Faithful Stubbornness that Clings to Jesus - Matthew 15: 21-28

Have you stood in the footsteps of this unknown, unnamed Canaanite mother, begging, pleading to God, only to have it feel like God is against you? Perhaps not so much with a child who has a demon, but perhaps one who is critically ill, or your spouse, or a parent; perhaps it was your own self with a heavy diagnosis or even fighting for your life; perhaps you were the most recent round of layoffs or outright fired unexpectedly. Whatever it was, your world was rocked, turned upside down, inside out, and every which way but loose. As a child of God, you know – as the hymn says – to take it to the Lord in prayer. You practically wore out the knees in your pants and put bald spots in the carpet from where you knelt at night beside your bed, you wore the finish off the chair at your dining room table where you sat, Bible in front of you, calling God’s name, seeking help, praying for an answer. You prayed, invoked, cried out, wept, sought an answer, yearning for just a word of hope, encouragement, asking for the Lord’s hands to be gracious and merciful to you, your family, your loved one, and instead you get a hand held up: Stop.

That doesn’t make sense, does it? We think of Jesus’ hands and the many, many times they were extended in mercy and compassion. Just a few weeks ago, we read about Him having compassion on a hungry crowd and feeding them, those hands breaking and blessing bread and fish to feed 5000 plus people. Last Sunday, we read of Jesus’ hand dipping into the wind-tossed waters to rescue a sinking, drowning, faith-shaken disciple who only a moment earlier asked to come out to Jesus on those same waters. We think of His hands held in blessing even as He is ascending into heaven, hands delivering words of encouragement and hope to seeing-yet-not-understanding disciples. We think of these moments, moments that show us love that is without end, mercy without extinction, compassion without limits. If He has compassion - even over His enemies while being crucified!!! – why is His hand held against me?

People sometimes speak about the silence of God, and how terrifying that can be. True. I’ve been there. But even harder is when it seems God isn’t merely silent, but actually standing against you.

Just consider this Canaanite mother. Although she is outside the family of Abraham, she comes to Jesus with the prayer of faith used by God’s people for millennia: “Have mercy on me.” Her request is actually not for her, but for her demon-possessed daughter. Surely, the mother understandably thinks, this Jesus who has been merciful in healing others, would also be merciful to my own child! Yet, Jesus is silent. The disciples shoo her away like a mutt sniffing at ankles, and it seems that even Jesus is agreeing. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” He answers – and, notice, He is speaking to the disciples, not the woman! If it were in our modern culture, I could see Him nodding and throwing His shoulders up and adding, “What can I do?” Refusing to take silence for an answer, she rushes around, gets in front of Jesus, and falls to her knees, pleading for a favorable answer for her daughter: Lord, help me. This time, she is flatly and directly dismissed by Jesus Himself. “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”  Don’t think Jesus is calling her an unflattering name. He’s using a powerful image to describe her place as a Canannite, as a woman, as someone who is outside the family of the children of Israel. Regardless how it’s intended, it’s as if his hand is held up – Stop! This isn’t for you! Think of how I treat my dog when she wants the pizza crust, and you get the idea.

So, what does faith do when the object of faith – Jesus – seems to be behaving in a way that is so contra what we expect, so opposite of what we know of Him and His character? What do you do when it seems Jesus is being unfaithful to who He is as the Son of God?

The book of Hebrews defines faith as, “The substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.” We speak of faith in two ways: a noun, the Christian faith, the objective and unchanging truth of Scripture as we summarize in the Creeds; and a Christian’s faith, the verb, the subjective believing of what the Scriptures say which, at times, ebbs and flows, hot and cold. In both aspects, the Christian faith and a Christian’s faith, faith rests in the invisible working of God for our salvation and the culmination of all things in the person and work of Jesus. Thus, the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.  That is the challenge of Christianity; that is the challenge of the Christian faith.

While both the Christian faith and the Christian’s faith rest in the invisible, the Invisible is the very promises of God, all which are found in fulfillment in Christ Jesus. And Jesus is not a figment of the imagination, a will o’ the whisp idea that someone came up with. He is God’s Son who entered into time and took on human flesh to dwell among us. According to His human flesh, He experienced everything you and I know including – back to our theme today – including when He prayed that, if possible, His upcoming cup of suffering might be taken away and His own Father seemed to say, “No; stop; away from Me, dear Son. Away…away…away!!!” A short time later, Jesus cried out to the Father, “Why have you forsaken me?” Where was the still, small voice that spoke to Elijah or the voice that thundered on Sinai? Of all, Jesus should have been heard in His holiness and purity!

This was for you. He not only died the sinner’s death, completely contaminated with our sins, He also endured the silence of God, the separation from the Father on your behalf, suffering hell on earth for you. For three days, the silence of God echoed from heaven to earth. The morning of the Resurrection, the silence was broken by the angel’s proclamation, “He is not here; He is risen as He said.” That declaration stands as evidence that the Father accepted His Son’s death for us, assuring the our sins are forgiven and uniting us with the Father through Christ Jesus. That union, then, means that the Father will never turn His back on us and the Son’s nail-marked hands are never held against us.

This is most certainly true. Yet, there are those moments in life when it seems as though God is silent, as if Jesus’ hands are held out against us. So, the question remains: what does faith do when the object of faith – Jesus – seems to be behaving in a way that is so contra what we expect, so opposite of what we know of Him and His character? What do you do when it seems Jesus is being unfaithful to who He is as the Son of God? “It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

I like the way the poet, Jan Richardson [1], helps us understand how faith doggedly clings to the promises of God, even when it seems the hands of the Lord are held out against us.

Stubborn Blessing

Don’t tell me no.

I have seen you
feed the thousands,
seen miracles spill
from your hands
like water, like wine,
seen you with circles
and circles of crowds
pressed around you
and not one soul
turned away.

Don’t start with me.

I am saying
you can close the door
but I will keep knocking.
You can go silent
but I will keep shouting.
You can tighten the circle
but I will trace a bigger one
around you,
around the life of my child
who will tell you
no one surpasses a mother
for stubbornness.

I am saying
I know what you
can do with crumbs
and I am claiming mine,
every morsel and scrap
you have up your sleeve.
Unclench your hand,
your heart.
Let the scraps fall
like manna,
like mercy
for the life
of my child,
the life of
the world.

Don’t you tell me no.

Don’t misread this: yes, the woman wanted her daughter to be healed, but more than that, she was willing to sit at the base of the table and receive whatever little bits of grace the Lord has to offer her. Her faith was great. It was not great because the woman thought she could wear Jesus down by nagging Him enough, or if she used the right words, or if she could just pull hard enough at His heart strings. Her faith rested in who she knew who Jesus is – even when it seemed His hands were held out against her. She knew Him to be both Lord and Son of David. He was Israel’s Messiah who comes with such abundance that there were leftovers for someone like her, a woman from Canaan. And, out of His great generosity, His mercy overflows outward from Israel to her, a Canaanite woman who knew she deserved nothing except by God’s grace which made her welcome at the table of Jesus.

