Stop Doubting and Be Believing - John 20: 19-31

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson, John 20.

It’s Easter evening. That morning, Peter and John rushed to the empty tomb and rushed back to tell the others that Jesus was risen, as He said. Mary has encountered both the heavenly angel with his message of resurrection and Jesus Himself, alive and better-than-well. The Emmaus disciples welcomed the unknown traveler who was revealed as Jesus, only after He broke bread with them. They, too, ran back to Jerusalem with the news. Over and over, the evidence and the message were clear: Jesus is alive! He has risen as He said!

But for 10 men in the upper room, there is a disconnect between what they witnessed and heard and what they were feeling. It’s interesting to me that John doesn’t say anything new about their faith at this point. I suspect that having noted that they believed Jesus’ resurrection at the empty tomb in the morning, we must assume that they were still believing, though still not understanding. Thus, do not think they are hiding because they are afraid Jesus was faking it, or somehow dead again. They were behind locked doors, “for fear of the Jews.” A better way to understand the depth of their fear is “terrified,” thinking “as went our Master, so will we go.” If the Jewish and social leaders colluded to put Jesus, the Christ, to death, how much more at risk are we? The Ten imagined their posters to be on every post office wall throughout Jerusalem: Wanted, dead or alive.

You can imagine that when Jesus appears, they about jumped out of their robes and sandals. That’s why His message is clear, simple and to the point. He speaks one word: peace. We talked about this a few weeks ago, that we often think of peace as absence of conflict. That’s true, but that is a definition from the negative: what something is not. Instead, think of peace from the positive: what it is. Peace is restoration, wholeness, reunion. When Jesus declared peace, He is proclaiming that the wholeness that once perfectly existed between God and Man, before it was destroyed by sin, has been restored. God’s wrath is appeased; His pleasure is restored. The relationship between God and Man is, well, at peace.  

When Jesus proclaims a message, the words deliver exactly what the words say. “Peace be with you.” When He speaks peace, that message also brings restoration of peacefulness to the Ten. Without adding any extra words, it’s as if Jesus was saying, “…and stop letting fear drive you.”

Jesus then commissions the disciples to be deliverers of the peace they have received. Proclaiming forgiveness is the distribution of peace, proclaiming that sins that caused separation have been paid for by Christ’s death. With that very saving act fresh in their minds, the proclamation would have been visual as well as verbal: we saw it; we hear it; now, we speak it to others.

Unfortunately, Thomas Didymus was absent. One wonders where he was. Perhaps he was hiding on his own, not trusting anyone – remember, one of his friends, Judas, had betrayed Jesus. Perhaps he was with other friends, listening for the inevitable clank of armor and swords at the door of their home. Wherever he was, he was filled with angst, worry, fear. He was without peace. He was not yet restored. So, later, when the others told him of the news of seeing Jesus, he was in denial. “Unless I see and touch, I refuse to believe.”

Poor guy. He gets an unfair brand, don’t you think? We don’t call Peter “The Denier.” We don’t call Matthew “The Crook.” We don’t call James “The One Who Mocked His Brother, Jesus.” Only Thomas gets stuck with the Scarlet Name of Doubter.

I resonate with Thomas. Faith is not one of my spiritual gifts. Hand-wringing and chin rubbing, unfortunately, are. The irony is that worry is the allusion that our selfish actions can impact the outcome. Worry is faith inside-out, clinging to the trouble, where faith focused on Christ surrenders to the good and gracious will of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. I know that, I teach that, I preach that, yet I struggle with it. I know I am not alone. To be honest, I admire and almost covet – not sure whether that’s a 9^th or 10^th Commandment issue - “envy” (to use the term) those with great faith who can cling to the love of God when it seems everything is backwards. So, in moments when my already minimal faith is shaken and shaking, I cling to two things:

The first is this promise of God through Isaiah (42:3): “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.” Even though my faith is weak, that does not disparage me in the eyes of God for the sake of Christ Jesus.

The second thing I cling to is with Thomas, himself – or, to be more specific, with Jesus’ interaction with Thomas. Listen again to the interaction: A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

Notice that Jesus does not scold Thomas. He doesn’t chastise Thomas for his doubts or his insistence on seeing and touching Jesus. Instead, Jesus speaks that same word of peace to Thomas. He doesn’t mock Thomas’ need to see and touch. Instead, Jesus invites him to touch and see. And when Thomas finally proclaims, “My Lord and my God!,” Jesus simply tells him to stop being a disbeliever and to believe, and fills him with the peace of belief.

