"I Am The Good Shepherd's Little Lamb" - John 10: 11-18

When we hear this morning’s Gospel lesson, our minds gently wander – much like a sheep, actually – to a picture of a lush hillside carpeted with thick, green grass, a stream of water that laughs and chuckles in frivolity as it splashes over dark, water-worn, glass-smooth rocks and boulders. The tree-line stands in stoic guardianship in the distance. Then, you hear it: the giddy call of playful, little lambs as they rise up from the dell and come around the hill, bouncing and dancing towards the pastures green and waters sweet. Above it all is the baritone voice of the shepherd, calling the lambs by name, keeping the sheep close and under his watchful eye. This is called a pastoral scene. Pastor, from the Latin word for shepherd.

Ah…those lambs. Those precious, giddy, lambs. Those innocent, white-as-snow lambs. That’s the picture we love to have of ourselves as we hear these words of Jesus in this morning’s Gospel lesson and we love to sing about it: “I am Jesus’ little lamb…”

Oh, the joy of being a lamb of the Good Shepherd. We know His voice, how He speaks to us in love. We know His Words He speaks to us in blessing.  We hear His instructions of how to live together as His sheep. “The Lord is my shepherd,” we recite, “I shall not want.” (Ps. 23:1)

Then why, some days, does it feel like instead of being His darling, little lambs we are instead the black sheep of the family – not because of what He has done, but because of what we do?

Like a stubborn lamb, we deliberately and willfully do what we want instead of hearing the Shepherd and listening to His voice. We hide the secret Facebook relationship and the Instagram photos, we disguise the gambling debt, we camouflage the physical harm we do to our bodies with the pills, we pretend this week’s drunken binge was different.  Like a foolish lamb, who wanders away from the Shepherd, we trick ourselves into thinking those harsh, sharp words said to our spouses and children didn’t cut that deeply, we out-and-out lie to ourselves by pretending that we can take care of ourselves and everything is under control. Like a coy lamb, not realizing the danger of hiding from the Shepherd, we hide our guilt so well that we can almost convince ourselves our sin doesn’t exist – almost, being the key word.  We justify it by saying, “Well, we’re not as bad as so & so,” or “At least I didn’t do what that sheep did.” We play the game, until, like a lost lamb, we find ourselves so enwrapped in the darkness that we don’t know where to turn. To paraphrase Psalm 49, in fear we wonder if this is the end; if death is to be our shepherd, with our forms consumed and no place left to dwell (Ps. 49:14-16)?

Repentance: this is the cry of a helpless, lost lamb.  Repentance confesses that these sins have gotten us nowhere except lost and separated from the Good Shepherd. Repentance drags them out of the darkness, out of the wilderness, and out into the Light. Repentance forces us to identify what we have done and what we have left undone. Repentance is sorrow over what we have done and what we haven’t done. Repentance is admission that we cannot save ourselves, no matter how hard we try; but, at the same time, we no longer want to continue doing what it is that we are doing. Repentance cries out, to paraphrase Romans 7, “Who will rescue this lost sheep from this body of death?”

Repentance – Christian repentance – has one more key aspect besides sorrow and the desire to stop being foolish sheep: faith. Faith says, “yes, I am a terribly sinful sheep, but I have a greater Good Shepherd.” Repentance turns, in faith, to the Good Shepherd and says, simply, “Lord, have mercy on me a sinful sheep.”

There is only one thing to do with sheep like this – disobedient, wandering, spiteful sheep. Someone must die.

“I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus says, “and I lay down my life for the sheep.”  That is a marvelous twist: the Good for the sinful; the holy for the unholy; the blameless for the fault-stained; the Shepherd for the sheep. Four times in these few verses, Jesus repeats the theme: I lay down my life for the sheep.  Death is not our shepherd (Ps 49:14), but death is the price our Shepherd receives for us. This Good Shepherd literally trades Himself, His life and His death for our death… and for our life.

I remember hearing the story of Gelert, the great wolfhound of Llywelyn the Great of Wales. “In this legend, Llywelyn returns from hunting to find his baby missing, the cradle overturned, and Gelert with a blood-smeared mouth. Believing the dog had savaged the child, Llywelyn draws his sword and kills Gelert. After the dog's dying yelp Llywelyn hears the cries of the baby, unharmed under the cradle, along with a dead wolf which had attacked the child and been killed by Gelert. Llywelyn is overcome with remorse and buries the dog with great ceremony.” In the small town of Beddgelert, Wales, there stands a statue to honor the legend of the faithful dog who traded his life for the life of his master. [1]

Our Good Shepherd is not a legend; our Good Shepherd is no longer dead and buried in a hillside in Israel. Jesus is the living fulfillment of every shepherd of the Scriptures. Where David used three stones to slay Goliath, Jesus had three nails driven into His hands and feet. Where Amos of Tacoa had to say, “Thus saith the Lord,” Jesus would say, “I am the way and the truth and the life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” Where the shepherds worshipped the newborn Jesus wrapped in humility, Jesus stands in glory, resurrected and alive.

Our Good Shepherd, who laid down His life for the sheep, has also taken it back up again, just as He promised. He now stands victorious, having conquered death and the grave, redeeming us from the eternal death our wandering lostness deserves.

Close your eyes for a moment; I want to try to paint a picture for you of what this looks like. Imagine a cute, soft, little lamb. He’s fluffy and clean, the words “bright eyed and bush tailed” describe this little lamb perfectly. Now, imagine that lamb is lost in the woods. The sky is dark, twilight is coming. The trees are imposing sentinels denying the lamb’s freedom. It’s been raining and the ground is a muddy, puddled, sloppy mess. Look closely at the lamb: that beautiful, white fleece is choked heavy with mud, rain, sticks and leaves. The lamb’s face isn’t calm and gentle; the eyes are wide in fear and jerk side-to-side at the unfamiliar and frightening sounds. It wants to run again, but it’s too tired; its sides heave in and out trying to catch its breath. Let your vision drift rearward, focusing past the lamb because back there, in the shadows, you see something moving. It’s big, whatever it is, and its moving slowly, to not startle the lamb. Shhh…listen. Do you hear that? It’s a man’s voice, baritone, calling softly and gently, calling out to the missing lamb. Moving gently but swiftly, he comes to the lamb, holds it, and swiftly examines it for wounds. Picking the lamp up out of the mud, the shepherd places the tired, worn out lamb on his shoulders and carries it out of the woods, back to the waiting flock.[2]

This is the picture of Jesus caring for His lost sheep. Notice, He doesn’t just take the lamb home; He takes it to the waiting flock. To help us remain faithful and live in His grace, He gathers us into a flock called a congregation that is cared for by a shepherd called a pastor. In the Greek New Testament, the word for church means “the called out ones.” We have been called out, and then called together, by the voice of the Good Shepherd. We call this a congregation. Congregation is derived from the Latin congregatio which means, literally, the herded-together ones. And called together, herded together, we live together, work together, play together; we worship together, receive the gifts of God together. We watch out for each other in times of sorrow and struggle, walking along side each other so that no one is left alone. We repent together and receive the gifts of forgiveness together. Together, we hear the voice of the Good Shepherd. He speaks His Word to us, He leads us to Baptismal waters and feeds us His body and blood, He binds us up in His love, He seeks out, rescuing and redeeming those who are lost. 

