Questions, Questions, Questions - Matthew 9: 9-13

“When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

“Why,” indeed. Why is Jesus eating with such people as…these?

Question: Who? Who were these tax collectors and sinners?

Tax collectors were, universally, disliked. There were several layers of the ancient world tax system, and several layers of how taxes were collected. We might assume Matthew was one of those whose job traditionally kept a heavy thumb on the scale, but we neither know that for sure. So, for the sake of honesty all the way around, let’s just say that the system was rife with ways for corrupt tax collectors to exercise their greed and corruption. The result was tax collectors were all guilty by association. Regardless, whether only slightly overcharging or massively defrauding his fellow Israelites, we can say that Matthew and his cronies were just as sinful as anyone else, then or now, so they were crooks. They impoverished their already cash-strapped fellow Israelites and there were not enough checks and balances in the system to stop such thing.

And, then there were the sinners. This was, presumably, a broad-stroke, general description of various kinds of the dregs of society. People who didn’t care or have the common care and courtesy to show public respect for the commonly held standards of morality of society. Every society has them. We have them, even here in Enid.

So, another question: why does this teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners? Jesus will answer that, for the pharisees and for us, and it might surprise us almost as much as it did His first-century listeners as we discover His reason.

Let me ask another question, first, to help focus on Jesus’ answer. Here it is: why did the pharisees care so much? To rephrase, why did it bother them that Jesus was eating with these people. What was so obtrusive of this that it would become an excuse they would offer for Jesus’ crucifixion? What was so different of this meal, in the home of the tax collector, that bothered them?

It’s tempting to simplify and say, here, that when dining with others, it was implying equality, a meal of fellowship and acceptance with others. Maybe sometimes but not always. Invitation did not always mean full acceptance and fellowship. You might recall in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus was invited to a pharisee’s home for dinner. Invited – not crashed. While Jesus was welcomed in as a guest, he was not a highly regarded guest. Jesus wasn’t welcomed by His host, His feet weren’t washed, His head wasn’t anointed with oil. The point is Jesus was a guest in the pharisee’s house, but He was far from the guest of honor, far from full fellowship. Jesus wasn’t even greeted at the door. You could say Jesus was put in His place – literally – as though the pharisee said, “You are here, Jesus, but you are here on my terms.”  

This does not happen with Jesus. This man eats with anyone. High, low; respected, despised; good, bad. That was different about Him. But that was the rub. Such behavior wasn’t respectful enough for that society. It wasn’t the way propriety was managed. There wasn’t a system, an acknowledgement of the way the world worked out there with greater and lesser rungs on the social ladder. And, they were right. Because in Jesus’ presence, there is no higher and no lower. He did not play that game. All rankings, dissolved; all distinction, destroyed; all societal rungs, broken. But, how would we function that way, the pharisees said. How will we figure out who’s more important, powerful, acceptable, or righteous without these in place? It would change everything! He cannot be allowed to overthrow our culture, our society, our system.

Exactly. He desires to overthrow everything, everything about us that would separate us from Him.

He wants to overthrow our pride that comes from thinking and comparing, the idea that I am better than you, or you are better than the person sitting two rows behind you, or you are better than a coworker, a neighbor, the girl checking your groceries this afternoon, the crew sealing the roads around downtown, or the man about your age who is still working at Brahms. I thank God I am not like him…or her…or them. He overthrows such foolish, separating, dividing pride and prideful thinking of better than or less than. In the presence of Jesus, there is no “Better.” If you think there is, you find yourself standing outside the meal, standing outside of Jesus, asking, “But, why?” Jesus desires to overthrow that attitude.

He wants to overthrow the fear, the fear that lives inside that says you are an imposter – that if people knew, if they really knew you, they would ostracize you from work, the neighborhood, the team, relationships, even the congregation. And, in the darkest moments, moments when you’re confronted with your sins, with your memories, with death, you wonder if there is even a place for you in the Kingdom. Some days it’s so bad you can hardly believe there is a place for you, even among the tax collectors and sinners. He wants to overthrow this, too.

This is why they asked, “Why does this teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

Now, we are ready for Jesus’ answer. He says, “Well, it’s because the well ones don’t need a doctor. I didn’t come to call righteous people. I came to call sinners!” In His mind, there are only two categories: the righteous ones, who are well, and the sick ones who desperately need a doctor to heal them.

The first category, the well ones, the righteous ones, is easy. It’s easy because it’s empty. There is no one in it. Not even the ones who think they deserve to belong there.

The second category, the sick ones, the sinful ones, is also easy. It’s everyone, everyone is in it. If no one is righteous, then everyone is guilty. Everyone is sick. Everyone needs a doctor. And Jesus is the doctor, and He has come for you and for all.

By the way…this made the leaders mad when Jesus spoke these words then, and it makes people mad today when we proclaim Jesus words. Because it’s not about them, it’s about Jesus and Him alone.

This is really quite remarkable: He is the one, the only, physician who has that kind of authority. He cleansed the leper, because He was willing to. He healed the sick servant of the centurion from a distance because He had that authority. He raised up Simon Peter’s mother-in-law, and He rebuked a storm like youth would scold a rebellious child, and the storm obeyed, the sickness and the storm both reacting to His authority. He threw demons into a herd of pigs, and after forgiving a paralytic, He raised the man to health. The pharisees wanted to kill Him, remember, but He didn’t let them do it until He was ready. Then, He went into the Holy City and cast evil out of the temple, with authority, and He tried to gather them all to Himself – all of them, even the ones who hated Him enough to plan to kill Him. And He mourned them, because they were unwilling: unwilling to hear, to listen, to believe His authority as the Son of God.

But, He was willing to do the work of His Father, to be the doctor, to come down to the place of damnable illness and the illness of damnation, to be the great Physician. He turned His back to those who smote Him, and then His Father turned His holy back to His Son, for as Jesus had once eaten with the sinners when no one else dared to do so, He was numbered with the sinners in a way no one else could do. And, He set a place at the table for you.

And then, with authority, doing what no one else could do, He rose, soul and body. The Great Physician, embodied, rose. He broke the friend and the tool of sin. He defeated the enemy that, to this day, still hovers over every meal we share and every joy we experience, and He undid death. He rose, immortal forever. In His resurrection, He heals you. And, just as surely as He has forgiven your sins and my sins and the sins of every saint who needs the Great Doctor of Souls, He joins you, body and soul, to Himself in Holy Baptism. Then, to strengthen you in body and spirit, He invites you to His Table where He is both the host and the meal, itself. And, one day, there will be another banquet, a banquet of rich food and fine wine, a banquet hosted by He who is both the Great Physician and the very Bread of Life: this Jesus, who will raise and heal us forever.

