The Advent King Comes - Luke 19: 28-40

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

O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Once again, the season of Advent has arrived and, with it, the pre-Christmas excitement. There are Christmas trees, garlands, tinsel, wreaths, and inflatable Santas and Rudolphs everywhere you turn and Christmas music fills stores and airwaves.

Or, perhaps it's the pre-Christmas season has arrived, dragging Advent, kicking and screaming, along with it. The church tries to tap the brakes on Christmas. We’re not there, yet. This time of the year is called Advent. Advent doesn’t mean pre-Christmas. The name Advent means Coming. The season is both to remember Christ's coming in time 2000 years ago, God hidden in flesh as a baby in Bethlehem while also reminding us that Christ will come again, as we say in the Creed, in glory to judge the living and the dead. Meanwhile, the church waits, with Advent expectation, as Christ continues to come to us, hidden-yet-revealed, in Word and Water, in Bread and Wine. Traditionally, it was a season of repentance, recognizing that it was our sins that caused the Father to send His Son and take on human flesh to dwell among us. The colors of the season are either blue or purple, colors of royalty, symbolizing that Christ is the King. While we do give a nod to Christmas, with the tree up, we don’t jump in with both feet. The Advent Wreath serves as our anchor, keeping us from speeding too soon to the Manger. The Church resides in this in-between time, this Advent time, of watching and waiting, anticipating the day that Jesus fulfills his promises and returns to take His church to be with him into eternal glory.

But all around us in the secular world. Out there, it’s simply called the Christmas season or, a more nebulous holiday season. The other day I heard someone on TV say that he loves this time of the year. After all, he said, it's all about family and friends and giving gifts of love to each other. They're missing out on the entire purpose of what Advent is about, let alone Christmas. It's ultimately not about family, or friends, or food, or presents, or who got the fruit cake from last year, It's about Christ and his coming as a child in Bethlehem.

Theirs was a commentary of the times and a window into the mindset of the world in which we live. But when you have a misunderstanding of what Advent is about, and you have a misconception of who Christ is, of course you're going to completely misunderstand what both Advent and Christmas is about. And when that happens, you miss the whole reason that Christ came in the first place.

It may seem odd that this morning's gospel reading is the Palm Sunday narrative, Jesus entering the holy City of Jerusalem heading toward his passion, death, and crucifixion on the cross. But the reason that this is the first Sunday of Advent reading, is that it demonstrates the whole purpose of Christ's Ministry. He was coming into Jerusalem, entering into the City of David so that he could take his rightful place at his throne.

His throne would be unlike any other throne that any other king had ever sat upon, a throne not for splendor and majesty and power and awe, but a throne for suffering. It wouldn't be a throne made from precious metals and adorned with stones and jewels, but a throne of rough hewn wood. There wouldn't a raised upper throne room, but there would be a hill outside of the city walls, a place where the worst of the worst would reside instead of kings and queens. It was called Golgatha, the Place of the Skull, a place where murderers, criminals, insurrectionist's, the very worst that society has to offer. This is the place where His throne would be found. Is a place where this King of Kings and Lord of Lords would reign, where His glory would be seen, among the worst of the worst, the sinners of all sinners. That is where Jesus throne was to be found.  

But on that Palm Sunday morning, that's not what the people were expecting. They were expecting a king’s king to come in glory with power, pomp and circumstance. They were expecting a king along the lines of King David who rode into Jerusalem with crowds shouting his praises. They were expecting a king who would throw out the Romans, put Israel back on the map and re-establish Jerusalem to be the holy capitol city of an Israelite empire as it was under David and Solomon centuries earlier. Even the disciples were thinking that this was going to be some kind of a power play. Perhaps they too would join in some kind of cabinet where they could be the secretary of abundance, the under-secretary of bread and wine and the minister of healing and miracles.

When you have a misunderstanding of who and what Jesus is all about, then, there is also a misunderstanding of what Jesus has come to do.

Jesus riding into Jerusalem is God’s way of literally interrupting the world’s plans. It’s Jesus way of saying, “I’m here to do something unexpected.” On this first Sunday of Advent, as the pre-Christmas craziness ramps up to a more fevered pitch, on this first day of a new Church year, it’s worth pausing, slowing, and re-centering our eyes on Jesus.

If all you think Christmas is only about family and friends, presents and trees, then you are as misguided as the ancient citizens of Jerusalem who lined the streets to welcome the King they expected. Then you forget the whole purpose of Jesus coming. The name Jesus tells us who and what he is: savior. Jesus means savior. The Angel would tell Mary and Joseph to name him Jesus because he's going to save his people from their sins. He's not going to take the lives of many. Rather, he will give his life for many.

God the Father has sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to bear your sin and be your Savior. The suffering of Jesus was not an accident. It was not just what happens to a nice person who loves in a world filled with hate. It was purposeful. God the Father sent His Son into the world to defeat all the forces that oppose His Kingdom. Jesus came to bear sin and bring forgiveness, to defeat death and bring life, to conquer Satan and bring salvation.

No matter where you are in the Church Year, no matter what texts of Scripture you are reading, no matter what hymns you are singing, this is the reason why God is here: To bring you forgiveness, life, and salvation.

In my 2021 Report, I said that one of my prayers for 2022 is that we, as a congregation, be more deliberate on putting the best construction on things and giving people the benefit of the doubt. That isn’t just for you; that’s for me, too. So, to be fair and give that man on TV the benefit of the doubt, I’m thinking that the reason for the comment about “Christmas is about family,” is that as 2021 comes to it’s final hurrah, he was acknowledging that the year has not been easy. We began the year hiding behind masks and separated by distance. Family get-togethers were put on hold, jobs were in question, politics invaded our conversations at every level, including into health and science. When we did get back together, relationships were challenged and destroyed. Perhaps your own social fabric unraveled a bit and people you once thought were friends turned against you. Maybe this person was trying to remind us that can be a time of gathering without the fightin’ and fussin’ we’ve done all year long.

Into this mess of anxiety, Jesus comes to take us to what lies at the heart of the matter: God’s love for His creatures. It may not take away the anxiety, but it sets you on solid ground. You are a child in a kingdom where God, your Father, loves you. At the heart of His love is the person of His Son. Though it leads to His death, Jesus will do the work of His Father. He will come and bear what needs to be borne, fight what needs to be fought, and die to put to death what needs to end, so He might rise and bring the beginning of life, eternal life to you.

So, in this messy world with its complex priorities, confusions and misunderstandings, simply rest for a moment today. Jesus has come. Not in Jerusalem, but here. Not on a colt but in His Word. Not surrounded by crowds throwing cloaks on a road, but still surrounded by disciples. You and me. Here, in this place, Jesus comes to remind and assure us. Grace is the reason He is here.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

"Blessed are the Dead Who Die in the Lord..." Rev. 7:2-17

And I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” “Blessed indeed,” says the Spirit, “that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!” (Revelation 14:13)

There are nine beatitudes (blesseds) in the Sermon on the Mount that you heard in this morning’s Gospel reading. And there are similarly nine beatitudes in the Revelation, of which the ones I just read are numbers 3 and 4. I think it’s to point out the contrast between the blessings of living under the cross as the church militant, now on earth, and the blessings of resurrected life at the foot of the Lamb of God in the church triumphant in heaven.

We’re used to hearing the blessed of the beatitudes so, what is surprising to us, is who are called “blessed” – the dead. “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord henceforth.” There is a similar passage in the psalms. Psalm 116:15 – “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.” Precious and blessed is how the death of God’s holy ones, his justified ones, looks in the eyes of God. Precious and blessed. This correspond to the spiritually poor, mourning, meek, hungering and thirsting of righteousness, merciful, pure hearted peacemaking, persecuted disciples. These are dead to the world and dead to themselves. In the Revelation, the blessed are the literally dead as a doornail dead. And that might take us by surprise.

We know from the Scriptures (Romans 8) that death is the just wages for sin. Death is what our sins deserve. Death is the outcome of sin. “On the day you eat of it, you will surely die.” From that perspective, death is anything but blessed.

I think it’s safe to say that none of us, at least at the gut reaction level, would think of death as anything precious and blessed. We live in the midst of a death-denying culture that spends billions of dollars creating the illusion of youth and defying the process of aging which is really the slow, steady drumbeat of dying.  Halloween is about as close to death as we’d like to get. When we lived in Crosby, some folks down the street turned their front lawns into macabre cemetery scenes with coffins and skeletons and tombstones. It’s really kind of bizarre, but understandable. Pretend death is so much easier to deal with than the real thing. We all know that those skeletons are really made of plastic, the coffins are empty, and the headstones are made of styrofoam. It’s pretend, play-death.  

But then when we are confronted with death - real, flesh and blood death in its face-to-face reality - we try to ignore it. When we can’t ignore it, we try to control it. Or, at least, try to make death play on our terms, as if we are the home team, its homecoming weekend, and death – the opponent – is supposed to play by our house rules.