I started this sermon by saying how it sometimes feels like we are the black sheep of the family. Now, let’s sing about who we are, herded together in the blood of the Good Shepherd. Open your hymnal to #740. And, together, as baptized, forgiven, redeemed little lambs of God, we are able to sing:

“I am Jesus little lamb, ever glad at heart I am;
For my Shepherd gently guides me,
Knows my needs and well provides me,
Loves me every day the same,
Even calls me by my name.” [3]

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[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gelert

 

[2] The print by Kevin Carden is my favorite such picture

[3] “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb.” Lutheran Service Book #740. Public domain.

Christ is Truly Alive! - Luke 24: 36-49

“Thus it is written:  That the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance unto forgiveness of sins be preached in His name to all nations.”  (Luke 24:47)

How do you know something is true?  That’s a big question these days, when truth seems to have taken on the consistency of warm Jello.  Some people think the only way to the truth is science. Post-covid, that phrase certainly has lost its integrity.  The phrase “studies have shown” is somewhat compelling.  Even if you never see the data, you assume that it’s true, because studies have shown it to be true.  But that gets kind of nebulous, as well. After all, studies have shown that eggs are bad for you.  Later, studies have shown that eggs weren’t so bad, after all, and still more studies suggest that eggs might even be good for you. 

Without scientific facts, then what?  Some talk about a “leap of faith” and simply believe that something is true against the facts.  It just feels right.  Like bungee jumping.  Jump off the cliff and hope the rubber band will hold you.  People trust the government, though governments don’t have a very good track record when it comes to truth telling.  Would you give over a third of your income and the nurture of your children to a total stranger just because he says, “Trust me”?

What about something like the resurrection of the dead?  We say we believe in the resurrection of the body.  That’s the whole point of these seven weeks of Easter.  The body of Jesus is risen.  Our bodies will rise on the Last Day, guaranteed by the resurrection of Jesus.  But how do we know it’s true?  Or, for that matter, how can we know to trust Jesus rather than Mohammed or the Buddha or the Dhali Lama or our own gut feelings?

The last chapters of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all deal with the hard evidence of resurrection, each in his own way.  The open, empty tomb.  The folded burial cloths.  The scarred hands and feet and side.  The appearances to eyewitnesses.  This is how you build a case in court.  You present the evidence.  You call eyewitnesses to testify.  That’s what Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are doing.  Testifying.  Laying out the evidence for you, and for the whole world, that this Jesus is the crucified and risen Messiah of Israel, the Savior of the world, the Son of God. 

He’s to be trusted because He’s risen from the dead.  That’s a matter of history, an historic fact.  Our faith rests on facts not feelings.  Two historic facts - that Jesus died and on the third day rose from the dead. 

A couple weeks ago, a newscasters summarized Easter this way: “This is the day when Christians believe Jesus rose from the dead.”  Would you agree or disagree with that statement? Careful… it’s not quite accurate. As my oldest would say, “It’s not wrong, but it’s not quite right, either.” We don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead any more than we believe George Washington was the first president of the United States.  We assert it as a matter of fact.  The fact is, Jesus rose from the dead.   

His death being the atoning sacrifice for the sin of the world, now that’s a matter of faith.  His resurrection being our life and salvation, that’s a matter of faith.  But not the fact that on the third day, Jesus rose from the dead.  That’s a matter of fact.

In Luke, the fact of Jesus resurrection is always underscored by a meal.  Jesus appeared to two disciples in Emmaus at a meal.  They were prevented from recognizing Him earlier, even though one of them, Cleopas, was the brother of Joseph, they recognized Him when He broke the bread at the dinner table.  The two immediately rush back to Jerusalem to tell the disciples.  And the disciples tell them that Simon Peter saw Him.  (Jesus seems to be everywhere at once, which He is, since He fills all things in every way.)

While they’re comparing notes, Jesus appears in their midst and says,  “Peace be with you.”  That’s the Easter greeting.  It’s how you speak in the resurrection.  Death is defeated.  The grave can’t hold us.  Sin is forgiven.  Peace is restored. 

In Luke’s account, the disciples are startled and afraid and doubting.  Who wouldn’t be?  The news is just beginning to sink in that Jesus is risen, the reports are still somewhat sketchy, and before you can say “Alleluia!” there He is.  Jesus in the flesh, right there among them.  You almost expect Him to say “Boo!” or something like that. 

The disciples think they’re seeing ghosts.  But He shows them the evidence:  His hands and His feet, those wounds by which we are healed.  They mark Him forever as the Crucified One, the One who layed down His life for the sin of the world.  They also authenticate Him.  This is no substitute Jesus, no stand in.  Consider the evidence:  nail holes in His hands and feet; a spear mark in His side.

Jesus invites them to touch Him.  This is no ghost.  This is bone of our bones, flesh of our flesh.  That’s why we believe the body rises from the dead, because Jesus rose bodily from the dead.  His tomb is empty.  The disciples not only saw Jesus, they touched Him.  Flesh and bone.

Still not convinced?  It is pretty unbelievable, you have to admit.  Resurrections don’t happen every day.  Jesus takes a piece of broiled fish left over from dinner, and He eats it right in front of them.  It’s not that He was hungry.  He wasn’t looking for a snack.  More evidence.  Ghosts don’t eat.  Eating is a body thing.

And again, Jesus shows Himself in the context of a meal, just as He does for us in the Lord’s Supper.  Table and table, Word and Sacrament, that’s where the action is.  That’s where we can reliably expect to see Jesus.  In the Sacrament and in the Word. 

