Call Night: Reflections (2000-2018)

I’m posting this on April 24. Tonight, my alma mater, Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, will be hosting Call Night and the celebration of soon-to-be graduates receiving their first call to the ministry as pastors and deaconesses. 

This year also marks the 18^th anniversary of my own Call Night. On April 11, 2000 I was one of 90-some men who received a Divine Call into the Holy Ministry.

While there was much pomp and circumstance on Call Night, combined with sanctified holiness and old-fashioned nervousness for us, and more than a dash of mystery at how the Spirit used the placement committee to determine where we would go, the real "action" was taking place in the back of the sanctuary. There, wives and girlfriends sat with mothers and mothers-in-law, with old-school maps and atlases subtly hidden in purses, ready to be unfurled, like Isaiah's scroll, to show where the men of their lives would be sent. In those cartographical scriptures, they found Helena, Montana and suburbs of Miami, Florida. They tried to pronounce towns in Iowa with Indian names and big cities in California with a Hispanic flavor. They were called to places where you don’t think of churches – like Las Vegas – and to places where you can’t throw a baseball without hitting a Lutheran church, like Red Bud, Illinois. There were small churches and big churches, solo pastorates and multiple staffs. One by one, from A to Z, we were summoned forward to receive our Call.

When Dean Rockaman came to my name, he said, "Candidate Jonathan F. Meyer, Texas District, Grace Lutheran Church - Crockett, Texas." He shook my hand and said, "Congratulations." I passed by President Johnson and the director of placement, shook their hands, and made my way back to my seat. In the meantime, I knew Laura was in the back scouring a Texas atlas, trying to find that small town in East Texas and figure out how close we would be to our parents in the Austin area. A few minutes later, my best friend, Scott Schaller, received his call to St. Peter Lutheran Church in Gun Barrel City, Texas ("Gun Barrel City" received quite a few chuckles from the crowd that evening and from classmates in the days to come). Later, after the service was concluded, Scott and I found our District president, Jerry Keischnick. He shook my hand slowly as he congratulated me, then solemnly added, "Crockett...that's a good place to begin."

April 11, 2000

Since then, Scott and I have had a lot of water flow under the bridge. We are no longer the young, tender-faced men with stars in our eyes that we were in this photo.  We’ve each preached more than 1000 sermons, buried dozens of our members, married and baptized, taught and confirmed. I was in Crockett for 3 ½ years then in Crosby for over 13. Scott was in Gun Barrel for a dozen years and in Thorndale (east of Austin) for four.  We’ve laughed with those who laugh and wept with those who cried. We've done both of those with each other over the phone, too, as we wrestled with life - both our own and that of our parishioners - under the cross. Our hairlines have retreated and our beltlines have expanded. Our faces aren’t so youthful anymore.

We call this "Call Night;" perhaps it should be termed "Night of the Call." That sounds a little more ominous, doesn't it, like a Stephen King novel or something? Perhaps that is more accurate, in a sense. We work in a field where, I have read, the average pastor only lasts seven years after his academic training before leaving the ministry behind. Every vocation has it’s challenges, I know, but the ministry is unique: it’s the only vocation I can think of where we meet the devil face to face on a daily basis, both in our lives and in the lives of the people we serve. Yet the Lord has seen fit to use us in His church for almost two decades. It’s a humble thing to stand in the Lord’s stead, to preach and teach, absolve and commune, baptize and bury all in His name. It’s not always peaches and cream – sometimes it’s more like sour milk and spoiled fruit – but it’s where the Lord has led Scott and me, and our families, to serve. Sometimes, it's tough and gritty work; we lose sleep and pound our fists in frustration. If I had to do it again, I don't know if I would. But now, I can't see myself doing anything else. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was privileged to preach at Brother Schaller’s installation at Trinity Lutheran Church in Taylor, Texas. I’ve known Scott longer than I've known my wife. Second to Laura, he's my best friend. It would be difficult to put into words the emotion I felt that afternoon, getting to share the Gospel with my friend and his new congregation. We had some time afterward, at the reception, to reminisce reflect, and tell stories.  But the greatest wonder was realizing that the Lord continues to use two sinners  like us, saved by grace, to serve His congregations.