In 2014, America was taken with the story of Brittany Maynard. Brittany was a 29 year old woman who was diagnosed with a particularly nasty form of brain cancer called glioblastoma. In an interview published October 6, 2014 in People magazine, Brittany said, “"My glioblastoma is going to kill me, and that's out of my control." Brittany and her family moved from California to Oregon, where the state allows terminally ill citizens to have access to – quote – “Death with Dignity.” I am oversimplifying for the sake of brevity, but the law allows this to happen: a medical doctor prescribes a drug and a dosage that will kill the patient. The patient fills the prescription and then, at the time of his or her choosing, the pill is taken and the patient dies. Ethicists, physicians and citizens are arguing over what this is to be called. The technical term for this is euthanasia – a compound Greek word that means “good death.” The more accurate, common-language term is physician assisted suicide. A doctor helps a person take his or her life. As a theologian, I’ll tell you what the Biblical name for this is: self-murder. Actually, that’s only part of it. It’s playing God.  Proponents for this argue this is a choice about “quality of life,” but in reality, it’s about power and control. Literally, it is playing God. Brittany said, "Being able to choose to go with dignity is less terrifying [than waiting]."

Brittany is right: death is out of our control. As Christians, we know death is not given to us to control it. Death is a consequence, the last great enemy against which we fight; the last enemy to be defeated. You don’t hear that kind of language coming out of the media. Death, however, is under the control of God. King David knew that – “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” he said. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

You hear a lot of the romantic foolishness of dying with dignity. Switzerland is now actively marketing itself as a suicide tourism destination. They talk about this being your best life now, or not suffering any more than necessary. Ironically, they even talk about value of life. You will never hear what we confess in the Creed: we believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. In that order. And we believe that for the simple fact that Jesus died and rose bodily from the dead, demonstrating decisively that death has no hold on Him and that His death on a cross conquered death once and for all.

Christians have a blessed monopoly on the whole business of death and resurrection because Jesus Christ is the only One to have died and risen from the dead. Jesus died on a cross and three days later appeared risen from the dead. That’s why we believe in the “resurrection of the body,” because Jesus rose bodily from HIs grave and promised to raise us up from ours on the Last Day when it all comes to its completion.

It’s because of the death and resurrection of Jesus that we can use words like “precious” and “blessed” in reference to our own death and the death of all baptized believers. Blessed are those who die in the Lord. Not just any death, but “in the Lord.” Those who are united in baptismal faith with Jesus’ death; who have been buried with Him. Blessed are you, dear baptized believer, trusting the promise of life in Jesus’ name. Your death is precious and blessed to God. Not because of you, but because of Jesus. And not because of your works. The works of the saints follow them in death; they don’t precede them. That’s what it means to be justified by grace through faith. Your works follow behind you, but you don’t lead with them. Nothing you do can make your death precious and blessed.

Brittany Maynard garnered the headlines with her story. There is another woman named Maggie Karner who has the exact same illness and diagnosis as Brittany. Maggie is a little bit older, in her early 50s, but also a wife and mother. She’s been part of our LCMS Life Ministries team in St. Louis. When she found out about Brittany’s plans, Maggie wrote her own article at www.thefederalist.com, about what she was facing and what her plans were. The title of her article pretty spells it out: “Brain Cancer Will Likely Kill Me, But There’s No Way I’ll Kill Myself.” She wrote:

Death sucks. And while this leads many to attempt to calm their fears by grasping for personal control over the situation, as a Christian with a Savior who loves me dearly and who has redeemed me from a dying world, I have a higher calling. God wants me to be comfortable in my dependence on Him and others, to live with Him in peace and comfort no matter what comes my way. As for my cancer journey, circumstances out of my control are not the worst thing that can happen to me. The worst thing would be losing faith, refusing to trust in God’s purpose in my life and trying to grab that control myself.

And I also want them to know that, for Christians, our death is not the end. Because our Savior, Jesus Christ, selflessly endured an ugly death on the cross and was laid in a borrowed tomb (no “death with dignity” there), He truly understands our sorrows and feelings of helplessness. I want my kids to know that Christ’s resurrection from that borrowed grave confirms that death could not hold Him, and it cannot hold me either—a baptized child of God!

Maggie’s got it right: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on. In these last days, in the wake of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Christ has made the wages of sin a place of blessing for all who trust Him. The Lord’s beatitudes are fulfilled in them. Their poverty of spirit has been answered by the riches of the kingdom of heaven. Their mourning has turned to rejoicing in the comfort of Christ. Their meekness has been vindicated. The world walked all over them, but now the earth is their inheritance. Their hunger and thirst for righteousness has been satisfied; they are justified, declared righteous in Jesus’ righteousness. Their mercy has returned to them with dividends – they too receive mercy. With hearts purified by the blood of the Lamb, they now see God face to face. As makers of peace they now share a name with the Prince of Peace – sons of God. The wounds of their persecution, inflicted for righteousness’ sake, have been healed. The kingdom of God belongs to them.

Our value, our worth, our lives, our deaths – everything we are – is grounded in Christ. And, in reality, we already died. You see that at the font, every time a person is made child of God through water and Word: they die, in Christ, and they are raised in Christ. 

So what’s it going to be like in heaven? And what’s it like for those who are already there? The most faithful answer is “blessed.” The Bible calls the dead in Christ “asleep in the Lord.” That’s a nice peaceful picture. They are asleep, they rest from their labors. Now “asleep” does not necessarily mean asleep as we think it – being snoring, inactive and unaware spirits. It’s only like sleep in that the passage of time ceases because the evenings and mornings of this creation have no relevance in the eternal. We do have this much: a new heaven and a new earth thanks to Jesus who makes all things new. That sounds much better than sitting on clouds strumming harps. A whole creation brought through death into resurrection where death and decay is no more, where the entropy of our sin is vanished. Isaiah pictures a lavish feast on God’s holy mountain, a feast of fatted meats and fine wines.  

The one thing that’s certain about eternal life is that worship is the main activity. Actually, it appears to be the only activity, as all of life has now become worship. High liturgy to the Father through the Son in the Spirit. John caught a fleeting glimpse of the heavenly congregation. This is the side of worship we don’t see, but we confess by faith that we are joined by the angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven. This is the heavenward side of worship that John saw and reports to us.

This a white-robed congregation. They are all covered with Christ, wearing their baptisms like a spotless robe. The blood of Jesus, the Lamb, has washed away all their sins. Not a spot of sin remains. Their time of tribulation is over. Listen again (for hearing is all we get right now), listen to how it is with them and how it will be for us:

Therefore (because they are washed in the blood of the Lamb),

they are before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple (they are eternal priests to God in Christ’s royal priesthood. That’s your eternal vocation – priest to God).

And He who sits on the throne will shelter them with His presence. (They live under the umbrella of His grace).

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore. (They hunger and thirst for righteousness has been satisfied.)

The sun shall not strike them nor any scorching heat (the days of the wilderness are over; they have come into the promised land of life).

For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd (the Good Shepherd who laid down his life for the sheep).

And He will guide them to springs of living water (He will refresh them with His Spirit as He refreshed them in their Baptism).

And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. (Those tears you shed are not in vain and not unnoticed; the hand of God will carry them away forever)

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. Blessed indeed, thanks to Jesus.

In the name of Jesus,
Amen

 

The Reformation Revelation Angel Points us to Jesus - Revelation 14:6-7

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

I was a delegate to the LCMS National Convention in 2010. Three-time incumbent, Rev. Jerry Keischnick, was defeated by Rev. Matthew Harrison on the first ballot. Now, before anyone gets concerned that this is a story about politics, please bear with me - it’s not, I assure you. I don’t remember the total number counts; the vote wasn’t a landslide, but it was more than just a few points between them. 

I remember a couple of things happening as the numbers came up on the screens to the left and right of the stage. There was almost simultaneously a gasp of shock from those who voted for the incumbent and a victory shout and clapping by those who voted for the challenger. In an instant, Rev. Keischnick’s face showed surprise and then reality as his brain registered that he had lost the election. It was a strange moment because he was also the chairman of the convention. Not only had he just been defeated, but now he had to graciously accept his defeat, acknowledge his opponent’s victory in as churchmanly of a way as possible, and continue through the remainder of the convention as a lame-duck chairman. He took a moment to gather himself and then congratulated President-Elect Harrison and invited him to the dais to say a few words. 

I’ve always wondered what hurt him more that day - that he had lost, or that people - fifty percent of the delegates are pastors - were literally cheering and whistling that he had lost and didn’t seem to care that his heart was breaking in front of them. 

As Harrison began walking to the front from the very rear of the convention hall, at first there was applause. Some, I’m sure, was from people merely being polite, but others were applauding as if it was Jesus entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. I use that metaphor deliberately and intentionally with all the misunderstood Messianic weight it carried 2000 years ago and on that July afternoon in Houston. The camera found him walking down the aisle and you could then see him on the screens. He was motioning with his hands, not as a victor, but in a “stop, sit down, settle down, that’s enough” sort of way. As people saw this, they began to quiet down, and there was almost silence as he arrived at the stage. 

For a moment, as he stood behind the podium, that silence was held. If you’ve not met President Harrison before, he’s about my size - not quite as big around, but his mustache is much more awesome than mine, much closer to Tom Selleck and Sam Elliot. He’s an imposing figure. Then, he began to speak.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You have continued the perfect tradition of electing a sinner as president of the Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod.” He spoke for just a few minutes and offered a few comments, thanked President Keischnick for his years of service, his wife for her support, and the Convention for its trust in electing him to the office.