 You cling to what you know about Jesus, not what it seems, but what you know is objectively true of His mercy and grace. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” It’s as if she’s saying, Jesus, even the leftovers of your compassion are enough for me. In other words, you cling to what is true about the mercy, love and compassion of Jesus, even if you don’t see or feel how it can be true.

By grace, through faith in Christ, Jesus’ hand that seemed to be held up saying, “No, I don’t think so,” becomes a hand that is held up in blessing. The hidden mercy of Christ is revealed. Baptized into Christ, we are welcomed to the table, no longer dogs worthy of just the scraps but of the finest of bread and wine, the rich fulness of Christ’s body and blood. In answer to your prayer, “Lord have mercy on me,” here, the Son of David welcomes you, not as dogs, but as Sons and Daughters of the King: come and eat. The table is prepared.

 

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[1] Stubborn Blessing « The Painted Prayerbook

Roots and Foundations: The Beginning of the 2026-2027 School Year -- Colossians 2: 6-7

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The theme for this school year is “Rooted” based on Colossians 2: 6-7: “Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

In just a few more days, roughly 72 hours, St. Paul’s Lutheran School will begin a new school year, continuing a century of Lutheran, Christian education in Enid. If we could trade places with each other, traveling through time, all of us – from 1926 and 2026 - might be surprised at the differences. They would probably be surprised at how the footprint of the school building has changed, and they would likely be somewhere between amazed and frightened at students using iPads and Promethian Boards instead of chalk and blackboard. I wonder how our kids would feel about classroom discipline back then, or the lack of air conditioning, and no internet access. Then again, we might all be surprised at similarities. I suspect the kids back then complained just as much as today about having to get out of bed and go to school instead of spending a day playing and goofing around with friends. And while educational standards, techniques and methods have all changed dramatically since then, one thing remains the same: we preach and teach Christ crucified. From the morning bell to the dismissal in the afternoon, the Jesus we teach with our mouths and demonstrate with our lives is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And, while those kids from 1926 might be blown out of the water that they can hear the Bible being read to them on-line, they would be able to sit right next to our students reading on their iPad and say, “Amen, amen: this is so.” And, if we were to ask the pastor and teacher in 1926, Pastor J.H. Holtmann and Mr. A.W. Leitz, and the pastor and principal in 2026, “What is the purpose of St. Paul’s Lutheran school?”, I would think all four of us would say, “That the children we teach, and their parents, might hear of Jesus, believe in Him, and receive eternal life through the death and resurrection of Christ.” May it be so; amen.

And, if we were to travel even further back in time to the first century AD, and ask St. Paul to help us identify the reason for this Lutheran school that bears his name, he might offer to us these words: “Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

It’s helpful to remember that when we read the Epistles, from Romans thru Jude, we are literally reading someone else’s mail. Each of the epistles – which means “letter,” by the way – was written to a church or, in some cases, a person, to address something that these first-century Christians were facing. Sometimes, it was a word of encouragement in the face of persecution. Other times, it was to correct false teachings or behaviors within the church. And, other times, it was to better understand how the church was different than the world around it because of the good news of Jesus.  The Holy Spirit saw fit that these letters have been preserved for us and, recognizing His inspiration of those sacred writers, the Church then assembled them into what is today is over half of the New Testament canon.

Paul’s letter to the Colossians is one of those epistles. Paul writes because he has heard from Epaphras, his fellow evangelist and the pastor at Colossae, that the young church was struggling against some of the philosophies and teachings of the community which were threatening to make inroads into the church and compete against the message of the cross of Jesus. There seemed to be three main problems, three false teachings, that were being spread. Together, they created a strange admixture of Judaism and Gentile religions which, together, were pressing into the church. From Judaism came the idea that that people had to follow all of their religious rituals, festivals, and even sabbath law to be a proper Christian. From the Gentiles came something called asceticism, a type of stoicism, where people were taught to deny simple gifts of God, like food or living together or even marriage, because these things, it was said, got in the way of achieving higher levels of thinking. But, the most dangerous one of all was a false teaching that actually found its roots back in Genesis, insinuating there was a secret wisdom of God that He was hiding, so Christians were to seek out ways to find the missing truths. In a sense, it wasn’t far off from how satan himself tempted Eve, insinuating that God was withholding what “evil” was.

These sound rather nebulous, at first. What’s wrong with tradition? What’s so bad about minimalism? What’s so bad about seeking deeper understanding of God and His Word? Stop and think about what such teachings do. The insistence was that these things had to be done – you had to follow the traditions to be a good Chistian; you had to get rid of things that got in the way of higher thinking; you had to find these secrets of God on your own. You, you, you. It’s backwards! These other things, these other teachings, were getting in the way of that message, daring to offer other, alternate ideas of what brings salvation. Instead of keeping the Christian’s eyes on the cross of Jesus, the temptation was to look elsewhere to less certain – actually, to completely uncertain and false alternatives.  

The message of the church, the message that had Epaphras proclaimed to the Colossians, is that all of God’s plans of salvation came to their completion in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. By God’s grace, through faith in Jesus’ once-for-all vicarious atonement – not by our own work, effort, and merit, but by Christ alone  – God’s people have the certain assurance of the forgiveness of sins, the promise of our own resurrection, and being welcomed into the family of God. Because of Christ, and His fulfillment of the Law and its terrible punishment of condemnation for those who break it, all of God’s promises are now yes through Jesus.

So, Paul, writing to the church in Colossae, urged them to sluff off anything other than Jesus only. He uses three images to help the Colossians understand this: walk in Him, be rooted in Him, be built up in Him. Walking would have brought to mind Jesus own talking on human flesh to dwell among us, to know our needs, to be temped as we are tempted, yet remaining without sin. As He walked among us, so walk after Him, not seeking to exceed Him but to follow after him so closely as to be in Him, connected in mind and spirit. To be rooted was an agrarian image, the roots of the Corinthian’s faith driving deeply into the love and mercy of God in Christ Jesus, drawing faith, life, and hope from Him. And the building image would remind the Colossians that they are part of the whole church, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets who have gone before them, with Jesus Himself as the living cornerstone. You’ve been taught this, Paul says. Instead of seeking alternate ways of finding God, rejoice and give thanks that in Christ He has found and rescued you, making you part of the body of Christ, the church.

Earlier, I made a few broad comparisons, similarities and differences, of the school year of 2026 verses 1926. I submit that the same is true in today’s milieu verses the world of Colossae some 2000 years ago. The world in which we live is not conducive to the Christian church. Satan is very much at work, trying to take our eyes off Jesus, His death and resurrection, His gifts for the church, and His mercy for us. From the false gods of me, myself and I, to brash consumerism, to “do whatever pleases you,” there is no shortage of things that he uses to distract us. If you allow me to set a theological premise as a math problem, to “preach across the curriculum,” if you will:  JESUS PLUS ANYTHING EQUALS NOTHING. Anything that is attempted to be added to Jesus as the only means of certain salvation actually diminishes the cross, causes confusion, twists the conscience, and makes satan dance with glee.

