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.

Creation is Being Re-Created in Christ - Mark 7:24-37

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

There is an interesting term that is used in the world of high finance, particularly in the insurance industry*. When there are natural disasters that occur, the industry refers to these things as “acts of God.” Check your home owners, flood, and renters insurance and you’ll probably find that there is a whole section outlining what they will and won’t cover should “acts of God” like wildfire, flood, tornadoes, hurricane, and earthquakes occur.

I find it interesting because they connect God’s act with terrible destructive forces. Hurricane Ivan that ripped apart the coastline of Louisianna, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida? Act of God. The post-hurricane flooding that has washed its way across the southeastern United States and into New England? Act of God. Fires that have consumed almost 2 million acres of California, alone? God’s action. I wonder if Covid-19 is considered an act of God, too? They give God the credit, or more accurately, the blame for all of these kinds of natural disasters.

Theologians speak of these kinds of things as the left-hand work of God. In His perfect wisdom, God allows such things to happen. These events, these disasters, these so-called “acts of God” do show us the power of the wrath of God. Could you imagine what the full, unfettered fury of God’s anger would be like if it wasn’t for God’s mercy and Jesus’ intercession at the cross? These events show us in a very real, very powerful, and very present way that we are not living in paradise. The world, creation, and all that is in it – including mankind – is under the curse of sin that leads to death. The devil loves to remind us of that curse, to rub our faces in the mortality of the world and our own lives, to leave us with a sense of helplessness and hopelessness. In his Large Catechism, teaching on the 4^th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, “Give us this day our daily bread,” Luther writes this:

“But this petition is especially directed also against our chief enemy, the devil. For all his thought and desire is to deprive us of all that we have from God…. [The devil] also prevents and hinders the stability of all government and honorable, peaceable relations on earth. There he causes so much contention, murder, treason, and war. He also causes lightning and hail to destroy grain and cattle, to poison the air and so on. In short, [the devil] is sorry that anyone has a morsel of bread from God and eats it in peace. If it were in his power, and our prayer (next to God) did not prevent him, we would not keep a straw in the field, a farthing in the house, yea, not even our life for an hour. This is especially true of those who have the Word of God and would like to be Christians.” (Large Catechism, Lord’s Prayer, 80-81, bookofconcord.org).

You see this powerfully and vividly in viruses that infect, diseases that maim, fires that consume, winds that blow, and waters that wash away life of all kinds, including people. When you hear them referred to as “acts of God,” make no mistake: these things are the direct result of the devil’s handiwork, trying to turn our eyes from Jesus.

Yet, we also know this: God, in His wisdom and in His strength, takes this thing that Satan intends for the evil destruction of God’s creation and God uses it as a means of blessing the communities and citizens therein. The insurance agents declare it an act of God and writes it off as devastation. The Lord looks at it as a place for new seeds of the Gospel to be planted and grow and bring forth life in the midst of death.

No, if you want to see an act of God, you don’t look at floods, fires, earthquakes, viruses, and hurricanes. If you want to see acts of God, look to Jesus.

When the daughter of a Gentile, Syrophoenician woman was ill with an unclean spirit, the mother turned to Jesus. When Jesus seems to deny her His mercy, demonstrating His left hand in testing her faith – now, there’s an act of God for you! – with the comment, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and give it to the dogs,” she clings to what she knows to be true, He desires to show mercy, even as it seems that God’s left hand is held out against her. “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table get the scraps.” Ask any dog who sits at the foot of his or her master at dinner time. They’ll gladly take whatever is offered, even if it is only a few precious crumbs. They may be “just” crumbs, the leftovers, but when it comes to Jesus’ gifts, even the scraps are filling, sweet to the tongue, and satisfy fully. Hidden behind the left hand of God is the right hand of Jesus, extended in mercy and compassion, releasing the daughter from the demon’s grip.

When the man with deaf ears and mumbling speech is brought to Jesus, Jesus sticks His fingers into the man’s ears, then spits onto His fingers, and touches the man’s tongue. Gross, we say, but Jesus is showing His power. The man can’t hear, so Jesus touches, and in that touch, there is no doubt that Jesus is acting. The man can’t speak, so Jesus touches the tongue, again, leaving no doubt. Jesus puts sound into deaf ears and places life into a dead mouth. The man can neither hear nor speak, so with a word – just a sigh - Jesus both intercedes for Him and commands that which is broken: Ephphatha! Be opened! In that moment, in that act, you see the mercy of Jesus in returning the man to the community where he can hear the Word of God and receive the blessings given to God’s people.

With these two miracles, Jesus shows Himself to be God of creation, able to restore that which is broken, heal that which is sick, redeem that which is lost, and restore that which was taken. In these miracles, Jesus acts with the mercy of God, rich in compassion and love – even if at first hidden.

But, if you really want to see an act of God, you don’t look into a full ICU, or a wrecked shoreline, or a washed-out neighborhood. You look to the cross. The cross is where the ultimate act of God takes place. There, Christ bears all of creation’s brokenness into Himself. The wind that tore, the floods that wash, the fires that burn, the earthquakes that shake, Christ bears all of it at the cross, dying even for a fallen and broken creation. All of these terrible and terrifying events that take and destroy life, Christ’s life is surrendered for them. And, on the third day after the most terrible act of God the world has ever seen, the innocent death of Jesus, Christ is raised from the dead. Behold, He is making all things new. He has taken us, who were held captive by sin, death and the grave, and he has made us captive to Him.

You know, it is no small thing that the same water that caused so much destruction is also used to baptize and give life. It was through the water that God saved Noah; it is through the flooding of your baptism that God saved you. It is no small thing that the same wind that caused so much loss is also the same breath of God that gives faith. It was the sound of the wind that brought the Jerusalem Pentecost crowd to hear the Gospel preached in their own language. It’s no small thing that the same fire that burns to the ground also was used to mark the presence of God in the Temple, to Isaiah, and even to the disciples. It wasn’t by fire or flood, but through Water and Word, by grace through faith, our Lord Jesus Christ has taken care of you into eternity.

Although it is already redeemed, this side of heaven, the world is still fallen. When natural disasters occur, when loss of property and life happens, we hurt. We hurt and we grieve and we mourn, whether it is our home that was lost or our neighbor’s, or someone we don’t even know in a different part of the state, country, or world. In Christian compassion, we remember them in our prayers. As we are able, we offer what we can for the good of our neighbors, material gifts, words of encouragement, the Word of hope and life. There will be moments to be silent, there will be moments to laugh, and there will be moments to speak of the hope that is theirs in Christ.  

The hope is this: while the world is still fallen, it is being re-created in Christ’s resurrection. You get a glimpse of it, already. After the destruction, after the fires and floods and hurricanes and earthquakes, there will be new life. New trees will grow, new grass will sprout, new animals will return. It’s a foreshadowing, a foretaste of the new creation when Christ returns.

And, in the new creation, hurricanes, fires, floods, famine, earthquakes will cease to exist, at least as destructive forces. Instead, all of creation – even the wind and waves - will give the glory to Christ Jesus for His redeeming it. And you and I, rescued into eternity, will give thanks to God for the act of God at the cross which gives us the new creation in Christ Jesus, now and forever. Amen.  

 * Please understand this is not a criticism of the term, "act of God," as is used in the insurance business, the insurance industry as a whole, or any legal documents using the term. Understand it in the context in which it is being used, and only in such a context.