And then he said this - and this is the somewhat belated point of this story - “To all of you, regardless of whom you voted for, or what you think of President Keischnick or me, or our ideas, or what we discuss in the remainder of this convention, please remember this: this is still, and always will be Christ’s church.”

This Reformation Sunday, if you remember nothing else, that is what I want you to remember: “this, this is still and always will be Christ’s Church.”

It’s easy enough to think otherwise.  We live in a world that focuses on the horizontal. Our culture, our society thinks of things in terms of “yours and mine,” or “ours and yours.” This was my work, this is your responsibility, she took my parking spot, he copied your homework, they can’t park in our lot, y’all can’t stop us. Our sinful nature is encouraged by anything that elevates the self. We do it at work, at school, at home, at the ballpark, in the gym. We even do it in the church.

Think about how we talk about brothers and sisters in Christ. Sometimes it’s funny. Years ago, the church I served went from 2 Sunday services to one. At the 8am service, Grandma Schmidtke sat in a particular pew. At the 10:30 service, the pew was taken by Mr. and Mrs. Luther. When we merged into one service, they literally raced to see who would get to the church first and claim that pew with a purse or a Bible. It’s my pew, not yours. Now, that was somewhat in fun, but what about when it’s not fun but deadly serious. “Well, that might be your opinion, but we’re going to do this anyway.” Sides are taken; co-conspirators and opposition lists are drawn, former friends become enemies and former enemies become friends, all for the sake of expediency. I started with the story of President Harrison’s election. Hate to tell you this, but politics in the church can be a dirty business and that one, in particular, was rough. Blogs, websites, even internet commercials and advertisements told their side of the story and flung mud at the other. And, remember, half of the delegates were pastors. Pastors as politicians is the worst kind of mixing church and state. Funny - men who are called to point people to Jesus as the means of salvation were instead pointing to their candidate, their cause, sometimes even themselves as knowing the truth that would, presumably, set the Synod free.

The church does not belong to a Synodical president, or a parish pastor, or a congregation or a group within a congregation. The Church – and here, I mean Capitol C Church, as in the whole Christian Church in heaven and on earth – the Church is Christ’s. It is never mine or yours or theirs as if we own it, control it, direct it, or even die for it. That honor belongs to Jesus and to Jesus alone, who loved the Church so much that He was willing to take the greedy, self-centered harlot as His own bride, to die for Her, to redeem Her, to wash Her, to cleanse Her with His blood, and make the Church His own bride bestowed with His name: Christ’s church; the Christian Church.  

The answer is not in the horizontal. Lord, have mercy for when we seek answers among us! Instead, look vertically, heavenward, to the eternal Gospel that St. John saw in this morning’s First Reading. This is the message of the Scriptures, the heilsgeschichte, the plan of salvation for the world in Christ Jesus. From the first promise in the Garden of Eden for a seed of Adam and Eve that would be a head-crushing, satan-stomping savior, through the life and ministry and the death and resurrection of Jesus that John himself had witnessed, this message is for all people, languages, and nations under heaven on earth.

At the time John saw and wrote the Revelation, the church was experiencing great suffering and persecution. John, himself, had been exiled to the island of Patmos, cut off from the congregations, the Church, and the people whom he so loved. The other disciples had all been martyred. He was the last of the Twelve. If John heard anything from the mainland, he would have heard about a church in defeat, being ground down and wiped out by the wrath of the Roman Empire as Christians were martyred for their faith. It would have been easy to think that following Jesus was a losing cause and a waste of life, both now and into eternity. 

So, the Holy Spirit lets John see the angel flying past, carrying the Gospel. It’s as if the angel is saying, “No matter what you see or hear, John, the Gospel – the Good News of Jesus Christ, His life, death, and resurrection, His paying for the sins of the very world that wishes to destroy Him and His people, His rescuing His people both now and into eternity – the Gospel cannot be stopped. It will continue being sent.”

And, so there was no doubt, the angel does speak. “Fear God and give Him glory,” he said, “because the hour of his judgements have come and worship Him who made heaven and earth, the sea and the springs of water.”

The angel speaking to St. John does so with the authority of God Himself. Remember, John is still on the island. Yet, the promises of God, when given, even though they will not be fulfilled for some time, they are spoken as if they have already happened. God’s future promises are already yes and now in Christ. The judgement has come – it was poured out on Jesus at the cross. That was His hour and that was His glory. The church – God’s church, Christ’s church, the Spirit’s church – the church of the Triune God, it endures in heaven and on earth, from sea to sea.

At the time of the Reformation, the church on earth had lost sight of that, misplacing Christ’s church with the church of man. Grace was replaced with works; faith was replaced with effort; the Scripture was replaced with ecclesial decrees. Luther and the Reformation returned the focus to Christ, grace, faith, and Scripture. It was Christ’s church, after all. We follow in the footsteps of Luther and the other Reformers who, themselves, stood on the shoulders of those who came before them. We do not worship Martin Luther, or the other early Lutheran fathers, but we thank God for them, using them to again allow the bright light of the Gospel to shine forth into the world.

There’s a saying, “Ecclesia semper reformanda.” “The Church always needs reforming.” Some see this as an excuse for radical change and shift in theological ideology and practice. Not at all. It’s the reminder that we, the Church, must always be re-formed into the likeness of Christ. It’s our baptismal identity, after all. It’s His church. This, this is still, and always will be, Christ’s church, remember.

 

 

The Blind Leads the Blind to Follow Jesus - Mark 10:46-52

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

Many of us grew up learning various prayers. The Lord’s Prayer, of course, we learned early on by sitting in our parents’ laps at home and in church, hearing the words repeated day after day, week after week. “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest,” we learned at the dinner table.” “We can’t eat until you fold your hands and pray,” was sometimes a battle of wills, but sooner or later, hunger won out and we prayed, even if somewhat begrudgingly. At bed-time, we taught our kids the prayers we learned from our parents. Some are old poems like “Now I lay me down to sleep.” Others were hymns: “Now the light has gone away…”, “Abide with Me,” “or even a version of the 23^rd Psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd/ I shall not want/He makes me down to lie; In pastures green/He leadeth me/the quiet waters by.” Even now, I still say those at times.

One of the oldest prayers of the church is called The Kyrie: Lord, have mercy. We pray it almost every Sunday in one form or another, sometimes spoken, sometimes sung, sometimes more than once. Kyrie means simply, Lord, and it is half of the prayer. The other half, the “have mercy” portion, comes from the word Eleison. Kyrie, eleison – Lord, have mercy. It’s the prayer of the faithful, uttered when we cannot see what is ahead, when we’re not even sure what to pray for, when the words won’t come and thoughts get jammed up, when we cannot begin to know what is in store for us. It’s a prayer uttered in the blindness of the moment, if you will, yet it is also prayed with clarity of sight because in that moment, in that Kyrie, eleison – Lord, have mercy moment – all we can see is our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Arnold Kunz – you have heard me refer to him often – once wrote, “Life narrows down. And when life gets hard and narrow, there in the middle stands Jesus.” In the light of this morning’s Gospel lesson, I might edit that slightly: When life gets hard, and narrow, and dark – so dark that you cannot see what is immediately or distantly ahead of you, let alone what is there until the ending – there is Jesus.

That is what faith is, isn’t it? The Bible defines faith as “the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen.” Although we cannot see, we know, believe, trust, and rely that God, in Christ Jesus invites us to come to Him with His promise to hear us and, in His perfect wisdom and will, to answer.

And, when life is dark and narrow and hard and so heavy that you don’t even know what to pray, we are given this simple prayer, Eleison: “Have mercy.”

Bartimaeus was blind. His eyes did not work – why, for how long, we don’t know. WE do know his eyes have failed him; presumably so have family as he is reduced to begging for survival. That’s all we know about him, that and his father’s name is Timaeus. Oddly specific, don’t you think? He’s just a beggar, and a blind one at that. I wonder how many other beggars, blind or seeing, were in Jericho on the Jerusalem road at that time. But Mark names him, camped out on his spot, on his little patch of ground, hoping for a few pennies so he can buy some food and live to beg another day.

Bartimaeus’ story is one of contrast.  In front of him is a great crowd, all tagging along after Jesus. Among the crowd are the Twelve, the disciples.  Our lectionary does us a disservice, yet again. Last week and the Sunday previous, we had the exchange between Jesus and the rich young man split in two, completely losing the narrative flow of the story. This week, we jump over an awkward exchange that happens between the rich young man and the narrative of Bartimaeus, probably right outside Jericho’s walls.

Two of the disciples, James and John, are identified as brothers, as the Sons of Zebedee. When Jesus called the brothers to discipleship, back in Mark 3, He identified them as Boanerges, Sons of Thunder. As they journeyed along, the brothers were having a whispered conversation, creating just enough of a stir that Jesus turns and asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” The Thunder boys were caught in their foolishness but, to their credit, they at least had the fortitude to speak up. This was their moment! They could see their reward; they had visions of greatness and grandeur; they had a sight on future glory. Teacher, they said, we want places of honor, on your left and right, when you enter your kingdom. Bold, arrogant request. They wanted to gather up the glory, honor and prestige for themselves. Sons of Thunder, indeed.

