feet to become something less than attractive. Perhaps that’s why our feet spend most of their lives covered up. A whole industry exists to try to beautify those wonderful instruments of peripatetic propulsion – peripatetic is your word of the day, it means walking. We buy pumice stones and sanding blocks to sand down calloused heels. We use emery boards to smooth sharp toe nails and coat them with enamel and lacquer and crystal gel to make them match our clothes. We surgically straighten bunions and correct hammer toes and get rid of bone spurs. We eliminate athlete’s foot. We topically coat with lotions and potions all with the notion that we, too, can have feet just as beautiful as those of models that we see on television.

But, the fact is that there are feet that no amount of work will make beautiful again. Have you ever seen photos of a veteran ballerina? Their feet are wrecked from the decades of being tightly wrapped into their toe shoes and dancing, pirouetting, and leaping with their toes. Ranch hands and farmers rarely have pretty feet after being tenderized by livestock and machinery. If you want to see ugly feet, look at a soldier’s feet, especially if they have been in the Infantry. And there are the feet that exist in the fallen world: feet traumatized by disease, broken by accidents, shattered by man’s inhumanity to man, and even those that are malformed and deformed because of genetic failures from birth.

Do this: move your feet just a bit. Roll the ankles a wee bit. Tense and relax the foot muscles. Wiggle the toes. If that’s too much, just give them a little bit of a lift, maybe a soft tap on the floor. How do they feel? Were they comfortable this morning because of the warm weather, as opposed to being achey and stiff from the cold of the past week? Maybe you ate a little too well and the gout is acting up, or arthritis had you reach for the Tylenol this morning. Maybe you stood for too long last night and your feet still burn. Did you stub your toe last trying to help the grandkids with their presents? Or, worse, on the way to the bathroom at 3am, did you step on the dreaded Legos hiding in the carpet?

In your feet, there is a microcosm of the entire fallenness of the world. The aches and pains, the hurts and the struggles your feet experience, they are in miniature of what the world knows since the fall. The cracked heels, the ingrown nails, the fungus, the flat arches, the neuropathy – these are reminders that we live in a fallen world, reminders that are very real and very painful.

Jesus came into that very world to redeem you, all of you, whole and wholly – body, soul, eyes, ears, mind, heart, head, shoulders, knees and toes. And, feet.

Close your eyes for just a second. I want you to imagine for a moment the Nativity: Mary and Joseph holding their newborn Son. See the joy in Mary’s gaze and the wonder in Joseph, how the Son of God was born? Do you see their loving caress? Now, zoom in a little bit. Look more closely at the Swaddled Baby squirming and wiggling just a bit and…oops – there it is. Freeze frame. Look closely. Did you see His foot pop out? There is His foot. Zoom in a little more in your mind. Look closely and there it is…a shadow on His foot. Can it be? Why, that shadow looks like the shape of a cross. 

Open your eyes. I don’t know that is true – in fact, it is highly doubtful. What I want you to see, though, is that those newborn feet will begin a journey from that manger down the same path that you and I know and down which you and I journey. Jesus’ feet will take Him places where He will experience our sorrows and losses. He will be lead out into the wilderness where He will be tempted to leap from the top of a mountain. He will walk into a temple where He will experience anger at what God’s people did to the Father’s house. He will stop a funeral procession and speak with a grieving mother. He will enter the home of a Gentile soldier whose son is critically ill. He will attend a wedding and turn water into wine and He will stand on a hillside and feed 5000 with a boy’s lunch. He will stand outside Lazarus’ tomb and weep. And then those beautiful feet will make the slow climb up the road to Jerusalem, down the path where palm branches and cloaks were strewn, to an upper room where He ate with the disciples, declaring His Body and Blood in, with and under bread and wine. His feet will lead Him and the 11 out to the Garden of Gethsemane where soldiers will, first, fall at His feet, only to rise up and arrest Him. He will stand in the court of Herod and Pilate, and then be led out to be crucified. Nails would pierce those beautiful feet, pinning Him to the cross where He would die. Those feet would be wrapped up and lovingly buried. And, on the third day, those feet would rise from the grave, and Jesus would stand, risen and alive, next to Mary; they would journey to Emmaus with three disciples, He would stand suddenly behind locked doors with the Disciples, and He would declare peace.

