Jesus' Prodigal Love for You - Luke 15:11-32

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Luke 15:11-32.

Most of us know this morning’s Gospel lesson as the Parable of the Prodigal Son. We’ve heard it since we were kids in Sunday school. We know the characters; we know the story. 

We remember the prodigal’s foolish “I wish dad was dead” request for inheritance, his prideful flight from home, and then his shameful, tail-between-his-legs return, hoping to beg for a place in the servant’s quarters. We remember the older brother’s passive-aggressive frustration and anger, both in having to stay and work on the family farm and then have a jealous snit-fit because little brother gets a homecoming party. And we remember the father’s joy at seeing the son, whom he feared dead, to be alive, welcoming him home, calling the older brother to celebrate that the lost is found. And we know this parable as an illustration of God’s mercy and grace for repentant sinners. 

This is how we usually think of the parable. This is good.

But for others of us, this parable is only wishful thinking, a story as fictional as any episode of Last Man Standing where all conflicts are resolved in 23 minutes or less with hugs all ‘round.  Some of us know this parable not as a cute, heart-warming narrative of bad boy returning home, but as a commentary on our own broken home lives. 

Prodigal means to waste money on extravagant, outrageous - and presumably unsustainable - living. I don't necessarily mean your child wished you dead like the Prodigal did in Luke 15, or that they took off with a portion of your estate and blew it in Vegas on slots or in New Orleans on sluts, or that they wound up prostituting themselves in a dehumanizing job that no one would do.

I'm using prodigal in more a figurative sense, that they have squandered your parental love, that they reject your wisdom, that they refuse guidance while outrageously demanding your obeisance to their whim and fancy. They expect you to do for them while they refuse responsibility for their lives and actions - or inaction, as the case might be.

There’s the strong-willed prodigal who thinks they know it all, who says they can’t wait to leave, whose actions say they wish mom and dad were dead and whose words burn like the hell where they told the parents to go to. Just give me what’s mine and I’ll be out of your hair, they say, as they slam the door and tear down the road in a cloud of dust. 

There’s the passive aggressive prodigal who does his or her responsibility, but does it begrudgingly with sighs, eye rolls, and mumbling and grumbling, so everyone knows how much of an inconvenience all of this is and what a personal sacrifice they are making. But behind dad’s back, they laugh and poke fun at their Old Man for his old-fashioned ways.  

There are the parents who have bent over backwards to provide for the kids and rear them in the fear of the Lord; then, it becomes a struggle to try to placate and appease, just trying to hold it all together. Meanwhile, they feel as if they have been taken advantage of and used like an old pair of shoes: parental love rejected, wisdom spurned, and heart shattered. They feel empty, having been consumed, and there’s simply nothing left.  

And if that’s your family story, when you hear this narrative, this parable, there’s part of you that wishes it would be so great if your own prodigal son, your own prodigal daughter would return, humbled; that the passive-aggressive son or daughter would rejoice at the family being whole again; that all would be able to repent of their sins against each other and forgive each other and be restored as one family. 

But there’s also part of you that cannot make that leap when they return. We recall the ugly words that dripped with venom, the hands that once reached out in love instead balled into fists, the hot-blooded shouting matches and the ice-cold shoulders, the scene of your son, your daughter walking away and you want to rub their noses in their failure, you want to shame them into submission, you want to give them a swift kick in the kishkes that might hurt them almost as much as they hurt you. We know it’s wrong, but, we rationalize…but…there’s just no way I can be like that prodigal’s parent.

Let’s go back to the parable for a minute. Have you ever wondered how the father could be so kind, so generous, so gracious, so merciful to a son who, at one point, felt his father more valuable dead than alive? Remember – he wanted his share of the estate; you get an estate after the estate holder is dead. How could the father be so kind as to forgive and welcome this “I-wish-you-were-dead-Dad” prodigal back?

It’s because the Father has another Son. That’s right: there’s another Son. This third Son is actually at the center of the parable. Without this Son, the parable doesn’t work; it doesn’t make sense. But, you don’t hear this Son mentioned in the parable. He’s not a character. He’s the narrator. This Son is the one telling the story. Who is this mystery Son? The Son is Jesus.

