What the Palms Have to Say on Palm Sunday - John 12: 20-43

What the Palms Have to Say

Today is Palm Sunday. There is a guest preacher with us today for this solemn day. It’s the palm cross in your hand. I say it’s our guest preacher because the preaching of the palms is too loud to ignore.

Do you hear the message? Palms preach a loud message about our sinfulness. I know this is not comfortable to hear; its even less comfortable to visibly see. But, you are not given this cross to leave behind in your pew or give back to the ushers after the service. Take it home. Take it home and tack it up on your wall where you have other crosses, or crucifixes, or other pictures of Jesus. Place it where you have other religious artwork in your home. I’ll put mine on my wall in my office.

And, when you place it there and when you see it there, you will hear the preaching of the palms. The cross is now brown, but it used to be green and full of life, bending and flexing in the breeze. But it’s not able to bend, now: it’s dry, crisp and hard, a far cry from it’s lovely green self. It’s been cut off from the stem, separated from the life-giving sap that flowed from root to leaf. This cross shows you a vivid picture of death because it’s been cut off.

This cross preaches to you about the sin and death that is naturally ours apart from Christ. From birth, blind and dead – enemies of God – we were separated by sinfulness from God, far from Christ the Vine.

We don’t see the reality of our sins, neither the original sin that we inherited from our parents and parents’ parents nor the actual sin that we do each day. It’s sort of like we don’t realize our own aging until we look at a photo from the past. We don’t see it, so the dried palms remind us that the wages of sin is death.

The palms tell a story over the course of the year. Traditionally, the dried and dead palm leaves would be returned to the church on Transfiguration Sunday, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, when they would be burned and ground into fine ash. Then, on Ash Wednesday, the Palm Sunday palm waver would be marked with ashes made from the palms. The palms preached a message year-round, a message of sins marking the owner. 

You may be thinking, at this point, that if that’s the message of the palms, you don’t want to take them home. You would rather leave them on the pew, or in the narthex, or even in the trash can – anything to avoid the constant reminder of sins and death as the consequence of sins. That’s too much. But, that’s not the only message the palms proclaim. They also speak clearly and distinctly of our Lord’s Passion, His suffering. They remind us of Palm Sunday, Jesus entry into Jerusalem, when He was welcomed as a conquering king. With palm branches waving and garments cushioning the foot-falls of the donkey, Jesus rides in like an Old Testament king. 

In His ministry, Jesus kept all of God’s Law perfectly, obeying all that we disobey. In His Passion, Jesus submitted to the punishment, to the torture, to the mockery, to the wrath of God we so keenly deserve. No one “got it” then: not the crowds, not the civil leaders, not the religious leaders, not even the disciples. The crowds are busy yearning for a man who has the power to raise Lazarus from the grave to rise up and overthrow Rome; instead, He throws the moneychangers out of the temple. The disciples are jockeying for position in the kingdom; meanwhile, Jesus rides on the bank of a donkey by Himself heading toward the cross.

Jesus does nothing that was expected: He didn’t display Divine power. He didn't resist when arrested. He didn't defend Himself when accused. He didn't struggle when whipped, spitted on, beaten, or crucified. He didn't show Himself to be God in the flesh. He showed himself to be a frail, palm that withered passively under mistreatment and torture. The palm crosses hanging next to our crosses and pictures will preach to us of this. While they remind us of our sins, they also remind us of the fact that Jesus the God-Man passively withered till He cried, "I thirst." Though He was God's Green Tree He allowed Himself to be nailed to a dead one till He shriveled up and died. He meekly, humbly, and passively allowed Himself to be burned by the wrath of God so that God's wrath against us sinners could be satisfied.

All the world was willing to welcome a conquering king, but whom God sent on this day of the palms was a Lamb to suffer passively, a Lamb to quietly carry away the sins of the world. John wants you to notice this. John is the only Gospel writer to tell give you a time reference "on the next day." And this is the last chronological reference John gives you in Holy Week. John is highlighting that today is the 10th of Nissan. On this day, according to Exodus 12:3, the Passover lamb was to be selected. God is sending the True Passover Lamb whom He Himself has selected to shed His blood for the sins of the world so that the wrath of God would Passover us.