At the table, while eating with them, He opens their minds to the Scriptures, the old testatment, so that they can understand Moses, the prophets, the psalms - the entire old testament.  It’s all about Him, about Jesus.  Even before the name of Jesus was known and before the Son took on our humanity, the entire old testament was laying the groundwork.

That’s the third piece of evidence.  The Scriptures.  They point to Jesus before Jesus was ever known.  Jesus fulfills all that was ever written about Him.

The Bible is the record of the Mystery dwelling among us, the Word that made all things in the beginning, the Promise to one man named Abraham that created a nation of out nothing slaves.  The Word that brought freedom from slavery, that split the Red Sea, and carved out the only nation in the history of the world that could be called God’s nation.

Imbedded in that history of Israel, all of its battles, its ups and downs, successes and failures, strengths and weaknesses, is this singular message:  That the Christ, God’s anointed One, the Messiah, would suffer and die and on the third day rise again. Centuries, literally thousands of years before it all happened, it was written down and handed on, all pointing to that good Friday Jesus said, “It is finished.”

With minds opened to the Scriptures, the disciples would change the minds of the nations.  “Preach repentance unto the forgiveness to all the nations.  Present the evidence.  Preach the Word.  And I’ll open their minds and turn them to my forgiveness.  You just tell them.  Tellthe world I embraced by my death.  You’re my witnesses.  Testify.”

I find it remarkable that Jesus entrusted this amazingly good news to such a band of fearful, doubting disciples.  Of all the means the Lord has at His disposal, He uses the least efficient, weakest, most vulnerable.  I take great comfort in that, personally. If we ran the show, we would have used angels, or done the job ourself.  God could broadcast the good news to the world in a miraculous moment, if He chose.  But He chooses to call witnesses, imperfect people, to testify on His behalf. 

The wisdom is not our own, it’s God’s wisdom.  The truth is God’s truth.  The victory is Christ’s victory.  The power is the power of the Holy Spirit.  The work of salvation is done, accomplished once and for all on the cross.  Now the work must be preached to the nations, to every man, woman, and child. 

Jesus is Lord; Jesus is Savior; Jesus is risen from the dead.

The Twelve started in Jerusalem as far as they could.  Tradition says that John made it to Asia Minor.  Thomas went to India.  Paul, who wasn’t one of the Twelve, took it all over the Mediterranean world.  In our time, the good news came to us, as much of a gift to us as that first Easter was to the disciples.  Someone told you.  Someone testified to you about Jesus’ death and resurrection.

You, in turn, tell others what you’ve been told.  That’s how it works.  It’s not the most efficient way to get things done, but it’s God’s way, so who’s going to argue?  You are witnesses, testifying to what you have seen and heard, bearing witness to the fact of the resurrection of Jesus and the world’s death and resurrection in Jesus.  There are no “professional witnesses” in God’s church.  No hired experts.  There are simply disciples - sent into the world, sprinkled as salt over the earth, scattered as light in the darkness.

Faith isn’t about feelings.  It’s about facts.  Lay out the facts.  You have them at your fingertips.  (If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention.)  You have the cross and the open, empty tomb.  You have the eyewitness accounts -  Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  You have the Scriptures, which are able to make people wise to salvation in Christ Jesus.  You have the sacramental signs, the visible, tangible ways that God reveals Himself to be gracious in Jesus - Baptism, the Supper of Jesus’ Body and Blood, the word of forgiveness.  You have the power of the Holy Spirit.  Your Baptism assures you of it.

Remember the old Dragnet TV show?  Not the new one.  The old one, with Detective Joe Friday.  Remember his line when people started rambling on and on.  He’d say, “Just the facts Ma’am.  Just the facts.”  This dying, messed up world doesn’t need religious opinions or mantras or methods or programs.  Just the facts.  Jesus died and on the third day rose from the dead.  Bodily.  That’s a fact.  It was for you and for your salvation.  Trust Him.

In the name of Jesus,  Amen

"They Were Afraid..." Yet, Christ Is Risen!!!

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

I love Easter. I think most Christians do, too. The joy and excitement are palpable – particularly after the solemnity of Lent. There is a spring in our steps this morning. The joie de vivre has returned. New dresses, new slacks, new shoes, fresh haircuts, all mark our acknowledgement that today is no ordinary Sunday. It is celebration-with-a-capitol-C time! Not because of Reese’s eggs or chocolate bunnies, spiral cut hams and family gatherings. It’s time to celebrate because of Jesus’ resurrection from the grave!

You heard it a few minutes ago from St. Mark. The stone was rolled away. The resting space was bare; the grave was empty. The angelic announcement was heard, “He is not here – He is risen!”  St. John added that there was a little bit of confusion as the women reported to the Eleven that Jesus was missing, but Peter and John soon joined in the cadre of eyewitnesses to the empty tomb.

The three-day sign of Jonah was complete. The meaning behind Good Friday’s “It is finished” becomes clear and gains exclamation points as the church in heaven and on earth joins in the eternal cry, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” (Rev 7:11–12). Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Last Sunday, I told you that when I was a kid, we entered church singing the Palm Sunday “Hosannah’s.”  There as another song that we sang on Easter and in the Easter season, written by Presbyterian ministers Donald Marsh and Richard Avery. It had kind of a 60s camp song feel to it, but it was catchy and easy to sing.

(Ref)    Ev'ry morning is Easter morning from now on!
            Ev'ry day's resurrection day, the past is over and gone!

Goodbye guilt, goodbye fear, good riddance! Hello Lord, Hello sun!
I am one of the Easter People!  My new life has begun! (Refrain)

Daily news is so bad it seems the Good News seldom gets heard.
Get it straight from the Easter People: God's in charge! Spread the word!  (Ref) [i]

I like that description of us as “Easter people.” It’s a short, two-word summary that we trust that Christ died for the sins of the world, that His death fully atoned – paid for – our sins and the death price of eternity is satisfied. It says that peace, restoration, is made with God through His Son. It says that the Baptismal declaration spoken over Jesus, “You are my beloved Son,” is delivered to us as well, sons and daughters, who are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection. You are made righteous – right – with God through Jesus.

Last Sunday in Bible class, a comment was made something like this: “That might be true, but I don’t feel righteous.” Sure – this side of heaven, we still carry our Old Adam alongside our New Adam; the sanctified Christian is alongside the sinful self. We do things we are ashamed of and we don’t do things that we should have done. This is what Luther called “simul justus et peccator” – sinner and saint at the same time. But, of the two, the saintliness in Christ is greater because it is in Christ. He is greater than your sins. You are wrapped, dipped, drenched, covered so fully and completely in Christ, by God’s grace through faith, that the Father does not see a single sin to hold against you. They have all been fully atoned by Christ. All God sees is you, His beloved, His righteous one.

