“Do You Hear What I Hear?” Luke 2:1-20

“Do You Hear What I Hear?”
Luke 2:1-20

For many, this night is filled with a romantic picture of the Holy Family nestled in a barn. A couple of clean-shaven shepherds stand, staring in loving rapture at the Babe, wrapped in a blue blanket, tucked into his straw-filled manger. Nearby, a cow rests on her belly in repose and a sheep lays with her head, gently, on the ground, both in worshipful admiration. Slightly off-center, but obviously the focus of the picture, is Baby Jesus glowing in Divine radiance. Overhead, an angel hovers and stands guard while, in the distance, a star twinkles in the dark night’s sky.  You can practically hear the strains of Away in A Manger and O Little Town of Bethlehem emanating from the picture.

This dreamy, Norman Rockwell-esque picture presents us a solemn, yet joyous moment in the history of God’s plan of salvation, one that we traditionally, piously, and reverently treasure this night every December. We gather with family and friends to hear the old, old story and sing the old, old hymns. We light our candles and we sing Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht knowing that all is calm and all is bright, for in that Bethlehem stable, joy has indeed come to the world in the birth of the Lord.

There is nothing wrong with having this picture in our head, even if it is more simple and sentimental than based in fact. But, if that is all our picture is, an American Greetings moment, we miss something, something important.

Shh…do you hear it? Off in the distance…do you hear what I hear? The cries of a woman in labor carry out a stable and echo down the streets of the town. There is pain in that sound, a hurt that is unlike any other pain a woman experiences; but, hidden beneath the hurt is also joy and hope, knowing that in from this pain comes birth, from birth comes life, the life of a newborn child. There’s also a more subtle sound, harder to hear. It’s lower in register. This is a father’s word of encouragement for his wife, strong but gentle and rich with humility, knowing that in that moment he is helpless to do anything other than support his wife and hold her as best he can.  A final scream from the mother, a word from the father and then, there…do you hear it? There it is: the baby’s cry. A baby’s cry is difficult to describe but, like a good song, we just know it when we hear it. From the darkness of night, in that cry is the sound of life. In that Life is the Light of man.

Do you hear it? That baby’s cry is the same as has been sung since the birth of Cain and Able; it’s the cry you and I gave when we were born. But, this baby’s cry-song is different. This is no normal baby: It’s the sound of God entering into His own created world, Jesus, son of Mary; Immanuel, God with us.

That’s the sound I want you to hear tonight – the sound of a baby. But, not just any baby. No, in this Baby, God comes to us. Conceived, supernaturally by the Holy Spirit; born, naturally, through Mary. In this Baby, the Divine takes on humanity; God dwells among us. Mary’s baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a Bethlehem manger without a home to call His own – He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords, as Isaiah foretold it, but He, of humble birth, is not adorned with gilded blankets and satin linens; He resides not in a castle among kings and princes but in a stable with His mother who considers herself least of all women and Joseph, whom God chose to be surrogate father, appointed caretaker and provider for God’s Son, His only-begotten Son.  

He is a baby, so He is like you in every way. Yet, also He is God, so He is completely opposite you, without sin. As Baby and God, He is Jesus, to be your Savior.

Do you hear this? He is your Savior. Don’t forget this behind the romance of the night with that perfect Christmas card picture. He more, much more than just the subject of art, the muse behind songs crooned by musicians for an increasingly secular holiday that openly mocks its own namesake. Christ is your Savior and Christ-mass is the celebration that recalls that Jesus enters to redeem a sin-contaminated world filled with sin-contaminated people, neither of which can save itself from the damnable condemnation of eternal separation with God.

It has been said that Jesus is the greatest gift of all. This is true. He Himself is a gift of love. Wonders of wonders, the Gift delivers a gift as well.

Do you hear it? Listen closely; listen again. There it is, in the angels’s song sung from the heavens, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace among those with whom He is pleased.” Do you hear the gift? The gift is peace.

We think of peace as the absence of war, the cessation of fighting. The gift of peace that the angels deliver is even greater: it’s the restoration of wholeness between God and man. Peace declares that sin’s separating power is destroyed.

The cross is still years into the future for Jesus. The hill of Calvary cannot be seen from Bethlehem, both because of distance and time. The truth of Jesus as already being a living sacrifice has not registered in Mary or Joseph’s heads. Jesus fulfilling the Law for us, living perfectly for us, remaining sinless for us; His miracles, His teaching, His life of sacrificial love; His proclamation of repentance and forgiveness; His challenging the people’s idea of religion – all of these are to come, completely unknown to Jesus’ mother and step-father and the entire world. Yet, remarkably the promise of peace, the word of restoration, is already proclaimed by the heavenly messengers. Peace is already being fulfilled in the Baby. In Jesus, born in the Bethlehem, resting in a stable manger, perhaps surrounded by barnyard animals, with dirty, stinky shepherds who almost assuredly were anything but clean-shaven, with a tired yet joy-filled mother resting nearby under the watchful eyes of a curious but obedient father – this is for you.

Did you hear it? For you: for you whose life doesn’t shine with social network perfection, whose story isn’t glamorous, whose closet contents you pray never see the light of day, whose families are less than holy in appearance, who are tested to remain faithful, who see the intersection of faith and life as less of a struggle and more like a collision, who remembers the sins of this past year with shame and guilt – Jesus is for you. He comes for you. He was born for you. He lives for you. He dies for you. He rises for you. In this, His death and resurrection, He saves you from your sins and guilt, all those things that tarnish us and out thoughts, words and deeds, our relationships, and our families. His peace declares that you are forgiven of all these, and more, and none of these shall separate you from the love of God.

Perhaps this isn’t the typical Christmas sermon that you’ve grown used to hearing over the years. That’s OK. This isn’t the typical Christmas, either. In fact, most of the things we consider to be part of a “normal” Christmas has been stripped away this year. Instead of family get-togethers, we have family stay-aparts. Instead of full Frasier Firs we have scraggly Charley Browns, even in Rockefeller Center. Piles of gifts have been replaced by one or two carefully chosen gifts that were scrimped and saved from an already tight family budget. Kids’ wish lists, that normally have things like 4-wheelers and the newest gaming systems, now list a job for mom, full-time work for dad. Merle Haggard’s song, “If we make it through December” seems a lot more poignant than “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.” “Joy to the world,” indeed…for many, it’s difficult to feel joy in times like this.

If you read my Christmas letter, I said there is a left-handed blessing in our “normal” Christmas being stripped away. Don’t get me wrong – there is nothing good in not being able to be with family, in people being sick and dying, in loneliness and heartache, in the losses we continue to endure. But, as I’ve said before, when life narrows down and it comes at you hard, there in the middle stands Jesus. With everything else stripped away from Christmas this year, we are more clearly able to see Jesus. Not the mere caricature on Christmas cards, the romantic scene that comes to mind, but Jesus, the Son of God made flesh who comes to dwell among us. With much of the noise and hulabaloo of the secular Christmas silenced, we can hear the sounds of the Nativity. Nativity comes out of Latin; it means birth. Not just any, but Jesus’ birth. “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which shall be for all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord” (v. 10-11). 

So, tonight, here in the Lord’s house; this evening at your home with a few family members; tomorrow, by yourself, let’s not celebrate Christmas. Instead open your Bible to Luke 2 and remember and celebrate the Nativity – the birth – of Jesus, your Savior, who brings the gift of peace between you and God, and God and you.

Shhh…do you hear it? It’s no mere picture on a card emanating imaginary sounds. This is the Nativity, the birth of Jesus, “this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us,” (Luke 2:15)

Blessed Nativity to you all.
In Jesus’ name.
Amen.

 

A Truly Miraculous Announcement of a Truly Miraculous Birth of a Truly Miraculous Baby - Luke 1:26 - 38

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

We often use the world “miracle” to describe the arrival of a newborn child. The birth of a child – the nine-month-long development from microscopic but living cells into the dramatic arrival of a flesh-and-blood, seven pound, two ounce, nineteen and one-half-inch long baby (that’s the statistical average in the United States, by the way, per Google) who is vocally making his or her arrival known to everyone present – well, yes; yes, we can understand how that would be described as a miracle. The arrival of life is a wonderful and humbling moment to witness. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s possible I may have said the same at the arrival of our three children.

