A Resurrection Promise Comes Through Tears - John 11: 1-45

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

“Jesus said to [Martha], ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to Him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who ‘s coming into the world.’”  -Jn 11:25-27

I want you to know that this morning, I am preaching for me as much as for you. While that is probably truer than you realize most Sundays, today this is particularly so. May the Lord comfort us in our sorrow, that we may be a comfort to others. Amen.

There are very few places as frightening as a cemetery. I don’t mean the faux set-up for Halloween, with Styrofoam tombstones and plastic skeletons and mounds of dirt on plastic sheeting for easy clean-up. I mean the real cemetery, the place where our loved ones are laid to rest after they die. A cemetery may be creepy late at night with owls hooting and coyotes howling and the moon dancing behind clouds, it might be a spooky setting for a movie or TV show, but it becomes a truly frightening place – even in full daylight, when surrounded by friends and family - when we stand in a cemetery and gather around a casket or grave of a loved one who has died.

I have lost track of the number of times I have stood at the graveside, either as a pastor, friend, or member of the family. If I were to guess, I am getting close to 100 times, officiating at most of those, twice as a son. I can attest that there are very few places on earth that are as frightening as standing at the foot of the grave of a loved one. In truth, I have that feeling, to a greater or lesser degree, at every funeral, regardless who it is who has died, regardless how close or distant a relationship we had. It’s a humbling moment and an admixture of emotions – fear, pain, loss, grief, worry, sorrow, relief – washes over the living while the loved one is buried in the ground or vault. It also reminds us of our own mortality and, unless Jesus returns first, our own death.

Have you noticed how our culture tries to avoid that word, die? It shows up in lots of ways – relationships die, the wind dies, dreams die, the transmission died.  These all have elements of grief, a sense of loss, but nothing like when a loved one dies. We have a whole list of synonyms that are used, both in culture and in the funeral industry, words like passed away, expire, depart, perish, decease. We even do it in the church using Biblical terminology like “fell asleep in Christ.”  I suspect it’s to try to soften what has happened, sometimes to the point of being ridiculous. I once heard a funeral director, while he looked at the body in the casket and admired his work of preparation, boast to the widow, “Doesn’t he look lovely in repose?” “In repose?”, she snapped, and then without flinching, stated, “No…he looks dead, your makeup and hair gel will not change that.”

But, when you are standing in a cemetery at the casket or facing the name of a loved one carved into cold, hard stone, death is very, very plain and simple to understand.

For you who have stood there, and for all of us who, one day, will stand there unless Jesus returns first, this morning’s Gospel lesson offers three important things for you – for us - to remember, walking through this life in a journey through the valley of the shadow of death.  

The first is that when you stand at the grave, almost overwhelmed by what has happened and is happening, your Lord knows your pain and hurt. That day, outside Lazarus’ tomb, He knew and experienced grief. I think we often misrepresent Jesus. He was not a stoic, immovable, lacking any emption at all. Jesus was a man, a human, and He had the feelings you and I have. He was hungry, He was thirsty, He was happy, He had compassion – so much that, at times, His guts churned - and at Lazarus’ grave, He was sad. He heard the sisters crying, He saw the grave, and He was deeply moved and troubled. English translations miss this detail, but the Greek text implies that He was angry, I suspect angry at death itself.  That makes sense – after all, death is God’s enemy that robs God’s people of the life they were created to live. Death is an ending – albeit, a temporary one – that was not supposed to be. It is the nadir of the fallenness of creation. Don’t let anyone tell you that death is our friend. It is not. It robs the dead of life and it seeks to rob the living of joy, peace and hope as well. Yes, God takes death and turns it to His purpose, working all things for His good, but death remains our last enemy to be defeated (1 Cor. 15:26).

So, when Jesus was shown Lazarus’ grave, He cried – real, hot, human tears. That’s important because sometimes well-intentioned Christians say things like, “You don’t need to cry. Your loved one is with Jesus.” True, the saint who dies in Christ is already with Him and experiencing the joy of the beginning of eternity. But to dismiss your tears as somehow inappropriate for a Christian isn’t fair. Jesus wept. God-in-flesh wept. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Jesus’ tears sanctify your own tears; His sadness makes your sadness holy; His pain at the loss of His friend validates your own loss.

Albrecht Durer - The Raising of Lazarus

The second thing to know is even if your prayers were not answered as you had hoped, Jesus heard your prayers for your loved one.  When Lazarus was sick and his sisters sent for Jesus, remember, He delayed two days before He even set out on the journey to Bethany. By the time He arrived, Lazarus had already been dead four days. His seeming inaction, His seeming to not care for His friends begs the unasked question, why? Jesus offers two answers: the first, so the Son of God may be glorified; and second, so that they might believe. That’s relatively easy to understand here, today, looking through the lens of the Bible into the story of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. But, I submit, that’s a very different question when it’s us standing at the grave of a loved one.

It is a very humbling thing to sit with a loved one – a spouse, a child, a parent, a grandchild – who is sick and suffering and knowing you can do nothing to help besides be present, to pray, and care as best you can. When the medication doesn’t help, or seems to make things worse, and the doctors are at the end of their physical capabilities, and no other answer seems possible, it seems that death is winning the battle against life. Jesus’ words remind us that even sickness and illness, even in terminal cases, are still under His authority. And, for the child of God, it is not for eternal death.

That’s important to remember. The Bible speaks of death three ways – temporal physical death, spiritual death, and eternal death. Physical death is when the body ceases working. Spiritual death is when faith dies. One can be physically alive but spiritually dead. But if one is spiritually dead and then dies, physically, that then becomes eternal death. To be blunt, that means the eternal torture of hell. For the child of God, even if illness would lead to physical death, we are preserved from eternal death by the mercy and grace of God in Christ Jesus. When Jesus speaks of the glory of God in Christ, and to continue to believe in Him, it is to trust this very thing: that death and the grave is not the end.

That is easy to say now, but it’s tough to cling to when it is your loved one who lies in the casket, whose graveside is before you.

As a student pastor, I was making a funeral home visit with an older, experienced pastor. The widower, whom I’ll call Walt, was there to see his wife for the first time in the casket. I was quiet, observing and listening to what this veteran pastor would say. What do you say in a time like that? I knew enough that to say, “There, there, it’s going to be OK,” would be as hollow as a toilet paper tube, an empty platitude more for me than him. Something is better than nothing, they say, but sometimes they are wrong.  I watched and listened as the senior pastor stood next to Walt for a full minute of silence and then offered this simple, yet powerful words of hope (!) and comfort. “Just remember, Walt, Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.’”

Instead of platitudes, the pastor turned the grieving Christian back to the promises of Jesus. That’s the third thing I want you to remember: the promise of Jesus. When Martha met Jesus with the news that Lazarus had died and challenged Him, in faith, that had He been there, Lazarus wouldn’t have died, Jesus promised that her brother would rise again. Again, in faith, Martha agreed, confessing that she believed there would be a resurrection on the last day. Then, Jesus spoke those words of promise that we know well: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. And everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die.” Jesus is the savior from sin and also the antidote to death and the destroyer of the grave. Even though His own death and resurrection are still on the horizon, He is already declaring His victory over death, our enemy. His declaration is a prelude to His own resurrection victory.

Earlier, I said it is OK to cry. It’s also OK to grieve. We grieve our loss and, in our tears, Jesus stands with us. But, we do not grieve as those who have no hope (!). In Christ, there is the hope and promise of a resurrection reunion – first of all, with our Lord and Savior, who loved us enough to die for us and rise for us and promise us space in His father’s mansion; and second, with those whom we love who also died in the faith in Christ Jesus. Our hope (!) is in Christ Jesus, and in Him, we have the confident promise that nothing, neither death nor live, angels nor demons, powers, nor anything else, can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So, when you – like Walt, or Mary, or Martha – are standing at the foot of the grave of your loved one, let Jesus’ words ring in your ears. Remember: Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. And everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die.”

Immediately, He then turned to Martha and asked, “Do you believe this?”