And there, in that great resurrection, there will no longer be any need to ask questions. The why’s, who’s, when’s, and what’s, will all be answered for us.

Who? You - the Church
What? His mercy.
Where? The cross.
When? Forever
Why? Jesus

Pentecost: Jesus Makes Empty Glasses Sing - Acts 2: 1-21

This morning’s Epistle lesson (Acts 2:1-21) is Peter’s first full sermon as an apostle. Today we only get to hear the first part of the sermon, but it’s the part we love. We love it because Peter preaches Law and Gospel and people repent and are saved. The perfect Lutheran sermon! The Law is clear and sharp: you killed Jesus. The Gospel is unexpected and amazing: But God raised Him up, whom you crucified, to be God and Lord. And the result is life – people repent and are saved.

Now, this is Pentecost Sunday. There is a great temptation to take this text and turn it into an evangelism sermon, to explain three simple steps on how to present the Law, how to pursue with questions, and then how to apply the Gospel. It’s the standard Pentecost sermon formula.

But I don’t want to talk to you as an evangelist today. I want to speak to you as a child – a child of God.

Have you ever seen someone play a crystal goblet?  A musician partially fills a crystal goblet with water, wets a finger, and gently rubs the finger around the rim of the goblet. The friction creates a harmonic vibration; the crystal begins to hum. Different goblets, glass thickness, water volume, and pressure produce different tones and pitches. A skilled musician, with a table full of carefully filled glasses, can actually play entire pieces of music. 

If you have time this week, show this to your grandkids and watch their faces. I will (almost) guarantee that as the musician begins, after the initial whoas and cools, they will sit, quietly, staring, eyes and mouths agape, caught up in wonder and amazement as the crystal starts to sing.

Now, I want you to listen to this text like a child with wonder, lost at what God does with empty glasses.

I want you to look at this text differently. Listen again to verse 14: “Now Peter stood up among the eleven and lifted up his voice and addressed them…”

Peter preaches. That’s the wonder. That’s what I want you to see today.

Now, I admit it’s not that wonderful that Peter preaches. He’s the one never at a loss for words. Think back to the three years he was with Jesus. On the Mount of Transfiguration, “I will build three tabernacles for you, and Moses, and Elijah!” On the ocean, “Tell me to come out to you and I will!”  

It seems Peter is never at a loss for words. Not even the night Jesus was betrayed. Not even then. “Though they all fall away Lord, not me…I will follow you to prison and to death.” But that night Peter lost Jesus. There, in the garden and in the courtyard, he was asked three times if he knew Jesus; three times he said “No,” the last time even adding in curses to make the denial more emphatic. He used his words to empty himself of every last drop of Jesus.

He was a shell of a disciple; an empty glass if I ever saw one.

And that is what makes this moment so wonderful.

You see, it’s not about the glass. It’s not about how full or empty you are. It’s all about the One who can touch a glass and make it sing.

That’s what we see here. That’s what Jesus is doing. He has been raised from the dead and ascended into heaven. Now He sends forth His Spirit and now He touches on all sorts of glasses. He touches Old Testament, Psalms and the Prophets. And He makes them sing in ways we never knew. And He touches fishermen to open their mouths to speak in ways they never dreamed possible. And He opens ears to hear an old, old song in an old language. People are confused – what is God doing? And then they see Peter, an empty glass, and Jesus touches it and makes it sing.

God, by grace, can make any empty vessel sing.

Here it is, Pentecost, and I’m not letting you hear Pentecost. Am I frustrating you? It’s kinda like I’m keeping you outside the chancel doors, or down in the basement, or I’m making you watch this through the sacristy door, unable to get the whole picture. But I’m doing this on purpose because I want you to see something. I want you to see a whole ‘nother sermon. The very fact that Peter preaches is a sermon on its own.

Anyone who dares to speak for Christ, to be His voice, needs to listen to this sermon.

When you stand up as a god-parent for a child and you confess on behalf of the child…

You visit a friend in the hospital and you offer a prayer before surgery…

You call up a friend five weeks after they lost their spouse, just to say hi and see how they’re doing…

One of the greatest fears in our society is public speaking. It ranks right up there with heights and clowns. I’ve watched people make evangelism calls, I’ve listened to people have conversations about Jesus, I’ve attended conferences and led workshops on how to do all of this, and most of all, I’ve been among other Christians in 4 different parishes and you know what I think? I think, as a rule, people, well-meaning, well-grounded, well-faithed Christians are, deep-down, afraid to speak for Jesus. I understand why – trust me. To dare to say to other Christians, “Thus saith the Lord,” is daunting. And, I think our fear stems in this: we know what empty vessels we are.

How can you speak a word of hope or comfort to your neighbor who just lost his job when you are afraid for yourself and glad it wasn’t you laid off?

How do you speak with empathy when your brother calls and says that he and his wife are separating because they just don’t love each other anymore while you are getting ready to celebrate your own anniversary?  

You visit with a friend when suddenly, your friend begins to sob, telling you how their world is falling apart and asking what to do. What they don’t know is that your own world seems to be crumbling around you. How do you help another when you need help yourself?

How do you do this when you’re an empty glass?

Let someone else preach the Gospel for you. You’re not alone. God has not left you alone. In baptism, God joined you to a people and He has surrounded you with a cloud of witnesses – people who speak of Jesus for you. When you can’t speak for Jesus, let someone else speak of Jesus for you.

Those Bible verses you memorized in confirmation class? Let those verses speak. Maybe a hymn verse you sang on Sunday - use that. Take a story from Bible class. Take something you read in Lutheran Witness or the LWML Quarterly, take the Bible verse from the morning’s Portals of Prayer or Lutheran Hour devotion and let the Holy Spirit use that word from your mouth. Let someone else preach through you. The message isn’t yours; it’s God’s and He’s given it to us to share with others.

What you discover is that Jesus, by the power of the Holy Spirit, can make any empty vessel sing.

And, if it’s you who are feeling empty, when life has drained you of everything, then come to this place. If you need to, come here and stand in the narthex or sit in the stairwell and just listen. Listen to what God has done – He has taken this Jesus whom we crucified, God has taken this Jesus and make Him Lord and Christ over all.

This Jesus now rules over the world and he causes people to sing again and again – poets and prophets, doctors and lawyers, mechanics and farmers, engineers and attorneys, teachers and preachers, and octogenarian grandmothers and newly confirmed teens – He causes them to sing the Gospel for you and for others.