I said Jesus follows the footsteps of humanity. As His disciples, we also follow after His footsteps. We follow His footsteps under the cross, this side of heaven. This side of heaven, there are aches and pains, sorrows and sadness. There are also moments of joy and happiness, filled with peace and Hope.

I want you to know that no matter how embarrassed you are of your feet, your feet are beautiful because of Jesus. That’s how God sees them: beautifully forgiven in Jesus. That sounds weird to think of feet as being forgiven, doesn’t it? But it’s true. With the bunions and hammer toes and athlete’s foot and cracked heels and missing toes and dwarfed feet – God sees your feet as beautiful in Christ.

There will be a day when your feet will be truly, wonderfully beautiful and all of the aches and pains of your feet – and all the aches and hurts of this world – will be gone. In the resurrection of all flesh, your feet will be completely recreated in the perfection God intended them to be. And for those of us whose feet are less than perfect now, that are missing pieces, that have been I think they will be whole. I admit this is a goofy picture, but I imagine myself in the resurrection, sitting in the grass, just staring at my feet and toes, wiggling them like crazy, and feeling that wonderful tingling burn up into my calves. Then, in my imagination, I see a pair of nail-marked feet walk up next to me. The things is, they look the same – minus the marks, of course - His feet are mine; my feet are His.  Will it happen that way? I don’t know. But I’m looking forward to the day of finding out.

In a few minutes, your feet will pick you up and leave this place. You’ll go to your homes and, in the days ahead, you’ll get back to your normal routine. But, you leave this place with beautiful Christmas feet. Use your beautiful feet to share this Christmas message with those whom you encounter today, and tomorrow, and over the weekend. Christmas doesn’t stop on the 25^th, remember? The Christmas season continues until January 6, Epiphany. Tell them about the feet of the One who died. Tell them about the One who redeems their feet. Tell them about the promise of resurrection feet. Tell them they have beautiful feet because of the Good News of Jesus.

Christmas Angels With Christmas Messages

Glory to God in the highest and peace to His people on earth. Amen.

Perhaps, other than the Baby Jesus Himself, there is no other aspect of the Nativity that garners as much attention as the angels. I understand why, and I suspect you do as well: curiosity. Most of us have never seen an angel – certainly not like those that appeared on that dark night, illuminating the dark, Judean countryside, and sounding forth the Lord’s message. An angel – remember, angel means “messenger” – delivered the good-news message of Christ’s birth. “Unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: you shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” The solo voice was soon joined by an angelic orchestra who filled the sky with song and light: “Glory to God in the highest and peace to His people on earth.” In art and in hymnody, this angelic moment garners our attention.

Tonight I want to tell you about another angel. This angel I do know. She even has a name – Mrs. Stahl. Before anyone gets too excited, let me explain: I don’t mean she was a heavenly angel, but she was a messenger, and that is why I speak of her as an angel. Mrs. Stahl was my kindergarten teacher at Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Emma, Missouri in 1979. The funny thing is, besides her name, I remember almost nothing about her. I think she had curly hair, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember her face, or her voice; I remember her as being kind, but not why. I remember our classroom – it was big, about the size of Mrs. LaBrue’s room, but with wood floors, pink walls, and old-school desks, the kind with the spinning chairs attached - and I remember her desk in the front of the room, off to the side, near the windows, with an honest-to-goodness blackboard passing behind her across the front wall.

I remember this placement because every Friday, we stood beside her desk to recite the week’s memory verse to her. Every Monday we were given a Bible verse to learn, by rote. We practiced it every morning, saying it together, but Fridays we were on our own. With our back to the class, we faced her and said our assigned verse.