The echo of that question echoes through the centuries and it reverberates across cemeteries, and into hospital rooms, and into funeral homes, and into the homes where our loved ones once lived. “Do you believe this, that I am the resurrection and the life?” By God’s grace, filled with the Holy Spirit, knowing that the One who asked is the One who has conquered death with His own glorious resurrection, you are able to answer. It may be a squeak, or a whisper, or a mumble, or a full-throated declaration, but you are able to answer along with Martha, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”

Christians call the place where we bury our dead, “cemeteries.” We don’t call them “resting places,” or “memorial gardens,” or even “burial grounds.” We call them cemeteries. It’s the English word that is derived from the Greek word, “koimeterion” which means “sleeping place.” In Christ, cemeteries are nothing more than sleeping places for our beloved who have died in the Lord. That name, cemetery, is physical statement of our Christian confession that Jesus isn’t yet done with the body of our loved one who is buried there. It is at rest even as the soul lives with Christ. We confessed it a few minutes ago, “I believe in…the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” I said cemeteries are frightening places. They are because they humble us, and remind us of our loss, and our own unknown, mortal future. But, in the cemetery, in the sleeping place, for the faithful Christians who mourn their faithful departed, the cemetery itself provides hope in the midst of sadness, grief and loss. There is more to come, something greater to come!  Remember, He is the resurrection and the life, and He will raise your beloved’s body, made whole and holy, from a temporary sleep to eternal joy when He returns.

Do you believe this?

Amen.

 

Can A Christian Be Angry With God? - Psalm 142

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Psalm, Psalm 142.

It’s worth remembering that the Psalms were prayers or songs, offered for specific situations, in specific times, in specific needs. Many people contributed to the book of Psalms. Many were written by David, but not all. In other words, they were spoken or sung by people very much like you and me. That’s why the Psalter is often called “The Prayerbook of the Bible,” and very useful as a devotional book or source for prayers.

Many of the Psalms we are familiar with paint a comforting, steadying picture of God. Think of the 23^rd Psalm, for example, with the shepherd imagery, especially when facing our own death or the death of a loved one. Psalm 46, with its rock and refuge image, is comforting when we are facing difficulties. Psalm 103, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name,” lifts our prayers and praises to God for the goodness He showers upon us every day.

But there are some Psalms that leave us a little uncomfortable. Some are uncomfortable because they leave the prayer unanswered, or at least, not answered in a way we would prefer. Sometimes, it’s because we’re not used to praying this way – for example, the psalms (see 7:1, 35 as examples) that call on God to strike down enemies and avenge His name and the names of His people. I submit that Psalm 142 is one such uncomfortable Psalm. This Psalm of David is uncomfortable because we are sitting with a man who is calling out to God doesn’t seem to be answering. In fact, if you want to be blunt and use plain language, David is mad – he’s mad at God.

A moment ago, I said some Psalms leave us uncomfortable. I say that of this Psalm because it begs the question: can a Christian be mad at God? Can a person express that toward God and remain a child of God?

The heading of Psalm 142 gives us a clue: “in the cave.” If you do some Biblical Columbo work to find out what “the cave” is referring to, you’ll arrive at 1 Samuel 24. Briefly, David was on the run from the angry, bitter King Saul who pledged to hunt and kill David on the drummed-up charges of rebellion and insurrection. In truth, Saul was jealous that the people loved and admired David, and those feelings were then magnified when God rejected Saul because of his idolatry. On the run for his life, and refusing to kill Saul whom he still saw as God’s servant, David was angry. He implored God’s help only to be cornered, trapped in a cave. David was at the crux of either being murdered under the pretense of leading a rebellious mutiny, or having to take Saul’s life to save his own. It’s as if David is saying, God, this seems to be at your hand. I’m upset, angry even, because I keep making my case to you. Why aren’t you doing something?

We often think of prayer as clean and neat – “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest,” or “Now the light has gone away; Father listen while I pray,” or even the Our Father. That’s not always the case. There are times in the life of the Christian when prayers are muttered through tear-drenched and clenched eyelids and folded, pious hands are replaced with balled-up fists pounding, pounding, pounding in anger and frustration. Have you ever sat with a person whose prayer is raw and ugly, a verbal and physical, yet still faithful catharsis of pain and hurt, all poured out to God and, seemingly, against God?  That is what David is doing here, dumping it all in prayer to God, before God, against God. It’s real, it’s raw, it’s ugly, and honest.

Full of Eyes Ministry
Used with permission

But, such a prayer is also grounded in faith. David isn’t just complaining – an empty venting of frustration. With a fainting spirit, David still clings to God and His promises: I know this about You; but my situation doesn’t seem to fit that truth. The rawness and the open hurt are dumped out at the foot of the One who promises to hear our prayers. More than that, they are dumped out at the foot of the One who promises to act upon them.

A moment ago, I asked if a Christian can be mad at God and reflect that anger in prayer. I hope you have realized by now that the answer is, “yes.” Among other things, the fact that David prays this way, and the Holy Spirit saw fit to include it in the Scriptures, gives us not only credence but permission to do so. You can be mad at God and confront Him in prayer, but you do it humbly and with faith.

In the introduction to his little prayer book on the Psalms, Dietrich Bonhoeffer categorizes the Psalms based on their use. Psalm 142 fits in the category of “Suffering.” Bonhoeffer writes of these Psalms of suffering:

The psalter instructs us how to come before God in the proper way; all conceivable perils are known by the psalms. They do not deny it; they allow it to stand as a severe attack on faith. There is no quick and easy resignation to suffering; there is always struggle, anxiety, doubt. If I am guilty, why does God not forgive me? If I am not, why does he not bring my suffering to an end? There are no trite, easy answers in the psalms to these questions.

If there are no answers, why do we pray them other than as a cathartic exercise? Again, Bonhoeffer helps us turn our eyes from our own situation, struggles, and sufferings, and instead, to lift our eyes to look to Jesus.

[These] psalms have to do with complete fellowship with God; Jesus accompanies us in our prayer, for he has suffered every want and brought it before God. There is no suffering on earth in which he will not be with us; and on this basis the psalms of trust develop.  

In other words, as you pray these words, you aren’t standing alone, as if yelling into the wind. Jesus prays this Psalm with us and for us. When Jesus took upon Himself the sins for the world, He also took upon Himself the very wrath of God. Although the Scriptures do not record Him saying it, these verses very well could have been prayed by Jesus at any moment in His life and in His ministry, but especially during Holy Week as the Jewish leaders’ conspiracy against Jesus came to its climactic head:

³ When my spirit faints within me, you know my way! In the path where I walk, they have hidden a trap for me. ⁴ Look to the right and see: there is none who takes notice of me; no refuge remains to me; no one cares for my soul.

Because Jesus has taken our place, and He knows our hurts, struggles, and weaknesses, He prays honestly for us. Therefore, we can pray honestly to Him. He knows our complaints; He endured them for us. The challenge for us, then, is not to let our prayers turn from lament and suffering to ingratitude, where we demand answers – more than that, we demand the answers we expect, we think we deserve.

With humility, but with faith, we pour our hearts and hurts to God for the sake of Christ, who bore our hurts for us.

There is a wonderful Robert Redford film called Brubaker. Redford plays a prison warden, name Brubaker, who goes undercover into the prison that he is to lead and fix. He sees how awful the prison really is, from the conditions, to the food, to the brutality delivered to inmates via the guards and staff. The beginning of the movie is dark – literally and metaphorically. After fifteen or twenty minutes, you want to go take a shower with every light turned on in the bathroom in the middle of the day.

David’s imagery is very much like the beginning of that film, even using the language of a prison. Driven into the cave, it is at best a prison; worse, if Saul, et.al, find him in there. David, with the might of King Saul chasing after him, feels the weight of being the hunted and then being trapped. God, where are you! Hope runs thin; joy is absent. He prays:

⁶ Attend to my cry, for I am brought very low! Deliver me from my persecutors, for they are too strong for me!   ⁷Bring me out of prison…

I’ve visited and corresponded with people in prison, and what I witnessed is that very quickly, hope fades and the seriousness of the situation takes its toll, emotionally, physically, spiritually. If you pardon the mixed imagery, it’s like the machine in the Pit of Despair in Princess Bride, sucking the very life from you. It would have been easy for David to have left the sufferings and laments in such a pit.