March 11, 2018

Laura, Lisa, Scott and me

I remember the emotion of Call Night and I know what those Seminarians will feel tonight. The candidates will be excited and nervous. Their girlfriends and wives will be sitting in the pews with their cell phones open to their map app and, with a few clicks, they will know all about their new home and new church. Some will go to small churches, others to bigger churches. There will be rural churches in Nebraska getting a new pastor, and ethnic mission plants in major cities will also get a new pastor. And the Lord will work in and through those new pastors to share the Gospel.

Keep them in your prayers. They have a few weeks left of class, then they will pack and head out, all around the country. They will move into their new homes and apartments a few weeks ahead of their installation. And they, too, will promise that, with God’s help, they will faithfully serve as pastors of God’s flock.

And, in another 17 years, they will also look back and remember. And, hopefully, they will rejoice and thank God for what He has done for them and through them.

Thanks for remembering with me.

Lambs of the Good Shepherd - John 10:11-18

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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?

Am I Jesus black-fleeced sheep?
From His gentle arms I leap.
Stubborn, ornery and self-serving,
To myself, my love is turning
From my neighbor and my God
Down this slippery slope I trod.

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)?

“Suddenly the Wolf will howl,
Serpent hiss, and Temptor scowl.
Trapped, alone, snared in temptation,
I feel I’m his bound-up victim.
Dearest Shepherd, hear my sigh:
I repent; to you I cry!

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.

And, 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 singing about 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.” [2]

---

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

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

Living With Easter Hands - Luke 24:36-49

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Easter Hands
Luke 24:36-49

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

“Why are you troubled?” The disciples were afraid – it was Easter and they were not yet comprehending what had all happened. They could remember Jesus’ arrest late Maundy Thursday; they lived through the terror of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion on Good Friday; they saw His burial late that evening. Their Lord, their Savior, their Master – He was dead, killed at the hands of jealous religious, civil and political leaders. This was the Man whom they left everything behind so they could follow Him. What was going to happen to them? That was reason enough to be afraid – I doubt that listing “Disciple of Jesus” on a resume would get them very far in the world. For that matter, perhaps the same people who put Jesus to death were now conspiring to capture the disciples – pick them off one by one – and nip these Christ followers in the bud before they go much further.

How about you - “Why are you troubled?” Your troubles can be ridiculously complicated or terrifyingly simple. What troubles you can be tangible where you can literally touch it, or it can be nebulous, as difficult to nail down as morning fog. For some, it’s our children and grandchildren as we see the struggles they face every day as kids tease them or they deal with the stress of school. For others, it’s that our spouse works at a job they don’t like or where co-workers are unpleasant and difficult to work with. There’s financial troubles, trying to stretch the dollar as far as possible until payday. It’s tax week for those of us who are retirees or self-employed – is your 1040 filed, yet? There’s the enigmatic message from the doctor about blood tests being slightly off and wanting to re-test in a few days, and there’s that odd spot on your shoulder that you noticed in the shower.  The car needs new brakes, the insurance company seems so slow with hurricane damages, your neighbor saw a copperhead in her flowerbed, your boss wants the reports tomorrow morning and you know he won’t be happy with the numbers, the arthritis in your knees is terrible this morning, things are getting pretty dry already, gas is up, corn is down, and your blood pressure is all over the place. Oh, yes friends, there’s trouble here in River City.