Jesus is the other son, the prodigal’s brother, who intercedes for him to the Father. Jesus stands between the broken prodigal who’s dead with grief and shame, who knows full well he sinned against his father and his brother, who knows he has no right to dare be there, and Jesus stands between the prodigal and the Father and implores the Father on the brother’s behalf. It is as if Jesus is saying, “Father, don’t look at the prodigal’s sins; instead, remember your promise of a Father’s love. The prodigal’s debts against you, I will pay. Whatever anger you may have against His sinful behavior, lay it against me. I will take the servant’s place he desired and surrender my Sonship to him. He will take my place in Your house and whatever punishment he deserves, I will accept on his behalf. His sin, wishing you were dead, I will die that the prodigal might be forgiven; I will die that the prodigal might live with You in peaceful harmony again.”

And the Father, out of His compassion for the prodigal, accepts His perfect Son’s offer. The Father no longer remembers the prodigal’s curses; He no longer sees the prodigal’s hands held out in greed; He no longer remembers the prodigal’s back turned to Him. What the Father hears is Jesus’ prayer, “Father, forgive them.” What He sees are Jesus’ nail-pierced hands. What the Father sees is Jesus’ whip-scored back. In fact, the picture is so perfect that the Father no longer even calls this one “Prodigal.” He simply calls him “Beloved.” 

If you thought this parable was a picture of your own fractured and fissured family, you are right – although maybe not for the reasons you first thought. It’s a picture of the Heavenly Father’s grace and mercy, shown to each of us, his beloved and formerly-prodigal children, through the merits of His Son, Jesus. For the sins you committed against your parents and your children, against your brothers and your sisters, those you know and those you didn’t even recognize in the moment, any sin that drove a wedge between you and your Father, Jesus died for each and every one.  What I hope you see in this parable is a picture of God’s love for you in Christ.

A note for you who struggle with a broken family relationship: As hard as it is to remember, the prodigal is still your child, and a prodigal for whom Jesus died. And, as hard as it is to remember, you are also a prodigal for whom Jesus died as well. 

I don't have an easy answer for living with a prodigal. I don't know how to make the hard words soft, how to sheathe the sharply-whetted tongues, how to stop seeing each other as enemies to be conquered. I wish I did. Oh, that I knew how to bind up the hearts broken by those whom we love so much. If only I had an "easy button" to make the icy family feud be a hug-filled home I would mass produce it and give them away by the gross.

But I can't. I have neither the know-how nor the ability. Besides - I need these things myself, for my own prodigal and my own broken family. 

All I have is Jesus.
For you, for me.
For my prodigal.
For yours.

God, be merciful and grant us your peace.
Give us Jesus.
We need Him so much.

Repent: Who, Me? Luke 13: 1-5

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

“Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” -Luke 13:5

It has been a month of tragedy. A few weeks ago, an Ethiopian Air jet with 153 souls on board mysteriously crashed. Last week, a gunman went on a racial tirade against two mosques in New Zealand, killing 50 worshippers. A freak blizzard dumps historic flooding on the upper Midwest, impacting the vast majority of Nebraska as well as large parts of Kansas and Iowa. A little closer to home, a terrible car accident in Victoria claimed the lives of travelers who were passing by.

What do you do when you hear of tragedies like this? How do you try to square in your own mind what happened? 

Some look at the tragedies and try to resolve them by presuming guilt – a deep, intrinsic guilt that demands God’s immediate action. This was the mindset in Jesus’ time: if something bad happened to you, it was because you or your parents had done something to deserve it. A modern take on this is the eastern religion of Buddhism and it’s teaching of karma. Famously, some TV preachers thundered that Hurricane Katrina was God’s wrath against the sins of the city of New Orleans or that Hurricane Ike, or even Harvey, was God’s wrath against Houston’s capitalistic greed. 

But this isn’t always satisfactory. For example, the couple who was killed in the car wreck – they were running Saturday errands; or the people in the plane – they were just trying to get from A to B; the Nebraska farmers…they’re part of America’s breadbasket who feed the world. What did they do wrong?

So, some demand answers of God, insisting to know “why” God allowed such things to happen. Victims are described as innocent and not worthy of such an abrupt, sudden, and violent end. Obviously, God is in the wrong in this instance. He should let tragedy pass over them. The danger here is that they put themselves over and against God, second-guessing Him while setting themselves up as being superior to God. 