In the movie, while he is undercover, Brubaker sees that a prisoner’s life is literally at risk, so he reveals his true identity. As he begins to institute his reforms – and it takes a little bit for you, the viewer to realize this – the darkness gives way to brighter and brighter scenes. Brubaker’s changes give the inmates hope, life, and light. He is, in effect, their savior – even while remaining incarcerated.

David does such a thing with his Psalm, allowing light to shine into the darkness by bracketing his sufferings between words of hope and promise:

⁵ I cry to you, O Lord; I say, “You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living.”

Then, after his cry of despair which we spoke to above, David adds

 “…that I may give thanks to your name! The righteous will surround me, for you will deal bountifully with me.

David’s hope remains in the promises and mercies of God. Although David may feel as if in prison, God remains his refuge. Although the persecutors are arguing their case, David is surrounded by the righteousness of God.

These words give us great comfort when facing the many troubles and difficulties in this life. The list of such things is long. Your list is different than your neighbor next to you, but equally as heavy and burdensome. This Psalm could certainly be prayed under such circumstances.

The deepest, darkest dungeon, though, is when satan tries to convince us that our sins toss us into a pit from which there is no escape. Worst of all, he tries to convince us that we are in solitary confinement, alone with our sins and no one to help, just waiting to die.  The wages of sin is death, after all.

“The righteous will surround me,” David prayed. Allow me to turn that slightly: “The righteousness of Jesus will surround me.” Surrounded in His love, in His righteousness, in His holiness, we are never cast off, cast away, cast down, down, down to the depths of spiritual prison. He has rescued us from the pits of despair by entering into it, suffering in our place, dying on the cross, and lifting us up, restoring life in its fulness to us.

If today, Psalm 130 with its high praise is where your life and prayers rest, thanks be to God. Sing it, pray it loud, But if you are suffering, if you are frustrated, even angry at God, don’t let satan tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way. Instead, pray this Psalm of David. Pray it through Christ Jesus, who hears our prayers, suffered with us, died for us, and rose with the pledge to never leave us nor forsake you in your sufferings.

Hope With Christ, Hope In Christ, Hope Through Christ. Hope is Christ! Romans 5: 1-8

Grace to you and peace…

Peace. Doesn't that sound good this morning? Probably, like me, you’ve been watching the news about what continues to happen in the Middle East, especially with Iran. Perhaps, like us, you have family that is either in that region or will soon be in that region of heightened hostility. Regardless, we pray that the war – that’s what it is – that the war comes to a rapid end, lives and property are spared, and people might live in harmony with each other.

But it’s not just “over there.” The absence of peace is lacking here, in our nation, our state, our community, and even from our homes as well. Politically, socially, economically, the lack of peace is taking a toll on us mentally, emotionally, physically. Fifty-some years ago, Dr. Thomas Harris wrote a book titled, I’m OK, You’re OK. I wonder if editors would allow a book to be so titled if written today. Google searches for “how to deal with anxiety” or “how to deal with worry” are at an all time high. Anxiety fuels fear and fear fuels anxiety. I’m OK, you’re OK, really? Is anyone OK? Peace…something so simple, now so taken for granted.

Unfortunately, the likelihood of peace in the middle east is, at least for now, very low. I don’t think we’ll see peace in the nation’s capitol, or the state capitol, or city hall anytime in the near future, either. And, unfortunately, I am not able to deliver peace to broken relationships and broken hearts, or any other temporal peace to people, no matter how much I wish I could.

But, what I can do, what I am called to do, is deliver the peace of Christ, peace with the world does not give, peace that passes all understanding, and deliver that peace to you. In other words, set not your hearts and minds on things below, but towards things that are above, moving from our horizontal relationships to the vertical relationship with God.

I want you to know this morning, every morning, noon and night, you have peace with God inspite – despite! – what the world, your mind, and even Satan Himself tries to tell you. But to understand this, I need you to rethink peace. Peace, by definition, is not absence of war. It isn’t absence of conflict or lack of fear. Peace means unity, harmony, wholeness through restoration. A result of that restoration, then, is that wars and conflict cease, and fear is replaced with joy and hope. In Christ, you do have peace, beyond worldly understanding. In Christ, God has been pacified and you have been restored in Christ's death and resurrection. You are justified – declared holy – by God’s merciful gift of Jesus and this is delivered to you by the Holy Spirit from faith.

Faith. That is always an important word, but it will be particularly important in these difficult days. Again, we look to the cross. The book of Hebrews defines faith as “the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen,” Heb 11:1. Your faith is from God. You do not trust your faith itself; that ebbs and flows. Your faith rests in Christ Jesus, your Lord and Savior.

Through Christ, Paul says you have access by faith into the grace of God. Let me explain this. I want you to have a picture here of a room, a large room, that is warm and inviting. "Access" means entrance. By faith we have access, entrance, into this room. By faith, I am invited and welcomed into that room and the name of the room is grace. The ceiling, walls, floor—all grace. You live inside God’s grace, his love, his forgiveness, completely surrounded by it. That means you’re always forgiven. You must not think of forgiveness as something that takes place in your life every once in awhile, that you pile up sins for a time and then you get forgiven when you come to church on Sunday, to the Lord’s Table, to hear the words of absolution, only to start restacking sins again when you leave. That’s not true at all. A baptized child of God, you’re forgiven all the time.

People say, "I hope I don’t die while I’m sinning." People like that don’t know what sin is. Of course you’re going to die while you’re sinning. You sin because you’re a sinner; you aren’t a sinner because you sin. All of us are far short of what we ought to be all the time (Romans 3, 23). See, the law tells us how we are to be and not to be, and what we ought to do and not to do. Not being what we ought to be is also a sin. The Law demands perfection (Lev. 19,2). If you’re not perfect you’ve living in sin. But, again, returning to your baptism, even so, you’re forgiven all the time. You’re living inside the room of grace, remember, surrounded by the forgiveness of sin. If you die when you’re not thinking about Jesus, you still die as a believer.

People say, "I hope that I have a chance to repent before I die." That’s not right. The whole life of a believer ought to be one of repentance. See, believing doesn’t mean that you feel good all the time, and repenting doesn’t mean that you feel bad all the time. Repenting just means knowing that you’re a sinner who deserves to go to hell. Being scared to die without Jesus, that’s contrition. And faith is knowing that Jesus forgives you all the time, every minute of the day you are forgiven. When you die without having a chance to repent consciously, you still die as a person who knows that he’s a sinner and that Jesus died for him. How many times during the day do you think of the fact that 2 + 2 = 4? Did you know that last night when you were sound asleep? You sure did. Did you know that this morning? Certainly. And so I know that all the time that Jesus is my Savior, whatever happens to me.

Living in Christ’s forgiveness, "we rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (Rom. 5,2). Here "the glory of God" is the praise that God gives us. Someday when we stand before God, what’s He going to say? "Well done, thou good and faithful servant" (Matt. 5,21). You will say, "But when did I ever do anything good?” He will say, "That’s alright, Jesus did it all for you. Well done, by faith in Christ through the faithfulness of Christ, you kept all my commandments." So we look forward to Judgment Day when God will say, "You’re not guilty." We "rejoice in hope" – and, remember, hope is certain, confident, absolute – in HOPE that that’s the way it’s going to be. Why? Because God promised it. This is the source of the hope we have in God: the grace given you by Jesus. I’ve said it before, it begs to be said again. Christian hope is certain, not maybe; it is confident, not wishy-washy; it is definite, not a mere possibility. Hope is in Christ. Christ does not change, He does not schwaffle. Therefore your hope does not change, either.

We know it’s true now, by faith. Then we’ll hear it with our own ears from the mouth of God Himself. Now we hear it from human preachers, but then Jesus Himself will say it. "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world" (Matt. 25, 34).

Because of that, you are able to rejoice today, even in the midst of the chaos that is swirling around us. You don’t rejoice because of it, but in it. Our translation says “we rejoice in our sufferings.” I want to be careful, here. We often think of the temporal sufferings that we face: concerns about the economy, your job, your blood pressure, your weight, your loved ones, what to do with the grandkids during spring break, trying afford groceries – I could go on. These are present-tense struggles and pressures. Yet, in the midst of them, we as children of God have hope. Hope that enables us to speak and act in love in the midst of this; hope that looks forward in faith; hope that God desires to move us ahead in His grace.