Now, I don’t mean to pour cold water on any romantic ideas we have, but, in the strict sense of the term, is childbirth really a miracle? After all, by definition, a miracle is when the laws of nature are changed – not just bent, but completely turned upside down. With a miracle, the naturally impossible becomes not only possible but a present actuality. So, instant water-to-wine without the process of fermentation; the raising of a decaying, four-day-dead man back to life; a sea parted by the winds so that thousands can cross over dry land; leftovers after feeding 5000 with a boy’s lunch; the sun hiding in shame at the death of the Light of the World. These are miracles in the truest sense of the world.

But, by and large, pregnancy and childbirth are a normal process of human reproduction that can be simply – albeit wonderfully – explained through normal, biological and medical ways and experienced daily at any hospital. As a rule, while spectacular and wonderful and enthralling, childbirth isn’t truly a miracle.

I fully agree that there are births that seem to defy explanation. For example, a dear college friend of ours was told by doctors since she was a teenager that there was absolutely zero possibility of her being able to have a child, but she and her husband are proud parents of two beautiful girls. 

But then, there are pregnancies and childbirths that are so extraordinarily contrary to all natural possibility that they can only be described as miraculous. I can think of three quick examples in the Bible.

Remember, in the Biblical world, being unable to have a child, and especially a son, was considered to be a curse from God Himself. For a woman, who desperately wants to be a mother but is biologically unable to have a child, it was as if God had turned His very back on her, shunning her, condemning her to a lesser class of womanhood.

In Genesis, Sarai wanted a son desperately, pleading and praying for God to be merciful to her. Since He didn’t seem to be listening, she took matters into her own hands, having her maid-servant be a surrogate mother. But, she grew so jealous of the servant, who was able to have a boy with Sarai’s own husband, further demonstrating her seeming cursedness, that she drove the mother and baby out into the wilderness to die. Finally, the Lord sent three angels to deliver the news that she and Abram would have a son. Her laughter at the impossible news turned to joy when she gave birth to a son, naming him Isaac. Isaac means laughter. In a terrible twist, the Lord would demand Isaac be sacrificed by his father’s own hand, later rescued by the vicarious substitution of a ram caught in the brush.

Or, how about Hannah? In my mind, she’s an older woman but the book of first Samuel doesn’t actually tell us her age, only that she was barren. Nevertheless, she was deeply loved and cared for by her husband, Elkannah. Hannah sat in the temple courtyard, murmuring her prayers, that the Lord would grant her a son. Finally noticed by Eli, who thought she as drunk, God promised through Eli that she would have a son. When the boy was born, she set him apart, dedicating her firstborn son to service in the Lord’s temple. A mother who wanted a son so desperately surrendered her son to the Lord.

And then there’s Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth. Like Sarai, Elizabeth and her husband, Zechariah, were both “advanced in years,” Luke notes in his first chapter, and she, like Hannah, was childless. This time the Lord delivered the news to her husband, that he would be a father. Not believing it, he was struck mute, unable to celebrate the gift of God’s promised blessing with anyone around him. But Elizabeth does believe, thanking God for taking away the reproach against her. You and I know this child as John the Baptizer who goes before Jesus as the one who prepares His way, calling people to repentance and baptizing in the wilderness.

Sarai, Hannah, Elizabeth. All three were women who begged and pleaded in prayer for the gift of a son and the joy of motherhood. All three were women unable to have children; at least two of the women – possibly all three – were advanced in years and beyond the normal age of childbirth. All three were given the gift of sons. All three had births that were truly miraculous.

But of all the miraculous births in the Bible, there is none more miraculous than story of Mary. In almost every way, she was opposite these three other women. She was young – possibly as young as 14 or 15. (While that makes us shudder today, it was not an uncommon thing in that day and age, so please understand it in the context.) She was betrothed – we would say engaged in modern parlance – but unlike modern engagements, their relationship had not yet been consummated; she remained a virgin. Being practically a child herself, having her own child, her own son, was most likely far, far from her mind as she had many years ahead of her to rejoice in the gift of a baby.

Yet, Gabriel appears to her with the angelic message and Divine announcement of a miraculous pregnancy and birth: Mary would conceive and bear a son and call his name Jesus. Mary identified the first impossibility of this – she was a virgin. Gabriel’s answer to that question identified the second miracle: not only would it be a virgin birth, but the Holy Spirit – God Himself – would be the father. The Baby would be her son; the Baby would be God’s Son. Virgin birth – impossible. God becoming flesh in the womb of a woman – impossible.

There is yet one more miracle that takes place in Gabriels’ announcement: “Mary said, ‘Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” The miracle is that Mary believes the angel’s news for her, that she would be a virgin mother; she would be the mother of the Son of God, and all this would come true as the Lord promised.

A trinity of miracles, as it were, all in Gabriel’s announcement to Mary and in Mary’s faithful acceptance of the message for her.

I have to wonder, although Mary believed the angel, what was going through her head. Amazement and wonder, I’m sure. When you go home this afternoon, you can get a sense of this by reading the rest of Luke 1. You’ll read the song Mary sings to her cousin, Elizabeth, a song speaking of the mercy of God, singing His praises for rescuing and redeeming Israel through her Baby, a song remembering His promises to His people of old, now coming to fruition in her womb.

But, I do wonder if she understood what the name “Jesus” would all mean. Did she consider her miraculous pregnancy in light of the other miraculous births, especially Sarai and Hannah? Did Mary wonder if her Son would also be sacrificed, but unlike Isaac, Jesus’ life would be demanded and the sacrifice complete, that His life would be the vicarious substitute for the world and no one – not even His heavenly Father – would intercede? Could Mary begin to imagine how her Son would be set apart, not merely for service in the temple, but that He would be the fulfillment of the Temple, itself, God enfleshed to dwell among us?

No. Not yet. That was all ahead, all on the horizon. Faith is not the same as understanding. She may not have understood it all – she certainly did not yet know all that would happen in the life of her son – but she believed that with God, all things, including this miraculous message of a Child, were possible.

But even on that day, with Gabriel’s words still hanging in the air of the Galilean afternoon, the cross is already ahead. It’s hiding, but it is present. It’s hiding in the very name of Jesus, that He will be the Savior. His throne will be greater than David’s – not encrusted with gold and jewels, but with slivers and His own blood as He reigns in glory from the cross. And He will reign and rule without end.

In the name of Jesus.

Amen.

A Christmas Epistle - 2020

10 December 2020

Dear friends in Christ,

This year has been one for the history books. I suspect that Christmas will follow suit and likewise be very different. Usually, Christmas cards have a catch-all letter of the family’s travels, accomplishments, and additions over the previous twelve months. This year’s letters will be pretty dull, I imagine, without words like vacation, adventure, party, graduation, and reunions. Instead, they’ll be loaded with words like Covid-19, quarantine, lock-down, toilet paper, remote learning, and isolation. Other words like scared, lonely, unemployed, broke, depressed, and uncertain round out the story. 

We’ve heard it for weeks now: the celebration of Christmas is in danger! Officials are discouraging family gatherings unless all are socially distant, in open air, with faces covered in masks and hands dripping in stinky alcohol-based sanitizer. Questions abound: Will there be a family Christmas dinner? Will grandparents be able to snuggle with their grandsons and granddaughters while opening gifts? Will adult children watch and listen to their aging parents tell the story (again!) about the winter of ’48 when the water froze? Will Christmas trees be empty underneath, or will they even be put up at all?

There is a very (very, very) left-hand blessing-in-disguise in all of this: the chicanery, the noise, the distractions, and the hullabaloo of the Christmas event is being stripped away. The secular festival of Christmas, with the focus on Rudolph and Frosty, mistletoe and eggnog, leaping lords and roasting chestnuts, and tiny tots with eyes all aglow, is being pushed aside. That leaves a vacuum. Nature abhors vacuums. Something needs to fill the space. 

Set aside Christmas. Instead, fill the space with the Nativity of Jesus. 

One of the phrases of the Luke 2 narrative always catches me: “Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Imagine all that she witnessed in the past year: her aged cousin having a baby; an angel appearing in her own home, telling her she would also have a baby; having that conversation, “Uh, Joseph…we have to talk…there was this angel…”; this baby would be God’s Son; a trip to Bethlehem; lost reservations leading to housing in a stable; a manger as her son’s bassinette; and their first guests being a bunch of stinky shepherds who spoke of angels sending them to town to see a newborn babe. Oh, and make sure to name the Child “Jesus,” for He will save His people from their sins. 

