Beautiful Christmas Feet! - Isaiah 52: 7-10

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

The text is the Old Testament Lesson, Isaiah 52, especially these words, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”

There is great beauty and wonder in a newborn’s feet and hands. I wonder if Mary and Joseph sat there, in the stable, counting Baby Jesus’ fingers and toes. I have an honest curiosity that is probably greater than most, you might say. Even after the sonogram technician assured us with each of the three kids that each had ten fingers and ten toes, no more and no less, I still counted for myself. I remember sitting there holding the children, having just witnessed the wonderous birth event – technically, perhaps, not a miracle in that the laws of physics and nature were not changed, but nevertheless often considered as if it were a miracle in that it was the gift of life brought into the world – sitting there, holding this wonderous baby but being most particularly fascinated at their teeny tiny feet. It was as if the wonder were reduced down to just two feet, ten toes. Do you know that a normal foot has 26 separate bones with 33 separate joints and 19 muscles that work together to make that magnificent appendage work? I rubbed the arch and the foot curled slightly, the toes wiggling in their new-found freedom, already seeking for space to move, to crawl, to walk. Beautiful feet, indeed.

It doesn’t take long for feet to become something less than attractive. Perhaps that’s why our feet spend most of their lives covered up. A whole industry exists to try to beautify those wonderful instruments of peripatetic propulsion – peripatetic is your word of the day; it means walking. What is it that makes feet beautiful? We buy pumice stones and sanding blocks to sand down calloused heels. We use emory boards to smooth sharp toe nails and coat them with enamels and laquers to make them match our clothes. We surgically straighten bunions and correct hammer toes and get rid of bone spurs. We eliminate athlete’s foot. We topically coat with lotions and potions all with the notion that we, too, can have feet just as beautiful as those of models that we see on television.

But, the fact is that there are feet that no amount of work will make beautiful again. Have you ever seen photos of a veteran ballerina? Their feet are wrecked from the decades of being tightly wrapped into their toe shoes and dancing, pirouetting, and leaping with their toes. Ranch hands and farmers rarely have pretty feet after being tenderized by livestock and machinery. If you want to see ugly feet, look at a soldier’s feet, especially if they have been in the Infantry. And there are the feet that exist in the fallen world: feet traumatized by disease, broken by accidents, shattered by man’s inhumanity to man, and even those that are malformed and deformed because of genetic failures from birth.

Do this: move your feet just a bit. Roll the ankles a wee bit. Tense and relax the foot muscles. Wiggle the toes. If that’s too much, just give them a little bit of a lift, maybe a soft tap on the floor. How do they feel? Were they achey this morning from the cold of the past 2 days? Maybe you ate a little too well and the gout is acting up, or arthritis had you reach for the Tylenol this morning. Maybe you stood for too long last night and your feet still burn. Did you stub your toe last trying to help the grandkids with their presents? Or, worse, on the way to the bathroom at 3am, did you step on the dreaded Legos hiding in the carpet?

In your feet, there is a microcosm of the entire fallenness of the world. The aches and pains, the hurts and the struggles your feet experience, they are in miniature of what the world knows since the fall. The cracked heels, the ingrown nails, the fungus, the flat arches, the neuropathy – these are reminders that we live in a fallen world, reminders that are very real and very painful.

Jesus came into that very world to redeem you, all of you, whole and wholly – body, soul, eyes, ears, mind, heart, head, shoulders, knees and toes. And feet. 

Close your eyes for just a second. I want you to imagine for a moment the Nativity: Mary and Joseph holding their newborn Son. See the joy in Mary’s gaze and the wonder in Joseph, how the Son of God was born? Do you see their loving caress? Now, zoom in a little bit. Look more closely at the Swaddled Baby squirming and wiggling just a bit and…oops – there it is. Freeze frame. Look closely. Did you see His foot pop out? There is His foot. Zoom in a little more in your mind. Look closely and there it is…a shadow on His foot. Can it be? Why, that shadow looks like the shape of a cross. 

Open your eyes. I don’t know that is true – in fact, it is highly doubtful. What I want you to see, though, is that those newborn feet will begin a journey from that manger down the same path that you and I know and down which you and I journey. Jesus’ feet will take Him places where He will experience our sorrows and losses. He will be lead out into the wilderness where He will be tempted to leap from the top of a mountain. He will walk into a temple where He will experience anger at what God’s people did to the Father’s house. He will stop a funeral procession and speak with a grieving mother. He will enter the home of a Gentile soldier whose son is critically ill. He will attend a wedding and turn water into wine and He will stand on a hillside and feed 5000 with a boy’s lunch. He will stand outside Lazarus’ tomb and weep. And then those beautiful feet will make the slow climb up the road to Jerusalem, down the path where palm branches and cloaks were strewn, to an upper room where He ate with the disciples, declaring His Body and Blood in, with and under bread and wine. His feet will lead Him and the 11 out to the Garden of Gethsemane where soldiers will, first, fall at His feet, only to rise up and arrest Him. He will stand in the court of Herod and Pilate, and then be led out to be crucified. Nails would pierce those beautiful feet, pinning Him to the cross where He would die. Those feet would be wrapped up and lovingly buried. And, on the third day, those feet would rise from the grave, and Jesus would stand, risen and alive, next to Mary; they would journey to Emmaus with three disciples, He would stand suddenly behind locked doors with the Disciples, and He would declare peace.

I said Jesus follows the footsteps of humanity. As His disciples, we also follow after His footsteps. We follow His footsteps under the cross, this side of heaven. This side of heaven, there are aches and pains, sorrows and sadness. There are also moments of joy and happiness, filled with peace and Hope.

I want you to know that no matter how embarrassed you are of your feet, your feet are beautiful because of Jesus. That’s how God sees them: beautifully forgiven in Jesus. That sounds weird to think of feet as being forgiven, doesn’t it? But it’s true. With the bunions and hammer toes and athlete’s foot and cracked heels and missing toes and dwarfed feet – God sees your feet as beautiful in Christ.