It’s enough to make anyone, even the most faithful Christian, feel like the weight of the world is weighing us down. Our troubles burden our minds and hearts, traveling down our shoulders and arms to our hands. I’m a hand-wringer and a chin-rubber;  we work our hands in angst and fear and worry as we grab at straws to try to ease our trouble. And, try as we might, our hands are incapable of untying the knots that reside in our stomachs. The straws we grasp for break as we try to hold on tightly to those things that we think might provide comfort. No matter how we pull, prod, poke, or push the trouble just won’t go away. If anything, they seem to grow even more burdensome, more troublesome.

“Why are you troubled?” Jesus asked His disciples. “Why do doubts arise in your hearts?” It’s a call to repentance for the eleven. He shows them His nail marked hands. It’s as if He is saying, I have taken all of your troubles and worries to the cross so you no longer have to carry them yourself. Your sins, your fears, your worries – they have all been taken from your hands and placed into mine. And so you know that they are no longer yours to worry about, look at my hands…look at my feet. I paid the release-price for your troublesome burdens; why would you want to take them up again? I buried the burdens and troubles of your body, soul and mind with me in the grave and when I rose, I did not bring them back to life with me.

Ah, yes – the resurrection. Spirits don’t eat fish; people – living people - eat fish. Flesh and blood needs to eat. Where the Lord’s Supper is in declaration of His death, Jesus’s eating is a demonstration of His resurrection. Where does the resurrection lead? Back to the Word. “Thus it is written,” Jesus declares, and turning the disciples back to the Law and Prophets and Psalms – the Hebrew Bible; what we call the Old Testament – He reminds them of what He taught them during the past three years: “that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in His name to all nations.”

Let me ask you again: “Why are you troubled?” Look at your hands. What weight were you carrying in your hands when you came to the Lord’s House this morning? I’ll bet most of you are holding your hands like this, palm up. That’s a position of carrying, isn’t it? Stop trying to carry it all. Turn your hands over. Dump the load out here at the foot of the cross. Stop looking at your own hands, and instead turn your eyes to the hands of the One who carried all of your troubles and burdens. Over here is the stained glass window showing the Resurrected Jesus with His hands held out in blessing – those hands that were nailed to the cross because He refused to turn loose of your burdens. He held on to all of your troubles, saying to each of you, “You get this back over my dead body.” Why would you want to pick it up again?

When you are troubled, repent – confess your troubles – and turn back to the Word. “Thus says the Lord,” remember? Open your Bibles and place them in your hands. Read the promises of God for you when you feel worried and burdened. If you need a place to start, use the Psalms. The book of Psalms is called the prayer book of the Bible. You’ll be amazed at the prayers of God’s people of old, struggling with their own troubles, and responding to the Word of the Lord spoken to them – and to you. “Thus says the Lord:”

Psalm 34: 15-18 - The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry… ¹⁷ When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. ¹⁸ The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Psalm 50:15 – “Call upon me in the day of trouble and I will deliver you and you will glorify me.”

Psalm 139: 9-10 - If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, ¹⁰ even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.

The troubles are still there – God does not magically make them disappear. What He does do, though, is help you see these things through the lens of the cross so that you no longer focus on them but on Him.

And - here is the remarkable thing – when you stop focusing on your hands and see the hands of Jesus instead, in Christ, your hands are now free to help your neighbor carry his or her burdens. Yesterday, twenty of us were trained as a Lutheran Early Response Team, that in a time of crisis, like a hurricane or tornado, we might be able to use our hands to help others in their time of need. But none of us needs specialized training or a FEMA approved badge or a bright yellow vest to help a neighbor.  Your neighbor whose flowerbeds are overgrown with weeds? Check for copperheads first, and then go weed a flowerbed. Your co-worker whose husband is fighting cancer? Make dinner for them, and – if they are up to it – visit a little bit so they know they’re not alone in the struggle. The kid at school who gets picked on? Bring a friend with you and eat your lunches with that kid. The widow or widower who rarely leaves the house? Invite him or her over for coffee. Christ’s Kitchen, VCAM, Ladles of Love, tacking quilts – the list is almost endless of ways you can use your hands to share the love of Christ with others.