This year, may I encourage you to follow in the footsteps of Mary. Make the sign of the cross over yourself (forehead, chest, right shoulder, left shoulder). Read Luke 2, by yourself or you’re your family. Sing the Christmas carols that speak of Jesus and His birth. Pray for “peace on earth; good will among men.” Then, be still and ponder the wonderful mystery of God becoming flesh in the baby Jesus. Pray the Lord’s Prayer. Sing Silent Night. Make the sign of the cross again.

The sign of the cross. It reminds us of Jesus’ purpose. His name gives it away: Savior. He was born to die, to rescue and redeem that which was lost. The greatest gift of all is a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. Wonder of wonders, that swaddled baby wraps you in His grace and mercy, clothing you in His righteousness so that God sees you through Him. Baptized into Jesus, you follow that same cross path from font through today and into tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. 

Then log in and Zoom with the family. Have a glass of the ‘nog – add a shot of old Saint James’ finest while you’re at it. Sing Feliz Navidad off-key and Joy to the World in harmony. Open the gifts that were mailed to you. Watch The Miracle on 34th Street or Die Hard – great Christmas movies, both. Laugh. Smile. Rejoice.

And have yourself a very, merry celebration of the Nativity of Jesus Christ. 

“Unto you is born a Savior…Christ, the Lord.”

Walk with Light. See You Next Sunday. John 1: 6-8, 19-28

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

There are two men named John that we hear of this morning. The first you know as John the Baptizer. He’s the camel-coat wearing, leather-belt tying, locust-eating, honey-dipping son of Zechariah and Elizabeth. He’s a second cousin of Jesus – their mothers were cousins – and he made a name for himself out in the wilderness by preaching and baptizing and calling out the Jewish leaders with such cute nicknames as “brood of vipers.” Ah, yes – the anti-Dale Carnegie of how not to win friends. His boldness would wind up costing him his life when he calls out King Herod for his sin of adultery with his brother’s wife and the woman’s daughter, quite literally, asks for John’s head on a platter in revenge.

The second John is the Evangelist, the apostle, the one whom Jesus loved. This John was one of the twelve called by Jesus to follow as a disciple and then be sent out as an apostle into the world. He’s part of the dynamic duo with his brother James, also named the Sons of Thunder, who foolishly think they can sit at Jesus’ right and left sides. This John wrote the Gospel and the epistles that bear his name as well as the book of Revelation. John is the only one of the Twelve to die a natural death, an old man exiled on the island of Patmos, separated from the congregations he helped begin years earlier.

John the Baptizer; John the Evangelist. Two distinct and different men whom God used in distinct and different ways for the same goal of pointing the world to the good news of Jesus.

First, the Baptizer. I can’t say I blame the Jews, the priests and the Levites who thought that John the Baptizer was a prophet in the line of the Old Testament greats. Like Elijah, he spoke the Word of the Lord with clear forth-telling, “Thus saith the Lord,” calling God’s people to repentance. And, like Moses, the greatest prophet of all, Elijah thundered with the very voice of God himself out in the wilderness.  Likewise, the Baptizer was the last of the Old Testament prophets, in a way, the last one to fore-tell of the One to come after Him whose sandals he would be unworthy to untie.

Nor could you quite blame them for thinking John might be the Christ. With his teaching, his preaching, his baptizing, and his unique flair he certainly did appear to be anointed as a servant of the living God. He most certainly command attention.

But, on the other hand, these are the religious leaders of the people. Priests and Levites have the responsibility to serve as an intermediary, an intercessor, a go-between between God and man, between man and God. They are the ones who are to be students of the Scriptures, searching out the truth of God’s Word for His people. They are the ones – more than anyone else who might be out in the wilderness, watching and listening to John – they are the ones who ought to be watchful, waiting, well attuned to just who and what the Messiah will be, what his message sounds like, what he will behave like, who he will be. If anyone should have even an inkling of an idea of who Messiah is, it should be the Jewish leaders. While they seem to be aware, at least on the periphery, that this is a Messiah-like person doing Messiah-like things, or at a minimum, a prophet-like person doing prophet-like things – if they were in my Bible class, I might call this a purple star moment – they miss the gold-star mark. Messiah-like is not the same as Messiah. Prophet-like is not the same as prophet.

John, however, was quick to identify that he was, in fact, neither the Christ nor Elijah nor Moses reincarnate. Unique, yes, but he was neither prophet nor Messiah. John’s job is to prepare, to set the stage, for the one who is arriving. The Jews, the priests and Levites don’t recognize John the Baptizer for who he is and what he is doing. They’re worried about his authority – who said you could do this, they wanted to know.

So, in a twisted sense of irony, the Jews, the priests and Levites not only don’t realize John the Baptist isn’t the Messiah, or Elijah, or Moses, they also don’t yet realize that the Baptizer is also the first of the New Testament evangelists – the Good News tellers – who will both confess that which is believed and testify to who he knows. And, they don’t recognize the one whom John the Baptizer points to: Jesus, who is the Christ, the Son of God, standing among His own. They can’t see because they’re trapped in the darkness.

The darkness. The darkness is scary space. Two weeks ago, I was driving home late in the evening, after 8pm. It was a dark night, overcast, so there was no moon to illuminate the night’s sky, no stars that twinkled in the distance teasing a romantic fool’s thoughts. It was just dark. I didn’t notice it in town – there are street lights and house lights and car’s lights and business lights and traffic lights and even the lights of a flashlight while someone walked their dog. Poor substitutions for the light of the sun, that’s for sure, but at least these lights let you see what’s in front of you, what’s behind you, what’s next to you, where people are, giving direction to you and fellow travelers. But outside of town, and then onto 447, it didn’t take long and I was swallowed into the darkness. Headlights only penetrate the darkness so far at 60 miles per hour. And, at 60 miles per hour, if something comes at you from out of the darkness – a frightened deer, an ornery hog, a lost dog – things don’t end well.

John, the evangelist, does not mean the Jewish leaders are trapped in the darkness that is opposite daytime. He is talking about the darkness that is absent the light of Christ. They are lost in the dark. Lost, absent Christ, that is a scary space. Things don’t end well for those without the Light of life.

Not so the Baptizer – he knows who His cousin is. He knows Jesus is the Light of the world, the One whom darkness cannot overcome. He knows that the darkness despises this Light, but he, John, will bear witness to that Light so that the Light shines.

Yet, John knows his place. Although Jesus will, later, say that John is the “greatest of all the prophets,” John says of himself that he is unworthy to untie Jesus’ sandals. That is such a menial task that historians tell us that, in that day, not even servants were tasked to untie a master’s shoes. Yet, John sees himself as below even the most menial of servants. He has the greatest of respect, the highest levels of awe for Jesus. After all, Jesus is Immanuel – God among us, God in the flesh, God enfleshed, but God nevertheless: God who spoke everything into existence with “Let there be,” God whose voice made the mountains shake and the waters roar and the thunder crash, God who sent prophet after prophet into the world to prepare the way for His Own. Jesus is the Light of the World.

But if you want to see the power of God in the person of Jesus, there is a strange place to look for Him. Not out in the wilderness, in plain sight, with John’s bony finger pointing, calling others to follow the Lamb of God. You see the power of God, the power of Jesus, in the darkness. Not just any darkness, though. On God’s Friday, on a small mountainside outside Jerusalem, called Golgatha, the light of the sun was blacked out and creation shook in recognition that the Light of the World was quickly dimming. The darkness of men’s evil was on full display. Men, who truly were not worthy of untying Jesus’ sandals, stripped Him naked and crucified Him for that which He did not do because they did not know Him, receive Him, welcome Him, or love Him. These men raised the Light high, not in glorious praise and recognition, but in mockery and dishonor.

Jesus doesn’t wait for their recognition. There in the darkness, the Light shines forth, for this moment – His crucifixion and death – is where His glory is seen, in fulfilling His Father’s plan for the salvation of the world.

The Baptizer’s witness and confession pointed people to Jesus. The Evangelist’s preaching and writing of the Light of the World shone into the darkness so that others, too, might see and believe.

And, then, there’s you. We’re living in strange times. All around us, people are living in darkness, absent the light of Christ. For some, it’s a deliberate decision to not know Him. For others, it’s ignorance. For others, it’s an admixture of reasons, excuses really, to not receive Him – I’m too busy, it’s inconvenient, Christianity is boring, Jesus is so irrelevant, I can do this myself. This is the world in which we live. Yet you, who have received Jesus by grace through faith, believe in His name, you who are children of God, you walk in the Light.