But this was not so of this Son of Timaeus. He doesn’t want power or glory. He has no vision at all, let alone visions of grandeur. He only asks for mercy. Notice, James and John call Him “Teacher;” Bartimaeus calls Him by name, Jesus. More than that, Bartimaeus identifies Jesus as the Son of David. He is using promise language, Messianic language, faith language, trusting that this One whom he can’t see but knows is capable of mercy beyond a few coins for today’s meal. Though blind, he sees Jesus more clearly than James and John. His prayer, not a thunderous, foolishly bold request for power but a cry of despair from the darkness. Υἱὲ Δαυείδ, ἐλέησόν με – Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.

Nothing will get in his way so that Jesus can see him, Bartimaeus, for who he is. The crowds rebuke him – after all, he is just a beggar, remember, a deformed piece of detritus like so much trash in the ditch, human refuse to be ignored. Bartimaeus can’t see, but he can hear what they are doing to him and his voice works just fine. He stands up so his voice will project, and cries out again, even louder this time, Son of David, have mercy on me! His cloak, possibly his only earthly possession, is cast aside so nothing gets in the way of his being seen by Jesus. James and John want more; Bartimaeus leaves behind everything and anything that inhibits and encumbers his way to Jesus.

Jesus stops on the road. In my mind, I see him stepping to the side of the road where Bartimaeus blindly turns his head, trying to locate Jesus by sound. The noisy crowd grows quiet, in curiosity and in anticipation of what Jesus will do with this…this…human garbage. I see Jesus step in front of Bartimaeus, perhaps reaching out with his hand, toughing Bartimaeus’ arm, his shoulder, and Bartimaeus reacting suddenly to human touch. Jesus’ gentle voice finally breaks the silence.  “What do you want me to do to you?”

At first glance, that seems like an absolutely foolish question. After all, what else could a blind man want but his sight? A deaf man would want hearing; a mute man, speech; a leper, wholeness; a lame man, the ability to walk. So, yes, there is that – his eyes don’t work; he wants to be able to see the city, the people, the dangers and the beauty that is all around him. But this is more than just a request for 20/20 vision. His request runs even deeper – that he be allowed to see Jesus fully for who He is, not merely a divine vending machine who can dole out power and authority, but as the very Messiah, the Son of David, who has come to save, rescue and redeem a spiritually blind, deaf, and mute world.

Remember – all this takes place on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem. In Mark’s Gospel, “road” always has the connation, the reminder, that Jesus’ road is the journey of faithfulness to the cross. He is never just taking a stroll; he is going to His sacrificial death for the world’s sin. The disciples have watched the journey but they still don’t see Jesus for who He is or the journey for what it is. The Sons of Thunder see, but they are blind. This blind man, the son of Timaeus, he sees Jesus for who He is. Timaeus means “honor.” Bartimaeus means “Son of honor.” Literally, the blind man Bartimaeus has the honor of showing the blind James and John what they are to be seeing.

It was the prayer of the faithful, spoken when one can’t see what is ahead. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy.” What else can Jesus do but hear and answer? In His mercy, in His great love, He restores Bartimaeus’ sight. Mark says he recovered his sight. It’s a passive verb – the idea is more like his sight was restored. By God’s grace, through faith in the unseen Jesus, Son of David, Bartimaeus was able to see. He responds the way that only disciples can – he follows Jesus on the way. On the way…that’s cross language. The Son of Honor follows Jesus to the true seat of honor: to the cross.  

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” Jesus does exactly that: He has mercy on Bartimaeus, and James and John, and the Twelve, and the crowd outside Jericho, and you and me. He came into the world to save sinners. He came into the world to show mercy.  Mercy is not getting what we deserve. It involves kindness and compassion; loving the unlovable. In His mercy, Jesus takes our spiritual blindness, and deafness, and muteness, and all other spiritual disease that leads to eternal death, and He takes it into Himself, dying the death we deserve. Jesus has mercy on sinners. In His passion and at the cross, He prayed His eleison, pleading for His father’s, His mercy, only to be denied. Ali, Ali, lamma sabacthani?  My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? This, so that we do not get what we deserve: eternal separation from God.

In His death and resurrection, grace upon grace was bestowed up us. If mercy is not getting what we deserve, grace is getting what we don’t deserve. We are given Christ’s holiness, His forgiveness, His righteousness, we are made right with God by His grace through faith in that blessed death of Jesus, Son of God, Son of David, the Messiah, the Christ.

What do we want when we pray? For His mercy. When we are blinded by life’s circumstances, when our own crosses seem ready to overwhelm, when life is dark, and hard, and narrow, we pray, “Lord, have mercy.” When we can’t see what is in store, that Jesus – who has walked the valley of the shadow - guides, leads, and directs us. It’s the way of the cross, following Jesus through this life. 

There is a wonderful prayer in our hymnal – it’s on page 311, Collect #193. It’s an extended Kyrie, if you will.

Lord God, You have called Your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go but only that Your hand is leading us and Your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

You Can't Get into Heaven on the Back of a Camel! Mark 7:23-31

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

This morning's gospel lesson seems to have a whole series of strange statements spoken by Jesus as well as some apparent contradictions. He begins by saying how it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.

What's that all about? Some people will say that this is some kind of a strange archaeological, architectural design of the city walls of Jerusalem, a small doorway that's designed to keep the camel cavalry out of the city, preventing soldiers riding on the back of camels from riding into the city. For a camel to get through this supposed camel gate, it would have to get down on its knees to crawl through this small doorway. A single defender on the inside, stationed at that doorway, would be able to keep anybody out of the city. Camels can’t crawl. There is no such history anywhere of such a thing. Someone is trying to make sense of Jesus’ words.

It’s much easier than that. Jesus is actually speaking in a type of hyperbole, exaggeration to make a point. You know, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a billion times He does this sort of thing.  So, when He says, “It's easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man into heaven,” he’s saying the only way a camel will get through the eye of a needle is for it to be destroyed, to be taken apart, to be chopped into itty bitty pieces. To be passed through the eye of a needle, and if that were to happen, it wouldn't be much of a camel. Now would it? And if that were to happen, dash. If you were to chop up a camel into itty bitty pieces to pass through a needle dash, it would be impossible for it to be put back together into any form, shape, or semblance of a camel.

And that's the point. It can't happen. If you were to try to do that, you would destroy the very thing you're trying to do. You can't pass a camel through the eye of a needle without destroying it’s very camel-ness.

Remember, this is the continuation of last week's gospel reading, where the rich young man came to Jesus with the question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  In the conversation, Jesus challenges the man to keep all of the second table of the law. The young man replies, “All of these I've been doing since childbirth.” I’ve got it covered, Jesus.  So Jesus turns the tables, or rather The Table, the Table of the Law, on him. Jesus turns from the 2^nd Table of the Law, which deals with the relationship with your neighbor, the horizontal relationships, and turns the man back to the 1^st Table of the law, which has to do with the relationship with God, the vertical. The rich young man thought he had it all figured out, but when Jesus turns the Table, the answer to “What must I do?” becomes apparent from Mark’s note: “He went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.” He was more content with his God being his wealth and, presumably, the fame and good status and goodwill of the community in which he lived rather than his relationship with God.

So when Jesus continues with his teaching about how difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter into the Kingdom of God, there is a bit of concern on the part of the disciples when they hear this. In that day and age, it was understood that to be very wealthy is to be very blessed, indeed, by God. Wealth was a measure of how they saw one's relationship with God. The more blessings you have, the more blessed by God you are. And the inverse was also held as true. If you did not have material blessings, therefore you must have done something to displease God and you are not blessed by God. In a sense, we still have some of this idea today. If you know anybody who speaks of karma, that's the basic idea behind that teaching. If you do good, good things happen; If you do bad, bad things happen. And the reverse, that is also true: if bad things happen, you must have done something bad period. If good things happen, you must have done something good. And so for Jesus to say it's going to be difficult for a rich man to enter the Kingdom, well, that's a mind-blowing teaching for the disciples and for others who are listening to Jesus.

Wealth in and of itself is not a bad thing. Money, like any other earthly blessing, is completely neutral. It is a gift of God. How it is used determines whether it is a blessing for good or a blessing for evil. Do you use financial blessings to help your neighbor or do you do it solely for your own benefit? Do you use it in compassion for the least and weakest, or only help others in a similar plane as you? The same is true of health or intelligence or ability, or any other talent that we might have. While these are gifts of God, the question is how are they used, are they understood as gifts, are they received in gratitude? If it is received in thanksgiving, in gratitude to God, for the welfare and well-being of our neighbor, then it's a gift used well. It is being used as an instrument of God for those around us. \

But when those gifts become the in-all, end-all, all-and-all in and of themselves, where the gift becomes the thing that is revered and honored and loved and respected more than anything else, that becomes a person’s god. This is true whether it's one's bank account, or ability, or a relationship, or a job title, or a position, or any kind of authority that they hold – frankly, anything that gets in the way of God and one's relationship with God becomes a God in and of itself. That's what Jesus means when he says it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God. In fact, you can substitute any other First Article, daily bread gift that has taken the place of God and substitute it for the adjective “rich,” – it’s easier for a camel than a [blank] person – and you have the exact same thing, period.