Others argue that Jesus should have done something. After all, He is God – He could have let the pilots know what to do, or struck the shooter lame, or held back the waters of the Elkhorn River. The danger here is either that one neuters God’s power or dilutes His love – either he was unable to do these miraculous and intercessory actions or He simply didn’t care about the victims. An early American Puritan preacher, Jonathan Edwards, famously described God as a spider who is watching creation dangle from a single thread, waiting to see when will break.

There’s a third temptation, I suppose – to become fatalistic. I suspect this idea isn’t helped by describing freak accidents as “acts of God.” In a mild case, people shrug their shoulders and make comments like, “I guess it was his time,” or “It happens,” or “Such is life” – c’est la vie, if you prefer French, or asi est la vida, if you prefer Spanish. In an extreme case, it causes anxiety, depression and despair. It produces hopelessness and leaves one with the feeling that it really doesn’t matter what they do. 

I can understand why people try to rationalize these tragedies. It is the human condition: in the midst of things that are out of control, when the boredom of the average trip is shattered by massive loss, when one man violently takes the life of another man, when creation rises up as if it is seeking to get even with mankind, when God doesn’t seem to act like, well, like God, we ask “why?”  

I can understand, and to a great degree I can even empathize. But that doesn’t make any of these things right. There is a difference between asking “why,” and, in faith, trying to comprehend the loss verses demanding answers of God as if we were equal to God. We can’t demand “why” of God because He hasn’t revealed that answer to us - at least not in a way we expect, or in a way that we find satisfactory in our grief, pain and loss. Further, it isn’t our place to demand anything of God: we are creation, He is creator. He owes us nothing other than what He has promised to us, and He has not promised to answer “why” – at least not this side of heaven. Do you remember, when Job was demanding answers of God, God answered him (please pardon the paraphrase – you can read this in the second to last chapter of Job this afternoon) saying even if I wanted to explain this, how can you mortals understand the mind of the infinite God? 

In times of tragedy and loss, we must stand before our Lord and humble ourselves to the very Word of God where He reveals Himself to us – in the person and work of His Son, Jesus Christ. Instead of guessing – and guessing badly – at what we don’t know of the hidden will of God, instead, in the times of tragedy – whether it happens to us, to our neighbors, or to people whom we will never meet on the other side of the world - we turn to what we know. We know the cross; we know the message of Jesus: repent. 

Repent doesn’t mean that we walk around like Eeyore, sad, with hang-dog looks on our faces, moping around as if everything is wrong and nothing is good. Repentance acknowledges our place before God, as sinners, who we are in the presence of the holy God, and what our condition deserves. Repentance acknowledges our sins, as Luther writes, that we indeed daily sin much in thought, word and deed. We confess that while we may not have sinned against the worshippers in New Zealand, we have sinned against Muslims by speaking disparagingly of them. We confess, not that we caused the plane crash or the car accident, but that we sin against our fellow travelers by becoming impatient or by a moment of recklessness on the road. We confess, not that we caused the flood, but we acknowledge our part in this fallen world in abusing creation. And, repentance acknowledges as well that we deserve death - physical, spiritual and eternal death – for each of these sins, and so many more.

Yes, there is a measure of sadness in our repentance, for it is admitting our sins against God. But it is not the sadness of despair. Repentance is different than despair. Despair would leave us staring at ourselves and our condition and see it as hopeless. Repentance, while fully and freely confessing our sins, also finds joy in knowing, believing, trusting and relying that God, in His mercy, does not deliver to us what we deserve. Rather, in His grace, He forgives us and rescues us through the blood of Jesus. Repentance leads us through tears of pain to joy. Repentance lifts our eyes from ourselves and the fallen world in which we live and, through faith, looks to the cross of Jesus. And in the midst of things we don’t know and understand, we see what God has done for us in Christ, what He continues to do for us in Christ, and what He will do for us, resurrecting us to be with Christ into eternity. 

One of my Seminary profs is fond of saying, “When in doubt, repent.” It’s his spin on Luther’s statement that the entire Christian life is one of repentance. When you see or hear of tragedies, whether you or your friends or a family member, or someone you’ve never met are involved, repent. Repent, and in faith, see what took place at the cross: an innocent Man, suffering and dying to redeem the World, carrying to His tree the fallenness that resulted from feasting at the tree in the Garden, His groans overwhelming the groans of creation in its birth-pains, Him dying the world’s death, being separated from God, so that the world is perfectly restored to God and soon, when Jesus returns, there will be perfect, true peace. 