Dear teachers, that is the context against which you will be teaching the students entrusted to your care. There are a thousand and one other things that all seek to take the place of Jesus, or to at least offer a substitute means of “rescue.” Your calling, your vocation as a teacher at St. Paul’s Lutheran School, is to help plant the seeds of faith into the hearts and minds of these children and, prayerfully, those seeds might be extended into the home as well. With those seeds planted, you will then water, nurture, and fertilize those seeds so that they can grow and blossom into a deeply-rooted, strongly built foundation of faith. You will do this vocally, speaking of sin that deserves punishment and mercy that forgives. You will speak of Jesus’ death and resurrection as the salvific means through which God’s perfect Law is kept and His justice is measured. You will speak the very words of Scripture in your classes – sometimes verbatim, reading them together, and sometimes summarizing them in the moment of a conversation, one on one, or in front of the class, or in a message to a parent. And you will demonstrate that same Godly, Christ-like compassion in your actions so that what you do is just as loud as what is said. A quote, often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, says, “Preach the Gospel at all times; if necessary, use words.” Going back to my preaching across the curriculum from theology to math, instead of JESUS PLUS ANYTHING EQUALS NOTHING, you will do the reciprocal (note: another math word): JESUS PLUS NOTHING EQUALS EVERHYTHING.

But let me say this, teachers – and to all of you at St. Paul’s this morning. Our theme verse, “Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving,” is not just for the children who will walk into our building Wednesday morning. It applies to you as well. Allow the Holy Spirit to strengthen and deepen your own roots of faith. Be vigilant in your own spiritual lives. Water the roots of faith deeply as you recall your own baptism, where your sins were washed away and you received the guarantee of salvation as a child of God. You will need that reminder constantly, because satan will take each and every mistake and sin you commit as a teacher and as a parent – and as a brother or sister in Christ – and throw it in your face that you aren’t good enough, that you shouldn’t be doing this noble task, that you are a mess. You combat his lies by remaining rooted in the faith which you have been taught. Be faithful and regular in church; be faithful and regular in reading the Word; be faithful and regular in prayer; be faithful and regular in receiving the Lord’s Body and Blood. And, when those times come when the guilt or shame is louder, heavier, and darker, seek out the words of absolution from your pastor. Know this: my door is (literally) open for you – anyone hearing this message today. It is my pleasure to assure you of God’s mercy for you in Christ with the sure, certain absolution of Jesus. And, know this as well: what is said to me, whether in my study or your classroom, or your home or hospital bed, it dies between us. I don’t discuss or share those conversations with others, including my wife, the school principal, or your spouse. I can’t because it’s gone, stripped from you by Christ.

Well, we’re now about 71 hours away from the beginning of school. I’m looking forward to Wednesday morning, greeting the kids, and then beginning the year here, in the sanctuary. We'll begin with the triune name of God, invoking His name and blessing upon us, faculty, staff and students. Beginning that morning, seeds will be planted; roots will take shape and begin to grow; and a spiritual foundation will begin to be laid. By God’s grace, we will walk together in love in Christ.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, may it be so. Amen.

What Forests and Trees Teach of Jesus' Miracles - Matthew 14: 13-21

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

You and I know it as the Feeding of the Five Thousand. The fact that all four evangelists include it tells us that it is important for God’s people. But the question is why – why is it such a significant narrative and teaching for us to read and hear and what is it that we, God’s people in the 21^st century, need to take to heart as we hear and read it again?

You’ve heard the expression, “Can’t see the forest for the trees.” I came to understand that when serving my first church in deep East Texas. For those who don’t know, East Texas is a major pine tree forest. Different species of pine trees tower into the sky as high as 138 feet – roughly 13 stories tall – about 15 feet shorter than our own Broadway Tower. That’s a tall tree. Driving through Davy Crockett National Forest was like the Children of Israel crossing the Red Sea, but with trees instead of water on each side. Except for the noon hour, you drove in the shade on those roads – even in the summer. But if it was a moonless night, those roads were as dark as the tunnel under the Houston Ship Channel. It was strange feeling. While you were surrounded by the forest, you had no idea just how deep and big it was because all you could see on either side of you was a few feet – the trees, big and small, blocked you from seeing anything deeper. Literally, you could not see the forest because of the trees. We use the expression to mean getting so caught up in the details that you lose sight of the bigger picture.

I tell you this as a way of getting into this morning’s Gospel reading. It’s easy to get stuck in the trees of the miracle so we miss the forest of the rest of the story.

I wonder if the disciples were embarrassed or irritated when Jesus told them, “Go, feed the crowd.” After all, who on earth could do such a thing? There was no Sam’s Club or Costco nearby. Even if there was, who could afford to feed 5000 people? Their quick survey of the crowd found just five loaves of bread and two fish. Don’t think big loaves of crusty French bread from a bakery. Think something more like small pita bread or tortillas used for street tacos – hand-sized, something a mom would make for her family. And don’t think two 16-inch speckled trout. These were probably more like sardines or small herring, dried or smoked. These loaves and fish, what a mom would pack a boy’s lunch, easy to carry while watching the sheep. Not much to work with; not enough for a dozen grown men let alone 5000.

Our Lord takes and prays over a boy’s lunch and begins to break and divide, divide and break, giving it to the disciples to distribute. Then, not only is everyone fed but they are satiated, each  – each ate more than that little boy’s lunch.

Consider the miracles. The so-called laws of nature – and certainly those of mathematics - are broken: when one divides something, the whole becomes smaller parts. One already-small loaf should become two even smaller loaves; one already small fish becomes two smaller fish. When Jesus breaks and divides, it somehow multiples. Dividing one small fish suddenly becomes two small fish; one small loaf of bread becomes two small loaves. But it’s not just one becomes two. It continues to grow and divide and multiply. A boy’s lunch becomes enough to feed the crowds, possibly 8000, 9000, 10,000 people. That’s just not possible.

And, the way He does it is just as impossible. There was no vast network of ovens and bakers with sacks of flour and fishmongers with baskets of dried fish. With words of prayer and blessing, speaking to His Father in heaven, Jesus feeds the crowd – work that the disciples felt was impossible.

Even today, this miracle catches us off guard with surprise. If I asked any of you – for the sake of the illustration, let’s say the Board of Elders, if I asked them to take this bag of buns and a can of tuna and feed y’all, everyone would think I was bonkers. No one would take me seriously. I would even be surprised if an individual came up to take the bag and even try. We completely understand the disciple’s reticence – “Who??? Us???” The impossibility of the scene is just to, well, impossible to overcome.

It’s interesting how people try to take this parable and turn it to a modern application. Some will use it to teach that if you have enough faith, God will multiply what you have. That’s called the theology of glory, or prosperity Gospel. That’s not what this is about, at all. Folks get a little closer if they speak to the gift of prayer, but that’s still not right. No where is Jesus teaching the disciples about prayer. There is no description of what a prayer should say or a prescription of how to pray. This is a unique example of Jesus’ prayer – and the words aren’t even recorded for us, not by any of the four evangelists. So, while better, this is still not about prayer. Is it a teaching about the power of miracles, or outlining a doctrine of miracles, what to expect or how to anticipate them? Again, closer, but still not the central thrust. So, what is it about, then? What are we to take from this narrative of the miraculous feeding?