And that's why the disciples were floored. How is it possible then for anyone to be saved? Look at it through their eyes. They've given up everything in order to follow Jesus. They've surrendered their first article blessings, leaving their homes, their families, their vocational careers, everything in order to follow Jesus. Surely, they should have some kind of status, some kind of inherit, inside track because of this…right, Jesus? In the light of this teaching, they perceive that this idea is wrong. No, not just wrong: it's impossible for someone to enter the Kingdom of heaven on their own. Their question is honest. What about us? Are we going to inherit the Kingdom? Will Re will we receive the eternal reward, or are we going to be on the outside looking in just like this rich young man that we just saw leave here. Sad and disappointed.

Jesus says, “With man it's impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” If one is trying to earn his or her way into heaven, or, to use the language of the rich young man, to be so bold as to argue, “I’ve done all these things…this makes me worthy,” it's impossible.

Remember, I said it’s possible to get a camel to get through the eye of a needle, but to do so you must actually destroy it’s camel-ness. For us to get riches right, we need to be destroyed –spiritually destroyed. We need to die, to drop dead to our riches, our things, our stuff. It’s called repentance, repenting of all the idols and idolatries that want us to maintain a death grip on them. esus, the One who is speaking these things, came from the riches of heaven to the poverty of our life. He became poor for our sakes. He became our Sin. He died our death. He gave up father and mother and sister and brother and lands and houses. He was tempted by Satan that all the kingdoms of the world and their glory and riches could be his for one little act of worship. He refused. Instead, He chose the way of the least, the way of poverty and weakness and loss. You cannot squeeze through the eye of the needle; but Jesus, in His poverty and weakness, can. He brings you to the eye of the grave, His grave, and strips you of everything that would get in the way. In exchange, He clothes you in Himself, in His righteousness, in His holiness.

Salvation, the forgiveness of sins, eternal life, heaven: All of these are gifts given by God by grace through faith. It's nothing that we earn. It's nothing that we attain. It's nothing that we were able to produce in and of ourselves. All of these things are ours only by grace, through faith in Christ Jesus.

I said a moment ago that first article gifts are blessings of God. That's true. What the rich young man forgot is what Jesus had taught elsewhere, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.” The rich young man was anything but poor in spirit. He wanted to argue his worthiness on the basis of his self-worthiness. Someone who is poor in spirit recognizes that they have no riches in and of themselves. They realize that they are spiritually bankrupt, spiritually destitute, totally relying on God in his grace through the merits of Jesus Christ. The poor in Spirit realizes that they have nothing to offer to God except the blood of Christ, which is paid for them. The poor in spirit recognizes that Jesus Christ paid the full atonement price of their sins with his own precious blood, of greater worth than silver or gold.

When we see treasure in Christ Jesus, and not in our material possessions; when our First Article gifts are tools given by God to help our neighbor and the Kingdom of God and not merely means to more stuff; when we surrender our self, our own camel-ness, it becomes easy to enter into the Kingdom.

Earlier, I said there is no such thing as a camel-gate in the city wall of Jersualem. That’s true. But there is a hole in the wall of heaven. It’s shaped exactly like a cross.  You enter heaven through Jesus Christ and Him alone.  Amen.

Baptismal Inheritance - Mark 10:17-22

 

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

Jesus is teaching confirmation class today. It’s a review of the second table of the Law which speaks to our relationship with our neighbor. Don’t murder, commit adultery, steal, slander, or fraud anyone and honor your parents. These are the specific examples of “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

The young man who speaks to Jesus says he’s kept all of these since childhood. We might nod along with that assessment. After all, at face value, we’re pretty good at keeping the commandments, too. Murder – nope. Haven’t even been in a fist fight. Stealing? Well, there was an unfortunate incident involving some Christmas cards at church when I was a kid, but that was an accident – they were on the same table as “free – take one” items. Adultery? You won’t find any scarlet letter on my shirt, thank you very much. Fraud? Never! Why, I did a little project for a lady who wanted twelve boxes. I gave her a baker’s dozen, just in case one broke. Honor my parents? I call my mom weekly…well, maybe every other week.

That’s my list. You have your list, don’t you? You can go down the list of commandments, checking them off, one after the other. We’ve been doing these things since we were kids. We’re certainly not like those other people we see on the news…

That was the young man’s logic who ran up to Jesus. Unlike the scribes, pharisees, and teachers of the Law who were intent on tripping up Jesus and catching Him in a snafu of legality, he asked a sincere question. “What must I do to inherit eternal life? I’ve done all these things. What am I missing?” From his perspective, he feels justified – self-justified to be sure, but still, worthy of receiving this inheritance of heaven. I’ve done this all, Jesus: thumbs up, right?

He’s expecting an attaboy, a blessed assurance that he’s on the right track. Then Jesus turns the tables. Well, the Table, really, from the Second Table of the Law to the First. The Second Table has to do with our relationship with our neighbors; this is the horizontal realm. But the First Table has to do with our relationship with God; this is the vertical realm.

Jesus does this subversively. Elsewhere, He teaches the summary of the first three commandments as, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind.” A god is anything you fear, love and trust. Jesus, who is able to see into this man’s heart, knows that man’s god – lower case g – is his wealth. Jesus loves the man – He doesn’t want to see the young man perish into eternity by chasing after a false god. Subversively, Jesus teaches the man something about who his god really is. He calls the man to repentance, to stop worshipping the false god of his wealth and love the Lord your God instead. “Go, sell all you have and give it to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven.” It’s as if Jesus is asking, “Where does your fear, love and trust rest? Is it in me, or in your wealth?” The man’s actions serve as the sad conclusion: “Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.”

When you ask a law question – what must I do? – Jesus gives a law answer – here you go. Do this. And the law, in the face of our failures and our shortcomings, always accuses. It accuses doubly so when Jesus strips away any aspect of the Law that we think we can hide from. Love God? Of course I do. No, Jesus says, do you love God more than anything else, fearing and trusting Him above all things. The rich young man realized his god was his wealth, by extension, maybe also his prestige in the community, his reputation, his own name, but his god was not the God who stood in front of him. What must I do? Fear, love and trust God, the true God, not the bank account, more than anything and anyone else. Get rid of anything and everything else that vies for that number one spot. In fact, stop thinking of it as one-of-many; God is one of one. Nothing else comes close.

In reality, if we take that same approach and go back and look at the second table, we realize we’re not as perfect as we first thought. Maybe that struck the young man, also, as he walked away. True, I haven’t taken another man’s life, but I’ve wished ill on someone else, even calling them hurtful, harmful names. Jesus teaches that is just as guilty as physical murder. Even if you never touch the woman who is not your wife or the man who is not your husband, if you even have lustful thoughts in your mind and heart, Jesus says you deserve the Scarlet Letter A of adultery. Even if you never take a penny that does not belong to you, but if you fail to help your neighbor protect and preserve that which is his or hers, you are complicit in stealing. The law always accuses; the law never lets up.

And so the Old Adam tries even harder. It’s part of our selfish, sinful egocentric nature. “What must I do?” Surely, there is something? It’s a loaded question, one we must be very careful of asking. The Old Adam and Old Eve is incredibly selfish and arrogant. We’re number one! Even Bob the Builder taught out kids – we can do it, yes we can! We set ourselves out to be god, or at least, equal to Him. What can I do? Let me tell you…  

Careful…It’s one thing to ask your spouse or your parent, what can I do to make you happy. It’s a whole ‘nother thing if we think we can approach God with our grocery list of good deeds, as if we can somehow negotiate our way into God’s good graces. We’re quick to make our suggestions: I gotta go to church, I gotta give my offering, I gotta be a better parent, I gotta be a better student, I gotta be better in my Bible reading, I gotta pray more, I gotta…” Have you noticed that list always grows? There’s never an end. There’s always something else we think we gotta do:  I gotta watch my mouth, I gotta keep my eyes from wandering, I gotta stop whispering…” The list never ends; the list is never accomplished; the list is never perfected. The list tells the tale.

What must I do? Repent. Repent of the ways we disobey the commandments, both in letter and in spirit. Eternal life is not yours to earn. It’s God’s to give. You know what God wants from you? Your sins. That’s all. When you fear, love and trust Him, you surrender all of your sins to Him. Only He can take them from you. He doesn’t want your perfection, or your best of intentions. He wants your sins. That’s what He sent Jesus for, to be your Savior. Jesus came to trade His perfection for your imperfection. Don’t put Jesus out of a job! He came to take your sins from you. Instead of trying to do better, and then when you fail try even harder – as if you could somehow attain perfection that way – instead, confess your sins. Surrender them all to Jesus: all of the I gottas, the I wouldas, the I couldas, the, shouldas turn them all over to Jesus and trust that His once-for-all death on the cross pays for your sins. You do nothing; Jesu does it all. You have nothing to negotiate with, so out of His great love for you, Jesus speaks for you with His Father in heaven. Jesus says, “My life for his; My life for hers.” The answer to “What must I do to inherit eternal life” is this: I must do nothing, for Jesus has done it all at the cross. At the cross, in His dying breath, Jesus declares: There is nothing left for you to do. “It is finished.”