And, like that like a child, you are lost in wonder.

And suddenly, you hear your voice begin to sing in endless praise.

 

Jesus Ascends Yet Remains (Transferred) - Luke 24: 44-53

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

This past Thursday, the Church celebrated the ascension of Jesus. If you missed it or forgot, don’t feel bad. Had my daily devotion book not mentioned it, I probably would have as well. It’s easy to miss. After all, it lands on a Thursday. We didn’t gather here for worship. Ascension doesn’t have the romance of Christmas or the punch of Easter. Yet and still, as an historical event, it happened. Biblically, Luke recorded it twice, in Luke 24 and Acts 1. The early church agreed, making sure that it was confessed in not only the Apostle’s Creed, but the Nicene and Athanasian Creeds as well. So, hear again the Ascension Gospel from Luke 24:

“Then Jesus said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled.” 45 Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, 46 and said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, 47 and that repentance for[a] the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48 You are witnesses of these things. 49 And behold, I am sending the promise of my Father upon you. But stay in the city until you are clothed with power from on high.” 50 And he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them. 51 While he blessed them, he parted from them and was carried up into heaven. 52 And they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, 53 and were continually in the temple blessing God.” (Luke 24: 44-53)

You’ve probably seen the various artwork of Jesus’ ascension, whether it is one of the classic works by Dali, Rembrandt, or Tissot, or a simpler picture on the front of your Sunday school lesson. Universally, the painting shows Him with His hands raised in blessing. That’s all we need on this commemoration of the ascension is to look at the hands of Jesus, raised in blessing, and we can read in them the meaning and blessing of Jesus.

These are the hands, born in infant frailty, that held close to His mother, Mary, while He nursed. These hands learned to hold a pencil and write the words of Scripture that He knew by heart when He challenged the teachers of the Law as a 12 year old. These hands held a hammer or saw or chisel while he worked with Joseph. These are hands that touched the eyes of the blind, the ears of the deaf, and the tongue of the mute. These warm hands took hold of the pale, cold, dead hands of a little girl and restored life to the girl and then restored the girl to her parents waiting outside. Read through the Gospels and pay attention to what Jesus hands did – stretching out, touching, grasping – always with personal love, personal contact, and personal attention to the person standing, sitting, lying in front of him. Those hands weren’t afraid to get dirty, to be contaminated, or to touch the unclean. The Savior of the World came to be with sinners, to rescue sinners, and to destroy sin. One by one, Jesus reached into the world of death and destruction, chaos and darkness; one by one, Jesus touched sinners; one by one, Jesus healed – never en masse, in bulk, or by volume.

These are hands that gathered the little children unto himself, holding, hugging and kissing them. These are hands that reached out, just in time, to snag a doubting and sinking Simon Peter. With these hands, he broke bread and raised the cup and said, “take and eat; take and drink.” These hands were held out for Thomas to see, to touch, and to believe.

Greatest of all, these hands were pinned to the cross by nails. The hands that had done so much for others did nothing to save Himself. Instead, those nails assured Jesus did everything to save others. Those scars, presented to Thomas the week after Easter, those hands, raised in blessing, those hands tell us what we need to know of the blessing of Jesus on Ascension day.

What does that mean for us this day? Those scars tell us that Jesus took your sins, your punishment upon Himself and went to the cross for you. That Jesus was forsaken – alone and abandoned by His disciples, His friends, and His Father in heaven – so you would not be forsaken by God but be forgiven. That because Jesus died for you and rose for you, and because you are baptized into His death and resurrection, you will be made alive as children of God. Because Jesus hands were once stretched out on the cross, they are today stretched out in blessing upon His disciples. The one who ascends and blesses carries the marks of the cross on his hands. No cross, no blessing. Cross, blessing. That is why when I speak the blessing to you, it is done so with the sign of the cross, whether it’s on your forehead or in the air. That is what Jesus means to you at the Ascension this day: life and blessing won and given.

Now… do not ever think that Jesus ascension means He has gone away. Do not think of the cloud that hid Jesus’ departure as an escalator that took Jesus “into heaven,” as if it is a location far, far away. Before Jesus ascended, He promised that He is with us wherever we might be. Could you imagine the chaos had He not ascended; had He remained physically located only in one place at one time? You can hear it, can’t you: “I’ve got Jesus, yes I do. I’ve got Jesus. Why not you?” No…because Jesus has ascended, He is able to be all places at all times. He is with us, here, right now…and with the saints of God in Walburg, Texas…and in Brownstown, Indiana…and Boston, Mass…and Taiwan…and Pakistan…and St. Petersburg - both Russia and Florida - and anywhere else on earth (or outer space, for that matter) His children gather. He promised it. How He does it, we cannot fully fathom. And we don’t need to. He promised it, and that is enough.

With His hands held high, Jesus ascends into the cloud. This was a special cloud, I think – one which had appeared before in Scripture. We saw the cloud at the Transfiguration. We saw it in the Old Testament when the cloud was above the two angels on the ark of the covenant and when the people of God journeyed by day through the wilderness to the promised land. The cloud was the guarantee of the presence of God. So, at the Ascension, the cloud marks Jesus physically leaving behind the world of man and returning to the realm of God. Jesus is no longer with us in our ordinary way of thinking. Jesus is now present and does things in God’s way, also no longer constrained to earthly ways of doing things. He is still a man, but a resurrected, glorified and ascended man who is also fully God.  

Earlier, I said that most paintings of the ascension show Jesus rising above the disciples, rising into the air. There is a Lutheran artist in Michigan by the name of Edward Riojas who has a different take on the Ascension. In his painting, at the top of the painting, all you see of Jesus is His nail-marked feet. Behind the feet is a bright orb, as if it is the sun. Along the bottom are dozens of small people, the saints who worship the risen and ascended Jesus. Behind the orb is the green, leafy top of a tree whose trunk is made out of the cross of Christ, clearly marked with Pilate’s inscription, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” The base of the tree is firmly planted into a lush, beautiful hillside with trees in the background and a church off on the horizon. What is interesting for me, though, is sitting with his back to the tree trunk is a pastor, writing away at his sermon as pages and pages of the manuscript lay around him. It’s a powerful reminder to me that Jesus, ascended into heaven, is yet present both in the words the pastor preaches but also in the ministry the pastor provides. Through the pastor, in Word and Sacrament, Christ is present.