Pressure is accompanied by patient endurance. Ever notice how when things get tough, someone – well intended, of course – will tell you to “hang on”? How do you hang on when the last thread is fraying fast? What happens when you’re losing your grip? Know this: This isn’t you “hanging on.” This is God standing us up in His grace. It’s His gift and He grants it in just the right amount that you need. In fact, it might be helpful to think of endurance less in terms of quantity than quality. That room of grace? He holds us in His perfect grace and keeps us standing firm. Where God sustains faith, He also uses pressure to produce endurance of faith.

Patient endurance is accomplished by tested character. Here is a good picture of how this works. Do you know how gold and silver is made pure? By melting it down. It’s put into high heat and melted into a pool of metal. But, what is remarkable is that because these metals are so dense, the garbage – the dirt and undesired other metals – float to the surface where it is skimmed off. That’s called the dross; it’s garbage. This happens many times, as heat continues to be applied and the gunk skimmed away. When the gold and silver is finally taken off the heat, it is left pure – just gold, just silver, nothing else. In the midst of patient endurance in the crucible, God is defining and refining our character. He is stripping away from us in these days anything that we have made as a god, something other than Him that we fear love and trust. What we are left with is Jesus. Life is hard right now, and our Lord strips away layer after layer away that would want to compete with faith in Him. Life narrows down and crisis comes. Suddenly, there is only one thing that matters. And, there in the narrow place, stands Jesus.

And in Jesus is our hope. You have hope because while we were yet sinners – talk about a hopeless situation!!! – Christ died for you. If God was willing to surrender His holy and only-begotten Son for the likes of you and me, to rescue us from the eternal separation that our sins deserve but that God’s love would not allow; if God kept His promises, all of them, to send a Savior, a Redeemer, a Messiah, a Christ, to be the once-for-all-sacrifice; if Christ died and rose from the dead, completing those promises; then there is truly hope. It is the faith-filled, endurance-driven, character-building hope in the promises of God which are always yes and amen in Christ Jesus.

This is a process that Paul describes. It’s a process of maturing, growing in faith. But the faith in the love of God poured into our hearts – that faith does not change. This is God’s intention: to accomplish patient endurance, which leads to approved character, which returns to hope that trusts in the mercy of God in Christ from faith.

 
As you leave here today, you get to live in that faith-filled hope. Live – that’s the key word. We’re in a world of hand-wringers and chin rubbers. I know – I am one of them. So live and speak in hope. Luther was once asked what he would do if he knew the end of the world was tomorrow. He simply answered, "Plant a tree." In other words, live today in the sure and certain hope of tomorrow as a child of God. Instead of hand-wringing, fold them in faithful prayer. Instead of frowning in worry, laugh at your dog’s goofiness. Instead of throwing up your hands in surrender, cling to the promises of God. Smile. Give thanks for God's goodness.

And others around you will see it. They will ask you about it – how can you rejoice in times like this? How can you be so hopeful? Be prepared to give an answer. Tell them about the hope (!) that is yours in Christ. Amen.  

A Nighttime Visitor Seeks Jesus: John 3: 1-17

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 John 3.

Nighttime visits…not always the most pleasant of things, are they? If you’ve ever had a prank knock at midnight, you know what I mean. My Dad used to say nothing good happens after the sun goes down. In John’s Gospel, darkness is a clue: something nefarious is brewing. Nicodemus isn’t the one plotting evil, but satan is definitely trying to confuse his inquiry, trying to turn Nicodemus away from the One who shines light into the darkness.

Nicodemus was a pharisee, one of the major religious groups of the Jews. While we often give the pharisees a great deal of grief for their overly pietistic way of life, they really were seeking to do God’s will – albeit in a misguided sort of way. Nevertheless, I take his conversation with Jesus to be sincere, wanting to understand what it was He was teaching and doing.

Jesus and Nicodemus
Crijin Hendricksz Volmarjin

The pharisees were the Bob the Builders of the time, taking Bob’s approach to their own salvation: Can we do it? Yes, we can! That is why Nicodemus has such a struggle with Jesus’ comments: how can a man be born again? How can a man enter his mother’s womb? How can these things be? Can we do it? Ummmm……Perhaps we shouldn’t be so hard on good ol’ Nick. After all, how often to we try to Americanize our theology, determined to pull our sinful selves up by our own bootstraps to make ourselves worthy of God’s great mercy and grace. If I do X, then God will do Y; if I don’t do A, God will do B.

So, Jesus turns Nicodemus away from himself and away from the darkness of evil, turning him towards the Light. Consider “born,” for example. A baby has no part in birth except to be the recipient of it. A mother’s body does it all. When it comes to faith and salvation, the sinner has no part in it. It is all done by God’s grace, specifically by the Spirit of God that gives life. Or, for that matter, the wind – it blows by itself, without influence of man and without man’s knowledge.

Nicodemus doesn’t quite get it. Not yet. The understanding, the faith, will come, building slowly like the wind.

As a pharisee, Nicodemus would have been well-schooled in the history, the story, of God’s people. Jesus reference to the serpent being lifted up would have immediately brought that whole story to light. We have the account written in Numbers 21: 4-9 where the people grumbled against Moses and, by extension, God. “You brought us out to the wilderness to die. There isn’t food or water, and the food you are providing, we don’t like.” God is incredibly patient with His people, but this time, His patience tired out. He sent some kind of venomous serpent, a viper of some sort whose bite was like fire, to bite and kill. The people, whose mouths had only recently dripped with the toxic complaints against God, now fill their mouths with pleas for God’s help, mercy, and compassion. “We have sinned,” they confess, and beg Moses to intercede on their behalf to God. God instructs Moses to make a bronze serpent, place it on a pole, and then tell the people that those who are bitten can look up to the serpent and live.

Go back to the Bob the Builder mentality. Can we do it? Yes we can! Imagine you were bitten by one of those snakes, the toxin burning like fire through your body. You are dying, slowly and painfully. How can you save yourself? Can we do it? Impossible. You will die. God strips Israel of their selfishness. All they are, all they have, is by God’s grace. The exodus is God’s grace in action. The daily manna, the evening quail and signs of His grace. Their grumbles are not mere words; they are rejections of His gifts. So, with the snakes, God strips them of their self-merit. Their fear, their need, causes them to return to God and His compassionate acts. “Lord, have mercy on us.”

The bronze serpent, too, is unable to save. After all, it’s just bronze. Bronze doesn’t give life. God gives life. But, when God attaches His promise to the serpent on the pole, and when the people trust that promise and look to the object to which the promise is attached, there is mercy. There is life. The problem was that the bronze serpent was a temporary, temporal savior. It saved Israelites from the toxic bite. It restored life. But the serpent could not save eternally. Something, Someone else would have to do that. The serpent-on-a-pole is, of course, an allusion, a type, of what Jesus will do. He will be suspended on the cross, so that all who look to Him in faith will live and not die.

I wonder if there would also have been remembrance of what another serpent did – the serpent in the Garden that tempted Eve and Adam into taking the forbidden bite. Would Nicodemus have remembered what that serpent did, that through it’s venomous temptation, death entered the world? Would he have recalled the curse placed against that serpent and also the promise that Eve’s Seed would crush satan’s head? Could Nicodemus have had an inkling that the One whom He visits at night is the One who would destroy sin, and death, and the devil forever? Would he have understood what was all about to be fulfilled in Jesus’ life, ministry, death and resurrection?

I suspect not. Not yet, at least. The Spirit will continue blowing through Nicodemus as he continues to listen and follow Jesus from afar. Faith continues to be incubated, slowly growing.

Jesus speaks the words of John 3:16. For most of us, we can automatically recite those 25 words from the King James Version of the Bible without even having to think about it. I bet I could wake you at 2am and, after you got over the shock of me being in your bedroom at 2am, you could say it without missing a word. That’s part of the issue, isn’t it? John 3:16 is memorized, minimized, commercialized, and economized down to simply “The Gospel in a nutshell.”