It’s not just your sins: even your works, the things you do, the day-in and day-out normal things you do, the nothing special things, are redeemed in Christ as well, so that even your vocation is redeemed and made holy. Best of all, this is a constant truth – not just something that is on Easter morning. “Every morning is Easter morning from now on! Every day is resurrection day, the past is over and gone!” You are always redeemed, always covered, always rescued, always beloved through Christ our Lord. You live in that constant hope, joy and promise. That is what it means to be Easter people. That is why we can answer “Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed!” with “We are risen! We are risen, indeed!” It’s no wonder Easter joy abounds today!

But this isn’t the case everywhere. This morning, there are a dozen or so families in the Baltimore area wondering, “now what do we do with our loved one gone in such a random, horrific accident?” There are farmers and ranchers in our Panhandle wondering how they are going to survive given their losses in the fires. There are spouses missing their life’s companion, parents missing their children, children missing their parents because an illness, an accident, or a mystery unknown to anyone except God. There is the individual on fixed income who tries to give faithfully, but while the cost of living keeps adding up, the budgetary math just doesn’t. This morning, among you in these pews, there is hand-wringing, chin-pulling, head-rubbing, stomach-gurgling and tear-wiping happening as faithful people, faithful men and women and children of God wrestle with what it means to be Easter people in a world that seems so far from Easter’s joy.

If that is you, or someone you know, listen again to this description of the women at the tomb that first Easter: “And they went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

It would be hard to blame them. After all, given the events of the previous 72 hours would have been traumatic for anyone to witness, let alone these who loved Jesus so dearly. They were afraid how they could get the massive stone moved to care for Jesus’ body. Then, arriving at the tomb, seeing the stone moved, that was fearful. They bravely entered the sepulcher – I don’t know if I would have done that – only to find things even more frightening: a missing Jesus, an empty resting place, and a heavenly, angelic man, dressed in white in His place. He tried to console them, reminding them of Jesus’ words and promises. He tried to engage their faith into action by sending them to spread the message. But their fear was too great, too raw, too much. They ran away, speechless and afraid. 

I am glad Mark tells us this. I am glad because there are times for God's people when we are afraid -- even, even at Easter. For you whose Easter isn’t ringing with alleluias, whose joy is tempered with the hardness of life, whose restorative peace feels like a fragile stalemate, whose excitement is replaced with dread or even indifference, that simple inclusion of the women’s fear is for you. It is for you because it speaks that this side of heaven, because of the fallen world we live in, the proclamation of the resurrection, the words of the angels, the preaching from this pulpit will, at times, sound less like a ringing chime and more like the clunk of scrap iron. The resurrection doesn’t make the hardness of this life under the cross go away. The Good News doesn’t turn everything into bunnies and lilies. “Christ is risen, He is risen, indeed!” doesn’t always drive away every fear.

But, what it does do, the proclamation and the words and the preaching, what it does, this Word of God, is that it keeps you from leaving here empty handed. Just like the women two thousand years ago who left the tomb with the Words ringing in their ears, you also have this Promise: “He has risen. He is not here.” That is enough. It is enough because it is all true: Christ is risen, as He said. He is not here, as He said. He is alive, as He said. Sins are forgiven, as He said. Peace is restored, as He said. We only get a glimpse of it, a foreshadowing of it now, but that doesn’t change the fact that it will all come to completion on the day of Christ’s return, the great resurrection of all flesh.

Don’t forget that, this Resurrection Day. Christ’s resurrection is a foreshadowing of our own resurrection day. That’s why every day is resurrection day – every day we live in the promise and in the Capitol-H-Hope that even thought we will die, we will live with Him into eternity. Whether today you are eating a 5-star meal of honey glazed ham, buffet potatoes, and fresh bread with three dozen family members, or you are eating a 2-star ham and scalloped potato frozen dinner by yourself, it pales in comparison to the feast that awaits us on the day of Christ’s return.

We began the Lenten season with Isaiah’s picture of Christ as the suffering servant. Let us begin the Easter season with his description of the great Easter feast:

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine,
of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined.

And he will swallow up on this mountain
the covering that is cast over all peoples,
the veil that is spread over all nations.

He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken.

It will be said on that day,
“Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us.
This is the Lord; we have waited for him;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

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

Amen.

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[i]  https://www.hopepublishing.com/find-hymns-hw/hw2970.aspx I am using this under "fair use" for educational purposes. To hear the music, do a YouTube search and sing along!

Passion Sunday with Palms - Mark 15: 1-47

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

Today is an odd Sunday, liturgically speaking, in that it begins as Palm Sunday and it jump-skips only to end as if it were already Good Friday. Growing up, the Sunday before Easter was always Palm Sunday. The church also had a parochial school, and my classmates and I would enter the service singing the first hymn as the children who welcomed Jesus so long ago. “All glory, laud and honor, to You, Redeemer King, To whom the lips of children, Made sweet hosannas ring” (LSB #442, refrain). When we left the service, we did so in anticipation of what would be remembered and retold later in the week with Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. It was a week-long build, heading towards the Institution of the Supper, Jesus’ death, the three-day rest in the tomb, and then the Resurrection. Now, today is called “The Sunday of the Passion.” Trying to shoe-horn it all in, it feels that Palm Sunday only gets a brief nod while our attention is pulled to the culmination of Jesus’ suffering and death.   

But, I checked, looked back over the last 6 years, and every year I passive-aggressively pushed back, pastorally speaking, by preaching the Palm Sunday event. This year, I gave in. This year, we’ll spend our morning pondering Jesus’ Passion.  

To be sure, we’ll spend more time on Jesus’ Passion this Thursday and Friday, particularly how Isaiah foretold what Jesus would endure in His last hours. I hope you join us those holy evenings. We’ll save the “how” Jesus accomplished our salvation for those nights. What I want to do with you this morning is use the Passion we read today and take three small moments that illustrate the “what” – what it is that Jesus came to do.  In the scope of the Passion, these are almost overlooked. Certainly, they pale in comparison to the actual crucifixion and death of our Lord. Yet, these show us something of what it means that Jesus is the Christ, the anointed one. If you have your bulletin, you can follow along.