In our liturgy we remember this every Sunday. Right before the Words of Institution we say exactly what the Palm Sunday crowds did: "Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest." Then right after He has come we pray to Him singing, "O Christ the Lamb of God that takest away the sin of the world, have mercy on us." Do you see that as God the Son on Palm Sunday came humbly riding on a donkey hidden to all but the eyes of faith, so He comes today among us hidden in Bread and Wine?

However, there is a difference. We aren't welcoming our Lord Jesus into our midst as the suffering Lamb. No, we are welcoming Him as the Conquering Lamb who has finished suffering and so has won our salvation. We are welcoming the Lamb who has conquered and won and so comes to distribute His forgiveness, life and salvation to sinners. The palms don't just preach to us about Jesus' humble suffering and death for sinners; they also preach to us about His victory over suffering, death and sin. Palm branches have always been recognized as a symbol of joy and victory. Leviticus 23:40 specifically mentions using palm branches for this purpose. Our palm crosses, made of dead palm fronds, remind us that death has died it’s own death in Christ. The cross is empty; Christ has won the victory. 

There is one thing these palm branch crosses cannot teach you. No matter how hard you try, you cannot make them alive again. Outside of Christ, there is no life after death. But in Christ, there is hope; there is life; there is salvation. In Christ, through the empty cross, there is the promise of the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.

Let living palm branches remind you of this - not these you hang by your crucifixes and pictures because they are brown, but ones you see growing. John too wishes you to notice this. John's is the only Gospel to specifically mention palm branches on Palm Sunday. Matthew, Mark and Luke do not. Do you know the only other time in the New Testament that you read about palms? In heaven. In Revelation 7:9, St. John tells us: "After these things I looked, and behold, a great multitude, which no one could count from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues standing before the throne and before the Lamb clothed in white robes and palm branches were in their hands."

The palms preach loudly of our sins, of Christ's passive suffering for sinners, and of our victory in Christ over sin, death and the devil. May they preach to us all year. Amen.

Hope After Harvey - A Pastor Returns

Yesterday, I took our daughter back to Houston for an appointment at her orthodontist in the morning and with another doctor in the afternoon. With time to kill between appointments, I decided to drive to Crosby and see what my old church, Our Shepherd, looks like seven months after Harvey.

Our Shepherd, August 29 (?) 2017.

Water was 2'-3' deep in the sanctuary and

6" deep in the youth building in the rear

I have gotten verbal updates in the process: the building has been gutted; they salvaged or repurposed what they could. To prepare for demolition for the imminent domain, the building has been remediated for asbestos. Immediately after the storm, a group of men renovated the small youth building and turned it into a sanctuary, moving the altar and pulpit, the organ, and as many furnishings as could be saved into the small, 30x30 building.

As I said, I had heard about this but wanted to say a final "goodbye" to the church building where I worked for over 13 years. I expected to see doom and gloom and to experience overwhelming sadness.

We pulled into the parking lot and we were pleasantly surprised to see a couple of men doing some work on the youth building-turned-sanctuary. They let me in to see the transformation. It's tight, but it is nicely done. Fresh paint is on the walls and ceiling, covering up the bright green and blue paint job the kids did a decade ago and the patchwork from the sheetrock that was removed and spliced in. The tile and carpet - which had gotten water-soaked by the flood - was scraped up and the concrete stained a nice antique brown. Some of the ladies did quilt work that hangs on the wall like tapestries.

They told me that most Sundays people fill the place and the singing and responsive speaking is loud and alive.  Attendance is around 60 each week - enough that they are planning, starting Easter morning - to go to two services to accommodate everyone more comfortably. There are kids in Sunday school and confirmation instruction. A new evangelism program is in the works. People are engaged and there is a sense of pride in that they have not only survived the tragedy of Harvey, but are thriving and doing remarkably well.

I continue to wrestle with the question of whether or not, at the end of my time there, I was holding the congregation back. When I left, attendance was below 40, Sunday school was practically non-existent, evangelism was hardly "good news," and I felt people were checking out more and more. I hope I wasn't the cause of people staying away; I pray I didn't keep people from returning to Jesus' flock at Our Shepherd. But the evidence could be interpreted that way. Someone once accused me of being too full of myself - I don't think that's the case here. I know I was out of gas. Did that drag the congregation down, too?