I want you to listen as I read that verse again, deliberately and slowly. In fact, look at the back of your bulletin and read along. I do this because we are so used to reading and hearing these well-known words that our brains kind of go on autopilot and fill in the blanks. As a result, we miss the words and their meaning. We do this with the Lord’s Prayer, with the corporate absolution, with the 23^rd Psalm. So, let’s slow down and read it again, more time. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.”

I remember my Grandma – my Mom’s mom - playing a game with babies. She would hold their hands down low and then lift their arms high while saying, “Sooooooo big!” She would do it over and over again, often to the delight of the kid. I think we sometimes read these words, “For God so loved the world…”, in the same way: God loves us sooooooo much, as if the “so” is a measure of volume. That’s not it at all. A better way to understand “For God so loved the world,” is to exchange “so” for “in this way”: For God loved the world in this way.  Now, I agree that sounds unwieldly and awkward – especially since we are used to hearing it a certain way. But when you do that, it gets the emphasis where it needs to be. Let me show you:

For God loved the world in this way: that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Where does the focus then fall? That God gave His Son as a demonstration of His love. Love, without an object, is only a word. But love, with an object, suddenly becomes an action. God’s love is demonstrated in His gift of Jesus. In other words, it’s not that God’s love is soooooooo big; it’s that God’s love caused Him to sacrifice His Son for you. (For the record, this isn’t mere creative license of a Biblical text. That is quite literally the way the original text is to be understood.)

With this, the fulfillment of the serpent-on-the-pole comes to fruition. As the Israelites looked to the bronze serpent to live, those who believe in the sacrifice of Jesus for their sins will live – not just for another day, or week, or month, or year, but eternally.

Our sins do burn. They burn our conscience as we sin against God and against our neighbor. Just like that burning, venomous bite of the serpent, our sins kill. Had not Christ taken that venom into Himself, we would die eternally. Thanks be to God, He sent Jesus so that all who believe – all who look to Him – will nor perish but have eternal life.

This isn’t just wordplay. These words have an eternal consequence.

On February 10, just a few minutes after 3pm, my Mom died suddenly.  She was a baptized child of God who believed Jesus died for her sins. She trusted those promises of God. She lived that faith; she taught that faith to us, her kids, and to the students in her classrooms. At her inurnment, the pastor read those solemn words from St. Paul in 1 Corinthians 15: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” ⁵⁵ “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15: 54-55). That morning, at the grave side, we felt that venomous sting in our mother’s death. But, we believe that is not the end because Mom looked to the cross. She looked to Jesus. Because of that, we have the promise and the hope – HOPE! – of a resurrection reunion. Paul agrees:

⁵⁶ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. ⁵⁷ But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

This Thursday, March 5, would have been Mom’s 79^th birthday. She missed it by just a few weeks. I thank God for her faithfulness as a mom, as a teacher, as a child of God. The victory is already hers, even as we await a resurrection reunion when Jesus returns.

Nicodemus didn’t understand this “new birth.” Not yet. In some ways, we don’t fully understand or comprehend it either. That’s OK. It’s not about understanding. It’s about believing – and, thanks be to God, He even gives us the faith that clings to His promises! In the resurrection, that will be the greatest new birth of all.

 

Jesus is Tempted For You - Matthew 4: 1-11

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 a few moments ago.

As modern, North Americans Christians, we live in a culture that has often lost sight of the holy and the sacred. God’s name and the name of Jesus are tossed around like any other word of exclamation. The church is often seen as a bunch of restrictionistic thinkers who aren’t open to new ideas, instead standing in the way of personal freedom and choice. God and His Word is dismissed as just one interpretation of sacred truths. God’s plan of salvation in Christ has been replaced with therapeutic moralistic deism – where God is basically a feel-good deliverer of attaboys who can be called by whatever name you want him (or her) to be.

The flip side is also true: our culture has lost sight of what is unholy and sinful. Things are no longer spoken of as being against the will of God, as sins, as being evil and wicked. Instead, we hear of mistakes or accidents, and as choices which are judged over and against the shifting shadows of feelings, personal opinion and conventional wisdom instead of the unchanging and unshifting Word of God.

As a result, we no longer hear of temptation as being anything serious. Just consider how the word is used in our culture and society. Unless you are in the Lord’s house, “temptation” has lost the connection with sins and dangerous, damning choices. Instead, it seems more like a fun, flirty choice, one option among many: “I’m tempted to try a piece of that chocolate cake with fudge icing and caramel sauce…”  “I don’t really need a new cell phone, but that new one is just so tempting…” “The company made me an offer for a new position and I’m tempted to say yes…”  It’s not that using the word in these contexts is bad, necessarily. My point is because that’s what we hear and how we use “temptation” in our daily lives, we become inoculated against what it really means and the significance of temptation. For example, we are so inundated with pictures of scantily clad underwear or swimsuit models that we hardly notice when our minds wander and wonder into lustful thoughts.  

Because of that, when we face real temptation, temptation by the world in which we live, temptation by our own sinful nature, or even temptation by satan himself, we are caught with our defenses lowered.

So when we hear this morning’s readings of the temptation of Adam and Eve and the temptation of Jesus, it is tempting – please pardon my use of the word in this manner – to misunderstand and misapply these readings for ourselves. I suppose we would be tempted (oops – there it is again) to read the narrative of Adam and Eve and dismiss it as “they should have known better.” After all, they had a perfect, intimate relationship with God, walking and talking with Him in the cool of the day. Shame on her and shame on him for listening to that cunning and crafty serpent who misled them. It is tempting (oops!) for us to sit back in our modern, sophisticated 21^st century milieu and think we would have known better. Likewise, it would be tempting (strike three) for us to misunderstand Jesus’ temptation at the hands of the devil, and either think it was  a set-up – that the devil couldn’t possibly tempt Jesus because He’s God – or that it’s nothing more than a how-to-defeat-the-devil demonstration: that if you just have enough Bible verses in your hip pocket, so to speak, you can beat up the devil, too.  

The temptation of Christ 
Ludwig Ferdinand Schnorr von Carolsfeld

Let the narrative of Adam and Eve show you the truth of the dire consequences of being tempted to go against the will and Word of God. Let Adam and Eve tell you what it is to lose the perfect relationship with God. Let Adam and Eve speak to you about what it is to stand and attempt to do battle with the devil, daring to go one-on-one against the father of lies. Let Adam and Eve tell you the sheer sorrow of knowing that because of their moment of weakness, all of creation ever since that forbidden moment has had to suffer. Let Adam and Eve tell you what it is to have no need to know what “evil” is, to desire knowledge that isn’t theirs, only to find out first-hand what evil really is. Let Adam and Eve tell you about what it was to only know their bodies as beautiful, and to suddenly be ashamed of their nakedness. Let Adam and Eve tell you the terrible shift from having only joy in hearing the Lord’s drawing near, and to suddenly be afraid, needing to hide.

Let Adam and Eve tell you about seeing God’s compassion for them, even after their sinful weakness,  demonstrated by clothing them and protecting them from the weather that, suddenly, was going to no longer be friendly. Let Adam and Eve tell you what it was to watch God slaughter animals that they had named, to hear their cry of death, and then be wrapped with their skin, the skin of the sacrificed animal constantly touching their own skin, reminding them of what they had done. Ask them what it was to watch a life taken so that they might survive; let Adam and Eve tell you what it is to watch death for the first time. Suddenly, the consequence of temptation becomes very real; giving into temptation is no longer blasé; the burden of surrendering to satan’s tempting lie is grasped; and the reality of the wages of sin is death is clearly understood.

Make no mistake: temptation is very real, and when surrendering to those temptations, with very real, very eternal, very dangerous, very damning consequences.