Jesus has not gone away. He is with us now, more powerfully than ever before. He is with us more powerfully than when the disciples saw him. He is among us. And we live, then, in the presence of our ascended and ever-present Lord. He is with us. We cannot be destroyed. Easter lives in us. Christ is risen! We are risen! He paves the way to victory for us. He leads us, giving us strength and courage for each day – whatever it might bring us – and leaving us the promise of His bodily return, soon, as well.

We are here today as the disciples were – with great joy. We’re not wringing our hands in fear – Christ is with us. We’re not tapping our fingers in worry or hurry – Christ is here. We are here with hands that make the sign of the cross, reminding us that we are baptized into Christ. We are here with that are open, ready to receive the gifts of God in His Supper. Our hands are so full of the blessings of God, if we stopped to ponder them all – if we used our hands to write them all down – we would be stunned at the good and gracious gifts God gives to us. Our hands pick up the food God gives to nourish us. Our hands open the door to our homes that give us shelter. Our hands button shirts, zip up pants, and tie shoes to clothe us. Our hands put on glasses so we can see, insert hearing aids so we can hear, open medication bottles to keep our bodies healthy and strong. Our hands are sore from working outside yesterday in the yard, our hands still sting from applauding a grandson who hit his first little-league home run. Our hands…gifts from God.

And, our Ascended Lord uses your hands, filled with His blessings, to leave this Holy House and share those blessings with others. You serve others as the hands of Christ. That means that when you reach out to shake a hurting hand, you show them Christs hands of compassion. When you change a stinky diaper, you do it with the servant-hands of Christ. When you call your parents or your kids, you dial with the hands of Christ who spoke to his mother with love.  When you buy a bottle of water from the little league team, you pay for it with the hands of Christ that summoned children to come to him. When you buy a sandwich for a man on the street-corner, your hands echo Jesus’ hands as He once fed 5000. When you fold your hands and pray with your neighbor who struggles from depression, your hands imitate Jesus’ hands who prayed for the women of Jerusalem. When you reach out and touch the sick or the dying, you share the touch of Jesus who once raised the dead. When you hold the hand of a child who has been bullied, you share the gentle touch of the Shepherd. When you touch your spouse’s cheek, you touch with the hands of the One who is Love.  In those moments, the love of Christ is present in you and through you. He has ascended, but He is still very much here.

 

Mothers: God's First Blessing to Us

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

Today, May 10, is the annual second-Sunday-of-May celebration of Mother’s Day. Begun in the late 1800s, it was codified by Woodrow Wilson in 1914 as the annual, national celebration of mothers. Carnations are a common sight on Mother’s Day, as are cards, chocolates, and breakfast in bed.

When you think of motherhood, who is the first person who comes to mind? Who are your “Mothers-as-heroes?” For most of us, women and men, I suspect that is our own mother, the woman who gave birth to us, nurtured us and reared us. Men may think of our wives, the mothers of our own children. Perhaps, some of you also think of your daughter who has a child of her own. Out of curiosity, for all of you mothers out there, did any of you thought first of yourself?

In the history of motherhood, there is truly one woman who must among the pantheon of mothers and the Mount Rushmore of Moms: Eve. This woman was, in every conceivable way, a pioneer in her field. She started it all – the mother of all mothers. Even her name means “Mother of Every Living Thing!” She was in uncharted territory. Before her, there is no history of childbirth. She had no mother to ask, “Is this normal? Did you feel this happen?” She couldn’t get information from friends. It was BC – Before Computers – and she had no way to access What to Expect When You Are Expecting.  In fact, she was such the overachiever that she started out with twins!

If you look up the word “Blessed” in your Bible concordance, one thing will jump out at you (I hope): that every time the word blessed is used to talk about humans being blessed by God, it means that the person has been given a gift of God. If you look up “blessed” in a dictionary, it will say something like, “Having good fortune bestowed or conferred upon.” To be blessed by God is to have His Fatherly, good fortune poured out on us. Usually, but not always, this also includes His name being added in a special way as well.

Mother’s Day may be a secular celebration, but the Church has been celebrating the vocation of motherhood since Eve. I’m using this word, “vocation.” It gets used in the secular world, so let me explain it. It’s more than just a job. A Christian vocation is the calling in which God works through us to those around us. In our vocation, we demonstrate faith, through love and service, to our neighbors. There are lots of vocations – student, teacher, employee, employer, pastor, citizen, child and parent, just to name a half-dozen. The list is almost endless because the ways God works in and through us to help others is almost endless.

In the vocation of motherhood, God works through mothers to rear children. When a mother nurses, changes a diaper, helps a baby crawl and walk, goes to the doctor, God works through the mother. When a mother encourages a child, God works through the mother. When she made a sack lunch, or packed it in a favorite lunch kit, or added a note that said, “Have a good day, sweetie,” she was being Christ to her child. When she taught her son to tie a shoe, or a daughter how to ride a bike, she did so with the joy of Jesus. When she disciplined, it was with the love of God who disciplines His own dear children. Through mothers, God blesses the world.

There is no such thing as a perfect mother – not your mom, not your wife, not your own self. That is a huge thing to know. Not even Mary, Jesus’ mother, was perfect – despite our Catholic friends’ claim to the contrary. If satan tries to tell you that you are a failure as a mother because you got frustrated at your kiddo, or you burned dinner, or you didn’t react fast enough to keep your toddler from tumbling and breaking an arm, that is his lying to you about you. Mothers – all of you – stand at the foot of the cross today. Jesus has died for you and forgives you your maternal mistakes.

Mothers truly do follow in Eve’s footsteps. There were those times that mothers’ sinful nature reared its ugly head, times she sinned against her husband, her children, against God, and even against herself. God has a remedy for mothers. In fact, wonder of wonders, God in His mercy, used the vocation of motherhood to rescue fallen humanity when Mary gives birth to His Son, Jesus, Who dies to forgive mothers. Forgiveness, from the fountain of the cross through the font of Baptism, washes over mothers fully and completely in Christ Jesus, and from mothers to their own children.

I realize that not every mother is Carol Brady and Claire Huxtable. Many are more like Peg Bundy. If you were adopted, you thank God for your biological mother who gave birth to you and then entrusted you to the woman who reared you as her own. If you were habitually mistreated, seek solace in the arms of your Heavenly Father. And if you have a good mother, thank God for the blessings He has given and continues to give you through her. It’s OK to see your mom through rose colored glasses and to choose to remember the good things she has done for you while forgetting the times she made you eat liver and onions or go to bed before Dancing with the Stars was finished. Because in those things, even the ones you didn’t like, those things were made holy in the blood of Jesus and done in faith in Christ. In that plate of microwaved, low-salt fish, God was at work for you through her loving hands.