The first is here, in v. 6-15, summarized this way: “So, Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered Him over to be crucified.” Jesus is our substitute. He stands in our place. Nothing about it makes sense. Why would the holy, sinless  Son of God allow Himself to take the place of condemned sinners? Yet, that is what He does. The narrative of Barabbas shows this in microcosm.

 Barabbas was guilty of murder and insurrection. At least he had the privilege of a proper trial and legal conviction. He was – literally – guilty as charged, and the charges deserved death. He was heading to his own crucifixion, his own much-deserved death. Even civil, secular governments know this: lawbreakers of the worst kind deserve the ultimate punishment. Jesus is innocent of the charges – so innocent that, the other Gospels tell us, the so-called witnesses could not agree. Herod and Pilate declared Him innocent five separate times. He should have been set free and never even touched with a whip.  With jealousy-fueled-hatred, the Jewish leaders riled up the crowds, demanding Jesus be executed while demanding Barabbas be set free.

In that moment, the innocent is made guilty, even though he did no wrong; the guilty is made innocent, even though he did every crime he was charged with. It’s the great exchange: Jesus takes the place of sinners. Not just Barabbas, but sinners of all time. And, not just the great and grievous sinners that we look at with suspicion and disdain, but the great and grievous sinners with whom our loved ones live with day in and day out. I mean you and me, sinners all. You and I, along with Barabbas, are set free from the damnation our sins deserve and Christ takes our place. He is our substitute. And, by God’s grace, through faith in this miraculous substitution, our sins are so forgiven that the Father doesn’t look at us with suspicion and disdain but with warmth and compassion, the love of a Father for His dearly beloved sons and daughters through Christ our Lord.

The second moment is in verse 31 and 32. “So also the chief priests with the scribes mocked [Jesus] to one another saying, “He saved others; He cannot save Himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe.” The irony is that the chief priest was spot-on. In His crucifixion, He not only is our substitute, He saves the world. Although He prayed to the Father, if possible, that the cup be taken from Him, Jesus did nothing to try to save Himself. From early in His ministry, He said in simple words that He must go to Jerusalem, suffer and die at the hands of the chief priest and Jewish leaders.

Also, interestingly, the chief priest uses Jesus’ title. His name is Jesus. Jesus means savior. His title is Christ, in Greek, or Messiah, in Hebrew. They mean the same thing: anointed. He is anointed to be the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. His throne would not be one like Herod, or even one like the chief priest would use. His throne would be the cross. While the chief priest may have wielded the power to take Jesus’ life, they could not destroy Jesus’ power.  Jesus, of course, would come down from the cross, buried by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus and the women. Three days later, He would rise from the dead. While the chief priest never believed, as far as we know, many others – including you and me – do believe, by God’s grace, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

The third moment is in verse 38, when “the temple curtain was torn in two, from top to bottom.” That curtain had existed for centuries, since the first tabernacle was assembled in the desert of Sinai thousands of years earlier. It stood as a barrier, so that the worshipping Israelite would not get too close to the Holy of Holies, the place where the shekinah, the presence and glory of God, rested. It was so glorious and holy, in fact, that the high priest could only enter the sacred space on one day of the year, yom kippur, the day of atonement. There was elaborate sacrificial ceremony with the priest successively confessing his own sins, the sins of priests, and the sins of all Israel. Clothed in white linen, he then entered the Holy of Holies to sprinkle the blood of the sacrifice and to offer incense. The ceremony concluded when a goat (the scapegoat), symbolically carrying the sins of Israel, was driven to its death in the wilderness.

With the curtain split apart – I love how the old King James said, “rent asunder” – there was no longer a barrier between man and God. The sacrificial system was complete. Animals no longer had to be slaughtered; grain and milk no longer had to be consumed by fire. God’s people have complete and free access to the Father through Christ’s death. 

While we look in anticipation to these holy moments, rightly remembered later this week, I would be remiss without this note about Palm Sunday.

There are three major moments in the lives of God’s people when palms come into play. In Leviticus, when the children of Israel was instructed to celebrate the Feast of Booths, or Sukkoth, they were to include the waving of palm branches as a way of giving thanks to the Lord for His blessings over the previous year. In the Gospels, the palms were waved during Jesus’ triumphal entry, along with the cry of “hosanna” – help us, save us. Both illustrate life under the cross, this side of heaven: giving thanks for His gracious gifts while also praying for His mercy. The third place is in Revelation, when the heavenly host waves the palms with celebratory shouting, singing praises to the Lamb who has won the battle. No longer praying for mercy and grace, the shout of Hosanna is, truly, one of victory. “Salvation belongs to our God who is sitting on the throne and to the Lamb!”

This Palm Sunday, this Sunday of the Passion, we are in between those moments. Sukkoth found its completion in Jesus’ tabernacling among us. Palm Sunday led to His crucifixion, redeeming us. And, now we wait with eschatological hope for the great day of Resurrection when, with all the saints in heaven, we will join in the eternal Palm Sunday and Resurrection celebration, as we will witness:

And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” (Rev 7:11–12).

A Servant Who Serves In Humility - Mark 10:35-45

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text for this morning is the Old Testament lesson form Jeremiah 31.

In just a few weeks, I’ll mark the 24th anniversary of Seminary Call Night, the evening when soon-to-be graduates find out where they will be serving as pastor. I thought about this the other day when, digging through some pictures, I found one of my best friend and I, standing on the chapel steps that evening. We had visions of grandeur. We would graduate with highest of praise, be placed in a large city with a big church that worships hundreds. That church, which already would have a great reputation, would experience a tremendous growth under our pastoral leadership and attendance would swell, programs would blossom, people would flock to the church and baptisms, confirmations, and weddings would be a regular occurrence. As the church would grow, our reputations would grow as well and we would become circuit visitors, then one of us an area vice president, with the other becoming District president – all the while doing the job better than anyone who had come before us.

James and John had the same mindset, wanting to be in on management level in Jesus’ kingdom. “Grant us to sit, one at your left and one at your right, Jesus,” was the brothers’ request. Of course, one wonders how they would have figured out who would have had which seat. After all, if they are willing to try to out maneuver the other ten disciples, including Peter, what’s a little sibling rivalry?

You’ve heard me say this before: they think Jesus is going to be establishing a monarchy in the line of David. They think He’s going to be making political appointments – secretary of state kind of stuff, the kind of position where you want to be considered. Fun and games, power and authority, palace ballrooms and schwanky dinners…all theirs, just for the asking.

But reality is sometimes a far cry from what is wanted.