I started this sermon by saying that the man’s question was an honest one. While it may have been an honest one, it was a misguided question. Go back to the question with me one more time: “What must I do to inherit eternal life.” What must I do to inherit? Answer: you do nothing to inherit anything. Inheritance is something that is given by the head/s of the household to those who in the family. You don’t earn inheritance by something you do. Inheritance is a gift. You don’t buy it, you don’t negotiate for it.

Last Sunday, I watched a baby receive her inheritance. She had nothing to bring, nothing to give, nothing to offer. If she could have asked, “What must I do – what can I do?”, the answer would have been “nothing.” In fact, she couldn’t even come to the font by herself. Her mom and dad brought her. And in the washing of water and the proclamation of the words of the Lord, she received her eternal inheritance.

Inheritance is yours by nature of who you are: a son or daughter. Inheritance is yours by nature of whose you are: a son or daughter of the giver. Inheritance implies family. Inheritance is yours be birthright. When you are born into a family, the inheritance is already yours. But, the inheritance isn’t delivered, usually, until someone dies.

This is what God has done for you in Christ Jesus. In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. (1 Peter 1:3-5).

Your inheritance, your eternal inheritance, is delivered to you through Jesus’ death and resurrection. Last Sunday, that little baby received her eternal inheritance because God, rich in mercy, delivered it to her through the death of His Son, Jesus. You do nothing to inherit it, but you receive it by grace, through faith in Jesus Christ.

Who is your God? Easy. He introduced Himself to you in your Baptism with His Triune name, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The sign of the cross was placed on your heart and your forehead in token of being redeemed by Jesus. Through the washing of water and Word, you are made His beloved sons and daughters. So there is no doubt in your mind of your adoption into the family of God through Christ, you are given Jesus’ name. You are called “Christian,” which means “Little Christ.” It’s not something you negotiated with God.

What must I do to inherit eternal life? Nothing. It is yours, by grace through faith. God has declares it; you simply respond in faith: Yes, Lord, I believe.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Turning Grumbles into Prayers - Numbers 11:4-29

Thomas Merton has a wonderful scene in his spiritual autobiography, THE SEVEN STOREY MOUNTAIN. He stands there, in 20^th century France in front of a 13^th century monastery, wondering if those prayers of those monks who are now dead and gone; if those prayers are somehow now being answered by God in his life, in that day. That scene raises a question for us. Does God answer ancient prayers in a way that shapes our life today?

We speak and think in present time. For us, long-range planning in terms of weeks, months, years. When we pray we speak to our Father in heaven who dwells in eternity. Suddenly, words and prayers endure. How long will God listen and answer your prayer? Just for that moment, or just for that day? Is it possible that God will answer your prayer today much later in your lifetime? Is it possible that God will answer today’s prayer after you are dead and gone? Is it possible that God will answer your prayer centuries from now, that their lives may be shaped by God’s answer to your prayer?

If that is so, then it is possible that our lives today may be shaped by ancient prayers.

In this morning’s OT text, we have an ancient prayer, one that God uses to shape our lives today. It is hard to hear the prayer, though, because of the grumblings. But, if you stop and think of it, prayers are, basically, grumblings and grumblings are frequently prayers but prayers made sideways. Here’s what I mean:  Grumblings are filled with our hopes, desires, dreams, anger, disappointment; they are spoken about God and against God. But, where grumblings fail, what they are NOT, is that they are not spoken to God. They are spoken to the world.  They are spoken to the world and anyone who will listen because, apparently, God isn’t listening to our prayers so we lament to those around us. Grumblings are grumbled to anyone who will listen. And they do listen! And that’s the problem, then, because these grumblings, these prayers, have a tendency to sound more beautiful, more worthy, than true prayer. Listen to this grumbling in the text.

Israel is in the wilderness, camped out there, post-Sinai. In the center of the camp is the tent of meeting, surrounded by the priests and levites, and surrounding them is the people of Israel. Way out on the edge, at the margin of the camp, is one tent where one man sits and grumbles. Way over there, behind him, in the center of all things, is the tent of meeting with its priests and levites who keep it all organized and holy – but maybe that’s the problem, he thinks. They’re so busy they have lost sight of the real world. Out here in the fringes, all that ritual and stuff gets lost. Out here he has a good view of the world.

He used to love to see the wilderness. Open the tent flap. He loved seeing manna as far as he could see. Manna, that fine frosty stuff – “what is it?” – that covered the ground and came from God Himself. The name itself recalled the mystery of God. The word itself, the name, reminded them of where it came from. He remembers: “Where did it come from?” And his answer: From heaven! And his son’s answer: “So, abba, we’re eating the bread of angels!”

Who knew you could get sick and tired of the bread of angels. Manna…Same thing, each day. Boiled, baked, gathered and grasped, beaten and broken. The sight of it made them sick to their stomach. It no longer had any beauty that he desired it. Who knew that the bread of angels would become like so much bologna. Instead of “what is it” spoken with wonder and amazement as its finely textured honey like taste filled the hungry mouth, it was “what is it today,” with spite and frustration stuck to the tongue like stale rice cakes. Manna – what is it, now. That morning, instead of taking and eating, he spoke and let out a grumble. And it was beautiful! He told his son about Egypt. He rewrote history as he spoke: slavery? No…they weren’t days of slavery. They were days of desire. We had everything we wanted. We had fish for free; cucumbers and melons and onions and garlic and leaks. The grumble was beautiful and it had power – it shaped the childs’ mind and world.

You know that power, don’t you? You’re gathered around the coffee pot at work and talking about the longer hours for less money and fewer benefits and someone recalls how, before the merger, ten, fifteen years ago when pay was good and benefits were solid and retirement looked like a real probability with some comfort; but now? Now, its becoming more of a pipe dream. The grumble takes on life as heads nod and others chime in and add their grumbles to the cacophony.

You’re at practice after school and the coach or band director makes every one run because one kid – ONE KID - screwed up. Everyone is being punished for one mistake. Someone in the middle of the pack starts to grumble…last year, when someone screwed up we didn’t have to do this. This is stupid, the coach is stupid, the director is stupid and the grumbles grow, spreading outward to those jogging along like a spider web. Suddenly the grumblers stop jogging and turn and face the coach, turn to face the director, and with a mob mentality, challenge them with words and body language that says “We’re not doing this…what are you gonna do about it?”

You’re at the community center. Someone is bragging about their newest grandchild and showing off pictures. Others pull out their wallets and cell phones and for several minutes, pictures are being exchanged and stories told about what familes are doing. In a pause in the conversation, one crusty old timer grumbles bitterly about not being able to hold his wife’s hand when she passed because of Covid. Another woman grumbles “agent orange,” and another “mesothelioma.”

These grumbles are powerful. They make this manna and wilderness look like a god-forsaken mess. All of Israel stand in their tent openings – they don’t go, they don’t gather - they begin to grumble about the manna and the wilderness and the tents and the sand. The wives hear it and nod. But its not just the adults – no! The children hear it too and take it into themselves as part of the story of the people. But it doesn’t stop there. The grumbles and murmurs make their way like waves all the way to Moses at the tent of meeting and he overhears the cries of these people.

You know what Moses does? He takes the grumbles and gives them to God. He makes them a prayer to God. But, notice how what form the prayer takes on. It’s not a prayer for the people; it’s not a prayer for mercy; not for deliverance. No, it’s a prayer for himself – but not a prayer for strength to care for the people – no, a prayer that God would come down and wipe out Moses and wipe him off the map. He’s sick of them. Tired of their complaining. He longs to gather the people to his breast, like a nursing child to his mother, but the people want nothing of it. Now, he takes the people and the manna and the wilderness and his own emptiness and throws it up to God.

And now God has a mess. He has a leader who doesn’t want to lead. He has people who don’t want to follow.

What does God do? The people are looking at the past in a way that takes away the gift of the present. Moses is looking at the present in a way that takes away the gift of the future. God looks to the future and answers that prayer.

See, deep in that tent of meeting is the mercy of God. Hidden, yes. What is it, you say? Not a what….a who. How he longed to pull back the curtain and let God’s people see salvation in his flesh. How he longed to gather these children to his breast. And the day he did – the day Christ became flesh – they would not. They nailed Him to the tree. Who knew you could get so sick of the bread of angels? They gathered him and grasped him and beat him and hung him up to die on a tree. He had no beauty that we would desire him.

But this was the desire of God – to offer his life, a God-forsaken mess, for you. On that day, God tore the curtain of the tent of meeting and revealed his mercy in a god-forsaken mess on a tree. Because of that mercy, God answers Moses’ prayer.

We like to say God always answers prayer. But not always like you expect. That’s what it’s like here. God tells Moses to gather the people, not manna, and he sends his spirit down on the people. And that spirit is so full and so powerful that the people begin to prophesy – even out at the margins of the camp. Someone rushes to Moses with the news that Eldad and Medad are prophesying out there and what does Moses say? He says “Would that all of the Lord’s people were prophets. Would that the Lord would put his spirit on them all.”

That’s the ancient prayer that I want you to hear today.