What brought all of this to mind is being here with the kids, listening to them learn the Christmas narrative, and watching them come to the microphone and repeat their lines. You see, the very first memory verse I learned that fall was from the Christmas narrative of Luke 2: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord.” So, there I was, standing next to her desk and I ripped off those nineteen words like a 5 year old auctioneer. A Plus, Gold Star, thank you very much, and I turned around to go sit down, quite proud of my accomplishment. But that’s not where my memory stops. I can’t remember her hair color, or the smell of her perfume, but I remember what Mrs. Stahl did next. She touched my arm and stopped me – in those days, teachers could still touch students. When I turned around to face her, she praised me for getting the words right, but then asked, “Now, can you tell me what it means?” I don’t remember my answer; maybe I said something about Christmas and Baby Jesus but it’s also possible that I just shrugged my little shoulders. Mrs. Stahl said, “The angel told the shepherds Jesus was for them. But it also means Jesus is for you. He was born to be your Savior. Jesus is for you, Jonathan.” Then, one by one, as each child came to her desk and recited their memory, she told each child the same thing: Jesus is for you.

It took many years for me to get it, to figure out what she did and why Mrs. Stahl did that on that fall morning in 1979. In that Emma, Missouri classroom, Mrs. Stahl was an angel. I don’t mean a being with wings who descended from the heavens in radiant light like happened that first Christmas outside Bethlehem. Angel means “messenger,” remember, and angels have both a message to deliver and someone to deliver it to. Mrs. Stahl was an angel and the message she delivered was the Gospel, the Good News, that Jesus is the Savior. And her audience was a group of four, five, and six year old kids in western Missouri.

We weren’t all that different from the shepherds, I suppose: an unlikely audience, overlooked by most folks, important to our families but at the same time insignificant in the scope of things. Like the shepherds, we kids probably weren’t completely sure what was being told to us, yet we realized this angel-messenger-teacher was trying to tell us something, that her message was unique and special: that Jesus wasn’t just the Savior, or the Savior of the world, or the Savior for our parents and adults but a Savior for us.

That Bethlehem night some 2000 years earlier, God became enfleshed to dwell among those whom He came to save. Conceived by the Holy Spirit, born to His Virgin mother Mary and stepfather Joseph, God the Son humbled Himself to fulfill the Father’s promise made to another woman millennia earlier. Through Eve came the curse of man; through Mary came the salvation of man. To Eve came the promise of a seed who one day would crush satan’s head; to Mary was born the one who would be bruised but conquer. Through Eve, hope was passed from generation to generation. Through Mary, the hopes and fears of all the years were fulfilled.

Unto you... Those two words take the Christmas narrative and deliver it to hearers across the globe, across the ages, across borders, across languages. Unto you… Those words still echo to this evening of Christmas. They carry from the mouth of the heavenly angel…unto you. Unto you all…Jesus, born; Jesus, Savior; Jesus, Christ the Lord.

I lost touch with Mrs. Stahl. She left Holy Cross, and two years later we moved to Texas. But I’ve never forgotten what she taught me that morning. She taught it better than most of the PhD professors I had at the Seminary, in fact. The Gospel of Jesus isn’t just words in the Bible for pastors to read and memorize. It’s Good News for people, people who included shepherds, kindergarteners, and each one of you here this evening. It’s delivered in classrooms and fields, in homes and hospitals, in prison cells and in battle zones. Unto you. And when one person shares that Good News of Jesus with someone else who needs to hear God’s grace and mercy freely given, without any strings attached; that God deigned to be born in a Bethlehem stable so He could live among us and die for us; that Baby Jesus, laying in a manger, was already your Savior… when one person tells another this story, they…you!... – in that moment – become an angel, a Christmas messenger.

And, in that moment, whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or a week from Thursday, whether it’s your parent or child, a favorite in-law or a struggling step-child, a friend or a complete stranger, you can say with the angels, “Unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord.”

Say it with me: “Unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord.”

Unto you…a Savior. Unto you.

Amen.

 

 

 Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel reading from Matthew 1.  

Ever have a bowl of corn flakes? They are about as plain as plain can get. Nothing fancy in that bowl of flaky, yellow crunchiness. That’s part of the problem. How do you market plain? Compared to the some of their multi-textured, suger-crusted, cinnamon-dusted, flavor-enhanced neighbors on the cereal shelves, corn flakes are simple, ordinary, and, well, plain. We say something plain is “vanilla,” but what if it’s not even vanilla? So, some time ago, one of the cereal companies tried rebranding with the clever notion, “Taste it again for the first time.” Remarkably, sales soared as people did just that.