Repent and pray, “Come Lord Jesus, come.” Amen.

As a hen gathers her chicks... Luke 13:31-35

Jerusalem was supposed to be a place of peace. It is inherent in the name. Jerusalem is a combination of the Hebrew words for foundation and peace. Put those words together and the name literally means “foundation of peace.” For a time, Jerusalem was a place of peace. It was the throne of David, the king after God’s own heart. It was the capital of Judah, the city of Solomon’s temple. God put His name and His presence in Jerusalem. It was a special place. A holy place. A “foundation of peace.”

But something changed. Jerusalem did not remain a place of peace. It became a place violence. It became a place where the people of God rejected His message and killed His messengers.


I do not think the people of Jerusalem set out to reject God. They did not wake up one day and decide, instead of listening to God, they would make it their mission to kill His prophets, His spokespersons, and even, eventually, His own Son. They were deceived. Blinded. Deluded by sin and its author. As a result, they were unable and unwilling to hear the Word of the Lord. The “foundation of peace” became a sinkhole of violence, first for the prophets, and then for Jesus himself. “Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem…the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”


The sad and ironic tragedy is Jesus had come to gather them together. To call them to repentance, yes. But also, to forgive them, unite them, and protect. The image of the hen gathering her chicks depicts a fierce and defending love. My mom’s dad was a farmer in Nebraska. Once there was a fire in a nearby field. Grandpa and the neighbors used their tractors and plows to create a firebreak to keep the fire from spreading. When the fire was out, they walked through the field to try to determine the damage and they came across a prairie chicken that had been killed in the fire. Pushing her body with his boot, Grandpa discovered under her body three or four small chicks: the mother sacrificed herself for the lives of her chicks. Like that prairie chicken, guarding her young, Jesus longed to gather and protect His people from the enemy. He was willing to sacrifice Himself for them. But they would not remain with Him. As a result, Jesus says in verse 35, they are forsaken.


We are not Jerusalem.  But the same warning that Jesus spoke 2000 years ago remains today. These words serve as a warning for every place in which God has promised to be present with His peace. While the Church (that is, where God’s people gather around Word and Sacrament) is not in the same position of Jerusalem in Jesus’ day, the caution should be taken seriously. Shaped by more than only their baptism, it is tempting for the Church to resist the gathering love of Jesus and become a place of subtle forms of violence.


Think about people who refuse to be helped. You know people like this. It’s Tom, who refuses to see the doctor when everyone else knows he must, because he’s afraid he will be told he can’t live at home anymore. It’s Mollie, who refuses to ask her teacher for some extra help after school because she’s mad…and embarrassed. It’s Billy, who refuses to go to marriage counseling despite repeated pleas from his wife, because he doesn’t want to admit he has a problem. It’s Dion, the young mom who refuses to ask advice from her own mother about rearing her children because she doesn’t want to hear about how difficult she was as a child, or “back in her day” this is how it was done. It’s hard to watch people refuse help they so desperately need and that is so freely available. You feel this; I feel this. We want to help, we’re ready to help.


As difficult as these physical needs are, the even greater needs are in those who refuse to return to the Lord, their God. These friends and neighbors, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, the people we know who so desperately need a word of loving repentance, the blessing of sins forgiven in the name of Jesus, a blessing that refreshes the promise of baptism, a word of hope for tomorrow. Perhaps they are embarrassed by the sins they think everyone knows about; maybe they are irritated that the church tried to lead them to repentance and they didn’t like that message; it could be that they disagreed with a decision and said ugly things about other people and now, they don’t know how to ask for forgiveness; it could be that someone said something that hurt them and pride refuses to accept an apology. It could be that they can’t accept that Jesus can forgive someone like him, or her, or you, or me. People, whose lives are in shambles, yet they refused to turn back to the only One who could forgive and renew and protect them.


Look closer…those faces you were just imagining, those people you were just naming, look closer at them and you might be surprised to see yourself among them. Let me be clear: it’s not that you’re refusing help from the Lord – after all, you’re sitting in the Lord’s House. But this is the season of Lent, and Lent has us look and consider our own place before God. Lent is a time to take a closer look at our lives as children of God. Even regular church-goers are not immune from resisting the One who longs to gather and protect them.