Jesus turns James and John upside down. First, those positions of power and authority aren’t His to give. Even if they were, the brothers don’t have a grasp on what they are asking. This is the kind of stuff that Gentiles look for. That’s not the life of discipleship, that’s not life under the cross.

To their arrogant request, Jesus asks if they can drink the cup He is about to drink, or be baptized in the way He is about to be baptized – speaking of His death. Again, foolishly, they think they can do this…or whatever it takes to get those coveted positions of power. I can almost see Jesus shaking His head – can’t you? - “You will drink, and you will be baptized.” They will have a share in His suffering and death. They will drink from His cup at His table, when He gives it to them and says, “Take and drink. This is my blood of the covenant shed for you.” He drinks the cup of wrath so that they, and you, may drink His cup of forgiveness. He drinks the accursed cup so that you might drink the cup of blessing. With the cup and the bread of His Supper, Jesus gives you a share in His death and life, in His suffering and sacrifice. And in His glory.

It's a strange kind of glory, isn’t it? We think of glory with flags and bands and armies marching in a row. Seminary graduates are full of theology of glory, wanting success and wanting it right now. Luther called this “theology of glory,” where the cross is bypassed and the glory of this world is worshipped and adored. But the glory of Christ is far different. It looks so weak, so defeated, so meaningless to the world. Death isn’t glorious. General Patton famously said, “Your job isn’t to die for your country; it’s to make that old so & so die for his!” But this is where Jesus leads; this is where Jesus leads us.

This is hard to remember; it is hard to understand. With our eyes, we see the cross, at best, as a cute decorative wall hanging or a nice piece of jewelry. We don’t even see Jesus. But, through the lens of faith we see the cross as what we deserve. We deserved to die there for the sins that we do, think, say, and even those that we inherit. We see Jesus on that cross, taking our place, trading His perfect life for our failed, sin-stained disobedience. We hear Jesus cry out, “Father forgive them,” knowing that it wasn’t just for the soldiers driving home the nails, or the mocking crowds, or even the disciples who ran. He prayed that for us. And when we hear the cry, “It is finished,” we remember that Jesus once-for-all death is not merely sufficient, it is overly abundant in paying the world’s debt price in full.

He comes as a suffering Servant to serve. His followers, His disciples, His baptized believers who share His cup are here to serve, to lay down their lives. Greatness in His kingdom is not about power but about sacrifice. “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant; whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.” That’s how the kingdom of God looks in this world. Humble, self-giving servants of the Servant of all, who endured the baptism of His cross and drank the cup of God’s wrath in order to save you, me and the world.

Life under the cross is not glamorous; it is not fun. The average LCMS Seminary graduate serves a church that worships under 80 people, and many of those will be under 50. My first church was 35. His salary will be less than a starting teacher. He’ll work early and late to study and write, visit and receive visitors. He’ll spend hours at the bedsides of elderly and dying people. Statistically, he will bury more than baptize and for every three teenagers he confirms, two will leave the congregation within four years. He will wrestle with thin budgets. He’ll try new programs and new ideas and either meet direct resistance or indifference. He scratches his head and wonders what he is doing wrong. For this purpose, assume he is being faithful. The answer is nothing. It’s life under the cross in the 21st century.

When I was that young pastor, a friend came to visit me because I was down in the dumps. My first parish was about as opposite those dreams as they could be: a very small congregation in a mostly Southern Baptist community in East Texas where Lutherans were a rarity. Average attendance was less than 40. I had baptized one child, confirmed two. Buried five. Not much of a success story, I lamented. He challenged my thinking, asking if I was doing this for my name or for the kingdom of Christ.

 In my office, I have a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s a dark picture – literally and figuratively – as the future of the cross looms in the distance. He pointed to that picture and said, “Here’s a test for you. Stand before that picture and pray, “Jesus, grant me the favored seats in your kingdom, either on your right or on your left.” Do you think that James and John would have said these things while standing at the foot of Jesus’ cross? Would you?

The positions at Jesus right and left were reserved for two special people; two special sinners. It probably wasn’t who you think it could be. It wasn’t James or John, or Peter, or St. Paul. Luke reports it this way: “And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified Him, and the criminals, one on his right and one on His left.” One criminal hung onto his theology of glory: “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” He wanted Jesus to demonstrate His power now – never mind that he apparently had no use for Jesus in death, not in life. The other understood life under the cross, that it wasn’t about the immediate, but the eternal; it wasn’t about his name, but the Name of the one who hung next to him: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Do you want to be great in the kingdom of God? Be a servant of all. Do you want to be first? Then be last. Do you want a seat near Jesus? Then go sit among the least and the lost and the lowly and the losers of this world and you will find the Savior of all. He has a cup for you, drink it. He has a Baptism for you, be baptized into it. He has forgiveness, life and salvation for you. Believe it.

In the name of Jesus,

Amen

Created in Christ Jesus to Do Good Works – Ephesians 2:10

 

“Created in Christ Jesus to Do Good Works” – Ephesians 2:10

We live in an age where Christian consciences are burdened and weighted with “shouldas,” “couldas,” and “wouldas.” Add an "if," as in "If I woulda..." or "If I coulda..." and it can become almost crippling at times. These are words of judgement, lament, sadness, guilt and shame. They invade our lives, and they touch the Christian life in so many ways, it can contaminate every aspect of life, sucking joy, peace, happiness and contentment completely dry. Worst, it leaves us feeling as though we don’t do anything right, that whatever we touch is wrong, and left unchecked, satan uses it to even doubt our very life as a child of God.

Let me be more specific. Probably 20 years ago, a young mother came to me, terrified, that she was a disaster as a mother. She ran down a long litany of things she perceived that she wasn’t doing well enough at – there were dirty dishes  in the sink, laundry wasn’t folded, she forgot to keep an appointment, her boss wanted her to take on a greater responsibility in the company – it was a great career move, one she wanted, but she was worried how that would impact her time with her new son and husband… I think you get the idea. Finally, she got to the end of the list and she said something like, “…and with all of this, I feel like a total failure, like nothing I do is good enough, and even God is disappointed in me.”

Hmmm….what do you say to a mother who feels that way? Or a father, or a student, or a 20-something who is trying to make it in the world where, as the saying goes, it’s a dog-eat-dog world and you feel like you’re holding the last Milkbone treat.  