That’s the prayer that God answers to give shape to give shape to our lives in this place. He answered that prayer when he raised Jesus Christ form the dead and seated him in the heavens as lord and ruler of all. This Lord Jesus Christ sends His holy Spirit into this world to gather all people and he gathers you, here in this place, and he raises servants among us. God says I have raised up…police officers and nurses who show care for people when they are most broken; I have raised up teachers who continue to help form and shape young minds to think for themselves and about others; I have raised up a mother who spends hours in prayer for her sick child and a father who stays up all night so his wife can sleep a few precious hours; I have raised up an elderly woman who cannot leave her bed, but who spends her waking hours in prayer for those who are not able to pray for themselves; I have raised up account managers and engineers and technicians and clerks and cashiers and drivers and plumbers and others who do their jobs for the glory of God and the betterment of their company; I have raised up grandparents to teach the faith to their grandchildren by living it out in their lives.

God answers this ancient prayer in ways that shape our lives here today.

I don’t know if you woke up or drove to church with a grumble on your lips. But I do know one thing. Its easy – its easy to grumble when you’re here. I do it all the time. Church attendance is down; budget is tight; Sunday school is struggling; of the thirteen kids I confirmed, I haven’t seen most since the day of their confirmation. I know I shouldn’t grumble, but if you didn’t want me to grumble God, you shouldn’t have given me so much to grumble about! Right?

It’s easy to grumble; easy to hold on to the past in a way that takes away the gift of the present. Easy to look at the present in a way that takes away the gift of the future. So the next time you’re tempted to grumble, the next time before you say anything to anyone else, give it to God. Give that grumble to God. Because God will hear. And He will answer. No, he will not answer as we deserve – THANK GOD! He will not answer as we, the grumbling saints deserve. But he will answer according to his desire. Oh, how he desires to rend the heavens and come down and bring in a new creation. But until that day, he promises that because of Christ he will forgive. And he will answer this ancient prayer of Moses where you are immersed in a community of the spirit where you are shaped for service in His Word and in His Kingdom.

 

The Greatest is the Least - Mark 9:30-37

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson.

Who is the greatest? I guess it depends on who you ask, and what you’re debating. NCAA football?  Greatest president?  We have livestock shows to find the best future farmer and rancher, spelling bees to determine the best speller, MVP awards for the best player, and Oscars for best actors. I bet many of you have a T-shirt, or a necktie, or a card somewhere that declares you to be the best mom or dad ever.

The disciples are having a similar argument: who’s the best disciple? I can imagine how the conversation went. Andrew argues he’s best because he was the first of the disciples called – first in Jesus program, first in His heart, so to speak. Peter argues his confession, which Jesus declared to be the foundation of the church, makes him the best, but Nathaniel counters that he confessed Jesus to be the Son of God and King of Israel before Peter ever did. Matthew, a tax collector, says he sacrificed the most financially to become a disciple, but James and John, the sons of Zebedee, think they gave up more when they left their family fishing enterprise and their older father. The other disciples all had their reasons, too, I’m sure.  

We do it, too. Who’s the greatest member of Zion? Perhaps it’s the one who has been a member the longest. Maybe it’s the one with the largest family tree, or the deepest roots in Mission Valley. Maybe the one who has God-given talent to spare, or who seems to be involved in everything, or who has taught Sunday school for years or the one whom we think gives the most money – they are the most more important.

The danger of considering someone to be the best is that it devalues everyone else. A few years ago, when Tiger Woods was at the height of his professional career, commentators noted how his entry into any tournament changed the aspect of that event. He was so good, so unstoppable that players assumed he would win, so instead of vying for first, every other competitor was trying to come in second. 

Jesus takes this argument of greatness and tips it over 180 degrees. “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” And He uses a child to illustrate this point. Now, I need you to set aside our 21^st century attitude of children for a second, that they’re beautiful little angels who need to be protected and sheltered and modeled for their innocence and purity. In Jesus’ day, nothing was further from the truth. In the social structure, children were above dogs and below servants. Children couldn’t do anything, they couldn’t fend for themselves. They were completely dependent on their parents, they took a mother’s attention, took up resources, and took up space. Children were things to be tolerated while they were eating you out of house and home and while you waited for your sons to work for you in the fields or in the business, or for your daughters marry off so you could gain the wedding price.

Jesus sits down next to this seemingly useless person, front and center. “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but Him who sent me.”

I want you to notice something. Elsewhere, Jesus speaks of becoming like a child. Not here. Here, it’s to be great receive the child. Think about this. What’s notable about a little child is that he’s little.  To receive a child, you have to get off your pedestal of power, possession, and prestige.  You have to get down on your hands and knees to meet the child at his eye level.

If you want a picture of greatness Jesus’ style, look at a parent changing a diaper at three in the morning.  Watch parents with their children in church struggling to teach them how to pray and worship.  Go to Sunday School and watch an adult bend down to help a little one learn the Scriptures.  Watch an adult child remind her senior parents that Jesus still loves them. That’s the greatness of the cross.

The greatness of the cross is the greatness of self-sacrifice.  It’s serving instead of being served.  Jesus loved to use little children as examples – not because they were cute – but because they were giveable to, helpless, and the least among the great.

That changes things, doesn’t it, to see greatness as the one who is the most needful? Instead of seeing greatness as the one who is the best and the most, instead see greatness as the one who seems to be the least. The greatest, Jesus says, is the one who is weakest, who is about to be overwhelmed, who is completely dependent; the one who has lost or who is losing everything dear, the one in the most danger of being overlooked or bypassed; the one written off by society as irrelevant, the one no one sees as if they aren’t even there; the one thrown aside like detritus, the unwanted and the unloved. To receive them, that is, to serve them, that is where greatness lies in the kingdom.

 You know a person like this. For just a second, close your eyes and imagine that person – perhaps it’s a man, a woman, or a child. The rest of the world sees them, but I want you to look at them closely. Close your eyes. Look…See the pain in the face, the sadness? See the loss and hurt? Look more closely: Do you see the griefs and sorrows? Do you see how this soul is almost overwhelmed to the point of death? Do you see how this soul is as nothing? Keep your eyes closed…now look at the brow…and as you do, you notice something strange – the scars at the hair-line. They’re not big, just a fraction of an inch long, some jagged and some neat small marks. You realize the face in front of you is changing. As you see him, He is also seeing you, his expression filled with compassion and mercy. Now, look down…the hands of this weak soul are held out towards you in a welcome. Notice the hands…gentle, strong…and with a mark in each hand. Now, quickly, look down at the feet and you see a similar mark in the feet. Slowly, he turns his back towards you and you see the lines trace across His back, once angry red, now healed. And, as He turns back toward you, you realize that this one who is before you, the weakest of all, is none other than Jesus Himself. Do you see Him? As your eyes are opened, He speaks.

He says, “I know what it is to be weak and humbled; I know what it is to surrender fully and completely for the eternal wellbeing of those whom I love. I know what it is to have nothing. I know what it is to be hated and despised, a man of sorrows, whom no one loves. I know what it is to be so weak, I cannot carry my own cross. I know what it is to be overlooked until perceived as a threat, and then something to be destroyed. I know what it is to be overwhelmed at the point of death, abandoned by my closest friends, and I know what it is to be rejected even by My own Father. I know what it is to die for people who spat on me, whipped me, and nailed me to the cross.”

That’s what Jesus did for you–He reached down to us.  For we are like little children.  We couldn’t reach up to heaven no matter how hard we would try.  And the smaller the child is, the more we must bend our knees, backs, and egos to meet him. To receive a little child and serve him is to bend down and give to another.  It’s to know the self-sacrificing love of the cross that saved you and made you God’s own child. That’s greatness in the way of the cross.  That’s the Jesus way.  Greatness in the way of the cross is the greatness of humility.

His greatness is backwards of what the world sees. The world sees dying as weakness; Jesus shows strength in his innocent suffering and death. The world counts as least one who refuses to fight; Jesus demonstrates greatness in forgiving those whose sins nail Him to the cross. The world sees crucifixion as the most humiliating and excruciating way of death; Jesus makes the cross into a throne of glory. The world looks at a grave as the period at the end of life’s sentence; Jesus’ resurrection makes the grave to be nothing more than a resting place as we wait for our own day of resurrection.

And, when we see Jesus as the least of all, you see the least of all as the greatest. At the beginning of the sermon, I asked you who was the greatest member of Zion. Does this change your perspective of the greatest?

The greatest member of Zion is the one whose heart is broken, the one whose body hurts all the time, the one who is afraid, the one who is drowning in debt, the one who is to embarrassed to come out of the shadows, the one who is scared, the one who is flirting with grave temptation, the one who is grieved by what they have done and left undone. This is the most important member of this body of Christ.

If you think I am trying to shame you – I am not. You are the most important child of God in this holy House today. Please – don’t hide. Let your brothers and sisters in Christ who are strong walk with you and help you with our prayers, our words of encouragement, our care and our support. And for those of you who are strong, don’t worry – I’m not forgetting you. It’s not that I don’t think you are important. Because the day will come when you will be the least and then, you too, shall be the greatest.