I digress...

So, after seeing the new sanctuary set-up, we walked into the building that had been so badly flooded. Don't tell anyone, but I kept my key to the building out of sentimentality (plus, I had paid $1.15 for it at Ace Hardware and was never reimbursed.) You don't need a key, anymore - the stained glass windows have been removed, stored safely for when they can be repurposed in a new structure at a later date. So, stepping through a window opening, I saw for the first time with my own eyes what  Harvey hath wrought.

The sanctuary is now an empty shell compared to what it used to be. Note: the floor and ceiling tiles were part of the asbestos removal project, but it only adds to the sadness of the building.

The pastor's office, once housing nice built-in bookshelves and executive-style furniture, now sits empty - no pastoral care, studying, or prayer happening there, anymore.   

 Rooms that were once utilized as office and classroom space are now waiting in suspended condemnation for the day that the machinery comes to begin demolition.

As we walked through, I saw a piece of wood, part of the communion rail, that escaped the dumpster. It was hanging on the wall, right where it always belonged. I had to laugh, though, that it had somehow been overlooked.

After I was told that people were told to take what they wanted, I asked if I could have this piece of oak lumber and was given permission to take it. So, it made the long ride home with me, back to Victoria. I'm not sure what I will do with it, yet. I do have an idea, though. Perhaps, just perhaps it will be something to show the hope that survives after Harvey.

We Don't Want Assigned Seating - Mark 10: 35-45

Audio File

In just a few weeks, I’ll mark the 18^th anniversary of Seminary Call Night, the evening when soon-to-be graduates find out where they will be serving as pastor. Last weekend, when I was at my friend’s installation, we were remembering and reflecting on our time as students and as pastors. We had great plans. We would graduate with highest of praise, be placed in a large city with a big church that worships 500 or more. 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 grows 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 21^st century.

When I was that young pastor, a friend came to visit me. 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

Called to be Faithful - John 21:15-19

Audio Link

The Installation of Rev. Scott Schaller as Pastor
Trinity Lutheran Church, Taylor TX
March 11, 2018

John 21: 15-19 – Called to Faithful Service

Dear members of Trinity, President Hennings, guests, brothers and sons in ministry, and especially you, Scott, my dear friend and brother in Christ: grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

It’s an honor to be here today and to be asked to preach this sermon. I first met your new pastor in September of 1992, probably the first week of classes in the new year at Concordia Lutheran College in Austin. I was sitting in the library, reading the assignment from our Hill & Walton Old Testament Survey textbook when this Yankee with a way-too-loud-for-the-library, thick New York accent wearing dark hair and eyebrows demanded, rapidfire: “Hey – reading your assignment for Professor Puffe’s class?” Before I could answer, he was off on his litany of questions, “How ya liking Concordia? You like the dorms? Whatcha think of the food? Have any trouble? You doing OK? Got a girlfriend yet?”

That, as they say, was the beginning of a friendship that has lasted over half of our lives.  Since that first meeting, we graduated from Austin together; we both got married and moved to St. Louis where we would go to Seminary together. We lived just a few blocks away from each other and the four of us spent a lot of weekends and evenings together. The two of us spent a lot of time talking, sharing our hopes – and fears – of what the future would be like in ministry. And, when we were placed in our first congregations, we wound up in the same circuit, just 90 miles apart.

It dawned on me as I was writing this, we are a month shy of our 18th anniversary of call night when we found out where we would be serving. It’s interesting to reflect on those nearly two decades of ministry and think about how the Lord has taken two young men, full of arrogance and cockiness – and hair! – that can only be found in theological students, and He has shaped, molded, and turned us into pastors in His Church.

Luther once wrote, “Prayer, meditation on the Scriptures and testing makes the theologian” – not Seminary classrooms. It’s that living out of the life of discipleship, under the cross of Christ, where we experience anfechtung – that testing at the crossroads where faith and life intersect and collide – that’s what makes pastors. In faith, we see Jesus with His hands extended toward us in His mercy and grace; with our eyes we see the world around us, sometimes far, far removed from anything that seems to resemble the will of God. That’s where our people live. And we pastors, called by Christ to serve as His undershepherds, stand with them in that intersection, armed with prayer and the Word of God and we pray, “Lord, I believe…help Thou my unbelief.”