Earlier, I said we can’t always see the forest for the trees. We can easily get caught up in all of these interesting and incredible details that we miss sight of the bigger picture. 

Go back to how the reading began. Jesus had heard about the death of John the Baptist. Needing time to reflect, rest and pray, He took the Twelve with him to the other side of the lake, but when He arrived, He saw the crowds. Matthew reports this:  ^“When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick.”

With that sentence, we discover the greater picture: “He had compassion on them.” In short, Jesus sees their physical need and meets it head-on. He does it first by healing the sick. Then, after an afternoon’s work of preaching and teaching to feed them spiritually, He again has compassion and feeds their hungry bellies.

Jesus is not a far-off, distant and aloof God. He does not wait for man to come to Him. He comes to us. He enters into humanity, taking the very form of a servant to live among us, dwell among us, and even be tempted as us. And part of that dwelling among us is that He experiences for Himself all of the emotions and feelings that we have – including compassion at the common human needs that we all experience and struggle with since the Fall. Out of His great love for us, He does this to rescue and redeem us, both in time and into eternity.

We often focus on that eternal aspect, and it is good, right and salutary that we should. After all, Jesus comes to redeem and save. If you remember, a few weeks ago, we read that Jesus had compassion on the crowds because they were like sheep without a shepherd, in other words, He was worried about their salvation. But He does not do that while overlooking our physical needs as well. When He saw the sick, He healed. When He saw hunger, He fed. And, you notice, He didn’t only do this for those who believed. He did this for everyone who met His boat, for everyone sitting on the hillside, whether they were fully trusting Jesus as Messiah or they were just curious about what He had to say. He loves regardless of how that love is reciprocated. Yes, Jesus desires His love to be returned, but His love is not conditional. He loves; He has compassion; He acts.

This is one of the beautiful truths of Scripture. God lets the sun rise on the good and the wicked and He sends rain on the just and the unjust. He gives daily bread to those who love Him and those who openly despise and mock His name. He provides food, drink, house and home to all people everywhere – even those who refuse to acknowledge His gifts. He does it out of His fatherly goodness and mercy.

For the faithful, for those who love and trust God’s promises in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, God not only gives us food to satiate our growling bellies. He also gives us bread that leads to salvation and wine that quenches our thirst for righteousness. In this bread and wine, Christ Himself is truly present, His Body and Blood given, broken, and shed for you. One of the early Reformers debated with Martin Luther, how is it possible that Jesus’ body and blood could be in multiple places at once; ergo, it must be only symbolic, a remembrance of what Jesus said, not for any particular purpose. If Jesus could divide bread and fish in a miraculous way, enough to feed thousands with just a boy’s lunch all at the sound of His prayer and blessing, then how much more certain can we be trusting of His own promise, “This is my body; this is my blood. Take and eat; take and drink for the forgiveness of sins.” A bite of bread and a sip of wine may not satiate the hungry stomach. But Christ’s body and blood satisfies the heart hungry for the promise of sins forgiven and the strengthening of faith.

There is one interesting aspect of this narrative. Matthew tells us that when everyone had eaten their fill, the disciples gathered up 12 baskets of leftovers. It wasn’t just enough; there weren’t crumbs swept onto the grass. There was plenty. No one went away hungry. On that hillside, that was a perfect moment of restoration. Hunger was defeated. The sick were well. For a moment, the fallen world was right. His compassion defeated satan’s chaos. It was a glimpse, just a glimpse, of what Jesus still had to do. There was something greater on the horizon. While His compassion was always present, it did not prevent Him from going to the cross. There, in His perfect death and sacrifice, He would restore creation. Isaiah’s words, spoken 7 centuries earlier, will one day be fulfilled in the consummation of all things, when Jesus, the Bread of Life, returns in glory. In that day, hunger will be eternally destroyed and all illness will be made whole.

This morning’s Old Testament lesson comes near the end of Isaiah. In chapter 25, Isaiah paints a beautiful picture of what the forest will look like on the last day.

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine, of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined. And he will swallow up on this mountain the covering that is cast over all peoples, the veil that is spread over all nations.
He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, “Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

 

Pearls & Treasures - Matthew 13: 44-52

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

By the time I met Eldon, he was old, a far cry from the strong young man who served on the USS IDAHO in WW2. After the war, he returned home and started a family. He soon was in a desparate situation to find work anywhere and any how that he could to support his children after his wife ran off with their small savings account and her boss. He sold cars during the week and worked as a DJ and radio engineer on the weekends. At night he stayed up late to take classes by correspondence. He remarried and soon after an old Navy buddy offered him a job at Boeing in Seattle. He quickly moved up the ranks in their space and rocket division, working on the massive Saturn rocket for the Apollo project, eventually transitioning to Houston where he worked at NASA. While there, he met astronauts, Senators, and even a Vice-President or two.

By the time he retired, he had been a part of the incredible journey of getting astronauts from the Florida coastline through the stratosphere to the surface of the moon. He was even part of the early work on the space shuttle. Not bad for a man who was born in the back seat of an old Studebaker, the infant son of a traveling salesman who would use his son – propped up in a suitcase – to help sell his products to women when he got to a new town.

By his 80s, though, age and illness had taken a toll on his body. Even with his hearing aids in his ears, turned all the way up, I had to practically yell to be understood. After an hour’s visit, I would be hoarse. War injuries that hardly slowed him down in 1945 were debilitating by then. His days were spent with a walker, then an electric scooter, then a reclining chair, and finally a hospital bed.

As his pace gradually slowed from staggering steps to not much more than a crawl, and finally to a halt, he would look at me and weep. “What good am I?” he would ask. “I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

It’s a common problem, a frequent concern and lament among those who have lost their ability to do what they used to do and to care for themselves, and have to get more and more help from others. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve had elderly, shut-in, handicapped, or bedridden people say words to that effect.

It’s easy to understand why they feel that way. One of the first questions that you ask someone that you meet for the first time is probably, “And what do you do?” We are quick to run down a list of job descriptions, vocational duties, and professional responsibilities so that people know: we have value, we are a contributing part of society, we are doing something for the greater good. Even among retired people, there is usually a disclaimer, “I’m retired now, but I used to…” and add their former work pedigree as well as what they do to keep busy with grandkids, the old home place, and a volunteer organization or two.  

Or, perhaps there are other mitigating circumstances that can come into play, even among the young and healthy. I sat with a young man who could only see himself as a negative value: a failure, a disappointment, literally thinking his life insurance made him worth more dead than alive. Clinical depression is no joke, and this man’s illness could only see himself in a negative light. Remember, during the pandemic, people were branded as “Unessential worker” – it sounded like something right out of Schindler’s List.  Early on, the list was quite extensive and included people who work at movie and live theaters; gyms, health and recreation centers; salons and spas; hair stylists and barbers; museums; casinos and racetracks; shopping malls; bowling alleys; sporting and concert venues; bars and restaurants and even, in some states, that list also included pastors and church staff. Some of you know this full well. I had more than one person, declared unessential, call – men and women. I think the same is true of being laid off. One day, you’re an important part of the company, the store, the restaurant; the next, don’t come to work tomorrow…we’ll let you know if, when to come back. It was a terrible, demoralizing feeling. It undermines a person’s sense of wholeness, wellness, value, and even identity. If I’m not essential, then what am I? What good am I? Why am I here?