Today, I invite you to do the same with the Christmas narrative. It’s helpful that it’s from Matthew, because most of us are more familiar with the Luke 2 version. Because we’re less accustomed to Matthew’s rendition, it makes it easier for us to “taste the Nativity again for the first time.”

I love this sentence: “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way.” Consider what those eleven words are saying. Immanuel, God-with-us, was birthed. God takes on flesh to dwell among us. For those keeping score, that is the first miracle that is recorded in this reading. Jesus - who was with the Father since the beginning, remember, along with the Holy Spirit; He’s not showing up fashionably late to the party…He’s always been there! – Jesus physically enters time and space so that He can live like you and me. God is born. Don’t miss that. God is born. Yes, there is a mystery there – how does the infinite take on the finite – but don’t lose sight of the blessing of God. Jesus comes to us; He takes on flesh so that He can be born, so He can be a human, so He can know life this side of heaven with all that entails, including its joys, sorrows, and temptations.

I love the Nativity of Jesus. I also love looking at the various artistic renditions of the holy night. You can quite literally spend hours on-line, scrolling through paintings, sketches, and drawings of the artists’ impression of what may have transpired in that Bethlehem stable. While they range from the incredibly ornate to the surprisingly simple, artists try to capture that sacred moment. Each, in their own way, lend another view of that holy night with the Holy Family, the Infant Babe, the shepherds, and whatever livestock may, or may not, have been present, all paying homage to Immanuel.

But, I submit, none of them get it quite right. They all miss one incredibly important detail, one that lends a deeper understanding to the birth of Jesus. Allow me to explain what I mean.

I was present in the birthing suite for all three of our children. There was blood, and crying, and pain and agony and then, the cry of the baby over and against the tears of Laura and me. I have yet to see an artist who has captured that in the birth of Jesus. All of the paintings present a clean, sanitary, sterile picture for us as if Mary were pregnant one minute and then – POOF! – Jesus appears, wrapped in swaddling blankets with Mary kneeling humbly at the side of the manger, fully dressed without a hair out of place. Joseph is nearby in prayerful pose, also the perfect example of cool, calm and collected. Please understand: I am not making fun, nor being sacrilegious. My point is this: the birth of Jesus was a bloody, messy, and probably loud arrival, just like any other child. When Matthew writes, “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place this way,” you must understand this: birth is through blood and water.

That blood was a foreshadowing of His life. That bloody, Bethlehem birth foretold His death on the Jerusalem hillside some 30 years later when blood and water would flow from his pierced side. Matthew could just as well have written, “Now, the death of Jesus Christ came about this way,” and he would have been perfectly on track. That’s where the rest of the Gospel is leading: to the cross. The cross is the place where Jesus will atone for our sins. He was born so that He could die as the perfect sacrifice after living the perfect life under the Law of God. In that manger, the cross was already on the horizon, unseen and unknown by anyone else.

The Christmas songs, hymns, and carols we love to sing miss this. Only a few set the stage for us, reminding us that the cross was already on the horizon, unseen and unknown by Mary, Joseph, or anyone else that holy night.

            Why lies He in such mean estate, where ox and ass are feeding?
            Good Christian, fear; for sinners, here, the silent Word is sleeping.
            Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, the cross be born for me, for you;
            Hail, hail the Word made flesh, the babe, the Son of Mary.

That is the first miracle: Jesus is born. There is one other miracle, described in another amazing sentence that Matthew records. Bear with me for a second; we’ll get there.

I have often wondered how the conversation went with Mary and Joseph. “Hey, Joe? I need to tell you something. There was this angel, see? And – well, you’re going to be a step-father, Joe. Hey…what do you think I am? No, Joe…there isn’t anyone else – I promise! No…Joe!!! Don’t say that! Joe! Please….please, listen…I believe the angel…please, believe me!” I’ve never seen that scene in a painting. Have you? But I can imagine a sad look on his face as Joseph turns and walks, slowly, out the door intending to never return.