Let me ask you a couple of questions. I want you to think – don’t answer out loud. I’m going to ask a couple of honest questions about our openness to Jesus and the help He promises.  In what ways are we resisting Jesus as He longs to gather us to Himself?  From which parts of our lives are we refusing to receive His help?


Are you tempted to think we are not as obstinate as the people in Jerusalem, that we would never be so dense as to reject Jesus and His Word? That we would never refuse to be gathered by God?

And yet… each of us, in our own sinful way, resists the goodness and mercy of God. Sometimes, it’s refusing to listen to His Law that desires to correct our speech or our thoughts about others. Perhaps it trusting that you are a beloved child of God. Perhaps it’s believing that, in the midst of chaos and upheaval, or uncertainty and fear, that God will care for you as a hen cares for her chicks.


As a hen gathers her brood, our Lord Jesus has gathered us together as His people. Jesus said, “You will not see me until you say, “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.” This was a direct prophecy of what would take place on Palm Sunday when he enters Jerusalem. It’s also a promise of what happens every Lord’s day in this Holy House. He gathers us beneath the cross to forgive us. He gathers us into a community to support and defend us. He gathers us together today at His table to feed us and to bless us with His protective love.  


Jesus never stops gathering. He never stops drawing us to Himself. He is like a hen who never gives up on her chicks. He is our protector. Our provider. Our Savior—even from ourselves. Blessed are you who comes together in the name of the Lord. Amen.

The Temptation of Jesus - Luke 4:1-13

“If you really are the Son of God.” There is no temptation greater than this for the Christian. With that sentence, with that temptation, Satan tempts the Christian to doubt his or her baptismal promise. He does it subtly, sneakily, subversively in ways to get you to doubt that forgiveness, salvation and eternal life are really yours. 

“If you really are a Child of God…”  He plants a seed of doubt: Well, I think I am… 
“If you really are a Child of God…” He drops a nugget of fear: Wait – have I lost my salvation?
“If you really are a Child of God…” He feeds an iota of machismo: Oh, yeah devil? Take your best shot…I’ve been confirmed!
“If you really are a Child of God…” He adds a splash of the inevitable: Well, everyone else is doing it…besides, I’m forgiven, so it’s no big deal.
“If you really are a Child of God…”  He twists the truth with innuendoo: Am I still a child of God, even after this?

The awful thing of this temptation, more than any other – towards physical, material needs to fill the desire for “enough”; towards false gods that promise all kinds of bread: sex, wealth, power, prestige, friends, revenge; towards empty promises of beauty and strength; towards selfish greed and arrogance; coveting your neighbor’s herd, or stealing answers from a classmate’s test, or saying terrible things about someone with whom you disagree, or lusting after someone else’s body – the awful thing about this temptation is that it creates shame and despair. Shame turns you in on yourself; despair leaves you alone. It turns you from Jesus.

He sings his siren song, trying to get you to turn away from your baptism, to turn away from the promises of God, to turn away from the cross of Christ, to turn away from faith that says Jesus’ death forgives even your sins. He wants to tempt you to the isle of idolatry. He’ll either puff you up so big that you think you don’t need God – you can handle this yourself – or he’ll crush you and leave you so broken that you think you dare not even implore God’s mercy for yourself. If you really are a son, a daughter, of God… Why, no child of God would have done such a thing. And he leaves you questioning, doubting, wondering, fearing…can Jesus forgive me?

“If you really are a Son of God…” Jesus’ temptation was about more than just bread, or power, or checking on the providence of God. This was a temptation against His baptismal identity. This is a temptation against His Sonship. It’s as if the devil is throwing the entirety of Jesus’ life and ministry against Him in the wilderness: Why, no Son of God would do such a thing…set aside His heavenly throne, descend from heaven, be humiliated by setting His divinity, taking on Himself a human body with human weaknesses; being born of a no-name woman in no-name Nazareth; living as an itinerant preacher with no house, no home, no family; no self-respecting rabbi would have a bunch of rag-tag fishermen as disciples; He certainly wouldn’t be betrayed by one of them, letting Himself be sold out for a slave’s price and then arrested for being true to His purpose; no Son of God would submit to earthly rulers and be murdered. No self-respecting Son of God would let sinful people condemn the sinless Son of God, would he?