How do you answer someone who thinks their worth is tied to what they can produce? How do you assure someone who thinks their value is only based on what they are able to contribute?  How do you comfort someone who literally has been told they are unessential to the overall wellbeing and welfare of fellow citizens? If you have ever been told, or ever felt, that you were unimportant and unessential and of little to no value, what do you need to hear this morning? To answer that question, I told you the story of Eldon; now let me tell you another story.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then, in his joy, he goes and sells all that he has and buys the field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, in finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it.”

How you understand this parable will impact how you apply it to yourself. If you think this parable is a way of Jesus explaining what you must do for the kingdom – that you must go out and search for lost souls, for example, or that you must surrender everything you have for the kingdom, you would be incorrect. If you think that this parable is a method of you attaining the treasure of salvation by going out and searching for it high and low, you would be missing the point. If you think that this parable is that Jesus is hiding something from you and, unless you are good Christian, you will never get it, then the only thing that is hidden is, in fact, the meaning of the parable.

This parable isn’t about you. At least, it’s not about you as the main actor. You do have a part in the parable, but you aren’t the lead character. Remember, parables tell us something about the Kingdom, they tell us something about Jesus. So, what does this parable say about Jesus and His coming among us?

It tells us that Jesus is a great and magnificent treasure hunter, a seeker and finder of lost pearls. Christ, whose very purpose is to seek and to save the lost, seeks and finds the lost ones. Notice what He finds: not lumps of clay, but treasure; not bothersome grains of sand, but pearls. He declares that which is found of great value, great worth, great significance to Him. If, as they say, beauty and value is in the eyes of the beholder, than your value is found in the eyes of the beholder, and the Beholder is Jesus Christ who values you and you and you – each one of His beloved brothers and sisters – He values you so greatly that He was willing to sacrifice all that He had to redeem you from where you lay hidden. He surrenders Himself to rescue you.

These parables teach that you, dear friends, you are of great worth to your Lord and your Savior. You are of immense significance to Him. You are as valuable to Him as a newly discovered treasure or a bright and shiny pearl. Our Lord has found you, a lost and condemned creature, and rescues you from your lostness. He cleanses you with baptismal water, washing away all that held you captive, and he takes you and you and you – each of you - into His nail-marked hands to be His most treasured possessions.

That’s what I told Eldon so many years ago. His value is not in what he does, or makes, or produces. His value is in the eyes of His Lord and Savor who died to rescue Eldon, Jesus surrendering Himself for the sake of Eldon, declaring him a treasure of treasures, a pearl of all pearls. But, Eldon still struggled with what his worth was – what was his purpose? Why did God leave Him in such a state of living? I told him that in his state, his purpose was to let others practice love and compassion towards him. He, who once cared for others, now was the object of care and love from his wife, children, and even the medical community. His role was to receive and offer words of encouragement and praise to those people, and in prayer, to offer thanksgiving and petitions for others who show love to him.

There is one other part of the parable that needs to be explained. Did you catch the detail that the treasure hunter hid that which was found? Does that seem odd to you? It did to Eldon, as well. In your baptism, you were buried with Christ and you were raised with Christ. In Christ, you live, move, and have your being.

There is one more aspect of this parable that can be overlooked. I’ve told you before of a Lutheran artist in Michigan by the name of Edward Riojas. He has painted what this scene will look like one day. In his painting, Jesus is in a cemetery – cemetery is taken from the Greek language and means “resting place,” remember – a cemetery full of headstones. In that cemetery, Jesus is pulling a casket out of the grave. He gave all He had – Himself – to buy the buried treasure.

That painting is a powerful picture for the Christian. Unless Christ returns before, the day will come when you fall asleep in Jesus and you will be buried, hidden in the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.  But, remember – you are a treasure, a pearl. While you will be hidden in the earth, it is but for a moment. Your Lord has already paid the rescue price for you. The day will soon come when the Lord, with resurrection triumph, will bring you up from the earth, from your hiding and resting place, and you will be raised and restored in wholeness, a treasure among treasures, a pearl among pearls.

In a world that places worth and value on what you can produce, our Lord values you for who you are: His. Your identity, your worth, your value is in Christ Jesus because you have been redeemed with His blood.

 

 

“Groans of Prayer” Romans 8:26-27

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Amen.  “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.  And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.” 

Dear friends in Christ Jesus our Lord. 

I had intended to preach the Gospel parable this morning, but things happened this last week that made me switch to this Epistle, instead. It happens, often, in my vocation where I sit with Christians who are wrestling with hard questions and issues of life. What do you do when the world is crashing in on you, on your loved ones, on your neighbors, on our nation, on the world? We know something about this, don’t we? Relationships crumble, illness threatens, society is quaking under threats from within and without. Those whom we love the most ache in ways we can’t fix. 

Psalm 42:7 - Full of Eyes
Used with permission

In times like these, you often hear Christians encourage one another with the wise counsel to turn to the Lord in prayer.

                               Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?
                              Precious Savior, still our refuge - take it to the Lord in prayer.
                              Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?  Take it to the Lord in prayer.

                              In His arms He’ll take and shield thee, thou wilt find a solace there. (LSB, 770:3)

 It’s good advice.  It’s Biblical advice because God Himself invites, encourages, and enables us to pray to Him in all times and places.  And for most of us, so often in our Christian lives, they are words of comfort and hope as we turn, in prayer, to our Triune God who made us, redeemed us, and makes us His. 

 But what about those times when the world seems to fall on our shoulders and there is no conceivable way out.  When the needs are SO great, or the situation is just so complex, or the pain and hurt is so deep, or our own confusion is so strong that we literally have no words that can express how we feel.  I’ve been there, many times – you probably have been there, too. A friend asks what’s wrong and all we can do is cry.  A spouse wants to know what’s bothering us and all we can do is open, close, open, close our mouth and shrug.  The world is spinning, we can feel every thump of the heart throughout the body, and the mind goes blank.  The mouth – which at other times we can’t seem to silence – suddenly falls mute.  There is no word to express the pain, anger, frustration, or hurt right now – all there is left is a groan. 

 If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a groan can be worth a thousand paragraphs.  Years ago, when I was really in the pits of despair, a friend asked me if I had prayed about it.  I remember staring, silent, until one word popped out: “How?”  Have you felt that? How can we pray when we just can’t pray?  How can we pray for God’s grace if the words won’t come?  How can we pray the cry of the church, “Lord – Have mercy?” when our heart, mind, and mouth are like cold stone?  Even reading the Psalms, or Portals of Prayer, or a hymn seems impossible as you find yourself reading the same line over and over and over. How can we pray if we can’t even express to ourselves what is happening, let alone tell another person – even God?  How can we pray when we just can’t pray? 