Back then, marriages were legally binding from the beginning of the betrothal, well before the “I now pronounce you,” that we recognize today. I can’t say I would have blamed Joseph for assuming the worst. “Mary, I’m no doctor – I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express, once – but I know enough to know about birds, bees, flowers, trees and the moon up above.” I don’t blame him for checking in with a lawyer about the process of a divorce before their marriage was sanctified. To his credit, he was going to do things as gently and privately as he could – no public scandal, here – so to cause her no shame.

Then, the angel of the Lord intervened through a dream: “Don’t be afraid.” If you prefer a literal understanding: “Stop; discontinue being afraid, Joseph.” It’s as if the angel tells Joseph, “As Mary believes, you believe, also!” When he wakes up, I imagine he swallowed hard a few times, took a few deep breaths, and said the Hebrew equivalent of “Here we go.” That’s the second miracle. Against all human wisdom and expectation, Joseph believes the promise and call of God to faithfully be the earthly father to Jesus, the Son of God and Son of Mary.

Again, it speaks to the humanity of the story. It wasn’t all those neat, Norman Rockwell-esque “peace on earth, goodwill to men” paintings and sketches we see on our Christmas cards. There were real feelings, emotions, decisions. God gave Joseph both the faith to believe the angel and then to live with the wonderfully strange vocation of (what we would today call) being stepfather to the Son of God.

It’s all there in Matthew’s tight, condensed narrative: Mary, Joseph, virgin mother, prophecy completed, an angelic messenger, and finally the birth of her son, named Jesus.

Joseph appears only a handful of times after this. In fact, after Joseph, Mary, and the infant Jesus flee to Egypt (Matthew 2), he shows up only once more time – when Jesus was 12 (the end of Luke 2), and Mary and Joseph find Him in the temple, holding confirmation class. Then Joseph disappears. If we were writing this as a movie script, he would be “supporting cast.” That’s OK. He had his role; he had his vocation and he did it faithfully.

How do I know that? Simple: “And he called His name Jesus.”

It’s good that we are hearing these words again today. With everything going on, it’s easy to lose sight of what Christmas is all about. That special item that you ordered hasn’t shown up yet. Going to the store is practically an exercise in close combat. You promised to bake cookies with your grandkids, the lights died on the tree yesterday, you’re not feeling all that well, and there are Amazon orders, still in their boxes, that need to be wrapped stealthily when no one is around. Add to that the medical tests and appointments you’re trying to squeeze in under this year’s deductible and making sure everyone has the perfect outfit for Christmas Eve or Day… Well, it's almost enough to put the bah-humbug back into Christmas.

So, here’s what I want to do with you. For a few minutes, we’re going to tune all that out. I’m going to re-read Matthew’s Christmas narrative. I want you to sit with those words, and listen to the words tell the story of the birth of Jesus, your Savior. “Taste it again for the first time” in this moment. Close your eyes, and listen to what the Holy Spirit inspired Matthew to record for us.

¹⁸ Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹ And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. ²⁰ But as he considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ²² All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet:

²³ “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). 

²⁴ When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife, ²⁵ but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called his name Jesus.

Amid everything else to do this week, remember this: Jesus is for you, dear friend. The Nativity is for you. This gift of God is for you. The gift…the gift of Jesus and His grace, mercy, and love endures. God bless you this crazy, hectic, bonkers week.

The Baptizer Prepares the Way for Jesus - Matthew 3: 1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson, from Matthew 3.

Boy, howdy. Talk about old-school fire and brimstone. Apparently, the Baptizer didn’t read Dale Carnegie’s book How to Win Friends and Influence People when he was at prophet school. I don’t think he followed Simon Sinak on Instagram or Brene’ Brown on YouTube for leadership techniques. He apparently was never evaluated for his ability to understand EQ and how to read a room. I highly doubt he ever attended a church growth seminar. And his preaching technique? “You brood of vipers!” is hardly an acceptable introduction. Let me be a little more pointed: which of you who were on St. Paul’s call committee would advance John past the initial list from the district president? Who would want the Baptizer to be their regular pastor?