And when you do that, you stand alongside Peter. Boy, you talk about a theological student who was full of himself. One minute, filled with wisdom that only comes from the Holy Spirit as he rightly makes the great confession of Christendom: “You are the Christ;” the next, filled with arrogance that only comes from the Old Adam within, Peter dares to put himself between Christ and the cross and tell Jesus, “You’ll go down there over my dead body.”  One minute, Jesus declares him to be Petros – Rock; the next, Jesus rebukes Peter as Satana – satan. One minute, Peter pulls his concealed carry sword, chopping off the ear of one who does not listen that Jesus is the Messiah; a short time later, Peter flees from a servant girl who identifies him by his Galillean accent.

If it is prayer, meditation on God’s Word and testing of faith in life that makes the theologian, Peter fails miserably.

What kind of congregation would want such a pastor. Would Trinity Lutheran Church of Taylor, Texas want such a man? In your pastoral profile, did you include arrogance, or brashness, or being called out as satan as characteristics you desire in your pastor? Did you include apostacy – the denying of Jesus – as a necessary trait? No…of course not. No church would want such a man to be pastor.

Which is what makes this text from John 21 so incredible and remarkable. No congregation would want a man like Peter the Denier…but Jesus does.

In a remarkable, three-fold way, Jesus speaks to Peter: Twice, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me so that you are willing to completely give yourself up for me?” Jesus is asking if he is still willing to die for Jesus. The irony isn’t lost on Peter; he can only answer with “Yes, Lord, I love you like a brother” – not I love you enough to give myself up for you. The third time when Jesus asks Peter, he uses Peter’s words: “Do you love me like a brother?” Three questions; three reminders of three denials. Can you imagine the guilt that Peter was carrying, knowing and remembering what he had done to Jesus? Can you imagine his shame after once boasting, “I would rather die with you than deny you,” knowing that he turned tail and ran into the darkness? It’s no wonder that St. John notes Peter is grieved when Jesus asks the third time, “Do you love me?”

Jesus loves Peter too much to leave him in his shameful grief. It’s as if Jesus is saying this: Peter, I not only love you as a brother, I love you so that I am willing to give myself up completely for you. I took your denial into myself. Where you ran into the darkness to hide, I stood in front of Pilate to be condemned. Where you swore you did not know me, I prayed, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Where you were not willing to die for me, I was willing to die for you. And, Peter, so that you know that my death for you was sufficient, I was raised to life again on Easter. You have now seen me, not once, not twice, but three times. And where you once denied me three times, I am now calling you back to ministry – not once, not twice, but three times. You know what it is to be forgiven, Peter. Now, go…feed my sheep and faithfully deliver this forgiveness to them as well.”

And in that moment of simplicity, Peter is forgiven, restored, and enabled to stand in the stead and by the command of Jesus Christ, who died for Peter and all those whom Peter would later serve as pastor.
Here is the beauty and power of this text for men of God who dare to stand in the stead of Jesus in the Office of the Holy Ministry. Just as Jesus takes a fallen man like Peter, calls him back to ministry, and uses him – with all of his faults, weaknesses, human desires, idiosyncrasies and quirks – for His glory, so also Jesus uses men like you, Scott, and me, and the pastors who are gathered here today, and He shapes us for service in His Kingdom. He takes young, arrogant, cocky pre-seminarians and shapes, molds, guides and directs us to service and into service in His Church.  With all of our failings, and foibles, and sins against both God and man, Christ holds out His hands in blessing and He calls us to faithful service. “Go…feed my sheep.” In the Office of the Holy Ministry, “pastors who have been forgiven much, love much.”