There will be a day when your feet will be truly, wonderfully beautiful and all of the aches and pains of your feet – and all the aches and hurts of this world – will be gone. In the resurrection of all flesh, your feet will be completely recreated in the perfection God intended them to be. And for those of us whose feet are less than perfect now, that are missing pieces, that have been I think they will be whole. I admit this is a goofy picture, but I imagine myself in the resurrection, sitting in the grass, just staring at my feet and toes, wiggling them like crazy, and feeling that wonderful tingling burn up into my calves. Then, in my imagination, I see a pair of nail-marked feet walk up next to me. The things is, they look the same – minus the marks, of course - His feet are mine; my feet are His.  Will it happen that way? I don’t know. But I’m looking forward to the day of finding out.

In a few minutes, your feet will pick you up and leave this place. You’ll go to your homes and, in the days ahead, you’ll get back to your normal routine. But, you leave this place with beautiful Christmas feet. Use your beautiful feet to share this Christmas message with those whom you encounter today, and tomorrow, and Thursday. Christmas doesn’t stop on the 25^th, remember? The Christmas season continues until January 6, Epiphany. Tell them about the feet of the One who died. Tell them about the One who redeems their feet. Tell them about the promise of resurrection feet. Tell them they have beautiful feet because of the Good News of Jesus.

"And Mary Laid Him in a Manger..." - Luke 2: 7

In the name of Jesus, our newborn King. Amen.

“So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little, Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head…” We sing it so romantically, that it’s easy to overlook what the words say: Mary laid her firstborn son, God’s Son, in an animal’s feed trough. That’s what a manger is: a vessel for feeding livestock.  I wonder: was it wood, assembled with hand-cut nails and wood pegs, or was it cut stone? Did Joseph have to wipe out calf slobber or move a couple of chicken eggs before placing Jesus in it? Were the edges worn smooth by the necks of goats and sheep and donkeys? Was it cold limestone or was it warm cedar? Did he find some straw for cushioning and warmth? Did it look like this, or was it merely a box? Was there a pang of shame when they looked at that feed trough, wishing there was some place better, something more worthy, where they could place their son and their Lord? Regardless, it’s all that Mary and Joseph had: “She laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn.”

The contrast is stunning: Jesus who, as God, was present when all things were created, speaking all things into existence, through whom all things were made and without whom nothing could have been made, Jesus becomes a human boy. When the Temple was dedicated, Solomon proclaimed that God cannot be contained by heaven or earth or house, but there He was in a stable, contained in flesh, wrapped in swaddling cloth, and placed in a manger. Truly, a Divine miracle; truly an act of Divine mercy: God sent His Son into the world, through human birth, to live as us to be our Savior. Jesus set aside His full divine nature to take on human flesh to dwell among us. Promised by the angel Gabriel nine months earlier, Mary gives birth to God’s Son. He, who is God over everything, is so humbled as to be reduced to sleeping among the animals of creation. The Virgin-born Child is the Messiah, the One Isaiah proclaimed centuries earlier to be Immanuel, God with Us. But that night, though heralded by angels, the world largely ignored Him who slept in an animal’s feed bunk. All, that is, except shepherds, to whom the angels sang, who were told to seek Him out. What they found was that a manger was the bassinette for Baby Jesus, the Son of God swaddled in a piece of cloth.

Tonight, through the Scriptures, you have taken a journey; brief in our evening’s time, yet spanning millennia. It began in a Garden with two people who destroyed a perfect creation and a perfect relationship with the Creator. Iin His love, God pledged to them a Savior. He spoke of a Seed who would crush the Serpent’s head after he first bruised the Seed’s heel. Rather unclear, yet it was a promise and Adam and Eve trusted God’s Word. The promise was extended to Abraham for a son. Then there was foreshadowing of God’s own sacrifice in Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, trusting the Lord would somehow keep His promise of a descendant. Isaiah’s description of the Child’s name would move people to tears, first, to those returning to Jerusalem; later through Handel’s musical interpretation of those same words. And little Bethlehem, out in the backwoods hill country of Judah, would be forever honored as the birthplace of Child who would stand and feed God’s people with His strength.

From the first Gospel promise to Adam and Eve that a Seed would crush the Serpent’s head who would, first, bruise the heel of the Promised One; through Abraham’s trusting the promise of God for an heir and descendants even as God demanded that very son back; through Isaiah who promised the Child would be God With Us; even through Micah declaring that the little town of Bethlehem would be the birthplace of an even greater ruler in Israel than David, God’s promises, His Word, endured, repeated from generation to generation.

That’s where the journey concludes: at the manger, where the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. In the fullness of time, God sent forth His Son, born of the woman, born under the Law to redeem those under the Law. The manger held God’s plan of salvation: When Mary gently, lovingly, tenderly laid her Son, God’s Son, in the manger, the manger contained that which otherwise could not be contained: Jesus, God in flesh, born of Mary, born to be the Savior, Christ the Lord.

Well, I said the journey concludes at the manger, but that’s not quire right, is it? The journey is only beginning for Jesus. He had to be born so He could be human, so that in His life and ministry, He will be familiar with our joys and sorrows, our struggles and our temptations. He will stand in the place of Adam and Eve and each of us who have ever surrendered to the devil, the world, and our sinful flesh. He will be laughed at, scorned and rejected by those whom He came to save. In fact, if you look closely in the manger, you see the shadow of the cross looming large on the horizon. 

He will be murdered by those who, of all people, should have welcomed Him as Messiah instead of a personal, political threat. He will die, the innocent for the guilty. Immanuel, God with us, will die alone, even forsaken by His own Father. And then there will be another Joseph, this time from Arimathea, who will take Jesus, wrap Him in swaddling clothes, and lay Him, gently, lovingly and tenderly not in a manger, but in a tomb because there was no room for Him among the living.  As the manger could not hold Him, neither could cross and grave. After a three-day’s rest in the tomb, Jesus arose, victorious over sin, satan, and death. The echoes of His Good Friday cry, “It is finished,” continue to echo through the centuries as He completed the purpose for which He came: to be Jesus, to save His people from their sins.

Tonight, for many, perhaps even most of you, we gather at the foot of the manger, in awe and wonder, in praise and thanksgiving, and receive Him whom angels sing and anthems ring. But for others, perhaps even some of you, that doesn’t fit your place in life, right now. The weight of the world is on your shoulders and your heart is filled with anything but peace, joy, and wonder. The death of a loved one, an unexpected, broken relationship, illness slowly consuming the life of a family member, unemployment and bankruptcy, family who can’t – or who refuses – to come home for Christmas, the guilt and shame of what you said or didn’t say, what you did or didn’t do – all marks of this fallen world we live in, all used by satan to try to separate us from the reason Jesus came.