Yet, Isaiah foretold some seven hundred years earlier that God would send this voice in the wilderness to proclaim, “Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.” And to make sure no one would misunderstand who he was and what it was John was called to do, Matthew plainly says, “This is he.” It’s as plain as his preaching: repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

We speak of repentance as having two parts. The Catechism teaches that there is sorrow for sin and a desire to change that behavior, called contrition. That’s common among anyone who gets caught, though, when doing something wrong. Anyone can feel bad; anyone can say “I want to do better.” What makes repentance Christian repentance is faith that trusts that Jesus’ death pays for those very sins for which I am sorry and from which I wish to turn. Christian repentance says, “Yes = I am a poor, miserable sinner, and I am sorry to be so, but I have an even greater Savior who rescues me from what my sins deserve.” 

Do not think of John’s preaching of repentance in this way. John would have a much more radical, severe changing of heart. A better way to understand the Baptizer’s call is “Be converted!” It’s the equivalent of Shakespeare’s Hamlet saying, “there is something rotten in the state of Denmark.”

Imagine, sitting on the hillside in the Baptizer’s congregation and hearing a sermon like this:

“Both Israel and Jerusalem are corrupt, spiritually rotten from top to bottom, and that includes you, Pharisees, and you, Sadducees, and all who are following after you thinking you are good enough, holy enough, and righteous enough to march into the Kingdom of God on your own merits. Want to play the “son of Abraham card”? That’s not going to get you there. Remember, Abraham lived by faith in the promises of God; you, you all are placing your faith in your own way of living.  You are lost – so lost, you are in danger of eternal separation from God in the fires of hell. Change your life, change your thinking, change where you place your trust and faith.

You have forgotten the commands of God and, more important, you have forgotten the promises of God and unless you repent, unless you are completely changed in your hearts, minds, and lives by the Spirit of God, you too shall likewise perish. Prepare the way of the Lord, you brood of vipers; make His paths straight, you slithering snakes in the grass, because the Kingdom is at hand and He is coming with a vengeance, with fire and pitchforks and wrath that knows no limits. You need to get yourself out to the Jordan. Repent and be baptized. You need to redo the Red Sea. You need to redo the Jordan. You need to redo the return from Babylon. You need to re-turn to the Lord your God and prepare because the reign of God stands near in the work of the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth.”

St. Matthew does not tell us know the message was received. Did John succeed, that is, were there conversions? Did the Holy Spirit drive the words of his preaching, penetrating their hearts and minds, to re-turn them to faithfulness? Did they listen? Did they repent? The text does not say. We are left wondering – wondering why Matthew doesn’t tell us this piece of information, but also wondering what of the faithfulness of these being-lost ones. Others were coming; others were repenting; others were being baptized; others were believing. But these – these, there is no story and no happy ending. So, the question remains: did they repent?  We don’t know.

There is another question here, one that lays below the surface. Do you hear the voice of the Prophets that echoes through the centuries. John and his fore-runner Isaiah continue to call to God’s people of every epoch, age, eon and generation: “Prepare the way of the Lord: make His paths straight.” To be sure, unlike Isaiah, we know that Christ has come. Unlike John, we know that Christ came, not as an axe-wielding, pitchfork-bearing fire-breathing bringer of damnation. Instead, He bore the sins of the world into His own body, receiving the wrath of God Himself, reconciling the world to God with His own death. He was numbered with the sinners, broke bread with transgressors, touched lepers, forgave prostitutes, called tax collectors to follow. He even absolved those who killed Him, and the one who mocked and then confessed faith while hanging next to Him.

But, the words still call us to prepare. So, if the camel-haired, leather-strapped, wild-haired Son of Zechariah suddenly appeared, striding down the aisle while picking a grasshopper’s leg from between his teeth with a dirty fingernail and with honey glistening from his bushy beard, then ascending the pulpit, and call out to the wilderness of the 1600 block of East Broadway, Enid, Oklahoma, “Prepare the way of the Lord: make His paths straight,” what would he mean?