I said it would be tempting to see Jesus’ temptation as a set-up, that He would be unable to be tempted because He is God. When Jesus stands in the wilderness, He does so as a second Adam, in His human nature, fully susceptible to the devil’s temptations. And, don’t be misled by the seeming simplicity of these temptations, either. This is about much more than food, or a flying leap, or bowing the knee. Names mean things: devil is Greek and satan is Hebrew but both mean “accuser” – think of the prosecutorial district attorney who does not lose a case, and you have the idea. Put this temptation in context: it happens immediately after Jesus’ baptism, where the Father’s voice spoke over Him declaring Jesus to be His beloved Son. In the wilderness, Satan is accusing the Father of not being very Fatherly. The temptation: do you trust your Father? The evidence he offers is the Father seemingly leaving His Son to starve to death, leaving Him alone with the devil, letting Him fend for Himself. It’s as if satan is saying, “He’s not Fathering you at all, Jesus. Take matters into your own hands. Feed yourself; oh, you trust the Father to feed you, do you? Well, prove it – jump off the top of the temple. You trust your Father’s plan of glorifying you at the cross? How about the glory of the world instead…so much less painful, so easy to do. Do you really trust your Father with your life at the cross, Jesus?”

Each temptation, Jesus, as the Son of Man, turns to the same Word of God that you and I have. This is not to model for us how we are to do battle, but to stand in our place. Fully God, yes; but more than that, also fully man. Jesus faces the Devil’s temptations without using His Divine glory and power. He uses the same gift you and I have: the Word of God and His baptism.

Remember: immediately prior to His temptation, Jesus is baptized. As water drips off of Him, the Spirit descends in the form of a dove and the voice of the Father is heard: this is My beloved Son. In this baptism, done to fulfill all righteousness, His holiness is washed into Baptismal water and the sins of the world are poured onto Him. But, so that He can be a high priest to understands our weaknesses of the flesh, He is also truly tempted in His human flesh.

Jesus perfectly resists and defeats satan’s temptations. We call this reading “Jesus’ Temptation,” but don’t think this was the only time Satan tried to steer Jesus astray. He was constantly trying to turn Jesus from the cross. Last week, on the mount of Transfiguration, he used Peter to try to convince Jesus to stay on the mountain and not go down to Jerusalem, below. When Jesus is arrested, he was tempting Jesus to call down an army of angels to defend him against unlawful arrest. Even on the cross, the thieves and the crowds both tempted Jesus to save Himself and come down off the cross. In each and every temptation, from the wilderness to His final breath, Jesus was entrusting Himself to the Father’s promise that He was, indeed, the Father’s Son and the Father would love and care for Him in life and death.

He does that to be the perfect Sacrifice to pay the consequences of our failure to resist, our submission to that which allures us. There must be a cross. There must be suffering and death. There must be blood-payment. Someone – a Lamb, a perfect, holy, spotless Lamb, the very Lamb of God - must die. His death cry, “It is finished!” rattled from his throat. The sacrifice was complete.  

I do want you to know and understand this: being tempted is not a sin. We know this because, as you heard, Jesus was tempted – real, hard, difficult temptations for His human nature to face. Yet, the Scriptures also say although He was tempted, He remained without sin. Therefore, it is not being tempted that makes us sinners. The devil wants you to think that, liar that he is, that since you’ve been tempted, you’re already guilty so you may as well go ahead and go all-in. But at the same time, don’t fall for the idea that there’s a line in the sand, that you can dance with temptation up to that line and be just fine. Just don’t cross that line. That’s a temptation in and of itself. I guess in a perfect world, we could always clearly see where temptation stops and sin starts, but we aren’t in a perfect world, and we are imperfect people, and in the heat of the moment we don’t think clearly and faithfully enough to see that mark. Besides, the problem with lines in the sand is that the sand shifts – just when you think you’re safe, the sand shifts underneath and you find yourself across the line.

That’s when satan ups his ante with his greatest temptation of all. He turns our Baptism and God’s promise into a question. “Are you really a child of God?” Are you sure that Jesus’ death is enough? After all, what you just did…are you sure you are worthy of the love of God? Does He still love you? And, what about that secret sin you carry, the one you pray never sees the light of day. Do you think He forgives that? If you really were a son of God, a daughter of God, a child of the Lord, you wouldn’t continue doing such things.”

In the 6^th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, we pray “Lead us not into temptation.” I used to think this was praying God would protect us from being tempted from sinning. While that’s true, if that’s all we think when we pray this, we’re missing the greater meaning behind it. Luther, in his Small Catechism, explains that this petition asks that God would guard and keep us so that the devil, the world, and our own sinful nature may not deceive us or mislead us into false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice. Despair and shame have many nuances, but the greatest despair and the worst shame is when we think we are no longer God’s beloved. Immediately before this, in the Fifth Petition, we prayed “Forgive us our trespasses.” The longer I serve as a pastor, and the more I care for hurting souls, the more I believe that these two petitions go together like this: “Don’t let us be tempted that our sins aren’t forgiven.” 

Instead, flee to your Baptism. Earlier, I said let Adam and Eve tell you their story of temptation. Now, let your New Adam and New Eve tell you and remind you of your baptism. Let your Baptism tell you that you are a child of God through Christ Jesus. Let the waters speak, telling you that you are united with Christ into His death and His resurrection. Let the Baptismal promise declare that His death is your death, that He strips your sins from you, washing them away. Let water and Word proclaim that when God sees you through the cross of Jesus, He sees you as His beloved whom His Only-begotten Son died to save. With your New Adam and New Eve, rejoice: you are redeemed – you are bought with a price. You are sinless and blameless in His eyes. You are wrapped, not in an animal skin, but in the righteousness of the Lamb.

So, when you are tempted, resist as you are able, by the power and strength of the Holy Spirit. You are not on your own: God will not let you be tempted beyond what you can endure. But your old adam and old eve will surrender and you will fall. This side of heaven, that is a guarantee. And, when you sin again hear the voice of the Father calling you from your hiding place, “Where are you?”, hear that as Him calling you back to your Baptism and to Himself. Turn to Him in repentance and faith, trusting the forgiveness of Jesus for you. And then return here, to His house and say, “Here I am” and hear His Word of forgiveness for you. Then, depart in peace and in great joy knowing your sins are forgiven.

 

Being Salt and Light to the World - Matthew 5: 13-20

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 5.

Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.”

I made mashed potatoes for dinner the other evening. I boiled the potatoes and, when they were tender, I dumped the water off, let them steam a bit to dry, then added butter and milk and smashed them. When I tasted them, I realized what I had forgotten: salt. It didn’t take a whole lot - I probably used less than a teaspoon of salt. Had I dumped in a whole handful, the potatoes would have been ruined, but the right amount was the difference between “meh” and “delicious.”

When I was a boy, the darkness bothered me. Well, to be honest, it scared me. I had a little night light that sat on the dresser, a Raggedy Ann and Andy lamp. I looked on Ebay the other day; both my wallet and I wish I still had that, but for different reasons. As I prayed, “Now the light has gone away, Father listen while I pray; asking Thee to watch and keep, and to send me quiet sleep,” the soft glow of that small bulb provided tangible comfort and assurance that all was right. Had Mom left the room light on, it would have been too much; the small glow was all I needed. I could go to sleep in peace, the light aiding mom and dad’s comforting words “Mom loves you; Dad loves you; Jesus loves you most of all. Sleep well. See you in the morning” into being believable.

Jesus isn’t giving cooking instructions. He’s not giving home decoration tips. He’s speaking about what it is to be His disciples, His followers, to the world. A little bit of salt makes a big difference in food. A little bit of light makes a big difference in the darkness. When disciples practice faithfully living in service to others in the name and in the joy of the Lord makes all the difference in the world in which we, as God’s people, find ourselves in a day-to-day place and time.

The word for that is “vocation.” The Latin root word is vocatio, which means “calling.” Vocation is the place where God calls us to serve one another in the name of Jesus. In the time of Martin Luther, it was taught that the only vocations that were truly pleasing to God were the church vocations – priests and nuns. If you were a farmer or a mother or stable-boy, your work was outside of God’s favor. It wasn’t a holy task; it was just work. Luther changed that, teaching that all of a Christian’s work is declared holy by God’s grace through faith. Let me say that again: the doctrine of vocation teaches that even your work, whatever it is, is covered in the righteousness of the cross of Jesus so God sees your work as holy and good. Further, Luther taught that in your vocation, God was at work through your service. The Christian, the person, was the means, the vehicle, through which God worked. Vocation was no longer an inverted me-to-God vertical relationship under Law where you served God; vocation was a vertical-to-horizontal God-to-me-to-neighbor relationship where the Gospel is delivered.