John 20:27-28 - Full of Eyes
Used with permission

That’s what faith does. It clings to the promises of God that are unseen. Thomas hadn’t seen the resurrected Christ, so he refused to believe. When he stopped refusing to believe, the Spirit rushed in with faith to cling to the One who grants faith in the first place.

A moment ago, I admitted I struggle with faith and I said I suspect some of you do as well. I say that based on a lot of years of hearing people talk about the struggle of living under the cross, this side of heaven. It’s one thing to hear, listen and believe here, in the sanctuary, in this house of God, but sometimes “out there,” where faith crashes against the pavement and life comes hard, sometimes faith is shaken. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve heard people say, “I wish I could see Jesus like the disciples did.” To an extent, I can understand that. But, when I hear that sentiment, I remind them that even when the disciples saw Jesus, when they touched Him, when they broke bread with Him, they still struggled with faith as well. Consider Thomas. So, when I hear that – or when I feel it myself – I lean back into these words of blessing from Jesus Himself:

Then Jesus told [Thomas], “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Listen to that second sentence again: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Remember, how Jesus words deliver what they say? For you, and for me, who have not yet seen Jesus with these eyes, Jesus blesses us with the very faith necessary to have faith in Him, whose faith is made perfect for us. And, to make sure that faith continues to grow – Jesus is not content to leave us with minute, miniscule faith; He continues to strengthen and magnify that faith – to make sure that faith continues to grow, He gives us His very Word in Scripture. “These are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” If you feel your faith isn’t even up to a bruised reed or hardly has a spark left in the wick of faith, open the Scriptures and let the blessing of Jesus flow from His words to you and be strengthened and energized as that same Spirit, blown upon the disciples in the upper room on Easter evening, He comes to us in Baptism, in the Word, at the Table of the Lord to create, strengthen, and enliven faith in Him.

Sir Robert Browning, the English poet, once penned a sonnet called “Bishop Blougram's Apology.” It’s a dialogue between Bishop Blougram and a journalist. After listening to the journalist go off on the foolishness of faith, Blougram said:

You call for faith:
I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.
The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say,
If faith o'ercomes doubt.

I learned those lines a long time ago. Faith isn’t given in a vacuum; it’s given and strengthened when tested against doubt.

Unfortunately, Thomas mostly disappears from the pages of Scripture after this. We know very little of the one who has unfairly been branded “Doubter.” But, according to legend, Thomas’ doubts were so assuaged that he became an evangelist and apostle to what is now the area in and around India. As Paul was to Europe, Thomas was to southern Asia. To this day, he is considered the greatest Christian missionary ever to that part of the world.  

I don’t know that I’ll ever have my doubts assuaged to that level, but I continue to cling to the One who’s faith is perfect, and who’s weakness is greater than any possible strength of mine could be.

If you are like me, then stop doubting. In fact, repent of the doubts and the clinging to worry as if you can control things, and instead begin believing. Turn to the pages of Scripture where that faith, battered and broken it may be, is bound up and fanned into flame that burns brightly with the love of God, through Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

 

Living With Easter Hope & Joy - Matthew 28: 1-11

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

Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

We know that very simple, but very powerful truth. We know the Easter message. We know, believe, trust and rely on the angels’ three-word sermon, “He has risen,” and we rejoice and celebrate what those words mean: our sins are paid in full with the suffering and death of Jesus; peace with the Father is restored; we are atoned-for by the blood of Christ, so that God sees us as holy and redeemed. He has risen. The resurrection and the empty grave both stand as holy evidence that all of these things are true.

We know and believe all of those things, so our gathering this morning is marked with celebration. Alleluia returns to our liturgy and hymnody. The heavy tone and message of the Lenten hymns is gone; the brighter, triumphant hymns and melodies soar while the organ thunders. The hidden glory of Jesus at the cross behind man’s attempt to silence and murder Jesus is replaced with the open glory of the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection. Whether it’s the first-hand narratives of a resurrected Jesus in the Gospels or the proclamation of the same resurrection message through the book of Acts, the resurrection is front-and-center in our worship lives today and throughout the season of Easter.

Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

We know this. We believe this. But it is worth remembering this morning that on that first Easter, while it was still dark, as Mary Magdelene and the other Mary went to the tomb, they did not know these things. For them, the horrors of Good Friday were still fresh in their minds. I can imagine that they spent Sabbath, the thirty-some hours since Jesus died, restlessly mourning and stealthily preparing the necessary oils and spices for a proper burial – something they were prevented from doing Friday because of the beginning of Sabbath at sundown, shortly after Jesus gave up His spirit. Weighed down with spices and aloes, plodding towards Jesus’ grave, they were also weighed down with grief. I imagine they were discussing logistics: how to do the sacred, loving act of wrapping the body properly; how to get the massive stone rolled away from the mouth of the tomb; whether the soldiers who were standing guard would even let them near the grave, let alone allow them to enter. That morning, for those two women, it was not yet “Easter.” It was not a resurrection celebration. It was a day of mourning and lamenting the hard reality of the death of their Lord, their Master, Jesus of Nazareth.

All of their wondering, all of their fearful drudgery comes to a shaking halt as an earthquake rocks the earth. Where the ground shook Friday in mourning for the death of the Lord of Creation, Sunday morning, it shook with joy. Even creation responds to the message: just as the darkness of night is pushed aside as the sunshine begins to glow on the eastern horizon, so the darkness of sin, death, and the grave, is pushed aside as the Son of God incarnate rises. He has risen. Heaven joins the celebration as an angelic messenger, radiant in snow-white clothing, descends to roll back the stone. Angel means messenger, remember, and his actions to open the grave present the visible message while his words to the women proclaim the message: Christ has risen, indeed. Even the guards, who were knocked out at the sight of the angel, can’t ignore the obvious: the grave they protected is empty. The One whom they guarded is gone. Christ has risen.

We could stop there with that announcement and that would be enough. He has risen declares God’s plan of salvation in the death of Christ is complete. The Father accepted Jesus’ death-payment for our own sins’ wages. If all the angel said was those three words, He has risen, that would still be the greatest Easter proclamation of all.

But he added three small words, three important words, that cannot be overlooked. “As He said.” As He said, as Jesus said – not what he, the angel, said. That’s what a messenger does. He delivers what has been told to him. By saying this, the angel defers to Jesus Himself. It’s as if the angel was saying, “Listen! You don’t have to believe me. Believe Him – the same one who called Lazarus from the grave, who declared Himself to be the resurrection and the life, who said He must go to Jerusalem and be delivered into the hands of men, and that they would kill him, and then promised that He would die and three days later be raised. Believe His Word, His promises. They are trustworthy and true. And, if you don’t believe me, if you don’t believe His own words, then look – see for yourself. He isn’t here. He has risen as He said.”

Throughout the Old Testament, God called prophets to speak in His name. They had two specific tasks: to forth-tell and to foretell. Forth tell is to say, “Thus saith the Lord,” and to deliver the words God gave them to say. Sometimes those words were hard words of Law, calling people to repentance. Sometimes, those were words of Good News, words of forgiveness, remembrance, grace and compassion. And, sometimes, to better enable the people to believe – especially when the words were almost too much to believe - God allowed the prophet to foretell, to prophecy, to predict something that was to come. For example, Elijah foretold the three-year drought that would strike Israel. The purpose of those prophesies was to give credence to all of the prophet’s words. If this thing that I foretold happened as God declared, then all the other words I speak in His name are also true.

Now, take that idea and apply it to Jesus. If His death and His resurrection happened as Jesus declared, and His Word was shown to be true, then all of the things He said are true as well – including the promise that an Easter resurrection awaits us – are true as well.

It is no small thing that this takes place very early on the first day of the week. Matthew calls it the day after Sabbath. We would call it Sunday. Sunday is when creation began in Genesis; it came to completion on Sabbath, what we call Saturday, and on that 7^th day, God rested. With the resurrection, when else would you expect a new creation to begin, a new heaven and a new earth to be opened, the dawning of a new life in Christ but at the beginning of a new week? The old week, the old creation, the old adam is completely redeemed and reconciled through the blood of Jesus. “It is finished,” remember? He didn’t mean His life; Jesus meant God’s plan of salvation. The exchange was complete: Jesus’ life for the lives of the world; Jesus’ death substituting for the eternal death of all mankind; Jesus’ holiness in exchange for the sins of the world. All of it: “it is finished.” And on the 7^th day, that holy Sabbath after Good Friday, God’s Friday, Christ rested in the tomb from His work of redemption. As is the week, as is God’s plan of salvation. Rest is followed by resurrection. Resurrection Day begins a new week; it’s the dawning of a new creation, an 8th day of creation, if you will. Resurrection ushers in a new beginning; it gives new life. He who was dead is alive. He who was buried is raised. He who was restrained cannot be contained any longer – not by creation, not by a stone, not by a grave, not by death. He has risen!