Why, repent, of course. In Advent, there is plenty to repent of: the materialism of the world around us, our desire for always more, for not being content with what we have, for being jealous of what some have, for a bit of arrogance in having more than what others have. Repent for being too busy to find time with Jesus in His Word, for being too tired to be present when He invites us to His table. Repent of being Lutheran, as if that would save, or holding our Baptismal or Confirmation certificate aloft, as if that would redeem. Repent of pretending to be strong instead of humble and meek and lowly.  Make no mistake: both our repentance and our being baptized are grounded in the fullness of our salvation by grace through faith. Because you are forgiven, because you are redeemed, because you are united with Christ, because you are sanctified, because you declared holy by the Father, I dare not call you broods of vipers, nor do I call you snakes, Pharisees or Sadducees. That is, at best unfair; at worst, it is completely inaccurate. You are God's children - beloved, redeemed, baptized. Yet, the message is still quite similar for you - albeit less viperous than it was for that Judean hillside 2000 years ago. 

So, if John were here, what would his message mean? It would mean this: strip away anything that would get in the way of Christ’s coming to you right now. Prepare the way; make the paths straight. Knock down mountains of busy-ness that prevent you from welcoming the Christ today. Fill in the potholes of foolishness, thinking there’s always time to prepare. Straighten the curves of arrogance, “He’s waited this long…why the fuss now?” Get rid of the boulders that trip you up with distractions. Instead, with faith, with longing, with anticipation, with prayerful mindedness and with Advent anticipation, know that the Kingdom is here. He is at Hand. Repent. Come to the Table. Christ is here, Sacramentally present in bread and wine, in body and blood, to strengthen you on this Advent journey as you await the day He comes, not merely in bread and wine, but in His risen Glory and you see Him as He is. 

Enriched with that spiritually-strengthening food and drink, empowered by the Spirit of God, enlivened by His word, every day prepare that Jesus comes today – not tomorrow, not next week, month, year, or decade – He comes today. Knock down the mountains and fill in the potholes that get in the way of you welcoming Him with faith, hope and love. Amen.

 

"Who is This Who Advents to Us?" - Matthew 3: 1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Matthew 21:1-11, especially this sentence: “And when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up saying, ‘Who is this?’”

Who is this? Fair question, isn’t it? It’s as fair today, on the first Sunday of Advent as it was on that first Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. Who is this One who is coming, the One who is adventing, into the City of David? Who is this whom the Church remembers coming in history as a humble baby and who also pledged to come again in glory and power and might? Who is it?

Let’s be fair and charitable towards those who were asking that Palm Sunday morning. I suspect that many had a genuine curiosity, a real desire to know what the fuss was all about. Who is this, in the sense of “What’s going on? I don’t know, I don’t understand – someone help me figure this out.”

Who, indeed? Who is this who looks so plain but speaks so powerfully?  Who is the one whom even the wind and the waves obey? Who is this in our boat? Who is this who claims to forgive sins? Who is this who heals with spit and mud? Who is this who touches the dead and brings them back to life? Who is this who says to a lame man, “Take up your bed,” and he can walk? Who is this who has a ragtag group of fishermen and women following Him, who eats with sinners and tax collectors, who stops to care for the weakest and most meek, who dares to challenge the social and religious leaders, who performs miracles in the way of Elijah?

But for others, it was not so much about information, about an inquisitiveness into the person who is arriving, but it is more of a challenge, rich in sarcasm, loaded with demands and expectations that someone explain what this guy is doing. Who is this who speaks about being lifted up and drawing all peoples to Himself? Who is this who says if He is destroyed, He will be raised three days later? Who is this, in the sense of, “Who is this guy who thinks he can ride into the city like He is a modern-day King David?” Who is this?

Who is this? It is a primal question, one that is asked by many, and is at the heart of each and every person and each and every people of all time…including us. Who is this?

Jesus comes to Jerusalem amidst crowds that a politician, or a hometown hero, or a victorious sports team could only imagine. Crowds lined the city streets, shouting “Hosheanna! Hosanna!” Some stripped off their outer cloaks, others tore off palm branches, laying garments and leaves together on the road, paving the path before Him. The excitement was palpable, the air charged with the energy of the people’s expectation. But this wasn’t a football team. It wasn’t a warrior, or a government official, or anyone who oozed power and authority.