And, what you discover, as you show the love of Christ by helping with someone else’s troubles, the Lord works in your service to help release your own troubles.

Rejoicing For Thomas's Doubts - John 20:24-31

This morning is the Gospel reading where Thomas gets his nickname – the Doubter. It’s a shame, really. He starts being identified as, “Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin” – the NIV calls him Thomas Didymus -  but no one ever calls him either.  We call him Doubting Thomas. I don’t think it’s fair to him. After all, we don’t call Peter the Denier because he said he didn’t know Jesus. We don’t call Paul the Persecutor because, before his conversion, he tracked down and killed Christians. But Thomas…he got saddled with the nickname Doubter and it has stuck. Forevermore, he will be known as Doubting Thomas.  

Can you fathom Thomas’ sadness in those days after Jesus’ resurrection? For Mary and Mary, Peter, James and John, the Emmaus disciples the power of the resurrection is starting to be understood. The truth of the Scriptures is beginning to unfold. Christ is risen, He is risen indeed – alleluia! But for Thomas, it is as if Christ is not risen. Christ is not living as He said. Jesus was, at best, mistaken about that third day talk; at worst, a liar who misled the disciples for three years.

Thomas had witnessed Jesus raising Lazarus. But, it’s one thing for a living Jesus to stand outside Lazarus’ grave and summon a dead man back to life; it’s entirely another matter when Jesus is, Himself, the one who is dead and buried.

Thomas is no fool. “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails and place my finger into the mark of the nails and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” Thomas had heard Jesus’ prophetic words about being crucified at the hands of the chief priests and elders and teachers of the law, and had also heard Jesus say, “and on the third day be raised.” It’s one thing to hear those words; it’s another to see Jesus’ side pierced with the spear and blood and water flow out. Jesus was dead. Thomas cannot believe Jesus’ promise; he won’t believe it; No: dead people don’t come back to life. It doesn’t work that way. He will not believe unless he sees it with his own eyes.

I get that. And, I suspect that many of you do as well.

We speak of Christian faith in two ways. The first is faith that Jesus is my Savior and that He died, rose, ascended and now waits until I see Him in the resurrection. This is faith that believes that promise made to us in our Baptisms. I trust I am forgiven, I believe that I am God's child through Jesus' death and resurrection, and all of His gifts are mine. I know, believe, trust and rely that this is "most certainly true." This is "saving faith."

Then, there is how we live out that saving faith. We call this the sanctified life or the life of faithfulness. This is faithfulness that enables the Christian to pray "give us this day our daily bread," and to be content with enough. This is faithfulness that enables us to look in the mirror and say, “You are already holy and sanctified in the eyes of God.” This is faithfulness that, in the face of a critical medical diagnosis, says, “I believe God will heal me now, or into eternity.” Faithfulness is able to say, without irony, “Thy will be done,” followed by "amen, amen...may it be so." Faithfulness allows the Christian to stand at the grave of a loved one and declare, “I believe in the resurrection and the life of the world to come.”

But that sanctified life of faithfulness is tough, isn’t it? To say – and mean - “Thy will be done” in the face of financial struggles, or health scares, or strained family life, or unemployment – that’s not so easy.  It is in this aspect of faith, the daily living of faith, where I struggle – some days, struggling mightily.  I understand because I, too, am a Doubting Thomas. I say that with no pride...trust me.

What is it that drives your faithfulness into fear?  We pray “Give us this day our daily bread,” but in reality we want to pray "Give me this day my daily filet mignon and deliver me from any trouble that might disturb my otherwise peaceful day." We say, “God is so good,” when our prayers are answered the way we wish, but when the Lord answers in other ways, we doubt God’s love for us. We are thankful when our bank account sits fat and thick and our retirement accounts look strong, but when those numbers drop, we cry to the heavens.  And with these tests coming at us every day, faithfulness gets crowded out sometimes.