 When something this terrifying, shocking, complex or confusing happens to us reducing our prayer language from beautifully tuned phrases and sentences to deep-chested groans, what is happening? 

 As Children of God, we live in “in-between” existence.  Today – right now – you and I stand as saints in God’s eyes, having been forgiven and made His through the victory of Christ on Easter morning.  The Scriptures have been fulfilled in Christ, and we have been given the promise of the resurrection of the body and the life which is to come.  But that is the promise of what is to come.  Right now, we are waiting for the consummation of Christ’s victory over sin, satan, and the world to take place when the full enjoyment and knowledge of God’s love will be made manifest.  Right now we, as saints, live in a world where there is great sin and struggle.  Some days, that world crashes against the life of faith – the Germans call this anfechtung – and the juxtaposition of one over and against the other doesn’t make sense. Sometimes this happens in ways that are so violent and so shocking that it literally leaves us speechless, and it reduces our prayers to groans.

 When that happens, the Holy Spirit is there to intercede for you.  Just as the Holy Spirit gives you faith which believes in Christ as your Savior, so also the Spirit gives words and fullness of meaning to our groans.  Understand, here, that I am not talking about choosing to not pray; making excuses for not praying. Here, I mean, being unable to pray. Thoughts, words all fall silent. I want you to know that when you are unable to pray or you don’t know what to pray, it’s not necessarily that your faith has been shattered by what has happened. Your faith might be sorely battered, bruised and tested by what you are undergoing.  But tested faith isn’t the same as lost faith. Remember: God promises that a smoldering wick and a bruised reed will not be destroyed. Baptismal, Spirit-enlivened faith remains: you are God’s children, loved and precious in His sight.  You know that out of that love, God sent His Son into the world to live, suffer, and die in your place, securing your eternal victory in His resurrection on Easter Morning.  You know that you have been saved by Spirit-given faith in Christ, and as a result, you have the confidence of Mary and Martha that on the Last Day, you will rise from the dead to live eternally with Christ.  You believe that as the waters of Baptism were poured over your heads, you were given the blessed names of “Saint” and “Child of God.”  The Spirit, who instilled saving faith into your hearts, continues to live in you and enables you to confess the Christian faith.  The Spirit allows you to believe with hope (!!!) that there is much greater things to come than this world of tears; that one day, Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead; to reunite soul and body, and to take you – His faithful – to live eternally with Him in heaven.

 That gives you surety, confidence, hope, courage, and strength as you walk through the valley of the shadow in this “in-between” existence.  When those days, events, and sorrows knock the very breath of prayer out of you, leaving you to groan in agony, the Holy Spirit continues to abide in and with you, instilling faith into your heart, allowing you to confess Christ as Lord, keeping your hearts and minds through faith unto life everlasting. And, when the words and thoughts and prayers don’t come – can’t come - the Holy Spirit fills turns our groans into the faith-filled prayer of the Church: “Lord, have mercy!  Christ, have mercy!  Lord, have mercy!”  As we groan in our needs and in our agony and in our sense of helplessness, the Holy Spirit takes our longings and true needs and turns them into beautiful petitions to the Father.

 In that glorious mystery of the Trinity, the Father hears those Spirit-carried petitions for the sake of His Son, Jesus Christ, who stands as your intercessor, the High Priest. There is someone who truly understands that which we don’t even fully understand, being able to put into prayers that which we can only groan!  But what is even better is that the Father hears the Spirit’s perfect prayer for us.  Our heavenly Father searches our hearts and He knows what our true needs are, even if we can’t identify or wrongly identify what we truly need.  And you can be certain that God’s Spirit will intercede for you in the best way, “according to the will of God,” as Paul says.  All of this because Christ Jesus has made you into God’s child, His beloved saint, through faith in His work for you.

 For those times when you don’t even know what to pray, the words of this morning’s Epistle serve as great comfort and joy to troubled Christians.   For even when we don’t know what to pray for, we have an intercessor who prays on our behalf, perfectly presenting our petitions to the Heavenly Father for us. In our helplessness, our gracious triune God steps in to give us what we need.  In Christ, God’s Son, we are holy and have the right to prayer.  Through the Holy Spirit’s intercession, just the right prayers are offered for us, even when we can’t pray for ourselves.  And our loving Father will hear, and grant us the things we truly need, even when we don’t know what to pray.  In Jesus’ Name.  Amen.

 Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more that all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever!  Amen! (Eph. 3:20).

 

 

The Sower, The Seed, and a Mysterious Surprise - Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is from the Gospel lesson from Matthew 13.

When I was a student at Zion Lutheran School in Walburg, we were taught that a parable is an “earthly story with a heavenly meaning.” Not bad, but I think we can do better – after all, Jesus says that the purpose of a parable is “to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven,” understanding that “secret” means things that are hidden temporarily but are waiting to be revealed. But the challenge of calling it the kingdom of heaven is that we think of kingdoms as places, locations, like the United Kingdom or the fictional Kingdom of Narnia. Instead of thinking of this as a place, a noun, let’s instead think of this as a verb – the kingdoming, or less awkward, the reigning work of Jesus as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. So, for our definition we’ll describe a parable, then, as a story to help us see and understand the reigning work of Jesus as God’s anointed one. And, because these stories tell us something about Jesus, there is often a unique twist, an unexpected element that catches us off guard from what is considered the norm.

So, now that we know what a parable is, let’s speak to the story. It’s quite simple: a sower goes out to sow seeds. Depending on where the seeds land, some are eaten by birds, some choked out by thorns, some die in the heat, and still others produce wonderfully. Easy – right? Maybe not, since not even the disciples didn’t understand, having to ask Jesus for clarification. So, maybe there is more to this story than first meets our eyes. So, with our own eyes open and our hearts inclined to Jesus, let’s consider this story anew.

pinterest.com

I have it on good authority that sowing grain by hand is a bit of an art, and a lost one at that. Now we use grain drills, air seeders, and planters to precisely and carefully place each seed 1.8 inches deep, about an inch from its neighbor, in rows that are 5-8 inches apart. Until the late 1800s, a sower dipped his hand into a bag of seed carried across the shoulder and then swinging the arm in an arc, let the seeds dribble through his fingers, fast enough to cover the ground but slow enough to not get clumps of plants that can’t grow and open ground elsewhere. A good sower knew exactly how to use the wind to disperse the seeds in the field he tilled and prepared so carefully, not wasting the seeds and their potential harvest. Each seed is precious; each seed is valuable, the product of the previous season’s crop, carefully reserved to be replanted and produce its own crop the following year.

That’s how it’s supposed to go: deliberate, carefully sowing of seeds to maximize return on investment, labor and sweat.