To all of you mothers who still are mothering your own children – especially children in your own home – you have a true blessing. Remember, a blessing is a gift of God. That doesn’t mean motherhood is easy – far from it! But, with God’s help and by His grace, you do that Godly work of being a mom. And, to all of you mothers who mother from a distance, whose children are grown and on their own, perhaps with their own children, be a “senior stateswoman.”  Share the beauty of your blessed vocation. Encourage, exhort, pray, and mentor younger mothers. Don’t sigh about “back in my day,” and lament how things used to be. You are not the mother of today’s child. Instead of critique, encourage and share your own blessing in Jesus’ name.

A long time ago, a wonderful saint whom I’ll call Annette, called me a day or two before Mother’s Day. She asked me one question: “Are you preaching about mothers on Sunday?” Why, I asked. “Because,” she said, “I chose to not have children or get married and I always feel left out while every other woman in the room gets praised. You know who I feel like? Like the Samaritan woman at the well, all alone, while everyone else gathers and laughs.” That resonated with me, and still, 20 years later, I remember her pain in those words. Some women chose to be neither wife nor mother. Others, for whatever reason, God has not allowed the blessing of motherhood. And, I know there are some who lost a child all-too-soon. None of those things make you “less than.” And, to Annette, and any other woman who has felt like the woman at the well, left out from the group, I am sad that has happened to you. Dear sister and child of God, then in your unique vocation, be that Christian model of a faithful woman who is able to watch, care for, and love others with that special gift that God has given you, pray for those who are mothers, and weep with those who weep. But know this: you do none of those things alone.

So, this Mother’s Day, flip the script for just a second. Instead of thinking of yourself, your vocation as mother - or not a mother – think of yourself in the vocation of child. Regardless your age, you are the child of a woman whom God chose to give you life. Whatever your vocation might be, and in this way, it applies to us men as well, join in giving thanks to God for your mom, the woman who reared you, cared for you, and loved you – even if it wasn’t your blood-mother. Remember, and stand at the foot of the cross with your mother, remembering Jesus forgives her just as He forgives you for your childish and childlike sins. And all of us, thank God for His gift of mothers.

Troubled Hearts - Calmed Heart: John 14: 1-14

“Let not your hearts be troubled.”

To you, hear this word of the Lord: Let not your heart be troubled. Thanks a lot, Pastor. I know what Jesus says. I don’t know that he quite understands what we’re going through here, or what life is like today. "Let not your hearts be troubled." Easy to say; hard to do. 

Because if we are honest, we would have to say that hearts *are* troubled, and they are troubled mightily. 

You go to the grocery store, the gas station, the pharmacy and the dollar just isn’t stretching like it used to. It’s the last week of school and late nights are taking the place of good rest, short tempers are flaring, and kids, teachers, and parents are stressed. Grief continues to persist in ways that you never anticipated as you continue to miss loved ones whom the Lord has taken. Husbands and wives hardly talk to each other, except for “pass the salt” and “it’s your turn; I did it last time.” I had a person tell me, “My boss wants more and more from me but I am already going full-blast; what more can I give? I go home each night and cry, trying to work up the strength to go back tomorrow. I get to work early so I can sit for ten minutes in the parking lot to work up the strength to go back in. I have to…no choice. Bills to pay, food to buy, roof to fix. And, the job is on the line as rumors of pink slips trickle down and around the company.” Hearts beat with frustration, fear, hurt, anger, shame, guilt, and other things.

If that’s you, pause for a moment. Take a breath and listen again to the word of the Lord: Let not your heart be troubled. Especially, I draw your attention to that word “heart.”

Jesus knows your heart. He knows you better than you know yourself. He says let not your heart be troubled.

The troubles you have are external. They come outside of you. Sometimes, satan seeds them carefully so that they do take root in your heart. All the thinking in the world does not take away that grief, that anxiety, that frustration, that guilt, all that trouble that we have in our hearts. This is where we carry the cross – in our hearts. We talk about it here, with our mouth, we think about it here, with our brain, but we carry it here, in the heart. And this is, I suspect, particularly true this time of the year for mothers and fathers who carry not only their own troubles but that of their their kids – of all ages – as well as they try to finish the school year strong and get ready for the next steps of life, be it high school, trade/technical school, college, the service, or the workforce. Are the kids ready? Have I prepared them? The world is just such a tough place right now. Will they make it?

Jesus speaks to you: I have come for you – heart and mind, body and soul – all of you as a person, I came and care for you as a whole. So also, He wants us to know God in all His Divine majesty.

It’s been a while, so let me remind you of the Nativity: Jesus’ incarnate birth through the Virgin Mary. Our God is incarnational – in (enters in); carne (flesh). Jesus enters into our human flesh to make His dwelling among us. And as God incarnate, with an incarnational heart, Jesus knows your heart and your troubles. That is good news because even if you cannot explain it, even if you do not have the words to incarnate, en-flesh, your troubles, He knows.

This is one of the oddities of our lectionary system. Here we are, five weeks after Easter, but John 14 takes place on Maundy Thursday. Jesus is in the upper room with the disciples preparing to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Drop back about six weeks and put yourself in that upper room for a minute. Jesus has been speaking clearly and plainly that He must go to Jerusalem, be arrested, suffer and die at the hands of the Jewish leaders. And, now, Jesus and the disciples are in that very city. There was Palm Sunday; then Jesus chased the money changers out of the temple; before that, He had raised Lazarus from the dead. Hearts were beating in anger and frustration and jealousy, wanting Him dead. But the disciples hearts were greatly troubled. After all, this was their Rabbi, their teacher, their Master, their friend, and He was in grave danger. The disciples have faith, don’t misunderstand, but it is misguided faith, weak faith, a troubled faith because they can’t see Jesus and the cross as the means of rescue. They don’t understand. They only see it as an instrument of death. So their hearts beat a steady tattoo of ache, worry, fear, and angst: what’s going to happen next. Jesus, in these words of John 14, points them, and by extension, us, to the cross.

Thomas – here’s a great example for us this morning. Thomas wanted to know the “where” – where are you going? Jesus directs him to Himself: I am the way, the truth the life. And then there’s Philip – he wants to know the “who” – I want to see the Father. Jesus directs him to Himself: Know me, you know the Father. To you, the troubled-in-heart one, Jesus calls you to Himself, He who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, who has promised to prepare a place into eternity for you, dear friends, where one day you will enjoy eternal rest and reward for your faithful labor and labors on earth.