Suddenly, every vocation was a holy one and every vocational task, no matter how unpleasant or difficult or unpopular, was God-pleasing because in and through that vocation, God is serving those around you. A Christian mother who changes her baby’s loaded diaper is doing a holy and good work as she serves her child. A Christian septic tank pumper is doing a holy and good work as he serves the client. A Christian surgeon who removed a cancerous growth is doing a holy and good work for her patient. A Christian engineer who designs bridges for safe travel is doing a holy and good work for those who travel over it. A Christian student who struggles and fights to correctly solve math equations, or grasp subject-verb agreement, or who remembers the Alamo and Goliad, that student is doing a holy and good work, even if the grade book doesn’t show it.

For most of us, we have multiple and varying vocations. We have vocations in which God has placed us to provide for ourselves and our families. Nurses, pastoral ministry, teachers, office administrators, technicians, ranchers, farmers, sales, grandparent – all are vocations where the Lord calls us to serve our neighbors and, by extension, ourselves and our families. But don’t just think “job” or “career.” That’s how the world thinks. Your minds are set on something higher. Vocation is calling into service for others in the name of Jesus, remember, and we hold many such vocations of service: spouses, parents, children (yes, that means adult children, too), sibling. Think outside of the family, too: you are a neighbor to those in this community, a citizen within the government of the county, state and country. Each of those are special vocations, special callings of the Lord for the baptized child of God.

You notice, I said that these are Christians in their vocations and that a Christian’s works, life, and efforts are all made holy through faith in Christ. The same cannot be said for a non-Christian, someone who lacks faith or who denies Jesus. Their works in their vocation might be morally right and good and pleasing to their neighbors, but they stand alone under the holy and divine judgement of God. Non-Christians are able to serve in these vocations, oftentimes very well. While the Lord places non-Christians in those same vocations, they serve others neither recognizing the Lord’s hand nor serving others in His name.

So, what does all of that have to do with being salt, being light. There is one vocation that is unique, a vocation that only someone who is part of the body of Christ can fulfill. That is the vocation of discipleship. We are called by Christ into the vocation of discipleship, following Him so that as we act and interact with others, God is at work in and through us to those around us, in particular with those in whom He places us in contact. In other words, only Christians can be salt; only Christians can be light. The earth needs to be salted with the Gospel; people need to be brightened by the Word of the Lord that both calls to repentance and proclaims forgiveness in the name of Jesus.

This is no secret: we live in a world that is evil, corrupt and deficient. It was true when Jesus walked the earth 2000 years ago and it is true still to this day. We see it every night on the news. We read it on the internet. We hear the stories of things that happen like in Minneapolis, where violence is excused under the pretense of protesting the violation of civil rights. We see people joyfully speaking lies and destroying the reputations of others, all in search of power. Civilians are blown to pieces because a oligarch wants to change national boundaries. The stories the fallenness of man are enough to break anybody's heart. It'd be very easy to stick our heads in the sand, wring our hands, and moan, “Oh goodness somebody had better do something. The world is going to hell in a handbasket just as fast as it can.”

But if we do that, or rather, if that’s all we do, we're missing out on one of the gifts and the opportunities that the Lord has given to us, his church, his disciples. He's called us to discipleship. He's called us to act and to interact in a world that is dying and broken and in discord and disharmony with the will and word of God. Jesus is calling us to be salt and light to the world in both our acting out the Gospel and our speaking the Gospel. Don't overthink the metaphors. This isn't about whether salt purifies or cleanses or burns or helps or flavors. This isn't about whether light is an LED, or solar, or has too much UV light, or is a soft glow. It's about how salt changes things, and how light brightens in the darkness. In short salt and light do exactly what they do because they are salt and light. If salt isn’t salty, it’s worthless; if a light is hidden, it’s not able to shine. The same is true of disciples. Disciples disciple by daily living out the faith into which we have been baptized, so that in our good works (which have been made righteous by faith in Christ, remember) others see Christ in us and through us. By nature of being Jesus’ disciples, we are salt, we are light to the world around us and the world we live in.

You know, and I think this is interesting: the blander the food, the greater a difference that a little bit of salt makes. The darker the room, the more a little bit of light illuminates things.

Your good works, even the seemingly little ones that are done in faithfulness to Jesus, have one overall, singular purpose: in serving your neighbor, you glorify God. It’s not about you. Your good works aren’t for attaboys and attagirls, for attention, for gold stars and blue ribbons. It’s so that others who see your good deeds give glory to God through their own repentance and faith and then thank God for you and your faithfulness.

In our vocations, there will be times for action and there will be times for words. Every moment does not have to come with a three-part witnessing statement, a handful of Gospel tracts, and an invitation for baptism. But we are called to be prepared to speak, so that when asked, or when the Lord provides opportunity for conversation, we are bold to speak of the Father’s work in creating, the Son’s work of saving, the the Spirit’s work of creating the very faith that saves. We share the same Word that was shared with us and as the Holy Spirit worked in us, so also He works through us. It's who we are, it's what we are, because we are called by Christ to be that very thing.

So, be salt and light in your vocation. On the one hand, be your ordinary self. You do not have to be Mom of the Year contender to be faithful in your vocation of motherhood. You don’t have to be Employee of the Month with your mug shot above the water cooler at work. You don’t have to convert dozens of heathens to saving faith in Christ. Be who you are as a baptized child of God. But, on the other hand, you are not ordinary. You are extra-ordinary because you are in whom and through whom Christ does great and wonderful things. So do not live as an ordinary person, that is, as someone who is not a Baptized child of God. You are called to be extra ordinary: extra-ordinary husbands and wives, extra-ordinary sons and daughters, extra-ordinary citizens and church members, extra-ordinary neighbors and employees, extra-ordinary in all that you are as children of God.  You do so with the unique gifts and talents that the Lord has given you.

There are over a dozen different salts at the grocery store, each with a slightly different taste or texture. Regardless, salt does only one thing: it salts. At the Big Blue Hardware Store, there are two full rows with lights and light fixtures. Regardless the light you get, light does one thing: it enlightens. That’s the point of comparison with discipleship. Just as salt salts and light lights, disciples disciple. Our identity is in Christ – we are His. With Christ in us and Christ working through us, we disciple. As St. Paul says, “In Him, we live, move and have our being.” As Jesus’ disciples, we “salt” those around us with the Good News of Jesus. Having received His blessings, enlighten those around us with the Word of He who is the Light of the World.

 

The Foolish Wisdom of the Cross - 1 Cor. 1: 18-31

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

This morning, I’ll tell you stories about two men. The stories are true, but I’ve changed the names.

About twenty years ago, I had gotten into a new hobby and was really enjoying it. While searching for supplies, I emailed a small businessman - let’s call him Sam - with some questions about his product. Sam replied, answering my questions, but he also said that he noticed my email address was “pastormeyer@XYZcarrier.com” and was curious: was I, in fact, a pastor? Yes, I replied, I was a Lutheran pastor. It turns out that the man was Jewish from his father’s side. He was far from practicing Judaism as a religion, unless one considered politics to be a religion, which was his main connection with his Jewish roots. He could care less about Kosher, Sabbath, or synagogue, but if you said something bad about Israel, he would argue policy and history with you.

Sam had been reading a series of fictional books set in medieval Germany. The story was set in the Thirty Years’ War between Lutherans, Protestants, and the Roman Catholic Empire in the 1600s. He had questions about what he was reading, especially what separated Lutherans from other Christians. Over the course of several months, we sent lengthy emails back and forth as I tried to answer his questions faithfully as a Christian. I was feeling quite good about the trajectory of our friendship. I had been praying about these conversations, that the Holy Spirit would use me as his instrument to bring this man to faith in the same Jesus that his genetic ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, had yearned to see, and that my friend would be able to make the good confession of faith that Christ was also his Lord and Savior. I sent him a copy of Luther’s Small Catechism and an invitation to call anytime to visit about what he read.