Your confession follows the witness of both John the Baptizer and John the Evangelist, and in your words and in your actions, the Light continues to shine. These last days of Advent, as the world muddles and wanders in the darkness, be bold with your confession of the Light. Speak of Jesus who came in time, who comes in Word and Sacrament, and who will return. As others lament the sadness and sorrow and confusion of the time, speak of He who is the Light of Life. When others talk about feeling helpless, show them wherein is the Light of hope. Put your faith into loving action and let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify the Father in heaven.

My advisor at Concordia Lutheran College in Austin was the Rev. Dr. Milton Reimer. Although he was listed as a professor of English, he was first and foremost a theologian, a pastor. Dr. Reimer would end every class with the phrase, “Walk with light. See you next class.” I asked him once why he did that and his answer was simple: to remind each student, in a subtle but consistent way, that their journey in this world is guided by faith in Jesus Who is the Light. When I finish Bible class, that’s how I end as well. Partly as a tribute to my advisor and friend; mostly as encouragement.

So, walk with Light. See you next Sunday.

In the name of Jesus.

Amen.

The Simple Complexity of John the Baptizer: Repent! - Mark 1: 1-8

When I am reading a book, sometimes I like a very simple character to follow – no major surprises. Maybe that’s why I like St. Mark’s portrayal of John the Baptizer. He’s simple; there’s nothing complex about him. “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ,” Mark says, and then there’s a conflation of Malachi and Isaiah from the Old Testament to show the foreshadowing of John’s ministry, and then – Bam! - Mark just drops John into the story and out we go with John, out into the desert him preaching and baptizing. Even his ruggedness is a little less complex, I guess you would say, only getting a quick nod to his rustic appearance and paleo diet. St. Mark’s sermon notes of John’s preaching are simple, also, as he describes John’s sermons: “There is one coming after me who is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie.”

Yes…that’s the kind of Baptizer that I like: rugged enough on the outside, but kind of soft and cuddly down deep. Simple: not too challenging; not too edgy. None of that “Brood of vipers” preaching as recorded by St. Matthew. None of that discussion about how Jesus can raise up sons of Abraham from stones as St. Luke notes. No, Mark gives us a John who is safe. I like him – we like him – because he seems, well…safe.

And, that’s how we like God’s Word, too – isn’t it? We like the 23^rd Psalm, and the Lord’s Prayer, and the Beatitudes. We like Jesus’ baptism, and we like His miracles. We like Peter preaching at Pentecost and Paul converting the Corinthians. We love the romance of the Christmas narrative, and our hearts pound on Easter morning with the cries of “Christ is risen, He is risen indeed, Alleluia!” We like taking our Scriptures a sentence at a time for Portals of Prayer, and we like a quick recollection of a Sunday school story we heard – it’s fuzzy in our memory, but we remember the simple color cartoon-like picture of Jesus laying his hands on the children. To paraphrase a Sears commercial from 20 years ago, we like the softer side of the Word. Don’t push me, don’t challenge me, and no matter what you do, don’t correct me and call out what I want to do. Don’t call my freedom into question, don’t dare declare my choice a sin and everything is going to be A-OK.

A safe John the Baptizer, delivering a safe and fuzzy word of God…Easy-peasy, Advent squeezy.

Or is he? Is John safe? Is he going to just let us be, leave us alone, to do what we want to do while he sits idly back and watches? If that’s your idea of John the Baptizer and his preaching, then be prepared.

That’s exactly what John came to do: prepare. John was anything but safe, soft, and gentle. He was the last of the Old Testament prophets who spoke into the wilderness, declaring “Thus sayeth the Lord!” He was big and bold, even for a prophet, preaching the way Jeremiah and Ezekiel and Isaiah preached. There was thunder in his voice and fire in his words. He saw the lives of his contemporary Israelites – both people and leaders – and it wasn’t a life of faith, but a life of farce. It was no longer about trusting in the promises of God given to the prophets of old; it was about trusting that they were doing all of the “right” things to please God. It was about living their lives as sons of Abraham, instead of living as children of God.

John saw it and he called the people out – out of their sins, out of their comfort, out of their daily routines – and he called them out to the wilderness. The wilderness. There’s a stark reality to wilderness. Get down to deep, deep south Texas or west, west Texas and get off the main roads. There, you get a sense of wilderness. There is nothing there – no one, nothing to trust except God’s mercy and grace. And, there in the wilderness John preaches, thundering, calling God’s people back to faith, back to trust, away from their self-centered lives of contentedness and back to what God has declared will come.

His message was harsh to soft ears; the words hard on his tongue, cutting deeply into the hearts of the people. Repent. Return to the Lord your God. Turn away from your sinfulness. Turn away from your soft-serve reading of the Prophets. Turn away from your selfishness. Turn away and turn to God’s grace and mercy. He is faithful; He is always willing to receive those who repent, in faith, and return to Him.

As a sign of God’s faithfulness and His mercy, John baptized those who came out to him. A washing of repentance, it was more than just a symbolic gesture. It was delivery of God’s grace – the same grace that had poured out abundantly on the ancient Israel in the wilderness at the rock of Moriah, when water rushed forth to quench thirsty mouths, John stood in the Jordan river, baptizing to quench the aching hearts, souls and consciences troubled at His preaching.

This gift is for you, John was saying. God’s mercy is for you – all of you who know, believe, and trust that God has your eternal welfare at heart; who trust the promises of God in Messiah who is to come; who believe that God will rescue and redeem in His marvelous way; who wait for His arrival – God’s mercy is for you who realize how desperately you need a Savior. He is coming…He is coming soon.

That was John. He was not safe, nor was he soft. But He was God’s faithful servant of the Word. John was the last of the breed – the final Old Testament prophet who would preach a Messiah to come. He was foretelling how God would act in time in sending the one long-ago promised to Adam and Eve, Moses, David, Isaiah and Malachi.

In our modern day and age, there are too many who are content to follow after the soft-and-fuzzy John the Baptists, with sugary sweet speeches of encouragement that are far, far removed from the John of the Jordan. John will not let us do this. John will not let us be lackadaisical in our lives of faith. He calls us back to the wilderness – back to God’s Word – and John speaks to us with the same message for today: Repent. It’s a word we don’t like to hear. Our itching ears lead to believe that our freedoms, our choices, our opinions, our feelings are paramount. The world tells us it’s all about the unholy trinity – me, myself and I. Our own sinful flesh bites and believes, hook line and sinker, that whatever that trinity wants, it should get. John calls us and says “Repent. Turn away from your selfish desires. Turn away from your wants. Turn away from your greed. Turn away from your arrogance. It’s not about you; it’s about Jesus.  Stop pretending you can save yourself. Stop pretending that you can be your own Messiah. Repent. Return to the Lord your God for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.”

We hear that word “repent,” and we think that means we have to be sad all the time to show how sorry we are. That’s not it at all. Repent means turning away from our sinfulness and, by the grace of God’s Spirit, be returned to following  His Word. It means trusting that we live in God’s grace and we are fully and freely forgiven – not because we demonstrate how sorry we are with hang-dog looks, but because Jesus died for you. His death covers all of your sins. Your greed, your arrogance, your self-trust…in faith, trust that Jesus died and carried all of that to the cross.

There was nothing “soft” about that moment. It was the harsh, hard, reality of God’s justice: the perfect payment of an innocent man for the sins of the unfaithful, sin-stained world. Jesus, taking into Himself the sins of the entire world, dying the condemned death of the damned so that you and I would not have to.

Repentance turns to the cross where Jesus died and says, “I believe that cross is where Jesus paid my price. And because He did that, I am forgiven.”

That’s the John the Baptizer that St. Mark gives us. Simple, yes, but not simplistic; neither soft nor fuzzy. He keeps John as a simple character so he doesn’t get in the way of Jesus.

Is John safe? Of course, not. But he is good. He’s the Prophet, the baptizer, the forerunner who calls us back to the coming King.

Advent, Lord Jesus, Advent - Mark 11: 1-10

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

Today is the First Sunday of Advent. It’s the first Sunday of the church year. This helps us remember that the church operates differently than the secular world; we have a different sense of time. The world around operates in the here and now. The church also operates in the here and now, but we do so with an eye looking forward, an eye looking at what is to come.