Jesus didn’t come for a tree laden with lights and presents packed to the ceiling. He didn’t come to hear three generations singing carols in perfect harmony while gnoshing on cocoa and cookies. It wasn’t for Charlie Brown and Linus, or Jimmie Stewart, or Charles Dickens. Jesus came for you, with all of your sins, with all of your ugliness that a sweater can’t cover up, with all of your hard words that Christmas cards can’t sweeten or erase, with your heart harder than peanut brittle and thoughts more crooked than a twisted candy cane, for tears that run unwanted down your face, for the stress that overflowed and blew up, for all of your ugliness, Mary gave birth to a Son, God’s Son. He was born for you; He lived for you; He died for you; He rose for you, to redeem you and make you His own.

The Little Drummer Boy played his best for Jesus, the song sings. Pa rum pum pum pum…  Don’t worry about your best tonight. Instead, repent of your worst this evening and leave all of your guilt, your shame, your worry, your failures, your sins in the manger. Parents – this is especially for you, whom the world says that if you don’t have that perfect tree, and perfect presents, and perfect Norman Rockwell family you’re somehow a Christmas failure. We get so wrapped up in the fable of a perfect Christmas that it’s easy to forget Jesus came for imperfect people. So, dump them all here, each and every guilt and shame ridden thought, word and deed and leave them here in the manger. That’s all Jesus wants from you this Christmas. That’s what He came for – to save from your sins. So, give them to Him and receive forgiveness, life and salvation in their place.

Remember, the manger is empty. So is the cross. So is the grave.

But your Savior, Jesus, whom Mary once laid in that hallowed manger, He is very much here. He is here for you. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. 

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

When Merry Christmas and Bah Humbug Collide - Reflection

We enjoy watching re-runs of MASH, so much so that we're watching them again, to borrow from Kellogg's corn flakes, watching them again for the first time. It's not the first time, of course - I know scenes, even lines by heart. That's handy, at times, because the writing was fantastic. They had real doctors as advisors so the medicine part was accurate, relatively speaking. But I have always suspected they had a clergyman hiding somewhere in the writing room because Father Mulcahey was written very well as a man of the cloth, with depth and value, always ready to slip in with some "cross-action” as Trapper would say, offering prayers and blessings in the goriest and most intense of moments. 

There is an episode that comes to mind this time of year. I don't remember the title, or even the season. If you're also a fan, you'll recall the episode. It's Christmas, the 4077 is putting on a little Christmas party for Ouijambou families, and a soldier is brought in, mortally wounded, shot to hell. While Hawkeye, BJ, and Margaret look at his inside-out chest cavity, one finds a photo of the unnamed soldier and his young family back home. Determined not to let that family have Christmas be the day remembered as the day the soldier died, the trio set about to keep the man alive, fighting the clock, blood loss, and Death. 

Hawkeye, in another episode, personified death as his personal enemy, yelling over a dying patient, "No, you sonofabitch, you can't have him yet," trying to hold death at bay. In that episode it worked. In this episode, BJ, with a young daughter of his own at home, takes this one personally, going to extraordinary, heroic measures to temporarily save the unknown husband and father - just for a few more hours. 

But, finally, Death wins the duel. People say they want to stop time; they needed it to speed up. It didn't, and the soldier died, shortly before midnight on Christmas. It would forever be the family's curse. So Hawkeye, grim, opens the clock face and moves the hands ahead 45 minutes or so. "We'll, whaddayaknow," he says with a fatigued voice. "He made it." Margaret, wiping blood off her hands, comments on falsifying a death certificate - something she never would have done in the civilized world. I forget if it was Hawkeye or BJ who then said something about there is nothing in the war that is normal, but at least the family of the soldier can have Christmas. 

Chances are, you know someone like that soldier's family, who lost a loved one at or around Christmas. While all around, Andy Williams croons how wonderful this time of the year is, for those folks, it is heavy with memories, sadness and loss. There may be Joy to the World, but for those families, it's the silent night - not the holy night, mind you, but the absence of a loved one's laughter, singing, and presence - that hurts. Elvis sang about having a blue, blue Christmas without you. He gets close, but there's too much bounce, too much lilt in the song - especially with the doo-wop singers in the background. 

May I offer a word of encouragement to you, dear reader. If you know someone who is having a blue Christmas, who mourns the death of a loved one, whose mother or father, husband or wife, son or daughter, will never again - this side of heaven - laugh with the kids opening presents, or offer to help make Christmas cookies, or carve the ham, or hang the star, or do whatever else he or she did as part of the family story, then may I encourage you to pick up a phone - or better yet, stop by - and spend some time with them. 

People say, "I don't want to make them sad." You won't. They're already sad. That's why they need you. They need you to be present and, for a moment, help speed up time as they wrestle with death's curse. That is what it is, you know - sin's curse against man. It is the last enemy to be defeated. While God uses it as a means to take us from the suffering in this world, it is still not what His original plan was to be: life, joy, and peaceful union between God and man. 

People say, "I don't know what to say." Start with this: "I've been thinking of you and imagine this is a difficult time. Could I spend some time with you?" Then, listen and visit. Don't dominate the conversation with idle sound-and-space-filling chatter. Silence is ok. They may need to warm up a bit to the idea. I had a lady tell me once, after a family member suddenly died, "I have nothing to say." I told her that was fine, and I just sat and sipped my tea. After a few minutes, she started talking and she didn't stop for an hour. Finally, realizing it was dark outside and we had spent that much time, she chuckled, "I guess I did have something to say." 

Then, open a Bible to Luke 2 and read verses 1-21, the Christmas narrative. Or, better yet, let them read it. Remind them of the reason Jesus came - His name means "Savior," after all - and His birth into humanity was to rescue it. Remind them of the Resurrection, that sin, death and the devil met their match in the Bethlehem Boy and His victory is eternal. Remind them that even Mary knew sadness and loss - Jesus was her son, and she watched Him die. But, while sadless and sorrow remain in this world, they are not forever. There is hope, promise, and - yes - joy even through tears because of Jesus. 

I'll be visiting with a family tonight whose dad died last week. They purposely planned the funeral before Christmas for that reason. That in their loss, there will still be the joy of Christ's birth to look forward to, and that, then, is a reminder of an even greater new birth they will receive when He returns. 