But that’s not what Jesus says. This sower-of-seeds grabs handfuls of seeds and just starts flinging them every which way, willy-nilly, caring neither whit nor whim where they land. Good soil here, hard-packed soil there, rocks over yonder and thorny wasteland that way, this sower seems absolutely irresponsible in how he distributes the seeds. This is the part of the story that makes the listeners say, “Waitaminute! What kind of sower would be so wasteful, so reckless with his sowing?” You can understand why. Let’s say you bought a hundred pounds of Bermuda seed for your yard and hired a guy to spread the seeds for you. You watch out your window as he throws 25 pounds into the street, 25 pounds slung into the neighbor’s scraggly, never-watered weed patch that he calls “lawn,” and 25 pounds flung into the other neighbor’s xeriscaped rock garden, with only 25 pounds actually landing in your carefully prepared and chemically balanced yard, you would be livid. I mean, yeah, that 25% grows really well, but who is so reckless with 75% even before starting? You can understand why people were not comprehending Jesus’ story. It makes no sense.

Let’s go back for a moment and try to figure out our cast of characters. In a sense, parables are allegories, which is to say that each character in the story represents someone in the reigning work of Jesus. Since Jesus doesn’t tell us, exactly, we have to consider who fits the parts. Of course we like to make ourselves the center of attention. It’s tempting to say that we are the sower and the seed is the Good News of Jesus. So, the parable is one where we’re called to sow the seeds of the Good News out into the world. The work of casting, and its ultimate success, seems to land on us, then. If we would have done better, the seed would have been better dispersed with a better return on our evangelism work. But, remember, the parables tell us something of Jesus and His work, not ours. So, no – I don’t think we are the center of this parable. Who else could the sower be? Well, perhaps it’s Jesus. If He’s the focus of the parable, then He must be the main character, right? He’s sowing the seed which must be the Good News that He is the very One for whom Israel had been waiting. That’s a little bit better – at least Jesus is the one doing the action – but it seems to be too obvious, too simple for it to be a secret, a mystery, that Jesus says it is. No…I don’t think Jesus is sower and the seed is the Good News, either.

Let’s rethink…if the sower isn’t us, if he isn’t Jesus, and if the seeds aren’t the good news, then what – who – could these things represent?

Jesus Himself gives us a clue to this unique mystery. “When anyone hears the word of the kingdom…” Don’t think word equals the spoken vocables that travel through space from the vibrating vocal chords to the ear canal where the brain translates those vibrations into words. Think Word as in Jesus is the Word incarnate, a la John – “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” So, it’s as if Jesus is saying, “Let me tell you a story to show how I am beginning my work of reigning…”

Consider what God the Father does with Jesus: He sends Jesus into the world, scattering Him – to use the imagry of the parable – hither and yon, to those who hear and believe, to those who hear and reject, to those who are indifferent, only wanting to use Him for their benefit, and to those who reject Him. It seems irresponsible for God in His infinite and perfect wisdom to waste – to use the term – to waste Jesus in this way. Why not only send Jesus to those who will listen, believe, and be saved? Why scatter Jesus’ words, actions, and mercy to those who will reject Him and even kill Him? Why, indeed.

Jesus comes to rescue and redeem the world – not just this group or that group, these peoples or those peoples. “For God so loved the world,” remember. So God scatters Jesus out into the world, into places where the weeds of the world and worry distract from Jesus, and into space where the rocks of trouble and persecution makes one afraid to follow Jesus, and into the hardpan soil on the path where satan snatches Jesus through the sinful hands and hearts of the Jewish leaders and the Roman government. Jesus is even spread into the rich, fertile ground of repentant hearts. You know what’s remarkable in the parable? In every place, the seed does exactly what a seed is supposed to do. It may not be what we expect, or what the sower expects, but the seed does its seeding work. On the path where the birds eat it? The seeds feed the birds. In the rocks and weeds? The seed still tries to produce, sprouting and starting to grow. The seed doesn’t give up just because it’s not the best spot. That is true for Jesus, too. Wherever He goes, He does the work and will of God, preaching, teaching, proclaiming the reign of God is there, among them.

But the most important work of the seed in the parable is the seed that lands in the good soil. You know, the imagry is remarkable, but understand why. For a plant to grow and produce thirty, sixty or a hundredfold, first the seed must die. A seed dies so that its offspring might live. Jesus, the Word of God made flesh, used this imagry for Himself. The day after Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, speaking plainly of His own death, “Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. ²⁴ Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” It’s both an agricultural truth as well as a prophetic truth: Jesus, the seed, would fall into the earth and buried in the borrowed tomb, dead. But in His resurrection – and, again this time Paul picks up the agricultural imagry – Jesus is the firstfruits of those who will rise. He is the first fruits; we are what comes later.  

So, the parable of the sower reveals the mystery that God sends Jesus into the world. Isaiah tells us that the Word of God does exactly that which God intends. Jesus does what God intends in His words and in His actions. It’s a mystery, itself, that Jesus will not have overwhelming success, from a worldly perspective. Like the parable describes, some will quickly follow Him and just as quickly turn away. Some will even go out into the world as disciples, but when challenges and persecution comes, they surrender. Still others will not believe at all, satan plucking Jesus away like birds eating the seeds from the path. Even here, remember, Jesus does exactly that which God intends. Consider the bird that eats the seeds for a minute. Pardon the image, but what goes in must go out. The bird helps distribute seed – perhaps not where the sower originally planned, but the seed, landing elsewere, still produces. Sometimes, in a strange and left-handed sort of way, God even uses Satan as a means of distributing Jesus as hardships come and persecutions rise and death knocks and in that moment people, formerly under the power of satan’s grasp, receive Jesus instead. The Word, Jesus, does exactly that which God intends.

And, that is what made it a mystery for Jesus’ first-century hearers. It didn’t make sense of how irresponsible and wasteful this sower could be. They couldn’t understand. They refused to believe. They denied Jesus was God-in-flesh. Jesus didn’t seem powerful; His work seemed so small, so trite. His ministry had nothing to do with strength. He spoke of His own death, not making others die. He spoke of His own sacrifice, not the sacrifice of others. He proclaimed grace, mercy, and salvation as gifts given, not earned. It was too much, so Jesus and His work of salvation remained hidden from them. Since they disbelieved, it was as if Jesus sighed and said, “Let me tell this story. You might not understand or believe, but perhaps it will pass through you and someone else will hear and believe.”   

A moment ago, I said we like to be the main cast – at least supporting characters. But where are we in this story? We have to do something, right? No – I don’t think so. A parable is about the reigning work of Jesus, not you or me. But, we are in the parable – just not an active part. We – the Church - are the thirty, sixty, one hundred fold harvest that is produced by the Seed - Jesus. He does the work. We receive life through Him. Rooted in Him, together within the field of the church, we grow and are nourished in the life and death of Jesus and in His gifts of word and sacrament. That’s where the story stops. It’s not about what the harvest does, it’s not about you. It’s about Jesus.

 

Jesus Calls the Heavy Burdened Ones - Matthew 11: 25-30

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

What do you carry?

A cop’s belt weighs around twenty pounds, fully loaded, give or take an extra magazine or two. Body armor adds ten pounds, two pens add a little less than an ounce; body camera, 5.3 ounces; pocket recorder, 2.08 ounces; a CAT tourniquet, 2.57 ounces, and a multi-tool, 5 ounces.