Have you ever had the experience, while shopping, or walking down the sidewalk, even in the narthex when you would and another person would meet and that awkward dance would begin trying to go past each other, each one of you moving this way at the same time, then that way at the same time. The dance goes on until one or the other laughs and says, “You go ahead.” Now, take that same picture, but this time, it’s Jesus. He wants to encounter you, he wants to come at you – heart, mind, body and soul – and He smiles at you. He doesn’t laugh at you, but instead speaks softly and gently, firmly and lovingly. He doesn’t push you aside but instead He holds you with His nail-pierced hands and says, “Let not your heart be troubled. I have come to right the world and restore the relationship to the Father. I have come to restore peace and harmony. I have come to rescue you from the lostness and darkness and hurt and heartache and frustration and fear and whatever else troubles you. I have come for you. I know, I understand the burdens of your heart. But, friend, these are not yours to carry any longer. I carry the burden for you. Look at the cross, friend. Don’t let Satan tell you different. I am yours. You are mine. So, let not your heart be troubled, my brother, my sister.” Remember: Jesus knows us better than we know ourselves.

Grab your bulletin and open it up to the Gospel reading.  I want you to look at something. Look closely at verse 1. “Let not your hearts be troubled.” Hearts, plural. Now, that’s interesting. There are lots of plurals all through these verses – plural nouns and pronouns and verbs. But in the original Greek text, your is plural but heart is singular: Let not your (or, as we say in Texas, “all y’all’s”); let not your heart (singular, not hearts) be troubled. English teachers would critique that sentence for failure of subject and verb agreement – plural subject, singular verb. Let not all y’alls heart be troubled. Jesus does it on purpose. Here is why that is such an important note. Remember: He’s not a grammarian; He’s a Savior.

Jesus wants you to know that, in Him, we share a common heart. Each of us have our own heart, yes, and those hearts get twitterpated (great word, right?) and flummoxed over the things that happen to us – that is natural; it’s part of being a human being, under the cross, this side of heaven.  But God’s people have a common heart among us. It is a common heart that we share together, a common heart, filled with the Holy Spirit, that reflects the incarnate One that comes to us and unites us as the body of Christ under His headship. That common heart that encourages, cares for, uplifts, and supports one another even as our hearts race from problems and troubles.

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, my dear sons and daughters in Jesus, know this: we share the common heart of Jesus. We are all part of the body of Christ. Therefore, the common heart of Jesus beats in you. United by Christ, we walk alongside each other, together, caring for each other, loving each other, supporting each other so that you know that in Christ you are never alone. Our common heart sets the Lord Jesus Christ before us, 24/7, day in and day out. With that common heart we give thanks together, grieve together, struggle together, rejoice together, love together, laugh together, weep together.

If you find yourself praying, Oh, Lord – let not my heart be troubled,” know that He both understands and answers. He has heard your cry, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me,” and He does exactly that. His heart beats alongside yours. Psalm 73 says “Whom have I in heaven but you, and there is none that I desire in earth but you. My heart and my flesh might fail, but God is my heart and my portion forever.” So today or tomorrow morning or Tuesday evening and any other time when your heart is threatened to be overwhelmed, His heart beats all the stronger. When your heart is troubled, His heart beats in peace. When your heart beats with guilt and shame, His heart beats a baptismal blessing reminding you that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Let not all ya’ll’s heart be troubled. It is the heart of Christ. Amen.

The Lord Jesus Is My Shepherd - Psalm 23

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Psalm 23.

Before he was a king, David was a shepherd boy. The youngest of the brothers, the task fell to him when his brothers grew into adulthood and went off to their own homes. David took his job as shepherd just as serious as the brothers who went to fight in Saul’s army against the Philistines. When asked, David told about how he defended the flocks against lions and bears that roamed the Judean hillsides, protecting the helpless sheep against predators with his staff, his sling, and his bare hands if necessary. They were the family sheep – known by name, cared for by hand. They were entrusted to him, and it was his job to protect them, no matter the cost – even up to and including his own life.

While there is much we could explore in this Psalm, and perhaps some day we will go line by line, phrase by phrase through it, there are two specific images that I want to explore with you today. I do this for this specific reason: the other evening’s storm reminds us how desperately we need a shepherd who watches over us and protects us, not only from satan and his wiles, but from a fallen creation as well.

We think of sheep and shepherds with romantic gentility. We think of lush green grass, rolling hills, babbling streams, gently bleating, soft fuzzy sheep, and the noble, muscular, vigilant shepherd. If you have that kind of picture in your mind right now, this is described as a pastorale scene. Pastor is Latin for shepherd.

Our western idea of raising animals, for the most part, is a far cry from the ancient world in both distance and in time. I suspect that most of us know a cowboy, or at least a cattleman. We have our movie image of John Wayne and Gus McCray sitting astride a horse, looking over his herd of livestock. Most of us have no working knowledge of sheepherders or sheepmen. So, allow me to try to paint a picture for you. Don’t think boots and spurs, chaps and saddles. Think of a singular shepherd who walks among his sheep and in front of the sheep, just a few dozen of them, staff in hand, a small pouch containing a few items acoss his shoulder, being down on their level, treating them more like family pets than mere animals. He walks up to each one, speaking its name, rubbing his hands through their wool, feeling for stickers or bugs, for wounds or sores. If he finds something out of place, he removes it. If there is a wound he treats it.

In the 23^rd Psalm, you know the phrase, “He anoints my head with oil.” This is our first image: anointing with oil. In the Old Testament, priests and kings were anointed with oil. It was a marking of their being chosen, set apart, for holy service among God’s people. We’re somewhat familiar with that because we’ve read about it. David uses it differently, here. Philip Keller, in his book, A Shepherd Looks at the 23^rd Psalm, describes what this anointing with oil entails. It can be used to cleanse and protect a wound, but it also is used to protect from something more sinister. There is a particular fly in the middle east that loves to lay its eggs in open wounds and sores. Those eggs become worms which dig into the flesh, literally driving the sheep crazy. They’ll do anything to stop the terrible discomfort of the worms – even jumping into water where the water-logged wool drags the sheep to its death. The shepherd takes the oil and pours it over the sheep’s head and body, sealing off the wounds so that the flies cannot lay their eggs. To calm the sheep, the shepherd grabs the sheep, gently, by the ears and gets down on their level, speaking face-to-face with the sheep. The sheep hears the voice, sees the face, and knows the shepherd’s care.