Dear saints of Trinity, I can tell you that Pastor Scott is a man of God who follows in that mandate of Christ to feed His sheep. I can tell you that Pastor Scott, through prayer, meditation on the Scriptures, and living in the crossroads of faith and life, is an excellent and faithful pastor.  I can tell you this because he is not only your pastor, he has been my pastor for almost 20 years. He is faithful and diligent in his pastoral care. He will walk with you in your joys and sorrows, in your homes and in the hospital hallway. He will encourage you when you are broken, he will comfort you when you are grieving. He will lovingly confront you with the Law of God when you have sinned against God and your brothers and sisters in Christ, and he will absolve you when your conscience is crushed. He will faithfully preach and teach, baptize, deliver to you Christ’s Body and Blood, and he will bless you in the name of Christ. He will stand as Christ’s undershepherd for you, Christ’s flock because Pastor Scott has heard the voice of Christ, through the Divine Call issued by Trinity Lutheran Church: Feed my sheep.

But, I want you to know that you have continued a perfect, 2000 year old tradition in the Christian church. You have elected a pastor who is still a sinner. There will come a time when you will see that. Probably not in such a dramatic way as Peter the Denier, but there will be a moment when he will want to hide in the darkness because he knows he has sinned against God and against you. And, when that happens, you – the saints whom God has called to this congregation – you will have the opportunity to be Christ to your pastor. You will speak of Christ’s forgiveness to him. You will encourage him. You will lift up his troubled heart, and you will walk with him. And then, you can say to your pastor, “Dear pastor…please, feed us more of God’s Word.” 

And, Brother – this flock is hungry for the Word. They want to know Jesus. Go…feed His sheep. They are sinners and saints at the same time, who will need both correcting and forgiving, warning and blessing, all in the name of Jesus. You will have joys and sorrows; you will have what appear to be failures and you will experience successes. You will laugh with those who laugh, and you will weep with those who weep. This is ministry that comes from prayer and meditation on the word and anfechtung - living in the crossroads of faith and life. Brother, follow in the footsteps of the Good Shepherd and in the footsteps of the faithful undershepherds who have gone before you. You’ll continue faithfully delivering what has been given to you by Christ Himself. And Christ will bless you and this ministry that is done in His name.

This is a remarkable relationship, isn’t it? A sinner who serves sinners in the name of Christ; sinners who receive a sinner among them also in the name of Christ. Sinners…who stand together beneath the cross of Christ, baptized, forgiven, renewed, fed and made whole.  

Scott – do you remember at our last, 4th year class meeting before Call Night, Dean Rockemann asked us all one question: “Will you serve the Lord and His Church with joy?” In a few minutes, you will get to answer that question again. You will again serve the Good Shepherd, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross for men like Peter, and me and you.

Give thanks for...snakes? Numbers 21: 4-9

If Dr. Seuss were to write a book about me, it would go like this:

I do not like snakes; no I do not.

Not on a walk; not at a trot,
Not in a box or on the train,
Not in the desert or in the rain.
I do not like them, green or brown,
Not in the country, not in the town.
If you think snakes, as pets, are fun
I think your brain melted in the sun.
They give me the willies, they give me the shivers;
I do not like snakes: not now, not ever.

When I was a young boy, I had a couple of close calls with snakes. One of my favorite TV characters was bitten by a snake and almost died on the show. If a child’s hero can be bitten and die, what chance do I, a mere mortal have? How bad is my fear? I refuse to go into a herpetarium – a snake house – at the zoo. Walking through leaves or tall grass, I randomly have mini-panic attacks that there is a snake hunting me like a Whatasized mouse. Just writing these two paragraphs has created a slight whisp of sweat on my forehead. Literally, if I watch a documentary on snakes, I have about 15, maybe 20 minutes tops before I enter the danger zone and threaten to pass out. So, unless you have a front end loader or a tow truck handy to scrape me off the ground, I strongly suggest that Snakes on a Plane is never used as a congregational movie.

I tell you this so you can understand why this morning’s Old Testament strikes me every time I read it. They were growing impatient in their journey and were more concerned about their own needs than faithfulness to God and trusting His promises. They complained to Moses; they complained to God: “There is no food or water,” they said, complaining even about the mana that God had provided for them earlier. To be fair, it had been decades since they left Egypt; it had been a generation that had eaten manna three times a day, seven days a week, for ten…twenty…thirty plus years. Imagine, going to HEB Plus – 60 rows of nothing but oatmeal. And the next day, the same; and the week after that, the same. We can understand Israel’s grumbling…but that doesn’t justify it, that doesn’t make it right to grumble against God.