“To come.” That’s what the word “Advent” means: “to come.” We often pray for Jesus’ advent – His coming; so often, in fact, that we probably lose that we are even saying it. Do you know it’s in the Lord’s Prayer? “Thy kingdom come.” The Latin makes it clearer: “adveniat voluntus tuum.” At the dinner table, we pray “Come Lord Jesus, be our guest and let thy gifts to us be blessed.”  In this season of Advent, our hymnody will pick up the cry as well. We will sing it twice this morning: The King Shall Come, and Savior of the Nations Come. Even the very last sentence in the Bible is, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.”

Do you believe that He will come, that He will return? I think you do. After all, we don’t just pray it, but we also say it in the Creeds, that we believe He will come to judge the living and the dead. We should believe this, because it was Jesus’ own promise: “Behold, I am coming soon!” (Rev. 22:7) To make sure we know and believe this, He repeats himself “Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense with me, to repay everyone for what he has done. I am the Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end,” (Re. 22:12-13).

So you sing it, you pray it, you believe it: Jesus will advent again.

But, do you expect it? Do you expect Jesus to return “soon”? I’m not splitting hairs, here, as to what “soon,” means so let’s keep it simple: do you expect Jesus to return by sunset today, sometime this week, one day this month? I think the answer is “probably not.” At best, we’ve been lulled into ambivalence by Jesus’ long delay; at worst, the world has duped us into almost not caring. While we believe Jesus is coming, we have lost the sense of expectation, urgency, and even desire. We’re so busy enjoying this life that we are forgetting about the life of the world to come when He returns.

This morning’s Gospel lesson is most commonly known as the Palm Sunday reading, also known as the Passion of our Lord. You may have been wondering if I had the right Gospel lesson, even – after all, that is supposed to be read in the spring, a week before Easter. True. But the early Church chose this text as the first Sunday of Advent to refocus our eyes and our minds on the news that Jesus advents. Jesus comes.

St. Mark tells us that at the beginning of Holy Week, with all of it’s own astounding events, Jesus enters Jerusalem to the noisy welcome of the crowds. Shouts of “Hosanna!” and “Blessed is the name of the Lord!” echo down the streets while others soften the donkey’s footsteps with their cloaks and palm branches. It was the entry celebration worthy of a king, a man of noble birth, and the welcome arrival of a conqueror and liberator.

After all, they had seen Jesus power over illness: He had restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, power to dead limbs and breath to dead bodies. He drove evil spirits out of people and into swine. He calmed storms that threatened to sink ships. And he fed thousands of people with only a boy’s lunch. History tells us that at this point in time, Israel – and especially Jerusalem as the capitol city – was prime for a revolution. Zealots hated the Roman army and government being in their city. Surely, this is the kind of King who could make Israel great again! Lower corporate taxes, get rid of government oversight, reduce public debt, separate church and state and bring dignity back to the palace, just as David had done long ago. Why, this Jesus might be just the guy to back – and maybe he can set us free.

Wait…were those the wants of Ancient Jerusalem, or are those the wants of so many Christians today? Is it perhaps true that we aren’t so different than those ancient Jersualem dwellers, where we expect our own socio-political messiah in our own idea of what Jesus should be like?  Perhaps we should rethink blaming the people of Jerusalem for making such a mistake, such a misunderstanding. After all, if we are honest, we make similar mistakes of what we expect of Jesus’ coming as well. What kind of Jesus are you waiting for?

A Jesus who will make you rich and eliminate your debt? A Jesus who will eradicate viruses and runaway cells? A Jesus who lowers taxes, creates jobs, all while securing the border but also increasing international trade? A Jesus who can tighten skin wrinkles, rejuvenate hair growth, and burn cellulite? A Jesus who will bring your spouse back? A Jesus who will make your children love you again? A Jesus who will get you the corner office, or the starting lineup, or admission to the perfect college? A Jesus who will make loved ones walk and remember?

Too often, whether it be in ancient Jerusalem or Victoria County 2020, the world wants a political Messiah, one who could put a T-bone on every plate and a donkey in every garage. Covid-19, the various social and cultural movements of this year, and this election cycle have exposed our culture for the kind of pseudo-messiah we want. Then, and today, people lose sight of what God’s Messiah is to be: not a socio-political leader of the rebellion, a Jedi from Judah, if you will, who would use God’s power for righting wrongs and putting bad people back in their places. No…God’s Messiah would do those things – yes, but not the way it was expected.

Jesus wasn’t coming to establish a throne; His throne had been established before eternity ever began. He wasn’t coming to overthrow Rome or any political party; He put government in authority as His representative in the first place. He wasn’t coming to make sure no stomach was left behind; He comes to give the Bread of Life to hungry souls. He wasn’t coming to wipe out sickness and disease; He comes to rescue a fallen world from the effects of the fall of sin. He wasn’t coming to fight for land and territory; He comes to rescue His own world. He wasn’t coming to do battle with an army of soldiers; He was coming to defeat Satan once and for all. But the way of this wasn’t power and prestige. It was the way of the cross. 

The cross stands as our Advent reminder. Advent: remember, it means coming. Advent is a season of preparation. It is not yet Christmas. While the world around us has had Christmas trees and lights up since October, the church is still waiting. Don’t get me wrong: you absolutely can say “Merry Christmas,” send and receive Christmas cards, and play your favorite Bing Crosby, Handel, Pentatonix, or Charlie Brown Christmas CD. You can put up your tree and deck the halls and start sampling the Christmas fruitcake and eggnog. Nothing wrong with that. But don’t forget, in the Church…well, we’re waiting. So, in here on Sundays and Wednesdays, you aren’t going to hear too many Christmas hymns; the readings don’t take us to Bethlehem where this thing has come to pass; we won’t hear of angels and shepherds - not for a few more weeks. No…no, the Church waits. We wait in expectation to celebrate Christ’s Nativity because it also serves to help us wait in expectation for Christ’s return.

Waiting is hard work. So, to strengthen us in our waiting, Jesus comes now. He comes, hiddenly, but nonetheless real – in Baptismal water, in the preached Word, in bread and wine.  He comes to prepare us for celebrating His coming in time in Bethlehem, in the Means of Grace, and into eternity.

I said the world has already moved to Christmas and the church waits. In the weeks ahead, you’ll see the tree and the lights and the Nativity scene. Yeah…even Christian churches have allowed a taste of Christmas to sneak in. That’s OK. Because what remains, always before us, is the cross. The Cross leads us into Advent. Remember: the reason Jesus entered into time in the Nativity by taking on flesh and blood was to be our Savior from sin. “You shall call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins,” the angel told Joseph. From manger to Cross: Behold: Your Advent king comes.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Come. Amen.

 

The End is Only the Beginning - 1 Cor. 15: 20-28, Matt. 25:31-46

The other day the Esther Circle was meeting and they had some questions in their Bible study. They invited me to come town and visit with them a little bit. It was an interesting visit and covered quite a bit of Biblical territory, but we seemed to focus in large part on what happens when we die.

That’s fair. We all have questions about what happens when we die – after all, with only a few exceptions that include Jesus, Lazarus, and several unnamed others, there are few first-hand witnesses of death. Hollywood has done much to entertain us but has done so at the cost of great confusion. Maybe you know someone who has had that near-death experience. I know a man who was technically dead for about thirty seconds. Weeks later when we visited, he said, “You know…all that stuff that you see on TV and the movies – the lights and the voices and stuff? I don’t remember any of that. Just rest-filled peace. Was that heaven, Pastor?”

Yes…and no.

So, on this last Sunday of the church year, as our focus is on the return of Jesus in glory to judge the living and the dead, it seems good for us to talk about what happens when we die, and what happens when we rise.

I had a teacher at the Seminary who loved to stir the pot a bit and say something like this: “Don’t get me wrong – I love heaven and I’m looking forward to it. But remember – heaven isn’t the end of the world.” Now, what does he mean by that?

Too often, we’ll hear something like this at a funeral: “Well, Grandma Schmidtke is in heaven with Jesus.” And that’s the end of the sentence. Period. Das is allis. But, while it is true that the faithful are asleep in Christ, at peace and at rest, there is something more to come. We are not philosophers, trying to throw off this body, thus making death the end goal of our lives. We are children of God, waiting for the fulfillment of all of His promises given us in Christ Jesus – especially our own Easter moment. It’s about more than dying and going to heaven; it’s about dying and rising with Christ when the end of the world comes.