So, who is this? What’s all the fuss? They get the name right, the crowds, when they call Him, “The prophet, Jesus, from Nazareth in Galilee.” Yet, there’s a twist, foreshadowing Jesus’ own words five days later: they know not what they do, nor understand whom they welcome.

The question betrays the paradox, the dilemma that characterizes Jesus’ walk through life and His arrival, not only that spring day into Jerusalem, but all through His life and ministry. He slips into the world, hardly noticed, in a backwater town, in an unknown stable of an unknown inn-keeper. He is welcomed by shepherds, a rather rough-around the edges group of men, both in image and in smell, and then soon after by strange men from foreign lands, yet an indicator of what His ministry is about and who He comes for. He slips into His Father’s house where he teaches with authority already as a 12 year old. He slips into Jerusalem, with all of the hubbub, where He seems to stumble into a secret plot to be murdered. Finally, after a terrible, torturous trial and crucifixion he slips into death.

Lots of slipping and sliding, if I may; and yet, part of that gentle and unobtrusive life. Who is this one, who is gentle and unobtrusive, hardly worth a second look? The One who comes to make a claim on this world in a different way – very different from the style of those whom most parades are arranged around.

This is the One who slipped from the grave, from the very grasp of death itself. He slips into the upper room, unnoticed at first, to deliver peace to those who were stuck in fear. He slips into bread and wine, into water, and into the Words of a Book. He slips into the lives of transformed people, all the while deepening and widening and expanding and expounding on this question, this haunting question, “Who is this?”

Who is this who we’ve got here? Who is this who is among us?

Why, He still does this. He slips into us in Word and Sacrament, and through us in our vocations, to those around us. He slips into the lives of peoples whom these people in the New Testament had never heard of. He slips into our daily lives in Enid and daily walks in Wakomis and Breckenridge and Lahoma. Through us, He brings life to people, to waiting people, all around us at work, at play, at doctor’s offices and fast food restaurants. This is the one who brings life in the face of, and life out of death.

Who is this?

Will we ever fully know the answer? Will we ever know the rich fullness of Him, He Who Was, Who Is, and Who Is to Come? Probably, no – at least, not this side of heaven. We will never completely understand all that has been revealed of Him, He who is the Word made flesh. Its a paradox: the more we live with Him, the more we walk with Him, the more we know Him, but at the same time, the deeper the mystery becomes. And, in a very real sense, this is a good thing. I don’t want a God that I completely understand. The mystery – and, here I don’t mean as if it’s something to discover, like a whodunit murder mystery, but rather, a mystery which is beyond our full understanding – the mystery of His grace, and His love, and His ability to take broken lives and heal and transform them, and the mystery deepens the more we know.

Yet, this is why He came in human form because otherwise, He would be too baffling, too incomprehensible, even more than He already is. He came to live among us, to warm us, to warn us, to enliven us, to rescue us, to save us. None of this at the expense of the mystery – even those who closely followed, literally in his footsteps of the Galillean countryside, didn’t get it always.

So, Who is this? The crowds had it right, that Palm Sunday afternoon. They turned back to the Scriptures and found the answer before their question was ever asked. The Prophet Zechariah of Old Testament minor fame speaks through the New Testament Jerusalem crowd: “Behold: He is the coming you’re your coming King. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.”

This, this time of adventing, this time of arrival, drives the season. Think of it: the Church sets aside roughly a full month, approximately one twelfth of the year, to get ourselves ready for the mystery of the incarnation, the mystery of the One who pulls us, invites us, calls us, captivates us, and incorporates us into Him; the mystery of the One who pledges to return to save us into eternity.

Who is this? He is the Advent One, the Coming One. The one who came, gentle and humble. He comes, to you in Word and Sacrament, and through you, in word and action to those around you. He has a coming to come to.

Who is this? If He is the Coming One, who are you?  You are the one whom He comes to. You are His, who welcomes the One who comes. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

Amen. Come Lord Jesus. Come. Amen.