In Ephesians 2, Paul begins the chapter by setting up the fact that although we were dead in our trespasses and sins, in His great mercy, God raised us to life through His Son, Jesus Christ because of His great love for us. Think of that for a moment: God’s love was so perfect and so complete that while we were still drenched, soaked, dipped in, and  saturated with sin – the ten dollar word is “concupiscence”; let me know if you work that into a sentence this weekend – while we were still poor miserable sinners, in His rich mercy and love, He surrendered His Son for us, rescuing and redeeming us.

So there is no doubt, Paul writes what would become the keystone of the Reformation: “by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” Paul strips any of our self-assertiveness, our self-righteousness, our self-aggrandizement, our self-inflation, and he places us humbly and gently at the foot of the cross. It’s as if Paul has us look up at the cross and say, “This – this is where your salvation rests. Not in what you have done or haven’t done, not in keeping the Ten Commandments, or your good works. It is all done by Jesus.”

Here is simple math, the Divine economy, if you will: Jesus plus nothing equals everything. Jesus plus anything equals nothing.

Faith clings to Jesus with Spirit-given power. Sometimes people say, “Pastor, my faith is so weak.” Good. It keeps you from being overly confident in yourself. Besides, it’s not about your strength, but His. In the words of the hymn, “Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to the cross I cling…” Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen, Hebrews says – and it says nothing about what you bring to the equation. Spirit-given faith is its own source of strength.

I think every Lutheran knows those verses about being saved by grace, through faith. We know this. It’s almost part of our Lutheran DNA. Therefore, we know our sins are forgiven and we are redeemed by Christ.

But, somehow, we only think of this only in terms of our sins: “Jesus takes away our sins. This is most certainly true.” We know this. Here’s where people often go wrong when thinking about their daily life and whether they are doing good enough, wondering if they are a good enough mom or dad, husband or wife, son or daughter, student or employee, pastor or lay person. When it comes to our normal, daily routine, then we think that somehow, "good" is up to us. We have to balance the equation, ourselves. We take that equation and try to add our hard work, our sincerity, our struggle, our heartburn, to be good Christians, as if those things will make our lives, our efforts better. Christian piety, which places hope in Christ, gets replaced with pietism, hope in one’s self. Yes, there is an element of sanctified struggle in this world, but that won’t make us be the “good” person we want to be. If anything, the harder we struggle, the more it seems to slip through our fingers like warm jello.

The beautiful thing is that at the cross, Christ redeems every aspect, ever part of the Christian life. Every part. Not just your sins so when you die you go to heaven. He even redeems our relationships, our conversations, our work, our math exam, how we do the dishes and fold laundry - all of it! Your works, your efforts, your living of life this side of heaven under the cross, is all redeemed by none other than the blood of Jesus!

This means that you, as a baptized child of God, everything you do, imperfect though it may be, by God’s grace through faith, is also redeemed. And so your works, your sanctified work in love to your family and neighbor, is redeemed and made holy in Christ.

Do you remember that TV show, “Dirty Jobs?” The host, Mike Rowe, did some of the grossest jobs you can imagine – or not imagine, as the case might be. The goal of the show was to show that these dirty jobs were important. I cannot speak to his faith, or lack thereof, but I use this as an illustration for you. For the child of God, regardless the dirtyness of job, it is redeemed by Christ and it is a good work. From the mother who changes the baby’s loaded diaper, to the plumber who unclogs the adult’s commode, these are good works in the eyes of God. So, the frustrated mother whose sink overflows with dishes because she made her family dinner, and whose boss expects more because she is a good, faithful employee, and who goes out a Friday date night, even though she’s tired, but because she loves and cares for her husband, all of those things, even if they seem imperfect in her eyes, or her boss’s eyes, or even her husband’s eyes, God sees them as redeemed in Christ.

In God’s eyes, they aren’t just good enough – they are perfect in Christ Jesus. And if the work is good in God’s eyes, then how much more so is the worker of the works also made perfect in Christ.

Joy of joys, these opportunities for service in the Lord’s name, these good works, which are redeemed through the blood of Jesus, these good works have been prepared by God. He places people and opportunities in our lives where we get to interact with others. Some are fellow Christians, faithful men and women of God. Others have no concept of the love and mercy of God. Some are out-and-out deniers of the Triune God and want nothing to do with the cross of Christ. Regardless, God places these opportunities into our lives and journeys. We are given the opportunity to do good things, redeemed things, with, to, and for others. And you do them because it’s who you are in Christ.When you help the pregnant, Islamic mother-to-be load a bag of water softener salt into her shopping cart, you are doing a good work. When you tell the young Jewish waiter that you appreciate his attention at your table and tip him for it, you are doing a good work. When you bake cookies for the atheist widow down the street, and then sit and visit with her over a cup of coffee and that plate of cookies, you are doing a good work. When you complete your taxes, when you pump gas in your car to go to work, when you help your whining 3^rd grader with her math homework, you are doing a good work. When you tell your husband you love him, when you send a birthday card in the mail to your granddaughter, when you wave at the mailman, you are doing a good work. When you give your last dollar to the kid selling lemonade, or you tell your pastor’s wife how much you appreciate all the little things she does that no one knows about, or you tell the acolyte “thanks for serving today,” you have done a good work.

Good works don’t have to be marked with the sign of the cross, sanctified by opening Bibles together to study Ephesians, or Mark, or Isaiah, or blessed by the clergy. They don’t have to be grand or grandiose. They don’t even have to be pre-planned or strategically executed or even a conscientious decision. Good works are done, empowered and enabled by the love of God that has been poured out into you by the Spirit of God. It’s the same love that sent Jesus to the cross to redeem, forgive, and make you whole. Much like faith isn’t about the size of faith, but where the faith rests, the “good” of good works isn’t in the size of the work, but in the love of Christ that is in you as a baptized, redeemed child of God. It’s who we are – or, more accurately, whose we are. That love compels you to action.

So, what I told that lady, that dear sister in Christ, that daughter of God, that young mother who was afraid of being a failure, what I told her was this: “You feel that you aren’t good enough. God sees you not only as good enough, but perfect in Christ Jesus. You feel your efforts aren’t good enough. Even the uncompleted tasks are perfect in God’s eyes. You are redeemed and so is your work.”

And then I did the good work of my vocation. This poor, miserable sinner, who is also called by Christ to speak on His authority, did the only thing he could do. I said, “So you do not doubt this, but instead believe that even these works are holy, I forgive you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.  You and your dishes, laundry, and parenting are all forgiven in Christ. Depart, and be at peace.”

And she did.
And she was.