We, at the return of Christ, will be among “the resurrection of the dead” as we say in the Creed. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 15: “But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.”

You see here that what happens at the Second Coming hinges on Christ’s first coming. Christ rose from the dead--that happened on Easter morning--and therefore we who belong to Christ will be raised from the dead when he returns. Christ is the firstfruits. It’s a harvest image – the farmer would take the fruit that came first and gave it to the Lord, trusting in faith that there would be more fruit to come. Thus, “firstfruits” means there’s more to come. Jesus leads the way, and we follow. He rose, conquering death for us. We too will rise, for he shares his victory with us. You and I have been joined to Jesus and his resurrection in our baptism.

Do you realize that Christ has redeemed your body? I mean this old bag of bones that is falling apart and racked with aches and pains; this mortal body that is subject to disease and death. These bodies that carry high blood pressure and thinning hair; bad eyes and worse hearing; chicken arms, flabby thighs and twelve-pack guts; kidney stones and broken bones; cancer cells and missing appendages: these bodies, your bodies, my body…God is going to do something new with your body, long after it has been laid in the grave. At Christ’s return, the trumpet will sound and Christ will raise you up, whole and complete and better than ever. The blood pressure will be perfect and the hair line won’t be an issue; your eyes will be 20/20 or better and you can hear a pin drop from a thousand yards away into a green grassy hillside; arms, thighs, and abs will be pleasantly shaped – maybe not six pack, but they won’t look as though they slugged down a six pack, either. Cancer and all other disease will cease to exist. I, for one, am curious what my new shoe size will be. Now, I don’t know exactly what our bodies will look like in every respect. The Bible doesn’t answer those specifics. But I do know that you will be you, and that you will have your body except in perfect holiness and whole-ness, the way Adam and Eve were created to be - a body built for eternity - and that that body will no longer be subject to all that ails you now. It will be glorious, in fact, fitted out for eternity.

The return of Christ. The resurrection of the dead. The final judgment. The reading from Matthew 25 gives us a picture of that. Christ the King on his throne. The sheep and the goats gathered before him, that is, the righteous and the cursed. There will be a division, a separation, a sorting out at that time. And the difference will be faith or unbelief. On the one hand, Christ will welcome in the sheep, that is, those who have faith in him--a genuine, living faith, which will have produced works of mercy in life as its natural fruit. On the other hand, the goats--that is, those who had rejected God’s only appointed Savior--they will be judged because they had no faith in Christ and thus had no faith-produced works. It’s not that our works save us, no. But by God’s grace you and I have been given the gift of faith in Christ, and that faith will naturally produce good works in our lives.

You have this faith, don’t you, dear Christian? You are not trusting in yourself for salvation, for that would be a dead end. You know your sins would condemn you. But rather you trust in Christ, the one God sent to save you. Kept in this faith by the Holy Spirit, growing in this faith as the Word and Sacrament sustain you, your life will produce works of love and mercy done in Christ. And this is what will be cited as you stand before the throne of judgment. Not your sins--they have been forgotten, nowhere in sight or memory. Only the good works you have done, the product and evidence of a living faith.

Dear friends, you have nothing to fear on the Day of Judgment. Christ has taken care of that. Your judge is also your Savior. For us, that day will be a blessed day of welcome, of homecoming, of entering into the eternal kingdom God has prepared for us. Joyful, that!

And so, when the end comes, that will be only the beginning. Death is destroyed. Eternal life opens before us. Home at last, safe and secure with our Shepherd in our midst. What a day that will be! All the company of heaven, gathered together, alive and joyful, praising God and enjoying perfect peace and fellowship. The grandest worship you will have ever heard. And you and I will be singing in the choir, our voices blending in sweet harmony. I can’t imagine how good it will be--only that it will be!

“Then will come the end.” And the end, the goal, the place where all this is heading, is the glory of God. Christ will deliver the kingdom to God the Father, having accomplished everything he set out to do. Christ will have destroyed death, resulting in our glorious, bodily resurrection. Christ will declare us righteous by faith and welcome us into his eternal kingdom. What this does is give all the glory to God. God has done it all. “Then will come the end,” which is, “that God may be all in all.” When that day comes, when Christ returns and we are raised and welcomed into eternal life, then God’s perfect plan will have reached its goal . . . the end…which is only the beginning of eternity with Jesus in the resurrection of the body.

 

Talents to Spare through Christ our Lord - Matthew 25: 14-30

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

Have you noticed the tabloids lately? Every fall, they start with their doom and gloom prophetic – I use the word very loosely – headlines that signal the end of the world. They do it, of course, to sell magazines. Ironically, these same headlines get one thing right: the end of all things is drawing closer. The Last Day. The Judgment. The Day of the Lord. The coming of Christ in glory. The fancy word for this is eschatology. You probably know it simply as last things.

For many, the mention of last things brings with it a cacophony of fear. What will happen to us? Will our Lord deal with us graciously or harshly? Will our faith be vindicated or will be ashamed, or worse, at the coming day? Will the Last Day be a day of wrath or a day of mercy?

Last week, we were reminded that the Last Day comes suddenly and quickly, but it doesn’t come unexpectedly, at least to those who hear the words of Jesus and take them to heart. His last words to His Church in the Bible are “I come quickly” to which the Church replies “Come quickly, Lord Jesus!” Christians have been living and praying in that expectation for 2000 years. Every generation, from the apostle Paul, to the early church, to Luther, to our day, has thought that the end would come in their lifetime. While the unbelieving world sleeps in a drunken stupor, you stand ready, like a soldier on watch – sober, vigilant, watchful, with the breastplate of faith and love protecting your heart and the hope of salvation protecting your head.

And here’s the point: God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us so that whether we are awake (that is alive) or asleep (that is dead) we might live with Him. That’s what the Last Day is about for the baptized believer – not a day of wrath but a day of salvation, not a day of death but a day of life. That is what we now must believe, and what we do not yet have in ourselves.

The time in-between is the time of faith, which brings us to Jesus’ parable of the three servants. Each is entrusted property in form of money called talents. A talent is large sum of money, about 20 years’ wages. So 5 talents is over 100 years’ wages for a common laborer. No small piece of change. Nor is two or even one.

A rich man entrusted his wealth to three servants. To one five, to another two, and to a third one. And then the man went away without so much as a word of instruction as to what to do. The first two doubled the investment. The one who had five traded with them and made five more. The one who had two did the same. But the third one took a different approach. He dug a hole in the ground and hid it.

After a long time, the master returns to settle accounts. The two who turned a profit are praised with a hearty “Well done” and get to share in the joy of their Master. The third is condemned to outer darkness with weeping and gnashing of teeth for bringing back his buried talent all safe and sound.

On the surface, the parable sounds like a judgment of works. The one who made much received much and even got the talent from the third servant. And so do all that you can do for God, hope for the best, and pray that you show some sort of profit at the close of business or you’ll be joining that third servant in the eternal unemployment line.

But the third servant is the key to understanding the judgment. Why didn’t he turn a profit? Why didn’t he do business? Why didn’t he transact with the world and invest with money that wasn’t his in the first place? He really had nothing to lose, after all. It was his Master’s money, not his. And his Master gave no instructions, made no demands, set no profit margin goals. He simply sent out his servants to do business with his property. And he knew his coin was good. He knew there would be a profit and his servants would have a share in his joy. So why didn’t the third servant do anything? Why take that shiny talent and bury it?

Why do we? What keeps us from doing things, from taking risks, from going outside our own comfort zones? From inviting a friend to church, speaking the truth in love to a neighbor, not backing down to HR when told the cross on the cubicle is intimidating to a coworker. Fear. In a word, it’s fear. Fear of failure, failure of being disliked, fear of punishment, fear of loss, fear of a disapproving gaze. Fear is the great paralyzer that prevents us from even getting off the starting line.

I spoke with a young mother recently. She was so proud of her son. He got such good grades, and she told me that she always praises him for his grades and rewards him. I asked her if she ever praised him for trying something he wasn’t good at and failing. Which received more praise, the easy A or the hard-earned C? She smiled as she thought about it and said she was going home to praise him for taking that advanced math class that was just a little beyond his ability.

If you’ve grown up with hard to please parents, a demanding father or mother for whom it was never good enough, then this parable is likely to strike a raw nerve. Fear. You can hear it in the servant’s voice: “Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”

That’s you and me under the Law, my friends. The Law is a harsh taskmaster. The Law demands perfection. If you offend in one point, you’re guilty of the whole thing. The Law demands obedience but it cannot produce a single obedient work. All it can produce is fear, dread, terror of the final day of reckoning when our works will be put through the fire of judgment.