Yes. Yes, He would. Jesus does all of those things. He does it because He must perfectly submit to the law with it’s demands for perfection, and to do it perfectly, unlike Adam and Eve, unlike you and me. And He does it so He is able to be tempted. 

The Bible teaches us that Jesus became man partly in order that He would fully know and understand what we, as human beings, must endure this side of heaven. In fact, the book of Hebrews reminds us “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,” (4:15). It is of great comfort to us that our Savior understands us. He’s not “up there,” arrogant and aloof, but he’s “down here” with us. He knows pain, and loss, and joy and pleasure. He knows the warmth of a friendship and the heartache of betrayal. He knows the wonder of watching children and the gut-wrenching pain of a father whose child is dying. He’s stood outside of a friend’s grave and wept. It is no small thing that Jesus sympathizes with us.

If that’s all that Jesus did – experience our weakness – that would have been a remarkable thing. This morning’s Gospel lesson gives us a slightly different perspective.  We also hear the narrative about how he in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Think about this: When you pray, “Lead us not into temptation,” you are praying to God through the One who perfectly, full-well understands what it’s like to be tempted.

These are real temptations Jesus faces, not just a façade. The temptation of bread, of power, of testing God – Jesus is being tempted away from His Sonship, from His purpose, from His cross.

When you go home, after your daylight savings time adjustment nap, open your Bible and read the last section of Luke 3. It’s the genealogy of Jesus. Now, that sounds boring…until you notice this: the genealogy concludes with Jesus being “the Son of Adam, the Son of God.” It’s interesting Luke leads us back to Adam, because the entirety of Jesus’ genealogy has one thing in common: all are under the condemnation of sin because of Adam’s sinful snack from the tree. From Adam, to Seth – Adam’s son – to Joseph – Jesus’ step-father – it’s a long line of sinners. But that line of sinners stops with Jesus. He remains sinless, perfectly resisting the temptations of satan, distinct from all of those in His earthly genealogy. Unlike Eve’s half-hearted answer against the devil, when Jesus is tempted, He doesn’t interpret God’s Word, He doesn’t twist it, He doesn’t add to it or omit it when He’s tempted. He simply speaks the Word: “Man shall not live by bread alone; you shall worship the Lord your God; you shall not put the Lord your God to the test.”

Yet, Jesus receives the sinner’s punishment of all those before Him and after Him. Although He fulfilled the Law perfectly, although He does not surrender to temptation, He must die. God makes Him, who knew no sin, to be sin for us. Our sins are laid upon Him – all of those times we give into satan’s tempting lies, willingly or accidentally, intentionally or unknowingly, in strength and in weakness – each and every one of them is placed upon Him. And He dies, sinless and perfect while at the same time drenched in our sins and unclean. He dies for you. It’s interesting…the devil tempts Jesus with “If you are the son of God.” Even the centurion knows who Jesus is: Truly, this Man was the Son of God. 

And you, dear friends in Christ, you have been baptized into this Man’s death and you have been raised with His resurrection. You also have had those powerful words spoken over you with water and word, “You are my beloved son; you are my beloved daughter.” Don’t let the devil tempt and leave you in despair, wondering and doubting if this is true. I always find it remarkable that Jesus’ temptation occurs immediately after His Baptism and He is even led into the desert to be tempted by the Holy Spirit. Even in this temptation, He is never alone. The Spirit of God is with Christ. The Spirit of God, given you in your baptism, leads you from here out into the wilderness as well. You are never alone as you face temptation. Too, remember that your Baptism is never a one-and-done thing. Your Baptism is a constant: it’s an ongoing event, renewed day by day, through faith in Christ as your Savior. The life of Baptism is one of repentance, acknowledging your sins and lamenting the surrender to the temptations that you to have done them. There’s no “the devil made me do it,” here. They are yours. But, repentance doesn’t just leave you there, wallowing in guilt. Repentance also trusts that Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, is your savior. He took your sins and took them to the cross and then drug each and every one into the grave with Him. And when He rose on Easter, your sins did not rise with you. They are buried from God’s sight forever.