On Easter day, it is easy to get caught up in the romance of the day and forget that there is also a word of future promise of the angel: He has gone before us. Now, in the context of the reading, the angel means that Jesus has gone to Galilee and the disciples will find Him there. Before His ascension, He will appear to the twelve disciples and hundreds more as eye-witness proof of the resurrection, demonstrating the angel and the grave were telling the truth. But, for us in the 21^st century, “He has gone before us,” carries a second meaning. These words stand as a promise that we too, when Christ returns, will have our own resurrection day into eternity. On the day of the great resurrection, when the trumpets sound, the dead in Christ will be raised, whole and holy, entering into the new heavens and the new earth, the fulfillment of the new creation that we experience now, but dimly.

But, don’t think that resurrection is just a future-tense event. It’s a present-tense reality. You are a baptized child of God. Note: present tense, are. Not were, not will be. Are. You are a baptized child of God. You notice the baptismal candle is lit this morning. In your Baptism, you are united with Christ. Think of the Easter power that has for you! “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.  For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Rom. 6:3-5). Today, you will hear people say, “Christ is risen” you will probably answer “He is risen indeed.” Today and tomorrow and the next day and every day, I want you to add something. I want you to say, “We are risen, we are risen indeed! Alleluia!”

Psalm 144:1 - Full of Eyes
Used with Permission of Artist

Let’s try it: We are risen! We are risen, indeed! Alleluia!

Now, here’s why that is important.

Twenty-six years ago, Easter was on April 23. I don’t have to look that up on an old calendar, or Google it. I know it; I remember it. I was in my last year at Seminary, about six weeks from graduation. Two weeks earlier, I had found out I would be the pastor at Grace Lutheran Church in Crockett, Texas, to be ordained and installed later in the summer. It was an exciting time with lots of things to look forward to in the months ahead.

Our dean of students had challenged us fourth-year men to preach in chapel. I accepted the challenge and was scheduled to preach the Tuesday after Easter, April 25. I was assigned the Old Testament lesson for that day, from Isaiah, where he writes, “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who proclaim Good News, who proclaim peace, who says unto Zion, ‘Behold, your God reigns.’” I connected Easter with Isaiah and with the future message that we would be proclaiming to our churches in just a few months. It was an experience that I hope I never forget, getting to preach in that magnificent Seminary chapel building to fellow students and teachers and mentors whom I admired and with whom I had spent years learning, growing, and struggling to learn this blessed vocation. After chapel, as I walked away, several friends and profs thanked me and complemented my sermon.

I was feeling quite good as I walked across campus when a friend came towards me, crying, tears running down his cheeks. His wife had recently had some health issues, and I was afraid he had just gotten bad news. In my mind, I was trying to figure out what to say to him when he blurted out, “Jon…I don’t know how to tell you this…Laura just called…your Dad died this morning.” I remember how time both stopped and sped up at the same time. Somewhere in there, Laura arrived. After hugging and crying together, we walked over to the Dean of Students office. As we sat down, he began to complement my sermon I had just preached, but then he noticed our faces. As he sat down, I told him about Dad. Truthfully, I remember almost nothing about the rest of our conversation. As we were wrapping up, he looked at me and said, “You preached a wonderful Easter message this morning and the hope we have because of Jesus’ death and resurrection.” He paused. Then, he said, “Now, you get to live out that Easter hope that you preached.”

I have thought about Dean Rockemann’s words more than once the last few weeks. I don’t need to tell you why. But it’s not just me. It’s us, as God’s people. It’s us, as the church. It’s us, the communion of saints, this side of heaven. We live in Easter hope every day, not just on high holy days like Easter, or at hard, difficult days like the death of a loved one. Even then, as we stand at the closed grave of our loved one, we do so with the promise of the day when that grave will be opened, and ours, too, when Jesus returns and voids all vault and casket warranties by raising us from the dead.

That day in his office, Dean Rockemann told me that I was to live out the hope that I preached. Now you, you, God’s people, you get to live out the hope that you have heard, living in Easter hope, today and every day as Baptized children of God.

Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed. Alleluia.
We are risen. We are risen, indeed. Alleluia.

Who Doesn't Love A Parade? - John 12: 12-19

 

Cherokee Strap Parade, Enid OK. Date, unknown.
   Cherokee Strip Parade, Enid, Oklahoma - The Gateway to Oklahoma History

If there's one thing that Ray Stevens taught us, it's that everybody loves a parade. "It's a typical American phenomenon where all the people have a high old time." Whether it's in Hahira or Enid, Oklahoma, or anywhere across the world, generations of people have lined city streets to join in the excitement and festivities when a parade enters town.