Carry that image, then, to Jesus as our Good Shepherd. Isn’t it a comfort to know our Good Shepherd gets down in the dirt with us, sees us for what we are and as we are, yet loves us? He became like us, the shepherd becomes the sheep – more than that, He does so while remaining the perfect Lamb of God. Yet, He loves us enough to not leave us as we are. He binds our wounds, places us on His arms, and carries us to the Father and welcomes us back to the fold.

A moment ago, I said that a scene of green grass, lush hills, and a babbling creek is called a pastorale scene. Now, change the picture. Invert it. Picture a hillside, but one that is stark, rocky, and terrifying. There are no softly baaing sheep; rather, screams of pain and agony matched by laughter and mocking. Instead of a stream of water, there are rivulets of blood dripping from the head, hands, and feet of a shepherd who is slowly and painfully dying. This is a different kind of pastorale scene. Jesus is God’s Shepherd. Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He’s a suffering shepherd. The sheep are His own; He is not a hireling, so He surrenders His own life at the cross for them. He is the dying and rising shepherd.

This is what makes the picture so wonderful – not the hard-working shepherd, but the life-laying-down shepherd. He lays down His life for His beloved whom He knows by name – His name. He dies to rescue, to redeem, to save the Church. When night fell on Good Friday, and when He breathed His last, He is buried in the valley of the shadow of death. Think of the grave as the doorway. He’s a dying shepherd, laying down his life for the sheep in the doorway of death, but He is also the rising shepherd who takes it up again, rising in the morning of the resurrection to lead His sheep into the new pastures of new life. In His resurrection, the Shepherd anoints us with baptismal waters, sealing us with the sign of the cross, and washing our sins from us, redeeming us, and making us His. Covered in Christ’s righteousness, our guilt, which would otherwise drive us to despair, is soothed. Satan’s power is destroyed.

Now, finish the pastorale scene: our Good Shepherd is the living, resurrected shepherd. We are the people of His pasture, the sheep of His hand. We follow the voice of the Good Shepherd. To strengthen us in our following, the Shepherd prepares a table before us and feeds us with His own body to eat, living Bread which comes from heaven, and His own blood, wine from heaven that gives joy and life.

Isaiah 40:11 - Full of Eyes
Used with permission

I said there were two images. The anointing is the first image. For this second, I need to set the stage a bit, so I ask for your indulgence for a moment.

One of the challenges we have with the 23^rd Psalm is that it is so familiar that we can say it on autopilot, like the Lord’s Prayer. The words come out our mouths but our brains are engaged elsewhere. So, I might encourage you to spend a little time with Psalm 23 on your own, but do so with different Bible translations. If you don’t have a shelf full of Bibles, go to your favorite Bible website or app and, using the different choices, read the Psalm with three or four different translations. For this exercise, don’t worry so much about how “good” the translation is. The idea here is for a little variety, in the words of Kellogs Corn Flakes, to “taste it again for the first time.” Since you’re probably familiar with the King James and its cousin, the New King James, the ESV, and the NIV, try something new – the MESSAGE, the New Living Translation, or even Young’s Literal translation. The reason for this is that it forces you to read, not just autopilot your way through David’s words. 

My cousin, Roland, is one of the smartest people I know. As a devotional exercise for himself, he is paraphrasing the Bible into poetry. An attorney by vocation, his poetry is sometimes very dense. His rendering of the 23^rd Psalm is so outside our usual language that it is almost a stumbling block compared to the beauty of the KJV, ESV, or NIV.

However – and now I’m coming to our second image – I love the way he concludes the Psalm. We know it as, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Good stuff with that promise of a blessed eternity. Roland’s paraphrase reads:

            Both love and goodness, to your heavenly lair,
            my life, all days will follow. There, I dwell,
            forever with the Lord – my fear, all quelled.

It’s no secret that we are living in uncertain times. The war in the Middle East, drought on our front steps, prices rising of the basic necessities of life, questions about our own health all weigh heavy. The other night’s storm was both humbling and terrifying. When I was greeting the kids Friday, I asked some of them if they were scared the night before, and I also admitted that I was scared, too. I don’t think I was the only one of us over the age of 12 who felt that way. If we wanted a symbol of life today, it should be a question mark, as in, “Now what?”

Roland’s poem places us in the “lair” of the Shepherd where love and goodness chase after us in unending companionship. By the way, that’s actually the way the Hebrew reads – God’s blessings of love and goodness chasing after us, not merely tagging along. They chase after us. Consequentially, forever dwelling there among the Shepherd with His loving goodness chasing after us, Roland reminds us with the high conclusion that our fears are all quelled.

Life under Good Shepherd Jesus isn’t necessarily easy, or happy, or free of pain and trouble. We have no special immunity from disease, doubt, depression. Tornadoes, hurricanes, and fires don’t swerve around our houses just because we trust Jesus. We have neither monopoly on nor guarantee of miracles. We all must walk through that dark valley of shadow of death, with its steep, threatening cliffs surrounding us. There are no exceptions. But when traveling through the valley, you needn’t fear any evil. Good Shepherd Jesus has gone ahead of you, and He is with you with his loving goodness pursuing, chasing, after us.  

And of this you can be certain, as certain as crucified Jesus is risen from the dead, lives and reigns to all eternity: Baptized in Him, trusting Him, you dwell forever with the Lord – your fears, all quelled.

Your Emmaus Journey - Luke 24: 13-35

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Luke 24.

Today is the third Sunday after Easter. By now, the Cadburry chocolates, Reese’s rabbits, and Robin’s eggs are consumed, and the baskets - along with the joie de vivre from mere two weeks ago - are stowed until next spring. For most of us, we’ve moved on from Easter, getting ready for the next big thing – probably graduations for kids, grandkids and friends. So, when St. Luke returns us to Easter with this reading, the implication for us 21^st century Christians is that the Resurrection continues. It’s not just a one-and-done event. The power of resurrection fills our lives and our witness to others.

Let’s do a quick time travel and go back to Easter afternoon. The morning’s exciting news that had been reported by the women, Peter, and John was met with something between skepticism and curiosity for these Emmaus travelers.  There was a lot to digest: Jesus’ betrayal, His arrest and trial, His crucifixion, and now His reported, but yet unwitnessed (by them) resurrection. They were talking about it all, trying to make it make sense. “Was He living or…”

When a Stranger approached and asked the equivalent of today’s “What’s up,” Cleopas gave a quick summary of the weekend, culminating with the hope they had of Jesus’ redeeming Israel. There was still a glimmer of resurrection hope in his words – he referenced the Third Day – and he also mentioned the ladies’ eyewitness testimony of the empty grave. But that was the problem for these two: the grave was empty. There was no body – living or dead. So, it was an open question: Was He living or was He…”

This Stranger engages the pair, softly chiding them: “You foolish ones and slow of heart.” He’s not reprimanding as much as teaching them: you had the answers all along! “It was necessary, wasn’t it, for the Christ to have to do all of this,” He began, and going through the Scriptures – what we would call the Old Testament – He connects the dots, interpreting and explaining how it all came to fruition. God’s plan of salvation, promised before Moses, then throughout all the prophets, was completed in the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus.