 

The Ten Commandments Are NOT the Answer! - Exodus 20: 1-17

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

Last year, the Texas State Legislature attempted to pass legislation that would have forced public schools, from kindergarten through college and university level to have posted copies of the Ten Commandments in a “conspicuous place” in each classroom in a “size and typeface that is legible to a person with average vision from anywhere in the classroom.”  The logic for such laws stems from an admixture of moralism and pietism: if we post the Ten Commandments, society’s problems will disappear, starting with the kids and working their way upward and outward into homes, then parent relationships, into businesses, and across the country.

From www.imagesfromtexas.com

I use this illustration, not as a means of entering what has become a political hot-potato, but to make you think. Will the Ten Commandments instill morality and the Christian values so touted by the Right? I don’t think so. The problem is that God did not give the Ten Commandments to institute morality, or to establish pietistic practices. The Ten Commandments were given by God to establish boundaries around His people, around His gifts to His people, and against how the rest of the world lived. “I am the Lord your God,” the commandments began. It establishes the relationship: God and people, people and God. It also establishes the relationship as one of love: that God brought Israel out of Egypt, out of slavery, and was leading them to His promised land. In a word, it was a relationship grounded in His love, mercy and compassion for these people, these sons and daughters of Abraham to whom He first made the covenant.

Because He is Israel’s God, they are His people, and because He is a loving, merciful God, He is the giver of good gifts to His people. The Ten Commandments, properly understood, lay out these gifts and how they are to be used. Instead of thinking of the Uncle Sam poster, with God pointing His finger in a scolding fashion, snarling “Don’t you dare…,” instead see God as your Heavenly Father who has given you a good, beautiful, wonderful gift and then is giving you instructions on how to use it. It is as if God was saying this: I am giving you myself to be your God, therefore, don’t have any other Gods. I am giving you my name to use and use faithfully to call upon me and to worship Me, therefore  don’t misuse it. I am giving you a day for worship and to rest, both spiritually and physically, in my presence; therefore, don’t squander the time wastefully. Each commandment lays out the gift: the fourth is the gift of parents and authorities; the fifth, the gift of life; the sixth, the gift of marriage between husband and wife; the seventh, the gift of possessions; the eighth, the gift of a good name and reputation; the ninth and tenth, the gift of contentment. Each commandment gives a unique gift of love, and each commandment establishes the way the gift is to be used and treasured in a loving way. Understood this way, the Commandments become loving curbs to keep God’s people from straying away from how the gifts are to be used.

But, what happens when we do jump the curb? What happens when our reputation, or our job, or our bank account, or our happiness becomes the thing we desire most of all? What happens when gratitude for what God has given gets turned around and we begin coveting what we don’t have? Coveting, for example, quickly can lead to theft. We’re not likely to murder someone, but Jesus takes the gross action of physically taking a life and re-interprets it so say that if we even call someone names, we are guilty of murder? Who hasn’t called someone else stupid, moron, or worse, not only guilty of breaking the 7^th Commandment’s do not kill, but also ruining someone’s 8^th commandment good reputation? All this, because at the heart of breaking any of the Ten Commandments lies a shattered First Commandment, where we make ourselves out to be the triune godhead of me, myself and I.

Where do you go with your sins? Here is the problem with using the Ten Commandments to try to instill morality or Christian pietism. Turn back to the Commandments and you find only guilt, shame, and sin upon sin. The Law exposes sin, letting us see it in all of its unbridled shame like a mirror exposes the blemishes on our nose and the fading hairline. The Ten Commandments do not help in trying to make ourselves better; the Ten Commandments expose our failures as God’s people. If all we have is the Ten Commandments staring us in the face, we are left in despair. How can we possibly keep them? How can we square the debt? How can we possibly be holy as God is holy when we are unholy people? The Commandments show us that our best, isn’t; our self-security is precarious; our self-righteousness is nothing but dirty rags.

So, where do you go with your sins, with your list of broken commandments, with your failings as God’s people to fear, love and trust Him above all other things?

Some people misunderstand what God says: “I the Lord your God and a jealous God…” From a human perspective, jealousy is a bad thing. If love focuses externally on another person to whom love is given; jealousy is love inverted, focusing on how love doesn’t seem to be properly reciprocated but is directed elsewhere. A husband is jealous when his wife flirts with another man; a wife is jealous when her husband jokingly refers to a coworker as a “work wife.” God’s jealousy is holy. That is, His desire is for you to love Him solely, not to be one god (lower-case g) among many things where you place your fear, love and trust. So God sent His beloved Son into the world to redeem a broken and fallen, sin-stained people. It was as if God said, “Since you cannot love me perfectly, I will love you perfectly so you can experience the most perfect of love.” You don’t see this kind of love in a list of “Thou shalt’s” and “Thou shalt not’s.”   You see it in Jesus. You see it at the cross.

The Christian life is not about keeping the Commandments perfectly; it’s about trusting in the One who did. Christ placed Himself under His Father’s Law so that He could obey it perfectly in our place. Christ submitted to the Father’s will, not placing Himself above the Father in any way. Christ honored the Father’s name in prayer and in His preaching. He loved and honored His parents and those in authority, even when those in authority mocked Him and had Him crucified. He did not take anything that was not His, even giving to Ceasar that which belonged to Caesar, paying the tax with the help of a coin in a fish’s mouth. He spared the life of sinners caught under the Law. He didn’t even covet the pillow where others placed their heads. He sanctified the Sabbath day with His Sabbath rest in the tomb. And He blessed marriage, not only with His presence in Cana, but in His perfect marriage to the Church, His bride, whom He adorns in the splendor of His holiness. He loved the Lord God with all His heart, soul and mind, and loved His neighbor even more than Himself, going to the cross, sacrificing Himself in our place – the perfect for the imperfect, the Law keeper for the Law breakers.

This is not earned by keeping the Ten Commandments. This is a gift given by God the Father, through faith in His Son Jesus Christ, enabled by the power of the Holy Spirit.

So we are His loved, forgiven, and made-holy people, not because we keep the Commandments perfectly, but because Jesus did for us.

Here is a beautiful paradox: As God’s people, we don’t live under the Ten Commandments. As God’s people we do strive to keep the Commandments. We live under the cross, where the Commandments were completed for us. Not to earn our salvation, but in gratitude for being rescued and redeemed. Instead of seeing them as a burden, we see the Ten Commandments as protection against the fallenness of the world, a way to receive God’s gifts with thanksgiving, loving Him and serving our neighbor.