That scene in the MASH hospital ends with Col. Potter entering, holding the last pieces of the homemade fudge that BJ's wife, Peg, sent for Christmas. The three, joined by Mulcahey who had pronounced last rights, found a small taste of joy in their shared experience and love for each other. With the soldier's blood still on their clothes, they toasted each other with the fudge and a bit of a smile: "Merry Christmas." 

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, that you may overflow in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13

Merry Christmas. 

Christmas Is Almost Here, So Sit & Listen - Matthew 1: 18-25

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

I think most of us feel it, to a greater or lesser degree, that feeling that Christmas, with all of its expectations, responsibilities, get-togethers, family tension, and drama is almost here. For me, and I admit this may be more of a pastor’s thing, there’s a certain sadness and melancholy at how Christmas has been so secularized and commercialized that it has lost its core message. I’ve said on more than one occasion, I love the Nativity of Jesus, but I have grown to dislike much of the celebration of Christmas. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy the exchanging of gifts and watching the surprise on the faces of family and friends when I give them this year’s bag of assorted sawdust and scraps from the shop. But the simple message of Jesus’ birth can very easily be overwhelmed by everything else going on so that we forget the Gift is Jesus.

 So, if you are almost to the end of your proverbial Advent rope and you are ready for Christmas, just to be done with all of the hectic goings on that surround it, then today is for you. For the next twelve minutes or so, I want you to put the part of your brain in neutral that is trying to keep track of everything that has to be done this week. Mentally set aside the shopping lists, the calendars, the events, and simply listen. So, let’s do this: everyone take a deep breath, shrug your shoulders just a bit, roll your head and neck, take another deep breath and allow the Spirit to work in an uncluttered mind and space. “Accomplish Your purposes among us, O God. Tune our hearts to the voice of Your Spirit. Amen.” [1]

There are many wonderous things that happen throughout the Scriptures when it comes to the fulfillment of God’s plan of salvation, so many that it is almost impossible to name them all. Some are obvious, some are subtle; some have only an immediate importance, others are further magnified through the generations; some are easily understood, some can only be grasped by faith.  I submit that one of the greatest wonders of all is in this sentence:

“Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way.” 

We cannot go to God, so God comes to us in the most extraordinary, yet also the most ordinary way. Extraordinary, that Jesus, the Son of God, becomes flesh for us. Extraordinary that Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Extraordinarily, spiritually possible; ordinarily physically impossible. Ordinary, that His was an otherwise normal, human birth similar to what takes place daily in hospitals and homes all across the world. Even the scandal of Joseph’s initial plan to divorce Mary after finding out she was pregnant with a child that wasn’t his, even this is ordinary, sadly. But, again, the extraordinary happens – an angel, a messenger, sent from God to Joseph explaining to him what was happening. An extraordinary proclamation to a man of extraordinary faith: he would be, in modern terms, a stepfather to God’s Son whom he would name Jesus.  All of this was to fulfill an extraordinary prophesy spoken by Isaiah that the Virgin shall conceive and bear a son, calling His name Immanuel.

Now when Isaiah said these words to King Ahaz while he was inspecting the aqueduct in Jerusalem, he probably didn’t have a pregnant virgin in mind.  Isaiah was giving a sign to the nervous king not to worry about his two enemies, the king of Syria and the king of Israel, because in nine short months, the time it takes for a young woman to conceive and bear a child, Ahaz would know “Immanuel” - God is with us.  But Isaiah said it in such a way that it left room for something more.

And Matthew, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, looking back 750 years after Isaiah, saw something more.  A virgin actually did conceive and bear a Son who is “God with us” in a way that God had never been “with us” before.  The child of a pregnant virgin, conceived by the Spirit of God is Y’shua - Yahweh in the flesh come to save His people.  And He saves us by being Immanuel - God with us in our life and in our death.  He is our Savior from cradle to grave, literally from womb to tomb. He is the Christ, the Messiah, the Annointed One, who is our Savior.

Jesus entered our history the same way we do, conceived in a mother, nine months in the womb, and then born.  And so He embraces in his own humanity all of humanity.  Jesus is the entire human race in one Spirit-conceived, Virgin-born man who is God.  He is the second Adam, the new head of humanity, who came to save not only the sons of Abraham but all the sons and daughters of Adam, the entire human race.  Yet, He embodies our humanity all the way through, from conception to death with nothing left out.  You might say that when Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit, the whole human race was re-conceived in Him, restored to what God intended when He first made Adam and Eve in His image.

Here in the human flesh of Jesus is sinless humanity, without the inherited disease of Adam’s death.  Here is our humanity in its full dignity intact, the image and likeness of God restored to us.  Jesus is God with us, God in our flesh dwelling among us, who takes up our sin into His own sinlessness, who takes up our death into His death so that we might live in Him and be perfected in Him.

There is one other sentence that grabs my attention, the last one we read. “And Joseph called His name Jesus.” With all of the extraordinariness swirling ‘round him, Joseph believed the Word.  He trusted what the angel said.  He got up from his nap, forgot about the divorce plans, and took his pregnant virgin fiancé into his home to be his wife.  And he did it with nothing more than the Word of God through an angel in a dream.

I think about Joseph every year about this time just before Christmas.

As a father, I think about this quiet, godly man.  We don’t hear a single word from Joseph recorded in the Scriptures.  His actions speak louder than his words.  I think about how those nine months of Mary’s pregnancy must have been, and how Joseph must have stared at his wife’s belly every night, how he reached out his hand to feel the kick of little feet and wondered in silence, “Can it really be true?  Can a virgin conceive and bear a Son?”  How many nights did he spend awake wrestling, wondering, doubting?  And yet he did what the angel told him to do.

As a pastor, I think about Joseph when I stick my hand in baptismal water, and pour it on a baby’s head.  I think about Joseph, when I stand at the altar holding out bread that barely looks like bread, and wine that makes a sommelier sneer, and hear the words, “This is my body,” “this is my blood.”  I think about Joseph, every time I speak the words of absolution, knowing full well you’re going to do the same stuff all over again, and you’re not nearly as sorry as the liturgy makes you say that you are, and you’re only telling half the truth about your sin anyway.