A nurse’s stethoscope weighs between 6.6 – 8 oz, medical shears 5.8 oz; a roll of medical tape, 1.3 oz;  a spare pair of rubber gloves tucked in the pocket and, perhaps, a paper mask add only a fraction of an ounce, with a 5.1 ounce on-call radio clipped to the belt for her manager to contact her while on the floor.

A rancher’s hat weighs 4 ounces, plus or minus for perspiration. His Levis weigh 1.6 lbs, have a 6 oz pair of leather gloves  and 1.3 oz Skoal in the hip pockets, all held up with 2.4 lbs of belt and buckle, and stacked on top of a 4 lb pair of Justin boots with a half-ounce pair of sunglasses to protect the eyes.

A mom not only carries her 19.8lb son, but also a diaper bag containing 80 oz of diapers; a half pound – mmm, better make that a pound of wipes; sixteen ounces of water; four ounces of dry formula; a pound of miscellaneous toys, teethers and snacks all packed up in a diaper bag that weighs almost as much as her son.

A teacher is starting to think about her rolling crate she’ll use in just a few weeks. She plans to stock it with four ounces of #2 pencils and ten ounces of pens for students who forgot theirs; her lunch, 2 lbs, give or take the leftovers in question; coffee in insulated cup, 28 ounces; forty essays, 3lbs; a teacher’s guide books, 2 lbs; laptop computer, 5.3 lbs; and five pounds of candy bars to deliver from her son’s fund raiser.

A pastor wears a clerical cross that weighs 3.2 ounces, a pen that weighs a little over an ounce, carries a three-pound Bible, wears an alb that weighs 2.2 pounds, and over that a stole that, sometimes, feels much heavier than its 1.3 lbs.

Then, there are the things you can’t weigh: An officer’s shield weighs only 3.4 ounces, but it feels like much more with the world watching because of another cop’s professional misconduct. A nurse on the night shift sits at her console listening to a scared 13 year-old boy and his dad softly sob because the boy hurts and she can’t give him any more meds. A rancher carries the frustration of watching beef prices fall, feed prices rise, and watering holes dry up in the drought. A young mother tries to balance a child or two with work, marriage, house, and not having a moment for self-care. A teacher watches a kid try, try, try again and again and finally just give up as classmates mock her for being dumb. A pastor who stands at the graveside as he buries a parishioner who took his own life while the family, sitting nearby, finds no answers to “why?”

What do you carry? What wearies you? What weighs you down? What burdens are on you – emotional, physical, mental, even spiritual? FR suits and tool belts, stacks of paperwork and office reports, kids who are bored and parents who are restless, cancelled camps and rescheduled orthodontists, unemployment, getting back to school, marital problems, medical tests, depression and anxiety. There are plenty of things that weigh us down – by now, you probably have your own extended list. We try to offload to our calendars, try to compartmentalize, and get up each day trying to carry the load while at the same time pretending this is all just fine, everything is fine, I’m just fine, thinking, pretending we can manage. But, we know the truth: we can’t keep up the game, the charade, the façade forever.

These are all real things, important things, serious things that weigh us down. But then there are the burdens of the soul. We are weary of the sinfulness of the world, the hatred that seems so rampant, the sheer vitriol against people whose skin color, nationality, or vocation is different than ours. We’re ashamed that we, ourselves, have at times said and done some of those same things – perhaps not in degree, but knowing, nevertheless, it is still a sin in the eyes of God in failing to love our neighbor in thought, word and deed. The burdens of selfishness and failing to love God above all things; the desire to please friends or family instead of our Lord; struggling to not let money become the most important thing in our lives. We see someone hurting and know we should help with words of comfort and actions of mercy but compassion is overwhelmed by excuses. Fearless, bold speech in defense of the Word of God in the name of Jesus is buried in the name of expediency, political correctness, and “go along to get along.” Even our repentance feels hollow as we surrender again and again.

These things, these spiritual burdens weary us even more than the others. We are tired of stumbling, exhausted from falling, drained from failing. We feel as if we have failed in the spiritual battle as disciples of Christ, having let Him down, our fellow Christians down, and our neighbors down.

“Come.” A single word, spoken to you by Jesus. “Come.” “All of you who are laboring and who are heavily burdened, come to me and I will give you rest.”  I want you to know, He sees and knows the burdens you carry, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual – all of them – and yet, He calls to you. He does not turn you away. He calls out to you, the tired ones, the working ones, the defeated ones, the weary ones, the troubled ones, the bruised-soul ones - He calls, He welcomes, and He gives rest.

Why? Why would He call out to ones like us? Why would He give rest to ones like us? Simple: For He is gentle, and He is lowly in spirit. What an amazing contrast. How often do we think we have to fix things ourselves by our own strength. We use terms like, “I have to be strong for others,” or “You just have to keep your head up.” No, we are not strong. He is strong. Even in His weakness, His strength overcomes all of our burdens. To those who are weary, He is gentle and He offers rest.

He offers it through a yoke. Isn’t that odd. You want to talk about a burden, about serious weight, about being bound to the control of a master. You have seen on TV shows or movies, or even watched parents or grandparents with oxen or mules yoked together, massive wood beams over their shoulders and necks. Yokes imply work, heavy work, hard work. But not this yoke. Jesus’ yoke is Spirit-led repentance. In faith, we confess our own foolish and sinful thoughts, words, and actions, our weakness and our burdens. He binds us to Himself with a Baptismal yoke of grace and mercy to His cross where He has taken our burdens upon Himself, lifting the heavy load from us, promising us a day in the resurrection when all burdens, all weight of this world, will be lifted from us, replaced by eternal joy and celebration in the Kingdom that has no end.

He gives you a foretaste of that rest today, and every day you come to His house. Come to Him and rest. Cast aside the guilt and shame. Jesus died for it; don’t take it up again. Don’t worry about what you will eat or drink this afternoon; instead, be fed by His Word, by His own Body and Blood.

There is one thing about an animal that is yoked: it goes where it is directed. Jesus doesn’t tell us where we will be going, or what we will be doing. No: this yoke is not about work, it’s about belonging – belonging to Him. And, in belonging to Him, you have rest. You have rest because that’s what Jesus is like.

All things are handed to Jesus. And the Father has entrusted to Him the task of making the Father known. This is the Father’s good pleasure, declared over the Son at the Jordan and at the Mountain. Jesus makes the Father known to infants, to the helpless ones, to the weary. He does it by taking our weariness into Himself. He does it by becoming burdened Himself by our burdens. That is the Father’s good pleasure. That is the Son’s willing sacrifice.

This is the spirit’s message to you this Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, the first Sunday in July. Don’t pretend you are strong. It’s a lie. It’s a slap in the Savior’s face. Don’t pretend you can carry the burdens or wear the yoke. It’s not about you, or your strength or what you will do for Jesus as His disciple. This is about what Jesus does for you: calling for you, come, come to me. Turn from yourself, turn from your sin. Receive the rest He offers to you. There is peace and there is forgiveness full and free. Lay aside the burdens and be small, like an infant, like a child.

Take up the yoke, His easy yoke, for it is easy and light for He has born your burdens.
You who are weary and heavy laden: Come.