And if that’s your view of God as your heavenly Father, and if the Law is the only way to deal with Him, that’s where you’ll wind up too. Cornered by the critics. Paralyzed in fear.

But the good news is that Christ has set you free from that. What matters is not the abundance of your works, because they are not your works anyway. They are God’s works worked in you. How can you take credit for something that isn’t yours in the first place? What matters is trust, trust that Jesus settled your account on the cross with His perfect life and death so that you can transact in this world without fear of failure. And like the servants in the parable, there are no rules. Simply faith toward God and love toward others.

What was lacking in that third servant was not a profit but faith. He believed that his master was harsh, demanding, and cruel. And he got what he believed. Had he believed that his master was happy go lucky and carefree, that so long as you did business with the world and spread the master’s good name around he didn’t care what you made, that servant would have gone out and boldly done business as one who had nothing to lose.

You have nothing to lose. Salvation is yours. Eternal life is yours. The treasures of heaven are yours. The judgment ends in Jesus, and Jesus was judged in your place. You are free in Jesus to do what God has given you to do, knowing that in the doing it is God at work and He never fails. And even through your failings, your shortcomings, your weaknesses, His will is always done.

Yes, our works will be judged. They need to be cleaned up. The dross of our sin needs to be burned away. The fingerprints of the old Adam need to be wiped off so that we can clearly see that what has been worked in us has been worked by God Himself. Our works will be judged, but we will not be judged by our works but simply by faith.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. He who believes in him is not condemned; he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one who does evil hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed. But he who does what is true comes to the light, that it may be clearly seen that his deeds have been wrought in God. (John 3:16-20)

 

In the name of Jesus,

Amen

A Slowly Arriving, Deliberately Delaying Bridegroom - Matthew 25:1-13

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

Today we begin the end. Today and the next two Sundays are called the Last Sundays of the church year. Although each Sunday is truly a “little Easter,” for we proclaim Christ and Him crucified and risen each Lord’s day, these last Sundays of the church year are different. They are more somber, their joy more subdued, their tone a little less peace-filled. The reason is the last Sundays of the church year remind us that Christ is coming, coming soon, and those last days before His return will be touched with wars and rumors of war, famine and pestilence, flood, fire and earthquake. And, Jesus warned, these are but the birth-pains, the beginning, of what is to come. 

And, perhaps this year, more than the years past, that somber, subdued-joy, and toned-down peace is appropriate.  It’s been a difficult and trying year in many, many ways. Those wars and rumors of wars, the fires and floods, we’ve seen them both up close, in person and afar, at an electronic distance. We have seen the fallenness of creation in a fierce and terrible way. We watched, first in fear and then in mounting frustration, as a virus continues to affect, effect, and infect our homes and people around us. Our television and computer screens showed the terror of the sky glowing bright red from the tens of thousands of acres of out-of-control wildfires to the west, and from waters rising and winds tearing at the homes of our neighbors to the east. Farmers and ranchers from South Texas northward have watched water holes slowly dry up while uttering a three-word prayer, “If it rains.” And, we have seen the fallenness of mankind.  Across the nation and the world, we saw that people have been beaten, homes and businesses destroyed, reputations ruined, and lives destroyed by anger, hatred, and revenge against racial, social and economic boundaries. Justice has been replaced by vigilantes carrying not only clubs and torches but also armed with social media and sound bites.

Through it all, day in and day out, year after year, the message of the church remains constant: repent, for the Kingdom is near. The Kingdom is God’s reigning in heaven and on earth through the person and ministry of Jesus Christ, in His advent 2000 years ago, in His work in the church today, and with the promise to return in glory. Christ is King, and in His death and resurrection, He has conquered satan’s hold on the world. He rules now, in a hidden way, but He has promised to return in an incredibly visible way so that every eye shall see and every ear shall hear, and there will no longer be any doubt or question of who and what He is: Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God. For two thousand years, the Church has preached the same message. From generation to generation, people of God have looked eagerly and with anticipation for Jesus’ return. The Kingdom is near.

But, where is the King? Why is He so slow in returning? It’s been so long, it seems, since He has been among us. What is the reason for His delay? How much longer must we wait?

To encourage us in our waiting, Jesus tells this parable from Matthew. It’s often called the parable of the ten virgins, but perhaps it should instead be called the parable of the patiently slow and deliberate bridegroom. After all, the bridegroom is the reason the virgins are there, waiting to meet the bridegroom, watching for His arrival. Waiting and watching, watching and waiting. The parable stands as a verbal picture, a narrative, to remind us that Jesus will return – at His own time, at His own pleasure.

But, it seems like He is being delayed. Or, is He the one who is delaying?  Either way, it seems as if He is taking forever. Reading the New Testament, it seems as if the disciples, the apostles, expected Jesus to return almost immediately after His ascension. Certainly, St. John – the last of the apostles and the only one to die a natural, non-martyred death – concludes his spirit-given Revelation in prayer-filled anticipation, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Come.” And, still, throughout the history of the church, from the early church fathers, into the Reformation, and even into the last century, faithful people of God are urged, in their own times of loss and death and confession of faith to repent, for the Kingdom is near.  

But, more and more – and especially in our day and age, two thousand years and counting since Jesus’ ascension, satan temps us to give up watching and waiting, waiting and watching for our Lord’s return. It’s been so long, he whispers. It seems – some days – as if He has forgotten, almost, of His promised return. It seems – some times – as if He has lost interest in what is happening among His people. It seems – some times - as if He is unaware of what is happening to His people for His name’s sake. Why bother at all?

Why bother watching and waiting, waiting and watching? Because Jesus will return. He has promised.

It’s easy to identify the bridegroom – He is Jesus. Likewise, the virgins are easy to see as the people of God, the church. The virgins have one, simple vocational task before them: to welcome the bridegroom with festal celebration.  The bridegroom will return, even if He delays. He is returning with His bride to celebrate with His people.  They must be prepared – nothing can get in the way of the celebration. The church has one, simple task before us: to welcome Jesus with festal celebration. He will return, even if he delays. And He will return to celebrate with His resurrection people who are watching and waiting, prepared for His return.

There is a difference between getting prepared and being prepared for our Lord’s return. Being prepared is when you are the one standing at the door on Sunday morning, coffee finished, teeth brushed, shoes on, keys in one hand with the other hand on the door knob, ready to walk out the door with ample time to get to church. Getting prepared is what everyone else is doing – still finishing breakfast, brushing teeth, hunting for socks let alone shoes, still in their own bedroom, a far distance from the door. Getting prepared is not the same thing as being prepared.

All ten were asleep, resting, and waiting; all ten were equally surprised when the Bridegroom arrived and the midnight cry was sounded. Five virgins were prepared to watch and wait for the bridegroom’s return, even if He delayed, by having extra oil in reserve. Five were ready for his immediate arrival, but when the bridegroom’s immediate arrival became delayed, their readiness was found lacking. They were still getting prepared, shopping for oil, when the bridegroom returned. Despite their plea, the bridegroom refuses to allow a delayed entrance. It’s as if they failed to know Him and be rightly and fully prepared to meet Him, and in so doing insults the bridegroom, his bride, and the family. Therefore He also fails to recognize them: I do not know you. A warning in the story is repeated as Jesus says to His hearers: “Watch, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

The simple truth is this: We are called to be prepared for the unknown and unknowable moment of Jesus’ return which will happen in the most unexpected time.

So, how do we do that? Obviously, we don’t want to be surprised, unaware and unprepared. What does it look like, then, to be prepared in today’s day and age? Obviously, be prepared with plenty of oil. Earlier, I said it is easy to identify the bridegroom and the virgins as the church waiting for Jesus’ return. So, what is the oil? What does the oil signify or represent?