As a human, I think about Joseph every time I look at my own life with all my shortcomings and failings, my doubts, my sins, wondering, “How can I be justified?”

And then I remember Joseph, quietly taking God at His Word without so much as a shred of visible evidence, and doing what he was given to do all because God said it was so.  And I realize that this isn’t about what I see or feel or even think.  It’s about trust in God’s Word, that with God nothing is impossible, that by the Word a virgin girl conceives a son.  Baptismal water really is birth and life.  Bread and wine really are the body and blood of Jesus.  Sinners are forgiven, and the dead rise to life in Jesus - all because God says so.

And the greatest truth about us turns out not to be about us at all. It’s about that Jewish kid named Y’shua with the Virgin mother who happens to be “God with us” come to save His people from their sins by dying and rising, and who isn’t ashamed to call anyone, including even us, “His people.”

In the name of Jesus, Amen.

 

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[1] From “A Liturgy for Purposeful Gathering,” Every Moment Holy, Vol. 1

Preparing to Meet Jesus in Advent - Matthew 3: 1-12

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

When I was a kid, we got an above ground swimming pool. It was about 3’ deep and about 16’ across. It was going to be my job to do the site prep: remove the sod and level the ground at the place where the pool would sit in the yard. If it’s not flat and level, at best, you won’t get a full 3’ of water across the pool; at worst, a side could collapse from the uneven pressure.

If you are curious, a fifteen foot circle has an area of just a shade over 200 square feet. It was also about 3” high on one side. It was hot, and the ground was hard, and Dad had to help me finish it that evening, putting a straight edge across the surface so we knew where to scrape a little more here and add a little there. The next day, we laid in a couple inches of sand and stretched a tarp across it, set up the pool walls, put in the liner, and began filling with water. When it was all said and done, it wasn’t quite perfect – as I recall, one side was still a bit higher than the other – but it was close enough for a bunch of kids to cool off in on a hot summer day and get us out of our moms’ hair.

John the Baptizer was not talking about site prep for swimming pools, or sidewalks, or even the foundation of a house when he was quoting from the prophet Isaiah when he said, “The voice of one crying in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.” The Baptizer was speaking to the people of Israel and he was calling them to repentance.

We’ve spoken of repentance before. You remember, the Small Catechism defines repentance as sorrow for one’s sin and faith that trusts in the forgiveness of sins through faith in Christ.  Christian repentance is grounded in the cross of Jesus – His complete work and His complete and free gift for you, His beloved. There is change involved – repent means “turn,” after all – changing one’s behavior to be in line an in tune with the footsteps of Jesus. But, generally, I think we have a rather soft idea of repentance.

Do not think of John’s preaching of repentance in this way. John would have a much more radical, severe changing of heart. A better way to understand the Baptizer’s call is “Be converted!” It’s the equivalent to Hamlet saying, “there is something rotten in the state of Denmark.” Both Israel and Jerusalem are corrupt from top to bottom, and that includes you, Pharisees, and you, Saducees, and all who are following after you thinking you are good enough, holy enough, and righteous enough to march into the Kingdom of God on your own merits. Want to play the “son of Abraham card”? That’s not going to get you there. Remember, Abraham lived by faith in the promises of God; you, you all are placing your faith in your own way of living.  You are lost – so lost, you are in danger of eternal separation from God in the fires of hell. Change your life, change your thinking, change where you place your trust and faith.

You have forgotten the commands of God and, more important, you have forgotten the promises of God and unless you repent, unless you are completely changed in your hearts, minds, and lives by the Spirit of God, you too shall likewise perish. Prepare the way of the Lord, you brood of vipers; make His paths straight, you slithering snakes in the grass, because the Kingdom is at hand and He is coming with a vengeance, with fire and pitchforks and wrath that knows no limits. You need to get yourself out to the Jordan. Repent and be baptized. You need to redo the Red Sea. You need to redo the Jordan. You need to redo the return from Babylon. You need to re-turn to the Lord your God and prepare because the reign of God stands near in the work of the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth.

St. Matthew does not tell us know the message was received. Did John succeed? Did the Holy Spirit drive the words of his preaching, penetrating their unconverted hearts and minds? Did they listen? Did they repent? The text does not say. We are left wondering – wondering why Matthew doesn’t tell us this piece of information, but also wondering what of the faithfulness of these being-lost ones. Others were coming; others were repenting; others were being baptized; others were believing. But these – these, there is no story and no happy ending. So, the question remains: did they repent?  We don’t know.

There is another question here, one that lays below the surface. Do you hear the voice of the Prophets that echoes through the centuries. John and Isaiah continue to call to God’s people of every epoch, age, eon and generation: “Prepare the way of the Lord: make His paths straight.” To be sure, unlike Isaiah, we know that Christ has come. Unlike John, we know that Christ came, not as an axe-wielding, pitchfork-bearing fire-breathing bringer of damnation. Instead, He bore the sins of the world into His own body, receiving the wrath of God Himself, reconciling the world to God with His own death. He was numbered with the sinners, broke bread with transgressors, touched lepers, forgave prostitutes, called tax collectors to follow. He even absolved those who killed Him, and the one who mocked and then confessed faith while hanging next to Him.

But, the words still call us to prepare. So, if the camel-haired, leather-strapped, wild-haired Son of Zechariah suddenly appeared, picking a grasshopper’s leg from between his teeth with a dirty fingernail while honey glistened from his bushy beard strode down the aisle, turned, and the voice cried from the wilderness of Mount Zion of Mission Valley, “Prepare the way of the Lord: make His paths straight,” what would he mean?

Repent, of course. In Advent, there is plenty to repent of: the materialism of the world around us, our desire for always more, for not being content with what we have, for being jealous of what some have, for a bit of arrogance in having more than what others have. Repent for being too busy to find time with Jesus in His Word, for being too tired to be present when He invites us to His table, for being too proud that instead of pretending to be strong, we need to be weak among the body of believers for help and care.  And, both our repentance and our being baptized are grounded in the fullness of our salvation by grace through faith. Because you are forgiven, because you are redeemed, because you are united with Christ, because you are sanctified, because you declared holy by the Father, I dare not call you broods of vipers, nor do I call you snakes, Pharisees or Saducees. That is, at best unfair; at worst, it is completely inaccurate.