From the crowds that gathered, it seems the same is true in ancient Jerusalem as Jesus enters Jerusalem.

Until you look more closely, that is. The Romans did not love this parade. In fact, this parade looked more like the start of a riot. With nervousness, the Roman troops looked on as the crowds chanted something another about a King of Israel coming on a donkey's colt. What could this mean? Was this man Jesus a political revolutionary who would stir Jerusalem, swollen with pilgrims in town to celebrate the annual Passover, to revolution? Would His presence ignite with the ancient memories of Egypt's oppression of Israel that were remembered at Passover time to inflame rebellion? But the Roman soldiers watched in vain for their would-be insurrection. Jesus is not that kind of king.

The Jewish religious leaders did not love this parade. They had already learned that Jesus was not their kind of Messiah. They loved the glory of man. His was to fulfill the glory of God. He was not a teacher of Israel who could be controlled. They were threatened by His rising popularity and they concluded that if He were allowed to go on doing the things He did and saying the things that He said, their religion and ways of controlling religion would be ruined. No wonder that they stood by, grumbling, as the parade passes: “You see that you are accomplishing nothing. Look, the whole world has gone out after Him!”

Neither did Satan love this parade. In fact, Satan had done as much as he could to prevent the parade from happening in the first place. He had offered Jesus another way some three years earlier as he tempted Jesus to embrace the kingdoms of this world by simply bowing down and worshiping him. Satan even tried to use Peter, James and John to keep Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration with a moment of glory in comfortable tents instead of going down to Jerusalem, going towards the cross. The cross would mean suffering and shame for Jesus, but for Satan it would spell his own eternal defeat. No wonder that Satan, speaking through Simon Peter, had rebuked Jesus as Jesus spoke of how He must go to Jerusalem to suffer, die, and, on the third day, rise again. Satan hated the sight of this parade as the King of Kings and Lord of Lords made His way in humility to the place of sacrifice.

But Jesus loves this parade. He isn't fooled by the shouts of "Hosanna!" He knows that they will be short-lived. He knows that in the matter of just a few days another cry will come from the fickle lips of the people: “Crucify Him! Crucify Him! Let His blood be upon us and our children.” He knows that even His own disciples will forsake and deny Him, and one of them will even betray Him. He knows that we for whom He died care little for His cross and suffering, even knowing what it means for our salvation. Jesus loves this parade—not because of the momentary popularity that it gives Him, but because this parade culminates in the cross. That is why He came into the world. That is why He, in fulfillment of Zechariah's prophetic word, mounted that donkey and rode into Jerusalem as the King going to His throne, as a bridegroom going to His bride. For the joy that was set before Him, He endured the cross, scorning its shame.

We spend so much our lives trying to avoid suffering. The world even tells us that it is a good thing to destroy the life of one who suffers if the suffering cannot be controlled or ended in any other way. To those who think that the supreme good in life is to avoid pain, the Suffering Servant, our Lord Jesus Christ, is an embarrassment, and His cross a foolish scandal. If the cross is the highlight of the parade and the foolishly suffering Jesus is the grand marshal, the world wants nothing to do with him.

But Jesus did not detach Himself from the suffering. He did not avoid Jerusalem. Jesus took the path to Calvary. He walked the way of the cross. Even when He was abandoned and deserted, betrayed and denied, He held to the work that was His alone to do. He drained the cup of suffering. When the parade was over and cheering crowds were silent and the palm branches wilted in dust, the Lamb of God dismounted the donkey and kept walking. During Holy Week He goes from this triumphant entry to the upper room and Gethsemane's garden, and from there to the judgment hall and the cross. He goes there, driven by the passion to have you with Him for all eternity. The pain that He endures is real and raw. The death He dies is dark and cold. He does it all for you. It is no small thing that God allows Himself to be sacrified on a cross.

We celebrate this morning with our palms. Although we didn’t have a parade, per se, to enter the sanctuary, this morning we will participate in another parade, as we come forward to receive forgiveness and life and salvation in the body and blood of Christ. And Satan does not love this parade, either. He has made this a parade of pain and suffering because he does not want you to get to the end of it. But the body and blood of Jesus strengthens you to continue on this journey, enduring that pain and suffering, so that you will not perish, but have eternal life. It is no small thing that the same God who went the way of the cross still comes to you today. He does not come to show you the way out of suffering or a way around suffering, but the way through it. It is the way of His cross and resurrection. It is the way of His Gospel. It is the way of His body and blood given you to eat and drink from this altar. “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

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.