The Stranger accepts their invitation and hospitality to stay the night in their home. When the meal is served, the Stranger breaks bread and blesses the meal. Where a few nights earlier, the Last Supper was celebrated in the upper room, that afternoon in Emmaus, the First Supper is celebrated as He becoming both guest and host, the beginning of the eternal feast in the Kingdom of God.

Suddenly, these weary and worn travelers, who had been discussing the death and resurrection of Jesus, realize that the Stranger is none other than the Resurrected One Himself. And, instantly, He disappears. A few hours earlier, they were dismissive and confused of the resurrection reports. Now, they become resurrection eyewitnesses – not just of an empty tomb, but of the resurrected, whole and holy Jesus.

It does beg the question, why were they kept from recognizing Jesus? Luke tells us “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” Why would that be? Consider what kind of Messiah they were looking for. “We had hoped that He was the one to redeem Israel.” They were looking for social-political redemption from the dreaded Romans, for a Messiah-Savior to set Israel free and return it to the free state and power that it was on under David. Jesus didn’t do that. In fact, He didn’t meet many expectations. So, how would it be helpful for them to not recognize Jesus?

They needed to understand who and what Messiah really was. Not a political redeemer, but a redeemer from sin, death and everlasting condemnation. They needed to see Jesus for who He is and what He is, not what they wanted Him to be. “And beginning with Moses and the Prophets, He opened the Scriptures to them…” Boy, wouldn’t you have loved to have been a fly on the shoulder for that Bible class. Jesus, conducting a master class in reading and understanding the Law and Prophets spoke of. Could you imagine how He connects passages, organizes themes, and reveals the heilsgeschichte (God’s plan of salvation) for mankind?

He may have identified Himself as the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23, but also the good shepherd promised in Ezekiel 34. He might have connected the great sacrifices of the Temple with Himself as the sacrifice for the sins of the world. Perhaps he reminded them of the Passover lambs that had been killed only a few days earlier in remembrance of the great Exodus narrative and identified Himself as the perfect, once-for-all Lamb of God. Maybe He helped them see how He was the fulfillment of Isaiah’s suffering servant.

Don’t you wish you were on the Emmaus Road that Sunday afternoon, listening to the Jesus expound and explore the Scriptures? Wouldn’t you have loved to have all of those dots connected for you, how Moses and the Prophets all pointed ahead to the Coming One? What a Bible class that would be!

I’ve lost track of the times I have heard people say how they wish they could be with Jesus, that they could walk and talk with Him, sit with Him at a meal, have Him as a houseguest and just spend time with Him. Perhaps, because it’s a time of trial and seeing and hearing Him would strengthen weak faith. Other times, it may be because we just don’t understand the Bible and wish it were clearer. I admit: there are days I wish that as well, for both those reasons!, and having a word – just a word – with Jesus would help make it all clearer. Oh, to have a moment like what took place on the Emmaus road!

Martin Luther said something like, “No matter where you were to cut the Scriptures, the blood of Jesus would spill out.” He didn’t mean it literally, of course. He was referring to how the Old Testament points ahead to the Messiah to come and the New Testament proclaims the Christ who came and pledges to come again. In every page of the Bible you read, Jesus is there. The Word made flesh is alive in the words on the page. You do have a very present and sure Jesus who comes to you in every page of the Bible. We know that, but why don’t we always see Him there?

One of the things I find frustrating when reading the Bible is the names that get dropped into the text, mentioned, and then disappear. It happens regularly. I have lost track of the times people have asked about Melchizedek, the mysterious priest who blessed Abraham, or Jabez, whose prayer sold millions of books thousands of years after he died, or Onesimus, the slave that inspired Paul’s letter to Philemon. Most of those names, we’ll never know anything about – at least, not on this side of eternity.

We find one of those names here: Clepoas. He suddenly appears without a prelude or postlude, neither footnote nor bibliographical reference. Literally, all we know is he was one of the two heading toward Emmaus and that he was a disciple. That’s it.

But, at least he has a name.  “That very day, two of them were walking toward Emmaus…” One was Cleopas, as we said, but what of the other? Who was Disciple Number Two?

If I were a gambling man (I’m not, but let’s play the game), I would bet it was Luke. His not naming himself was a way that the ancients admitted they were part of a story without naming themselves as part of the story. Inclusion by exclusion, if you will. I suggest Luke was Cleopas’ unnamed companion who got to visit with the resurrected Jesus.

Now, that is sheer speculation – I admit it. Historically, textually, theologically, I can’t prove it in the slightest. So, since I’m on a limb anyway, let’s try something. I want you to create in your mind a picture of the two traveling alongside Jesus. Got it? Now, look closely at the one on the left; that’s Cleopas. Look closely at his face: see his stern look, deep eyes, dark complexion and beard? Now, imagine his face slowly begin to lighten as Jesus speaks. Do you see his brow lifting, his frown turning into a smile, edging into a grin, his eyes brightening, his shoulders straightening? His spirit is lifting as slowly, his heart begins to understand. Now, look at the other traveler. Look closely...what does that disciple look like? Look more closely...who do you see? Look closely…

See yourself in the face of the other, unnamed disciple. Perhaps that is what Luke intended (did you notice in the painting, above, how you see Jesus and Cleopas' face, but not the other? I submit that's what the artist is suggesting as well) – that you, dear 21^st century disciple of Jesus, you see yourself walking along the road, journeying through life this side of heaven. And,, do you see who is there with you? Jesus. You journey with Jesus, in your Baptism, from cross and tomb to life. More than that, Jesus journeys with you, from font to resurrection and all steps in between.  You know Jesus, not from what you have seen with your eyes but with spirit-given faith. You see Jesus, not as a failed messianic pariah who didn’t meet expectations but as God who took on flesh to dwell among us to take our place. You see Jesus, not as a social hero for the helpless but as the champion who rescues the world. You see Jesus not as one who came out on the losing end of a political but as one who surrendered to sinful men so He could fulfill His Father’s plan of salvation. 

You see Jesus, your Savior who died, whose, and who restored you to the Father.