When God hears the grumbling, His reaction is swift, strong and decisive. He sends fiery serpents among the people who begin to bite the Israelites. Many die from the painful bite. Don’t misunderstand God’s actions, here: He is not vindictive, but He does this to cause Israel’s repentance. It doesn’t take long. “And the people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned against the Lord and against you. Pray to the Lord that he takes away the serpents from us.”

This is a logical prayer request, isn’t it? It both identifies the symptom – the snakes – and confesses the disease at the same time – their sinfulness towards God and His servant Moses. Their prayer makes the request that God removes the snakes from them so that people stop dying. The people pray; Moses prays. It’s a good prayer; it’s a sound prayer – at least a B+ rating. And God hears their prayer. God is good; God is holy, so of course God will remove the snakes – right?

Except He doesn’t. He doesn’t remove the snakes – at least, not yet - not as far as our text tells us, anyway. What He does do, however, is tell Moses to make a bronze serpent and hang it on a pole. “Everyone who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live.”

Why the bronze serpent? Why look at a bronze caricature of the very animal that is causing so much pain, suffering and death? Why must one look to the bronze serpent to live? Isn’t that God commanding idolatry – going against His own 2^nd Commandment? For that matter, why allow the children of Israel to continue being bitten?

First, the power is not in the serpent, as if it were a god. That was Egyptian thinking, that animals were diety. Likewise, it is not in the sculpture, an idol. That was Caananite thinking. The power comes from the promise of God: look at this and live. Don’t overthink this, that God is promoting decision theology – you must decide to be saved. When you are dying, how can you choose to live? God is providing the life-saving and life-giving promise. Receive it in faith and you shall live; reject it and you shall die.

The bronze serpent also reminds the people that it is their sinful complaining that has caused these snakes to appear in the first place. Do not blame anyone but themselves for this terror. The power of the promise of God stands over and against the sins of the people.

But why allow the Israelites to continue to be bitten? Why not simply drive the slithering reptiles away so that they would all be safe? If the snakes were to disappear, the temptation would then be for Israel to turn back into their arrogant self-reliance and away from trust in God and His promises. With the snakes remaining, Israel must rely only on God’s mercy in the face of their sinfulness; His grace in the face of their destruction.

It all started with the grumbling. What’s the big deal, we think, after all we grumble all the time. This morning, we’re grumbling about the time change. We grumble about a lazy co-worker who does just enough, but never a lick more than necessary. We grumble about a teacher who assigned homework over the break. Or, the high cost of gasoline, or the length of our daily commute to work or school. Maybe it’s about family at home, or family far away who never calls home. Grumble when it’s too hot or when it’s too cold; when it’s raining or when it hasn’t rained in weeks. Maybe the pastor tells too many stories; maybe he doesn’t tell enough. Pastors grumble when there are comments about the sermon and we grumble when there aren’t any comments about the sermon. We grumble because people next to us are grumbling. Do you get the idea that we, as children of God, grumble a lot? And, yes – sometimes we grumble against God Himself: God, why did you; God, this isn’t fair; God, I thought you were… 

God doesn’t send snakes among us today, at least not that I’ve heard about, but that doesn’t mean the firey bites don’t still happen. There is a venom that courses through our hearts and minds. It shows up when you feel pessimistic about your life. It appears when you don’t see people in a positive light and instead, you assume the worst about people. When there’s a lack of peace, a discontent with what the Lord has given you. When you become unthankful, or even bitter. This is the kind of venom that courses in our veins.

What’s even worse is what that venom does with our relationship with the Lord. Remember – venom is poisonous. That grumbling, complaining, negativity and bitterness – it causes you to lose focus on God’s gifts and blessings and seeing His hand in your life. Then praise and thanksgiving starts to more and more shallow and less and less frequent. It can become so toxic that you actually start to wonder what God is doing, why He even bothers with you, if it is worth your trying to be His child.

You notice what Israel did…they confessed their sin of grumbling, and they looked up and lived. You know what it is that we do…we confess our sins of grumbling, and look up and live. You don’t look up to a snake on a pole; you look to Christ on the cross. When Jesus is lifted up on the cross, the pattern is true for us as well: recognize our sins, confess them to our Lord, and look up in trust and live.