Then, the conversation went silent: no emails, no phone calls. After about three weeks, I emailed him, asking if he got the Catechism and if he had any questions, I would love to talk with him. A few more silent days passed when, finally, he emailed me. He thanked me for the gift of the Catechism and told me it would have a special place in his library, right next to his other special religious books, including his Quran. I still remember the feeling in my stomach when I read what Sam wrote. He said something like this: “I have to know: do you really believe all that stuff? You really think that God would surrender his perfect Son for a bunch of stupid sinners who keep making the same mistakes over and over, and he keeps forgiving over and over, and there is never any consequence for what you do? You don’t think you have to try to win him back over, somehow, and try to fix your mistakes? What about being good and doing good things? Where’s the justice in ‘grace’?” There were a few other questions, but you get the idea. I emailed back, answering directly, simply, faithfully, restating much of the Apostle’s Creed, but even as I wrote, it felt that things had changed. Later that evening, I got an answer with a tightly worded email, “If you really believe all that, I’m sorry…You’re not as smart as I thought you were. I really feel sorry for you and the job you have to do.” We never spoke again. I discovered via Facebook that Sam died a few years ago, and when I read that, I wept. I wept because I lost a friend, or someone I thought was a friend at one point. But I hadn’t only lost him in this world. Sam was, as far as I knew, lost into eternity.

I thought about Sam when I read this morning’s Epistle. “For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God,” (1 Cor. 1: 18).  

To Sam, the word of the cross was nothing but foolishness. What kind of God was this, he wondered via email, who would kill his own son? What kind of God continued to forgive people who continued to break his rules over and over, seemingly without end? He was very much an eye-for-an-eye kind of guy, and the concept of full and free grace was too much to grasp. It made no sense – it was, in a word, foolish.

I wish I could tell you that was the first and only time I heard something along those lines. I wish I could tell you that I didn’t hear an elderly man in a nursing home tell me that Christianity was the stupidest thing he had ever heard of, or have a mother weep in my study because her daughter decided wicca’s white magic showed her what – quote - real power was like, or that a confirmation student told me that maybe, someday, she would have time to learn this “Bible stuff,” but for now, she just wasn’t interested and that her parents shrugged and told me, “Well, it is her choice, you know.”

You’ve had things like this happen to you as well, because of your confession of faith in Jesus Christ, living a life of repentance, and receiving the gifts given to you in your baptism. Someone in your family sees you as old-fashioned and out of touch. An aunt or uncle openly mocks those who bow their heads to pray over a meal. A cousin has embraced Islam, or Scientology, Creationism or some other religion claiming they are all viable gods and paths to heaven. Your son or daughter has embraced an alternative sexual lifestyle as being perfectly acceptable. A grandchild denies their infant baptism. A friend calls Christians judgmental hypocrites. A coworker has given up completely and says that there is no God and says you are wasting your time going to church.

But it’s not just in your family – it’s Christian families across the globe. For you, and for families like yours, your family dinner table is not so much divided by race or political party or whatever current topic is on the news - your family dinner table is divided because of Jesus and the word of the cross.  The word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing. It feels naïve, backwards, simplistic. How is it possible that one person could possibly forgive? How can faith save? What kind of God would make this a means to salvation?

You know, it’s funny. If you go back to Genesis chapter 3 and read the account of the Fall, you discover this: satan’s temptation caused Eve to see the Tree was “desired to make one wise,” (Genesis 3:6). Satan’s temptation was for wisdom, to be just like God. That’s worldly wisdom: be like God; take the place of God; make yourself out to be God.

Paul asks “where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world…” (1 Cor. 1: 20). Wow them with what you know, what you think, what you feel. It doesn’t even have to be wise, per se, in the traditional sense of the word, as long as it’s louder, faster, and more edgy than someone else. Do you remember the presidential race leading up to the 2024 election? It was almost as if the two candidates weren’t running for the highest office in the land, but to see who out-shouted the other while out-doing the other with outlandish promises. That’s worldly wisdom. For Eve and Adam, they listened to satan’s wisdom. In a left-handed way, satan did tell the truth – they did learn what evil was. They certainly gained a measure of wisdom with one forbidden bite. But they also lost the perfect relationship with God while gaining the knowledge of death.

In Romans 5, Paul says that by one man, sin entered the world and through another man the world would be saved (Romans 5: 12-19). To turn this slightly, through one tree, worldly, foolish wisdom entered the world; through another tree, God’s wisdom would be shown. It would be the fulfillment of the Tree of Life that Adam and Eve were banned from in the Garden. You and I know this tree simply as the cross: the cross of Christ.

The cross truly is the tree of life for those who believe the tree to be the instrument of terrible death for Jesus. He would die for the times that we chase after the world’s wisdom, with all its allure and tempting desire to be gods into and unto ourselves. He would die, perfectly resisting such temptations for himself, remaining obedient to the Father’s will for the salvation of the world. His death on the cross becomes the atoning price for us for the times we fail to resist wisdom’s siren song, the innocent for the guilty, the sinless for the sinful. This tree, this tree of the cross, gives life. You celebrate this fruit of the tree as you come to the Lord’s Table today. Here, truly present in, with, and under bread and wine, is the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of sins, giving to you want was earned at the cross. You leave, strengthened by the wisdom of the cross to endure the temptations of the world.

To the world, this word of the cross is folly. But for us, the being saved ones, this word – the word made flesh, Christ, the Son of God – of the cross demonstrates the power of God to save the world. The Christ of the cross is the wisdom of God incarnate, the fullness of the power of God to rescue and redeem the world from its own brand of foolish wisdom.

I told you about my friend, Sam. Now, I want to tell you about another friend whom I’ll call Rodger. Rodger had fought cancer for almost ten years. There were surgeries, radiation treatments, courses of chemotherapy, sandwiched between brief declarations of the disease being in remission. Unfortunately, the doctors, despite their best efforts, were proved wrong and, finally, “remission” was replaced with “untreatable.” The family threw him a big birthday party, wanting to celebrate with him. A family friend gave him a wooden cross, designed to fit comfortably in the palm of the hand while praying or simply to hold. As the disease continued to overwhelm his body, that palm-cross was an ever-present friend. When I asked him about it, Rodger told me that that little cross was a tangible reminder of the cross of Christ. “It reminds me that Jesus even has cancer beaten,” he said, “and if he has beaten cancer, he can certainly forgive me.” The cross went with him in a few ambulance rides, spent time in his hand in the hospital, and when the decision was made to enter hospice, the cross was right there, every day. His kids didn’t understand. They teased him a little bit about it, not to be ugly, but not understanding what the cross meant for their dad or for others who saw it as the sign of a promise fulfilled.

The night before Rodger died, I visited with him and his wife. We laughed and we cried together, knowing that the end was near. That night, we celebrated the Lord’s Supper together in his hospice room. In that meal, the power of the cross was present in the body and blood of Christ. To human eyes, to worldly wisdom, it hardly seemed like a meal at all – just a piece of bread and a sip of wine, and not good bread or wine at that. To human wisdom, bread and wine are incapable of offering anything other than satisfying hunger, but a bite and a sip are hardly satisfactory and certainly not able to offer forgiveness, life or salvation. To worldly wisdom, it was a waste of time. For Rodger and his wife, there was nothing foolish to them in that meal – it was the promise of Christ.  I had mentioned in a prior visit that I would like to pray the commendation of the dying with him. That evening, he said it was time. So with the same sign of the cross that was placed over him in holy baptism eight decades earlier, we placed the sign of the cross over him, commending him to the Lord’s eternal care. I’ll be honest: I choked up while praying the rite. I couldn’t speak, overwhelmed with emotion. With his frail hand, he held mine and placed his cross into my hand. “Don’t forget,” he told me, “Jesus died for you, too.”

That wooden palm-cross sat at my desk this week as I finished writing this sermon. To those who don’t know, who don’t understand, it’s just a hunk of wood. The same was probably said about the cross that held Jesus’ body 2000 years ago. To us who are saved, by God’s grace through faith, the cross preaches volumes. The word – the Word! – of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, Jesus is the power of God for our forgiveness and salvation. Amen.

(I'm humbly proud to say this sermon, along with last week's, was published in the Advent-Epiphany issue of Concordia Pulpit Journal, Vol. 36, Part 1, pp. 36-39; (c) 2025, Concordia Publishing House, St. Louis, MO. I thank CPH and the editor for asking me to write for the Journal.)