And the danger here is that this aspect of faithfulness impacts our faith in God’s grace for us in Christ. The devil’s no fool – he knows that we are savvy enough that if he were to say to us, “God doesn’t love you,” we would tell him to hit the road. So, he nibbles at the edges – anything to get us to look at ourselves and away from Jesus. He tempts us doubt our worthiness in God’s eyes. He tempts us to think we are unworthy because we don’t have as strong of faith as someone else. He tempts us to think we are failures at Christianity. And when these temptations start to clang in our ears over and over and over, they start to sound as if they ring true. And, like Thomas, we start to alienate ourselves from the other disciples that gather together to form the church. The last temptation, then, is for the Christian, alone and left with his doubts and fears, to teeter on the edge of saying, “And if all of this is true, then the power of the resurrection isn’t enough…not for me at least.”

So, when this Gospel text comes to the forefront every year in the Sunday after Easter, it gives me a moment to stop, pause, and rejoice because Jesus doesn’t leave Doubting Thomas or Doubting Jon, or Doubting [insert your name here] alone with doubt. Jesus rescues and redeems Thomas from a life of doubt to a life of faithfulness.

It’s a week after Easter. The scene from Easter night is repeated: upper room, doors locked, disciples gathered with Thomas present, this time. Again, Jesus appears; again, He declares, “Peace be with you.”

Do you understand the power of those four words? We talk about peace; we wish for peace; sometimes we even try to make peace. Peace, at least earthly peace, is fleeting and nebulous. Ask parents with teenagers, or a married couple leaving the counselor’s office, or any patient who walks out of the doctor’s office with the words, “Let’s see what the tests say, first…” still ringing in the ears. Industry and agriculture waits with baited breath as a bloodless war of trade seems inevitable with China.  The wars of Iraq and Afghanistan are 16 years old. Peace: it seems more like a punchline than a reality.

So, when Jesus speaks of peace, it should make us take notice. “Peace be with you.” Jesus’ peace is different. His peace, promised of on Maundy Thursday, is completed at the cross. Now, His peace is restorative, reuniting the relationship between God and man which was chewed apart in the Garden of Eden. His peace brings harmony and unity. His peace causes the eternal warfare to end. His peace sooths the troubled heart, calms the worried head, silences fears that run wild. His peace rejuvenates faith where it has grown weary.

So there is no doubt for Thomas, Jesus invites Thomas to touch his hands and place his hand into Jesus side – those were Thomas’ requirements, remember, that unless that could happen he wouldn’t believe. And with words that are both command and invitation, Jesus says, “Stop being unbelieving and be believing.”

Jesus’ peace overcomes Thomas’ doubts.  Seeing Jesus is enough. He doesn’t need to touch Jesus’ body or feel the marks and wounds. Jesus’ peace, the same peace that restored the relationship between God and man, now restores Thomas’ faith. Everything Jesus said about His death and resurrection is true. “My Lord and my God,” Thomas declares as both faithfulness and faith are restored.

The final words of Jesus serve as a dramatic postlude to the Easter narrative, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” We know about Peter and John and Paul as they carry the Gospel from Israel to what is today modern southern Europe. What you probably don’t know is that tradition says that from this point forward, Thomas became the first missionary to what is today Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and eventually winding up in northern India. There, Thomas is celebrated much the same way we celebrate Martin Luther. This is remarkable that a man, who once said he would not believe unless he could see and touch, carried the Gospel to people who could only see with eyes of faith.

You are part of these whom Jesus calls “Blessed,” for you have not yet seen Jesus with your eyes. With Spirit-given faith, you believe the promises of God are fulfilled in this man, named Jesus, who died for you and rose for your eternal salvation. With Spirit-enlivened faithfulness, you live out that life of faith every day in your actions and interactions with others. And, on those days when your faithfulness is shaken, and your faith is weak, Jesus comes to you and says, “Peace.” A remarkable gift, His peace, for it doesn’t change or grow weary. His peace is delivered to you without hesitation or reservation. Stop being unbelieving and be believing. Earned for you at His cross, delivered to you in your baptism, His peace knows no boundaries or limits.