If John were here, what would his message mean? It would mean this: strip away anything that would get in the way of Christ’s coming to you right now. Prepare the way; make the paths straight. Knock down mountains of business that prevent you from welcoming the Christ today. Fill in the potholes of  foolishness, there’s always time to prepare. Straighten the curves of arrogance, “He’s waited this long…why the fuss now?” Get rid of the boulders that trip you up with distractions. Instead, with faith, with longing, with anticipation, with prayerful mindedness and with Advent anticipation, know that the Kingdom is here. He is at Hand. Repent. Come to the Table. Christ is here, Sacramentally present in bread and wine, in body and blood, to strengthen you on this Advent journey as you await the day He comes, not merely in bread and wine, but in His risen Glory and you see Him as He is. 

Enriched with that spiritually-strengthening food and drink, empowered by the Spirit of God, enlivened by His word, every day prepare that Jesus comes today – not tomorrow, not next week, month, year, or decade – He comes today. Knock down the mountains and fill in the potholes that get in the way of you welcoming Him with faith, hope and love. Amen.

Who is This Advent King? - Matthew 21: 1-11

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Matthew 21:1-11, especially on this sentence: “And when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up saying, ‘Who is this?’”

Who is this? Fair question, isn’t it? It’s as fair today, on the first Sunday of Advent as it was on that first Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. Who is this one who is coming, who is adventing, into the City of David? Who is this whom the Church remembers coming in history as a humble baby and who also pledged to come again in glory and power and might? Who is it?

So, let’s also be fair and charitable towards those who were asking. I suspect that many had a genuine curiosity, a real desire to know what the fuss was all about. Who is this, in the sense of “What’s going on? I don’t know, I don’t understand – someone help me figure this out.”

But for others, it was not so much about information, about an inquisitiveness into the person who is arriving, but it is more of a challenge, rich in sarcasm, loaded with demands and expectations that someone explain what this guy is doing. Who is this, in the sense of, “Who is this guy who thinks he can ride into the city like He is a modern-day King David?” Who is this?

Who, indeed? Who is the one whom even the wind and the waves obey? Who is this in our boat? Who is this who claims to forgive sins? Who is this who heals with spit and mud? Who is this who touches the dead and brings them back to life? Who is this who says to a lame man, “Take up your bed,” and he can walk? Who is this who speaks about being lifted up and drawing all peoples to Himself? Who is this who says if He is destroyed, He will be raised three days later? Who is this who looks so plain but speaks so powerfully? Who is this who has a ragtag group of fishermen and women following Him, who eats with sinners and tax collectors, who stops to care for the weakest and most meek, who dares to challenge the social and religious leaders, who performs miracles in the way of Elijah?

Who is this? It is a primal question, one that is asked by many, and is at the heart of each and every person and each and every people of all time…including us. Who is this?

Jesus comes to Jerusalem amidst crowds that a politician, or a hometown hero, or a victorious sports team could only imagine. Crowds lined the city streets, shouting “Hosheanna! Hosanna!” Some stripped off their outer cloaks, others tore off palm branches, laying garments and leaves together on the road, paving the path before Him. The excitement was palpable, the air charged with the energy of the people’s expectation. But this wasn’t a football team. It wasn’t a warrior, or a government official, or anyone who oozed power and authority.

So, who is this? What’s all the fuss? They get the name right, the crowds, when they call Him, “The prophet, Jesus, from Nazareth in Galilee.” Yet, there’s a twist, foreshadowing Jesus’ own words five days later: they know not what they do, nor understand whom they welcome.

The question betrays the paradox, the dilemma that characterizes Jesus’ walk through life and His arrival, not only that spring day into Jerusalem, but all through His life and ministry. He slips into the world, hardly noticed, in a backwater town, in an unknown stable of an unknown inn-keeper. He is welcomed by shepherds, a rather rough-around the edges group of men, both in image and in smell, and then soon after by strange men from foreign lands, yet an indicator of what His ministry is about and who He comes for. He slips into His Father’s house where he teaches with authority already as a 12 year old. He slips into Jerusalem, with all of the hubbub, where He seems to stumble into a secret plot to be murdered. Finally, after a terrible, torturous trial and crucifixion he slips into death.

Lots of slipping and sliding, if I may; and yet, part of that gentle and unobtrusive life. Who is this one, who is gentle and unobtrusive, hardly worth a second look? The One who comes to make a claim on this world in a different way – very different from the style of those whom most parades are arranged around.

This is the One who slipped from the grave, from the very grasp of death itself. He slips into the upper room, unnoticed at first, to deliver peace to those who were stuck in fear. He slips into bread and wine, into water, and into the Words of a Book. He slips into the lives of transformed people, all the while deepening and widening and expanding and expounding on this question, this haunting question, “Who is this?” 

Who is this who we’ve got here? Who is this who is among us?

Why, He still does this. He slips into us, and through us, to those around us to peoples whom these people in the New Testament had never heard of. He slips into our daily lives in Mission Valley and daily walks in Goliad and Cuero and Victoria, and He lives and brings life to people, to waiting people, all around us at work, at play, at doctors offices and fast food restaurants. This is the one who brings life in the face of, and life out of death.

Who is this?

Will we ever fully know the answer? Will we ever know the rich fullness of Him, He Who Was, Who Is, and Who Is to Come? Probably, no – at least, not this side of heaven. We will never completely understand all that has been revealed of Him, He who is the Word made flesh. The more we live with Him, the more we walk with Him, the deeper the mystery becomes. And, in a very real sense, this is a good thing. I don’t want a God that I completely understand. The mystery – and, here I don’t mean as if it’s something to discover, like a whodunit murder mystery, but rather, that which is beyond our full understanding – the mystery of His grace, and His love, and His ability to take broken lives and heal and transform them, and the mystery deepens the more we know.

Yet, this is why He came in human form because otherwise, He would be too baffling, too incomprehensible, even more than He already is. He came to live among us, to warm us, to warn us, to enliven us, to rescue us, to save us. None of this at the expense of the mystery – even those who closely followed, literally in his footsteps of the Galillean countryside, didn’t get it always.