Know this: being tempted is not a sin. The devil wants you to think that, that since you’ve been tempted, you’re already guilty so you may as well go ahead and go all-in. That’s not true. Remember – He was tempted…but was without sin. Being tempted isn’t the sin; surrender to it is. But don’t fall for the idea that there’s a line in the sand, that you can dance with temptation up to that line and be just fine. Just don’t cross that line. That’s a temptation in and of itself. I guess in a perfect world, we could always clearly see where temptation stops and sin starts, but we aren’t in a perfect world, and in the heat of the moment we don’t think clearly and faithfully enough to see that mark. Besides, the problem with lines in the sand is that the sand shifts – just when you think you’re safe, the sand shifts underneath and you find yourself across the line. 

So, what does the child of God do when tempted? What do you do when you realize satan is tempting you? When he does that, follow the footsteps of Jesus as the Spirit led Him into the wilderness. Do what Jesus did: turn back to the Word. Surround yourself with Truth so you recognize lies. And then pray. What should you pray? The Lord’s Prayer. In the 6^th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, we pray “Lead us not into temptation.” I used to think this was praying God would protect us from being tempted from sinning. While that’s true, if that’s all we think when we pray this, we’re missing the greater meaning behind it. Immediately before this, in the Fifth Petition, we prayed “Forgive us our trespasses.” The longer I serve as a pastor, and the more I care for hurting souls, the more I believe that these two petitions go together like this: “Don’t let us be tempted that our sins aren’t forgiven.” 

Temptation is sneaky. Salvation is certain. The devil knows your name and he calls you by your sin. God knows your sins, yes; but in Christ, He calls you by name: His Son, His Daughter.

Jesus' Exodus - Luke 9:28-36

What a difference a week makes. A week earlier, Jesus had asked the disciples what the crowds were saying about him. They answered, some were saying Jesus is John the Baptist, or Elijah or one of the other prophets. “What about you all – what do you disciples say about me? Peter spoke up on behalf of the twelve: “You are the Christ of God.” Luke records Jesus’ instructions: don’t tell anyone. Then Jesus adds, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed and on the third day be raised.” (Luke 9:23). 

Over the course of the next few days, Jesus’ strange, suffering talk would continue. “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. ²⁴ For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” This is a far cry from all of the cool, miraculous stuff Jesus had been doing. Why, shortly before this he had fed the 5000 with a boy’s lunch (9:10ff); he healed a woman from blood loss and Jairus’ sick daughter (8:40ff); he drove demons out of a man and into a herd of pigs (8:26ff). He even calmed a storm (8:22). That’s cool stuff, that’s powerful stuff, that’s the kind of hero the disciples – and the crowds – could get behind! 

But this suffering talk… it’s a real downer. No one likes to talk about death and dying. When I was at my uncle’s funeral a few weeks ago, no one asked the other family members if they had their final arrangements made yet. No one talked about their favorite funeral hymns. No one talked about the top ten funeral sermons they’ve ever heard. They talked about upcoming vacations, and confirmations, and graduations; they talked about plans for family trips and get-aways. We talked about baseball season and the weather and the size of cactus in Arizona. But no one talked about their own death. No one talked about their family cemetery plots. With the reality of death around us, we wanted instead to focus on life.

I tell you this so you’re not too hard on Peter. Truly, he loves Jesus; truly, he wants to serve Jesus. Also truly, he has a misunderstanding of who Jesus really is, what His purpose is. And, truly, Peter has a misunderstanding of his own role. Perhaps he’s trying to win points for protecting Jesus, or perhaps he’s trying to gain influence by showing himself a go-getter. We don’t know. What we do know is that Peter wants to do whatever is necessary to stay on the mountain and not go back down there.

Down there. Who would want to go “down there?” Before they came up the mountain, Jesus talked of dying. If they go back down He would face that death. But on the mountain…on the mountain, things were glorious. 

We use an expression in English to describe what is taking place on the top of the mount of transfiguration: it’s a mountaintop high. A mountaintop high is something so remarkable, something so beautiful, breathtaking, wonderful, enlightening, heart-stoppingly incredible that you don’t ever want it to end. It doesn’t literally have to be on top of a mountain. These moments can be anywhere that a place of wonder and amazement and joy can happen. A hospital delivery room, a multi-colored sunrise or sunset radiating down through the clouds, standing in a lush, green valley looking up into the snow-capped Rocky mountains, watching a rainbow appear from the raindrops and slowly fade away, seeing a baby take first, tentative steps, when you see your bride step through the doors of the sanctuary. As Jim Croce said, you wish you could put time in a bottle and keep those moments forever. 