Easter Feet - Mark 16:1-8

Audio file

Easter Feet – Mark 16:1-8

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

I want to talk to you about feet today. My Dad had some of the biggest feet I’ve ever seen – size 13-4Es, and even then sometimes shoes didn’t fit right. He usually ordered his shoes from Mason Shoes (pre-internet days) because they made them big enough.  He had one pair of boots that he liked so much he had them re-soled three times. Big shoes…big feet…big man. I followed those feet a lot when I was a boy – in the garage, in the garden, in the pasture, to the barn, to school, and to church. My small feet followed the path made by his big feet.

We lived near the church cemetery when I was a boy. When I say near, I mean a couple hundred yards; just up the hill. In the evenings after work, when the chores were done and dinner was finished, it wasn’t at all uncommon for Dad to lead us through the pasture to the cemetery for our evening walk – big feet, little feet, all in a row. And in the cemetery, we would carefully walk through the graves, placing our feet carefully so as to not step on a grave, and Dad would tell us the stories of the men and women who had walked the life of faith before us. He told us stories about men like Ben Kurio and Gus Jacob and women like Lydia Neitch and Lula Richter. Some stones were so old, everything was written in German. Dad would translate the Bible passages, written in German script, for us. Other stones, written in English, we would read together – names, dates, and Scriptures. We didn’t do it every day or even every week, but we did it frequently.

I tell you this, because I learned the power of Easter in the cemetery of Zionst Euangelische Lutheraner Kirche – Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church – in Walburg, Texas. When you see the graves of the faithful who have fallen asleep in Christ and have gone before you, it’s a humbling thing and it’s a powerful thing. Humbling, because these are saints of God who lived through some very, very tough and difficult times; powerful because of the confession of faith that was made both with lips that were living and in stone when sleeping. Over and over again, you can read brief statements like, “In my Father’s House are Many Rooms,” or “Christ is risen!” or “Jesus’ Little Lamb.” Those are important statements because those tell us something about the life of faith that was lived – in the midst of tragedy and difficulty, in life and in death, these people, these saints of God trusted in His promise that was spoken outside another tomb 2000 years ago: I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me shall never die.

On the morning of Saturday, April 29, 2000, my family and I took that walk again from our house to the cemetery: My mom, brother, two sisters, some of my aunts and uncles, my wife and me. This time, we weren’t walking with my Dad to hear stories. My dad had fallen asleep in Jesus earlier that week on Tuesday. This time, we were walking to my Dad, to the grave-side, to his casket that was waiting to be placed into the ground. It was one of the longest and slowest walks of my life.

This all came back to my mind this week as I once again read the account of the women making their slow journey to Jesus’ tomb. I wondered if they retraced their steps from three days earlier when they followed Jesus as He carried His cross. Did they stop at the place where Jesus spoke to them about grieving over Jerusalem? Did they pass by places where Jesus had taught in the streets, or healed a sick man? Did they pass by the temple, still buzzing because of the split curtain, wondering what Jesus meant when He said He would rebuild His temple in three days? I’m sure their feet were heavy with grief; were they heavily burdened, too, with the spices and embalming cloths? Did they stumble, or were they steadfast in their journey?

The Bible does not tell us how long this walk was, but no matter how many steps it took, the journey probably felt like an eternity. Part of their conversation was very practical, too – St. Mark says that they were talking, trying to figure out how they were going to move the stone away from the opening so they could anoint Jesus’ body.

They get within sight of the tomb and suddenly, their pace changes. They slow to a standstill; start; stop; stammer a few steps father; stop again. The stone was already moved! Where were the soldiers? Did grave robbers hit? Did the Jewish leaders have to commit one more atrocity against their Lord, even in death by defiling the body of their Lord? Closer…closer…

Now, stepping into the tomb, they saw two men dressed in dazzling clothes from head to foot. In fear, they fell to the ground near the angels’ feet.