The cross is not a magic talisman, that if you look at this object, this wood or bronze or stone or glass or foam or paper cross gives life – no. The cross is the place, the locatedness, where God hung His Son so that whoever looks at Christ in faith, the Savior of the World who died on the cross; when you look to the cross as the place where your salvation was won, you shall live. The cross is the place where your grumbling and complaining and negativity and venomous outbursts all died in Christ and with Christ. And the cross is the place where, in Christ and through Christ, you receive life.

You look up at Jesus lifted up and you are raised up and you give thanks. Thanks replaces the grumbling.

Complain about family? No…give thanks you have a home and people there who love you. Grumble about a co-worker? No, give thanks that you have employment that provides for you and your family. Grumble about the weather? Give thanks for the rain and sun, the warm and the cool that makes the flowers and plants grow and produce beauty and food. Grumble? No…give thanks.

When Jesus Hides in Plain Sight - John 2:12-17

Audio file

Jenny is my friend’s daughter. She is an art scholar and a teacher at a school in Houston. While she was a grad student, she also served as a docent at the Houston Museum of Fine Art in Houston’s museum district. She knows things about the world of classic, Renaissance and Middle Ages art that I have no idea even exists. For example, there is something that can happen in old paintings that is called pentimento.[1]  It’s when, due to the aging of paint, the dyes in the paint begin to become translucent, so much so that you are actually able to see through a layer of paint to what lies beneath. This is a real thing, and it actually has created a niche area of study in the world of art, where scholars are able to look through layers of paint to see what lies beneath. So, it is possible that an artist, having completed one painting, didn’t really care for it. Instead of throwing away an expensive canvass, he simply chose to paint over the top of what was originally on the canvass. To his original viewers, the underlying painting is invisible, but as pentimentation takes place across the centuries, you can see something that has been hidden for centuries. You can see what the artist intended.

So, imagine for a moment that you are at the Houston Museum of Fine Art and my friend is the docent there. As both a scholar and a Lutheran, she has a great deal of interest in religious art, so she takes you to some of the classic religious paintings that are on display there. Now, imagine that you are standing in front of a picture where the artist has painted the scene from this morning’s Gospel lesson: Jesus driving the money changers from the Temple. You are standing, behind the velvet ropes, looking at the painting from several feet away. You note the details of the painting. Jesus stands in the center of the Temple courtyard, his white robe contrasting sharply with the dark red over-garment around his shoulders. In his left hand, raised up toward the sky, is a coil of rope that he is wielding like a whip, while his right hand points at the money changers who are hunkered down, cowering, in a position of fear. Next to them lies an overturned basket with coins scattered all around; a couple of goats are free, a rope around their necks hanging loose; a cage lies open, empty of the pigeons and doves that had been in the cage moments earlier. At the edge of the painting, people – presumably worshippers who had come to the temple – are milling around, curious about all of the excitement.

You don’t see too many pictures of Jesus where he seems angry, so you get a little closer to the painting to take in the details of Jesus. You see the look on his face; the artist has done a magnificent job of showing what “Zeal for my Father’s house will consume me,” must have looked like. The lines in His face, the creases around the eyes, the slightly opened mouth – you wonder what it is He is saying to those people standing nearby.

An angry Jesus…why is he angry? You remember from the Scriptures that Jesus said that these money changers and animal sellers had turned the Temple from a place of worship into a sanctified flea market. What began as a well-intended service – making available sacrificial animals for worshippers who lived too far out of town to bring their own animals into the Temple – had taken on a life of it’s own. It became a booming business and grew and grew until it was becoming a bothersome nuisance in the Courtyard of the Gentiles. In fact, it was such a problem that worship of God was literally displaced by the opportunity to make money.  The gifts of God had been replaced by the special of the day; the prayers of the people had been replaced by the hawker’s cry; the needs of the penitent sinner displaced by the need to make bank.

And Jesus, taking the whip in hand in one hand, pointing with the other, cleanses the temple from this human exchange of goods and services.

This is called the alien work of God, when His anger at sin and at sinners burns clearly. When you feel His hand raised against you for what you have said or not said, done or not done.