So, Who is this? The crowds had it right, that Palm Sunday afternoon. They turned back to the Scriptures and found the answer before their question was ever asked. The Prophet Zechariah of Old Testament minor fame speaks through the New Testament Jerusalem crowd: “Behold: He is the coming you’re your coming King. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.” This, this time of adventing, this time of arrival, drives the season. Think of it: the Church sets aside a full month, one twelfth of the year, to get ourselves ready for the mystery of the incarnation, the mystery that pulls us, invites us, calls us, captivates us, and incorporates us into Him.

Who is this? He is the Advent One, the Coming One. The one who came, gentle and humble. He comes, to you in Word and Sacrament, and through you, in word and action to those around you. He has a coming to come to.

Who is this? If He is the Coming One, who are you?  You are the one whom He comes to. You are His, who welcomes the One who comes. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

Amen. Come Lord Jesus. Come. Amen.

A King Like No Other - Christ the King Sunday: Luke 23:27-43

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

When Queen Elizabeth II of England died in September, the rest of the world got a glimpse into the monarchy of England, something which most of us are not familiar with. The major news outlets all had special reports to talk about Her Majesty’s reign, the major world events that happened during her almost 71 years on the throne, how she came to be Queen after her father passed, and how Prince Charles would become King after her death. As a lover of history, I appreciated seeing something that had not taken place since 1952 and I watched it with both curiosity and reverence. But I also felt deep compassion for the Queen’s family. Regardless what you think about politicians, the British, and their Monarchy, remember – while she was lovingly referred to by citizens of the Empire as “Queen Mother,” it was easy to forget she was also a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. I cannot begin to imagine having to grieve for a loved one on a world-wide stage.  It was moving, too, watching the soldiers, men who faced death in foreign lands and who stood guard outside the palace gates, ready and willing to defend both nation and monarch, many openly weeping for her.

Even so, everything was so prim and proper, from the places where family and dignitaries stood, to the motions and words of the presiding clergy at her funeral, to the manner in which King Charles was publicly declared His Majesty, ascending the King’s throne for the first time.  The trumpets sounded as he climbed the steps to the dais. The throne was gold with red satin. His jet-black, pin-striped suit was crisply pressed and his tie held with a perfect Windsor knot. His wife, elegant in her flowing gown, sat in the throne to his left. Behind him was a line of soldiers in their ceremonial dress. Spokespersons of both houses of Parliament carefully addressed him, offering their words of support and condolence. The room was filled with various nobles, officials, and dignitaries from not only across the British Empire but also the world. The scene was majestically regal and elegant as the choir sang, “God save the King” for the first time since 1952.

Today is Christ the King Sunday. Yes, the Gospel reading is correct, the crucifixion. It seems strange to have a reading most commonly associated with Good Friday to be read on this, the last Sunday of the Church Year and on a day so nobly entitled. Christ the King, indeed.

You could hardly find a sharper contrast than to consider Jesus’ earthly coronation against what we saw a few months ago.  Jesus, declared by Pilate to be King of the Jews, was treated as anything but. He was whipped and beaten. The authorities had plotted to have Jesus arrested and killed, His own fellow countrymen and religious leaders turning against the One they claimed to be waiting for because He didn’t meet their expectations and threatened their own power and standing. Law and order was exchanged for expediency and timeliness. First crowned with thorns and wrapped in an old, purple robe, He was stripped naked, His clothes stolen to become a gambler’s prize. His throne was a rough-hewn wooden cross which first He had to carry, then was nailed to before being hoisted into the air. He hung in shame and humility. Crowds of passersby mocked him, their cries joining with the soldiers who made sure no one tried to help or conduct a rescue. Even His mother could only look on with horror while His Heavenly Father remained silent to His Son’s plea. When He cried with thirst, a sponge of vinegar was offered. And, then He died, a fact noted by one soldier in particular who confessed Jesus as the Son of God.

Kings are supposed to reign with power and authority, soldiers and servants standing by to do His majesty’s bidding, to kill those they are told to kill and do what they are told to do. Kings don’t associate with commoners, they rule over them. Kings fight to live and maintain power and control. Kings are kingly. Jesus was anything but kingly. Kings aren’t supposed to reign from crosses. Kings aren’t supposed to be betrayed by closest allies. Kings aren’t supposed to be sacrificed. Kings aren’t supposed to be humiliated by their own.

Yet, this is exactly why He came to earth, setting aside His Divine Kingship to become the least of all. He did not come to be served but to serve and give His life for man. He didn’t come merely to rule politically in time but to rule into eternity. He did not come to conquer an unwelcome political government. He came to conquer the eternal enemies of sin, death and the grave. He didn’t come to force peoples and nations into submission. He came to rescue and redeem then from a life of damning bondage. To do all of this, He came to die, trading His life for those whom He created, those whom He loves with an unending love – even, those who then and now reject His kingship.

Jesus, though He died, also rose, conquering sin’s stranglehold on man, the grave’s terror over death, and satan’s lies toward the Christian conscience. When Christ rose Easter morning, there was no doubt that this Jesus, whom the world mocked saying, “Hail, King of the Jews,” is in fact the King of Kings and Lord of Lords who ruled before the world began and who will rule when the heavens and earth will be renewed and restored, creation returned to the wholeness it had before the separation of the fall.

We’re not there, yet. We see Him, now, in His glory, with eyes of faith – albeit dimly. Because He died, we shall live. Because He rose, we shall rise. On that great day of our own resurrection, we will see Him fully resplendent with our own resurrected and whole and holy eyes.

 

 

Standing Firm in Faithful Hope (!) - Luke 21: 5-28

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

It’s almost to the point where you do not want to know what is going on anymore.  Turn on the television, open your favorite news website, flip open the paper, or even scan the magazine rack while you’re standing in line at the grocery store and, unless you’re a Houston Astros fan, the news does not seem to be good.  You name it - politically, economically, socially, geologically, meteorologically it seems there is nothing but bad news. There is government unrest all across the globe from the not-so-cleverly-disguised worldly war in Eastern Europe to the threats made by China and North Korea. In our own country, different groups try to shout down their opponent while spewing their own vile words and vitriolic rhetoric. I have rights, yes I do, you can’t tell me what to do! Politicians, historically the voices of calm and civility, add their own threats, with the donkeys and elephants lobbing verbal manure at each other. One part of the country suffers from crippling drought while another battles to recover from floods. Barely starting to turn the corner in recovering from one hurricane, another hits, tearing apart what was only recently set right. Whether local, state-wide, across the state, the nation, or the world, the news is such that it makes you want to find an ostrich with its head in the sand and ask it to scoot over and make room for you. 