And when you start to change how you see greatness, your whole world view changes. A family had stopped at a fast-food burger joint for a fast to-go meal. Somehow they wound up with an extra burger in the sack. The teenage boy was excited – he thought he was going to get a two-fer that night. While they munched on the fries in the bag, the light in front of them turned red. As the mom looked around, she saw a man at the intersection. He was a mess – shaggy beard, ragged face, dirty. She could practically smell him through the rolled-up windows. And, then, she knew why they had gotten the extra burger. As she rolled down the passenger window, she waved the man over and told her son to give the man the extra burger. The man nodded his thanks, and the family drove away. The son was irritated at first – why did you give away my burger, he demanded. “I didn’t give him yours,” Mom said. She smiled. “I gave him his.”

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

On Having "Not Enough Faith" But Still Having Jesus - Mark 9:14-29

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

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. I suspect that is often the prayer of the troubled, burdened Christian. It’s not a denial of faith, regardless what satan tries to tell you, that if you had enough faith you wouldn’t be saying such a thing; that if you had enough faith, you wouldn’t have to add a qualifier “If you are able, Lord.” Oh, no…faith – Christian faith - knows, believes, trusts and relies on Christ and Christ alone. It’s the very hallmark of the child of God, that just as a child knows, believes, trusts, and relies that her dad will care for her, that his mom will care for him, so also the child of God likewise has an even greater confidence in God’s Fatherly goodness and mercy.

We use faith in two ways. The first is faith as a noun, as in the Christian Faith. This is the faith as revealed in the Scriptures, confessed in the Creeds, and taught in our Lutheran Confessions. We confessed the faith a few moments ago. This is the faith that teaches we are saved by God’s grace through faith in Christ Jesus. This is the faith that reveals that Jesus became man, according to the will of the Father, to become the perfect, vicarious substitute for a sin-filled, sin-stained world and lost and condemned creatures like us; that His death would be the atoning sacrifice for us, the consummation of the Heilsgeschichte, God’s plan of salvation. This is the faith that proclaims Christ’s resurrection as the Lord of Life and that those who believe in Him will also live eternally. Most importantly, the empty grave demonstrates the Father accepted the Son’s payment on our behalf and it is the prelude of our own resurrection when He returns. This faith is objective: it is steadfast and true and does not change like shifting shadows. Men and women have died confessing it at the hands of heathens, they have spoken it on their death-beds, they have lived in this faith through days of joy and struggle.

And then there is faith as trusting and believing. By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are enabled to say, “I believe these sure and certain promises of God.” Spirit-given faith, even the size of a mustard seed, is saving faith because it trusts Christ alone as the source of our salvation. This enables the Christian to confess “I believe” what the Creeds say, “This is the Christian faith.” This faith is personal. It is God’s gift to His children. This faith, this act of believing, is always grounded in the sure and certain faithfulness of Jesus. This faith takes the objective faith, we are saved by grace through faith, and in that personal, subjective believing, Christ’s faithfulness becomes ours.  

While this faith is Spirit-given, it nevertheless dwells within us. There are days when this faith is rock-solid as a mountain, or to use a more Biblical metaphor, a faith that is so strong that it can move mountains. Come what may, we are able to say “Yes, I believe.” When everything is running along smooth as can be, when life is good, when health is strong, when relationships are healthy, when the weather is clear and it seems the report is ceiling and visibility unlimited, it is easy to have faith like that. It is as if the Spirit Himself is stoking the fires of faith within our chests and that faith is hot as the boiler on the Union Pacific Big Boy #4014 and, if demanded of us, we would charge hell armed only with a half-bucket of baptismal water. Ask Peter about faith like this, standing safely in the boat, or on the Mount of Transfiguration, or outside of Jerusalem, “I would rather die than deny.”

But, then there are moments in the Christian’s life where faith is tested. It often catches us off guard. It’s almost as if the Spirit has made a hasty retreat leaving us to tend our faith by ourselves, and we find ourselves lacking and unable to hang on. The teenager suddenly and unexpectedly announces that she is running off with her boyfriend and there’s nothing you can do about it, Dad. You come home from a difficult day at work to find your spouse sitting in the living room, packed suitcase sitting nearby, and announces, “I’m done. My lawyer will be in touch. I just wanted to tell you in person.” Your body, once strong and lithe, grows weary from constantly hurting and pain management isn’t managing anything. The company where you have worked, sweated, and struggled to help make a success suddenly hires a new manager who seems to have it in for you, and no matter what you do, it’s never good enough. Your parents come into you room and tell you that Dad has gotten some bad news from the doctor and he’s going to have to have a very risky surgery. Your child lays in a hospital bed, hooked up to hoses and tubes and machines and the doctor says, “It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

No! This isn’t supposed to be happening! As Christians, life isn’t supposed to be like this! You carry these things to the Lord in prayer, knowing, believing, trusting, relying that God, in His grace, hears your supplications. You pray fervently, earnestly, morning, noon and night. Your family, your friends, also pray for you and with you. What began as a confident “I know the Lord will answer me,” is slowly ebbing into hope – and, not the sure, confident hope of the “Amen!”, but the hope of the helpless, one-in-a-million chance – then maybe and, finally if. If only, Jesus…if only.

The man in this morning’s Gospel lesson is the hero of “if only” faith. There is nothing right – his son is possessed by a demon that has made his son mute and throws the boy onto the ground in a mouth-foaming, body-convulsing, teeth-grinding fit. The father is powerless – as a father, I can only imagine the pain at watching his son be tossed into a fire or a creek: on the one hand, if our son would die, he would no longer be in constant agony, but on the other, he is our son!  Even Jesus’ disciples, whom he asks to help, even they are powerless against this demon. Jesus, if only you could help us, if only you would help my son. Jesus, I want to believe more, I want to believe with my whole being, I want to have the absolute certainty that Peter showed but, Jesus…help my unbelief.

Too often we look at Christians who seem to have extra measure of faith, extra-ordinary faith, faith that can be measured, not by mustard seeds but by mountain peaks, and we look at them and admire how faithful they are. I will forever admire a woman named Kathy who, when diagnosed with cancer, literally laughed out loud and said, “Devil…my Jesus has you whipped, so just get ready for the ride.” And, they are heroes of faith for the confession they share.

But, remember: the strength of faith is not in the one confessing. Faith’s strength isn’t in your ability or my ability to believe. If that were the case, I would be in terrible shape. I do not have that gift of extra-ordinary faith. Some of you do; I do not. It’s not that I don’t believe, that I don’t have faith in Christ Jesus, in His conquering satan, and sickness, and brokenness, and even the grave in His own death and grave. But there are days when my faith, my faith, is weak. In those moments, I find myself praying, “If you are able; help my unbelief” more times than I care to imagine. I’ve prayed it in my vocation as a son, as a father, as a husband, as a neighbor, as a friend and, yes, as a pastor. It’s one thing to preach “this is the faith” from the pulpit. It’s a whole ‘nother thing when it’s your dad who suddenly died, or your son whom the doctor says has a lump in his hip and we need to do a biopsy before we can say what it is, or your friend’s wife who is in the hospital for the fifth – or is it sixth – time in six weeks. You know - I could neve be a chaplain at Dell Children’s Hospital in Austin. I don’t know that I have the faith to be able to stand with a parent and child who has an incurable, 5-syllable disease.

But what I do have, what you have, what this father has, is faith in Jesus. Jesus’ strength is made perfect in our weakness. We have nothing to bring, nothing to offer. In our weakness, we cling all the more tightly to the One whose faithfulness is perfect, enabling Him to go to the cross on our behalf. His faithfulness allowed Him to pray, “Not my will, but yours be done, Father.” His faithfulness allowed Him to suffer silently while Pilate and Herod and their soldiers laughed, spat, and whipped. His faithfulness allowed Him to speak words of forgiveness to those who had no idea what they were doing. His faithfulness allowed Him to speak a Word of promise to a penitent, dying thief. His faithfulness allowed Him to commend His spirit to His silent Father.

For every cry of the child of God that is prefaced with “if,” is Jesus’ faith-filled declaration, “It is finished” rings to the Father’s ears on our behalf. Your faith, no matter how if-laden it may be, how if-weakened it may be, how if-but it might be, your faith is made perfect in the faithfulness of Jesus. His faithfulness enabled Him to rise from the grave and to stand behind the weeping Mary who was probably praying her own, “I believe, but help my unbelief.” His faithfulness allowed Him to appear behind locked doors to a man who said “I will never believe.” To him, Jesus would simply say, “Stop unbelieving and believe.”

Jesus is a Savior who has come to save. A bruised reed, He will not break. A smoldering wick, He will not snuff out. A weak faith, He will not deny. Jesus has come to die for all people; those who are strong in faith and those who are weak in faith and those who have no faith at all. When Jesus dies on the cross, He dies for the sin of unbelief so that, when He rises, He brings forgiveness to all.

Seen that way, “I believe, help my unbelief” with all of it’s weakness, becomes the most faith-rich prayer that the child of God has to offer. It confesses that we have nothing except Christ alone. Faith is never about how tightly you cling to Jesus, but how tightly He clings to you.  Christ has accomplished all for us. Faith that trusts Jesus, even in the midst of uncertainty, even if it seems that it is shaken and in danger of being overwhelmed, it is faith that places itself a the foot of the cross of Jesus.