Just moments before, Peter – along with James and John - had seen Jesus transfigured, where His appearance became whiter than white. Where Jesus’ divinity had been hidden since His Bethlehem birth, on the mountain, His glory shone with all of its radiant brightness. If that’s not enough to stun Peter, James and John, Jesus is joined on the mountaintop with two of the Old Testament’s great heroes of faith: Moses, the great lawgiver, and Elijah, the great prophet. Jesus fulfills the law given through Moses, and is the one foretold by Elijah. 

Luke tells us what’s taking place. Elijah and Moses “spoke of Jesus’ departure, which He was about to accomplish in Jerusalem.” In other words, they were speaking about His Passion, that He must suffer at the hands of the chief priests and scribes, be crucified, and with his death pay the full wages of sin with his own death.

But Peter? Peter was not ready for Jesus to go down to the valley of the shadow. If he could delay Jesus, if He could impede His descent from the holy mountain down to where Jesus’ enemies would be waiting, then all would be well. He offers to build three tabernacles, three tents, one each for Jesus, Moses and Elijah, and says so that they can all stay up on the mountain and live happily ever after. No death…no dying…none of that stuff we don’t want to talk about.

The group is suddenly swallowed by a cloud. Throughout the Scriptures, clouds are symbols of and even manifestations of the glory of God. Where moments earlier, Jesus face shown with the radiance of His glory, they are now overwhelmed by an even greater glory. If there is any doubt of what is taking place, the voice of the Father in heaven shatters the moment. “This is my beloved son. Listen to Him.” 

Those words echo Jesus’ baptism where the Father spoke to Jesus, “You are my beloved Son.” The Father’s words re-focus the entire purpose of Jesus life and ministry. Jesus did not come to dwell in a tent built on top of a mountaintop. His purpose in ministry wasn’t to hide up in the clouds with two heroes of old and three disciples in training and live in blissful abandon. He isn’t going to tabernacle on top of the mountain; He comes to tabernacle among us. Jesus must go down the Mount of Transfiguration and then up the mountain of Zion, where Jerusalem sits, where the cross is waiting for Him; He will be arrested; He will be convicted; He will die abandoned and forsaken by everyone.

We are entering the season of Lent. It is a somber season, intended to be one of penitential reflection as we consider our own mortality and our own sinfulness. We will hear Jesus speak of His coming passion. We will see tensions rise between Him and His enemies and they will plot to kill him. We will ponder this incredible story of love once again, the perfectly sinless Son of God who becomes our substitute. The hymns become heavier, both in tone and in the theology they carry, and we will set aside the use of the word alleluia. Alleluia is a word of praise and celebration; Lent is not a time for that word, so we will “bury” it until Easter morning when we will mark it’s own resurrection with the Easter cry “Christ is risen, He is risen indeed, Alleluia!”

But we are not there, yet. We are heading down into the valley of the shadow. With Jesus we will descend the Mount of Transfiguration. We will journey with Jesus to the cross. But more than that, know that Jesus journeys with you as you carry your own cross this Lententide. 

As you enter Lent, do so with the words of the Father on the Mount of Transfiguration in your ears: You are my beloved sons and daughters. Remember, in your baptism where the Triune name of God was spoken over him, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” it began with the sign of the cross over his forehead and heart as a reminder that he had been redeemed by Christ the crucified. Remember that this Jesus, of whom we speak, did not stay on top of a mountaintop, safe and secure, but went down into the valley of the shadow of death for you. Hear the words of absolution for you, declaring your sins forgiven. Remember, as well, that you have already died in Christ in your baptism, and that just as Christ was raised from the dead, he too shall be raised to new life when Christ returns. 

And, in that resurrection day, we, too, will be transfigured. Raised in glory, our bodies – whole and complete, holy and glorified – will also shine like Christ’s, never to die again. With Moses and Elijah and all the faithful, we will enjoy the blessed joy of eternity in the presence of the Father who declares you His beloved and that with you He is pleased.