Be prepared, filled not with oil, but with whatever it takes for you to be prepared to honor the Bridegroom in His arrival. Repentance is obviously needed to be ready to welcome Jesus, and so is true and humble faith in Christ and Christ alone for salvation. Those are constants among the people of God. But, depending on your particular situation, your own vocation, your own place and time, your “oil” may look similar or different from those on your right and your left. Some may need to practice perseverance while you wait. Courage in these dark, difficult, and dangerous times is needed, both for yourself and for those around you. Humility keeps us ever mindful. Willingness to suffer for the sake of Christ and the ability to deny ourselves while taking up the cross of Jesus will be necessary at times. We may need a measure of what the beatitudes speak: sorrowful awareness of the world’s brokenness, a yearning and longing for God’s name to be hallowed, a desire for others to also be watchful and prepared. There may need be separation from those who would keep us un-prepared while also surrounding ourselves with other faithful, watching, waiting, and prepared people of God. Encouragement may be helpful for one another with Psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Practicing mercy and compassion to the least in the name of Jesus. Prayer is a necessity as are joy, peace, love, and all of the fruits of the spirit. The list is almost endless of what can be the oil which fills our lamps. [1]

Fill your lamp. Be watchful and waiting; be waiting and watchful, always prepared for the day of Christ’s return. Be filled with repentance and faith that others may see the light of Christ that shines from you, that they, too, may watch and wait with you.

O Spirit, who didst once restore
Thy Church that it might be again
The bringer of good news to men,
Breath on Thy cloven Church once more,
That in these grey and latter days
There may be those whose life is praise,
Each life a high doxology
To Father, Son and unto Thee. (LSB 834:4)

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[1] This paragraph borrows liberally from Dr. Jeff Gibbs’ commentary on Matthew, Vol. 3. Concordia: St. Louis, 2019. pp. 1323-1324.

Who Are You? A Child of God - 1 John 3:1-3

This is different than the usual sermon. As each "person" speaks, I move to a different space in the chancel and the sanctuary floor to demonstrate a shift. Every story draws us closer to the Font which is where our identity is found in Christ. -JFM

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

As I was thinking about the text for this morning’s sermon, one question kept revolving around in my head, a question I want to share with you this morning. Who am I? Who am I? Who are you? I don’t mean this in some sort of existential, go find myself, midlife crisis sort of way – that’s for counselors, therapists and psychologists to help sort out. I ask the question to find out where is your identity? How do you see yourself?

So, who am I? For that matter, who are you? Better question, who does God say you are? He calls you His children, children of God! What does that mean, children of God? That means that we are the special people that God has called out of darkness into his marvelous light. Yours is a baptismal identity, uniting you in Christ so God sees you as His beloved. God sent his own Son Jesus Christ to die on the cross so that we can be children of God. It is Divine adoption of the holiest order and you are named as sons and daughters of Almighty God. This is what we are. This is who we are. This is what God says you are.

So, what does this look like on a Tuesday, or a Thursday? What does it look like in your life or the lives of those around you?

1. Who am I? I’m a high school freshman. School’s been underway for a few months now. Crazy year. We lost so much of our identity hiding behind a mask. It’s almost like being anonymous, but not quite. School’s going OK, anyway. I’ve got football; that’s going fine. Finishing up with a pretty good record. Basketball will be starting soon. Kinda over-lapping a little; gonna be busy. I have piano practice. So I’ve got football practice, play basketball on the weekends, play piano, I’ve still got to do my homework and I’ve got my parents dumping chores on me. You know what, I’m under a lot of pressure. Who am I? Who does God say that I am? God says I’m his child. I’m God’s son. So as these pressures are piling up on top of me; pressure to please my parents, please my teachers, please my coaches, please everyone who’s putting them on top of me, God calls me, invites me to come to him in trouble, and he’ll hear me and carry me in these times of need. Who am I? I’m a child of God!

2. Who am I? I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman who’s just been laid off. My husband and I have beautiful intelligent children, but they don’t really understand what this means. I feel like a Merle Haggard song…if we can make it through December. Christmas is going to be lean. Clothes are going to have to last. No Micky D runs after school. I went to the food bank for the first time last week. I’m worried – not only about our family, but my husband, too. He works too hard as it is and with overtime drying up, he was trying to make a little extra money on the weekends and evenings, but no one needs yard work done it seems. We don’t spend much time together anymore, and when we do, we frequently fight about money – or, we’re just too tired to even fight. My friends say “God will get you through.” I know that, but it’s pretty hard to believe it when other friends have been looking for a job for over a year.  My stomach hurts; my head hurts. I don’t know what to do.  When people asked me “what do you do?” I told them I am a professional...was, a professional. My identity was in my job. Now without a job, what am I? Who am I? Who does God say I am? God says I’m his child. That even as this pain and hurt comes flooding back in time and time again; every time I look at my children, or think about the uncertain future. Even in those times, my God, my Father in heaven, promises to be there with me, to pick me up, to see me through. To comfort me. Who am I? I’m a child of God!

3. Who am I? I’m a 70 year old man. I’ve lived the American dream. I retired at the age of 59, 11 years ago. I left the toilsome work behind, and my wife and I hit the road, traveling and seeing the country. My wife died last year. I miss her. I miss my children. The youngest moved out fifteen years ago. They all live hundreds of miles away. I still get to see them from time to time. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas…well, maybe not this year. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together. My friends don’t come over very often. Stupid virus has everyone scared. To be honest, I’m just not myself. I feel like I’m the only one here. That I’m all alone. That nobody is here for me. Who am I? Who does God say that I am? God says that I’m his child. God says that even though my wife isn’t here with me anymore, I will one day see her again at the resurrection. That even though my children don’t come home as often as I would like. They’re busy, I understand. Even though my friends don’t come around; they don’t know what to say, I understand. God is here. I’m not alone. I’m never alone. My Heavenly Father promises to always be with me. My Lord Jesus Christ who went to the cross and died for me promises to never leave me nor forsake me. Who am I? I’m a child of God.

4. Who am I? I’m a ninety five year old woman lying in a hospital bed. Surrounded by my friends, family, loved ones. Pastor’s standing down there at the end of the bed. He’s spoken the rite of the commendation of the dying and commended me to the Lord. I can’t talk, just nod. He makes the sign of the cross. I have all these machines hooked up to me. I’m dying. The doctors told me I’m dying. I’m scared. Don’t get me wrong, I know what God says to me. I know I was baptized im Namen des Vaters und des Sohnes und des heiligen Geistes, but I’m scared. Who am I? Who does God say that I am? Almighty God, says that I am His child. As I look up into the faces of my loved ones, I know they’re going to miss me. But there’s hope. There’s hope that comes from being a child of God. That even though this life on earth will end. And for me it looks like it’s gonna end soon. Even though that’s the case, God promises to be where he has always been: holding me in his loving hands. My Savior Jesus Christ is coming to grab my hand and lead me home to be with Him forever. I will see these people again. It was through the waters of baptism that God almighty washed me, cleansed me and brought me into his family. Who am I? A child of God!

5. Who am I? I’m a four week old infant being brought into this sanctuary. Kicking and screaming, I’m a little baby. I’m at the baptismal font. Surrounded by the pastor, my parents, my sponsors. The pastor’s pouring chilly water over my head. He’s speaking God’s word. God is speaking, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit”. Who am I? I am a child of God. All of my sins are forgiven. I have just been brought into the family of the Almighty. Through the blood of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I am a son of God. Who am I? I’m a child of God!

6. Who are you? You’ve been thinking about this for some time now. Who are you? Members and guests of Zion. Sitting in these chairs. Sitting on your sofa. Sitting next to other saints of God. Listening to and hearing God’s word! God’s word for you! A Word reminding you that you are a child of God. That you are a child of God washed in the waters of baptism. That when these waters were poured over your head, you were brought into the family. As a child, you bring nothing to the relationship but solely lean on Jesus. You trust Jesus Christ died for your sins. You know He shed His blood for your forgiveness.

Who are you? Children of God, look around at each other. Really, take the time and look around at each other. Who are you? You are the body of Christ, a small part of the community of saints, and all children of God. Brothers and sisters through Jesus Christ. Brothers and sisters who will, together, receive your Savior’s true body and blood. Who are you? Children of God almighty!

Children of God! Sons and daughters of our heavenly Father. Not just inside these walls in this sanctuary, but also when you step outside that door, or that door. When you go out into the world, you are sons and daughters of the Almighty. Does that mean anything? Absolutely! When we watch the game later this afternoon, we are children of God. When we go to work tomorrow, we are children of God. When you sit down at lunch, close to yet distant from your friends, you are a child of God. When we pick up our children from school, we are children of God. When we fall asleep in Christ, we are children of God. We are children of God, all the time!

Through Jesus Christ, we have been brought into that family. Together, brothers and sisters, in our same faith. In our same Lord Jesus Christ. Fellow children of God. Amen.