While fear knocks them to their feet, the angels’ message makes them stand – wobbly legged, maybe – but stand nonetheless in hope. “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him.”

Just a week ago, Jesus had taken them aside and told them, “We are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written by the prophets about the Son of Man will be fulfilled. He will be delivered over to the Gentiles. They will mock him, insult him and spit on him; they will flog him and kill him. On the third day he will rise again.” They didn’t understand it then, and on that first Easter morning, it was just too much to believe – they were afraid. 

I can’t say I blame them. Can you? I’ve stood at the empty grave myself, both for my father and with dozens of other sons and daughters, fathers and mothers who laid loved ones to rest. It is a daunting, frightening thing to stand there. Not because we don’t know the eternity of what happens after death – we know that, in Christ, we shall be raised – but because, in that moment, our lives – like those of Mary, Mary, and Salome – have been turned upside down. But we are able to stand there, as children of God, because Christ’s grave, which once contained His body, stands empty. Christ is risen!

The resurrection of Jesus is not just a one-day-out-of-the-year celebration. His resurrection is a life changing event. It’s a life-changing event because our Lord Christ, in His resurrection, defeated the power of death and the grave and crushed Satan’s hold over us. For the past 40 days, we have followed Jesus’ footsteps to the cross; we heard the nails driven into his feet and hands; we listened somberly as Jesus spoke his last words and took his last breath. But this morning, on this first day of the week, we stand outside Jesus’ open tomb that He walked out of – alive – with hands and feet marked by the nails, his side showing the mark of the spear. Crucified for us, He now lives for us.

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

And that changes the way we see a cemetery. Don’t get me wrong – for all of us who have had to take that long walk to the casket of a loved one, a cemetery will always carry at least some measure of sorrow and grief and fear. But, for us as Christians, cemeteries are also places of hope. When I say “hope,” I don’t want you to hear “one-in-ten-million-chance” hope. I want you to hear certainty, confidence – the “amen” of faith in Christ Jesus.

At a funeral, you hear people say their loved one is now with Jesus. They’re missing the best part: the resurrection. When we lay a loved one in the ground, the grave serves as a resting place for the faithful who have died in the Lord. Jesus speaks of this as being asleep. In cemeteries all across the globe, the bodies of faithful Christians await the great resurrection of all flesh when Jesus returns. On that day – on that great Easter of all Easters when the resurrected, ascended, glorified, victorious and returning Christ appears, we too will be raised. The voices of the faithful, present, will join the voices of the saints past in repeating the Easter victory cry, “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory?  O death, where is your sting?”  The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.  But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Cor 15:54-55).

How do I know this? How can we know this? Because Jesus said so. And, like those women on the first Easter who remembered and believed, I remember and believe --- we remember and we believe --- Jesus’ promises – especially His Easter promise.

I said I learned about Easter in the cemetery of Zion Lutheran Church with the stories of the faithful saints of Zion’s past. Those stories of people’s lives took the power of the Gospel and tied it to a person whose name was chiseled in stone and whose name was written in the Book of Life. April 29, 2000 was the Saturday after Easter. Nine days after remembering Jesus’ burial, we stood and buried my father. But, we knew the Easter story of Jesus’ resurrection so with Easter faith my family said “I believe in the resurrection and the life of the world to come.” Yes, we said it with fear, like the women on that first Resurrection morning, but we also said it trusting Jesus’ baptismal promise. In Christ, the grave does not hold the faithful forever. My Dad will rise and stand on his size 13-4E feet, and I, with my little feet, will one day stand next to him again. How do I know that? Jesus said it. My Dad taught me that. And Dad’s tombstone confesses it: “I know that my redeemer lives!” Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. We are risen! We are risen, indeed. Alleluia!