The Temple merchants thought they were safe, even though they persisted in going their own way apart from the Lord - and worse, distracted people from their own devotion to the Lord.  They never expected God to show His zeal and wrath through Jesus. 

Zeal and wrath Lord Jesus makes us a bit uncomfortable - at least it does when we are honest with ourselves about our sinfulness.  Just like the merchants, we expect that we will be safe, even though we persist in going our own sinful ways.  God has every right to aim His zeal and wrath in our direction too.  Look through the layers of the paintings of our own lives. Our hearts have divided loyalties.  Heaven knows that we would rather have conflict over unimportant things than over eternal things.  Heaven knows we get into disagreements about the weather, about politics, about sports, about what brand of tractor is best rather than to speak God's Holy Scriptures to our neighbor.

Seeing Jesus not hide from conflict with the wicked, but be consumed with zeal for God's house makes our devotion to the Lord look all the worse - because we have been devoted to ourselves, our money, our friendships in this world that is passing away.  We would prefer to go back a few verses in John 2 and hear about gentle and kind Jesus who makes 180 gallons of water into really great wine for a wedding reception.  Or move ahead into John 3, where Jesus talks about birth into the Kingdom of God through Water and the Spirit.  There we hear Him say that He has not come into the world to condemn it but to save it.  Yet today we see Jesus violently rebuking. 

Remember? You’re imagining that you are standing there in the Houston Museum of Fine Art. You are becoming uncomfortable with this painting. You would rather not see this angry Jesus - and yet, there he is – in living color. And, as you look at this painting of Jesus cleansing the temple, what you realize is that it is an image of Jesus cleansing you. Through that image, you realize all of the things that have gotten in the way of your own life of discipleship to Christ. As the grief and weight weigh down, you can almost hear as if Jesus is calling your name while He is standing in the temple courtyard.

Then, Jenny, my friend’s daughter, looks at you and sees the pain in your own face and she recognizes it for what it is: guilt as you stand in front of the angry Jesus. She takes you by the hand and says, “I want to show you something,” and leads you right up to the painting. She says “look closely at his hands.” So, you do. You peer in to look at the painting. Jenny says, “Now look into the painting…look through the painting…” and, as you do, you notice something remarkable: beneath the painted hand of Jesus holding the whip, you see what the artist wanted to really paint. Looking through the whip, you see Jesus hand – not clenched in anger and rage – but a hand raised in blessing. Curious, you look at the other hand and, beneath the finger that is pointing in determination is another hand held, palm out, as if to say “Peace – be still.” And you notice in the center of the palms is the mark of the nail, the mark of Christ crucified for you.

And, what you realize as you look through the painting, is you are seeing the true reason for Jesus’ anger: that people might repent and know Christ as the solution for mankind’s sin. But, more than that, you see the reason Christ’s hands are held out: to deliver forgiveness, blessing and peace. You have been cleansed – not with a whip of rope, but with the whips that stuck His back. He gave Himself as the perfect sacrifice to end all sacrifices. He absorbed all of God’s anger at your sins. He cleanses what is impure and unholy in the temple of your body, and He makes you a temple of His Spirit.   

This is Christ’s proper work – what it is He desires to do. It’s about seeing this Jesus, who once stood in anger, receiving the full anger of God for the entire sins of the world. It’s about Christ, who once cleansed the temple, becoming the dwelling place of God among us. It’s about Jesus, who cleared out the temple so people could worship in peace, who – in His death – removes all barriers that stood between us and God, tearing the temple curtain in two so we have full access to the Father through Christ. It’s about Jesus, whose Temple-body was destroyed for three days and raised to life again three days later.

On this 3^rd Sunday of Lent, that scene of the resurrection is hidden from us. I’m speaking of your own resurrection, on the day of Christ’s return. Jesus will raise you too, as He Himself rose. Look through the cross and you see that your life is already hidden in Christ, waiting for this day of the resurrection of all flesh. Not in three days, but on the Day of His appearing.

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[1] I am indebted to a sermon by Rev. David Schmitt, preached while I was a Seminary student (1996-2000), for this picture language of pentimento.  Note also that the painting that is described does not exist, thus the repeated use of the word, "imagine...".