A person told me a few months ago that this all was really weighing on him. Watching or reading these kinds of stories was starting to cause him physical problems. He was growing anxious. His stomach hurt. He was losing sleep. I told him while he cannot control what goes on outside of his home, he can control what happens inside it. Turn the TV off. Change the station on the radio. He said, but he needs to know what is all going on. Then, limit the news content. Do it in small bites. There is no rule that says you have to watch the entire news hour, or read the entire paper. It’s not just adults. Kids are anxious about exams, friendships, social media standing, and things happening in the world. This spring, when Russia invaded the Ukraine, every evening a young man gave his parents regular reports of the progress, some times several times in a night, citing cities lost and casualties. Finally, the parents insisted he stop watching and reading the stories. “But I need to know,” he said. Fine, his parents said, then do it in the living room with us so we can help you digest this. 

This young man’s story is one we understand. It’s easy to look at these things and get wrapped up in the moment, the event, the news, and develop a sense of lost-ness, listlessness, and even hopelessness. Spiritually, it’s the direct result of placing our hopes and trust in these monuments of men - governments, society, the economy, and even the local weather prognostications. It’s the additive inverse of hope in Christ. If hope in Christ is the exclamation point that declares “this is most certainly true,” when these things become our gods - lower case g – and they fail, like houses built on shifting sand, then hope quickly crumbles as well. And when things fail us, and they always do, it is easy to sound like Chicken Little and proclaim the sky is falling. 

Jesus gives us, and the disciples, a powerful example when he points us to the walls of the Temple. They were massive stones, making up the massive walls of the massive temple. It was one of the wonders of the ancient world, almost on par with the architecture of Greece and Rome. While not as beautiful as Solomon’s Old Testament Temple, the Temple at the time of Jesus was still very impressive. White stone, gold, beautifully polished hardwoods, and jewels all made it a place of wonder. In fact, it was easy to forget it was supposed to be a place of worship, it was so opulent. King Herod the Great had rebuilt it as both a way to appease the Jews which also appeased the Roman Emperor and as a way to show the world of his own socio-political skill, a way of saying “Look what I accomplished.” 

So, when the disciples passed through and gawked in awe and amazement at the sights of the magnificent temple, they were stunned when Jesus said the day is coming when those massive, quarried stones - as big as a school bus - would no longer be standing on top of one another. It stopped them in their tracks to think of the improbability - the impossibility - and the size, scope and magnitude of what it would take to make that massive and beautiful structure crumble. It just couldn’t happen. Their question was both sincere and laced with fear: tell us, when will this be? We need to prepare for such a tragedy and travesty as this. But Jesus wasn’t done. He adds layer to layer of coming loss and tragedy. I can imagine the disciples reeling as He added to the list of coming terror: wars, pestilence – we would call it a plague, earthquake, famine. Even the heavens join in, He continues, with there even being signs from the heavens. Jerusalem, this beautiful city of David, this city of God, it will be surrounded, cut off, and it will fall. Then some of you faithful, I imagine He looks one-by-one to Peter, James, John, and the rest of His friends, you faithful will be hauled before the authorities and put to death and the rest hated because of me.  

This is a Gospel reading where “This is the GOspel of the Lord” makes us want to add a question mark behind “Thanks be to God,” and where instead of departing in peace and serving the Lord, it feels like a better idea to hunker down firmly and safely in the pew. At first glance, this Gospel lesson is overwhelming, leaving us with anything but peace and comfort. In fact, it is very easy to draw parallels to our own time as we face war to our east and west, as we continue to struggle with Covid and now flu, as droughts rage, economists argue the depth of the recession, and as food supplies face uncertainty. But these are the very reasons these words of Jesus are so necessary today.

As the world around us sees all of these things without any hope, without any great reason, Jesus gives us a small glimpse of a promise. It’s interesting in the way He does it. There isn’t a long grocery list of terrors all countered by a list of contra-terror. Instead, Jesus offers a word of promise, a word of sure, certain hope, a bright beacon of light against the darkness that rages around us.

Jesus offers the faithful, glimpses of His remarkable protection even in the midst of this vision of what is to come. So, when He speaks of their persecution, Jesus takes away their trusting in their own clever words and repartee. He says don’t worry about what you will say, the Spirit will fill your mouths with words of wisdom so you might bear testimony of God’s powerful grace. When He speaks of their betrayal and martyrdom, He takes away their strength and ability to bear up under it. Instead, He promises that not a hair of your heads will perish and by your endurance you will gain your lives. And, when He strips away trust in creation’s order, depicting the heavens being rent asunder, or trust in massive buildings that will fail the test of time, Jesus says look to the Creator: straighten up and raise your head, because your redemption is drawing near.

This takes place during Holy Week. He has ridden into Jerusalem, welcomed as the Son of David by the crowds. But, behind the scenes, the Jewish leaders are working to have Him arrested and put to death, turning the crowds against the One whom they welcomed. It’s probably Tuesday or Wednesday. His arrest is hours away and the cross looms large on the horizon. Jesus knows He must suffer and die. He will do so for your salvation. He will stand under the curse of death and die the sinner’s death, taking your place, paying the life-price you owe. He will die, and He will rise to reveal that He has overcome sin, death, and the grave for you. There is nothing, then, in this life – not wars, rumors of wars, pestilence, famine, earthquakes – that can tear you from His strong and saving hand.

This is how faith works. It sees what our eyes cannot see. It grasps hope in the promises of Jesus where all around us we see failing and falling things of this world. This is how the life of faith works. Notice this: Jesus doesn’t tell the disciples, now y’all don’t worry…I’m going to zap you right out of here so you don’t have to experience this. Instead, He promises that in the midst of these things, His Word, His promises will endure and that through faith in Him, they will endure into eternity. Christ does not move us from a world of destruction – snap – to a land of milk and honey. Instead, we are tested and tried with times of suffering so that we grow spiritually wiser and stronger in faith. When everything else is stripped away, we are left with Jesus and His Word. So, we cling all the more tightly to God’s work for us in Christ – even when it comes to us in the midst of trials and tribulations and even in the loss of those things that we hold so dear in this world.

It's easy to fall into the temptation of the disciples, to look to the wrong places and talk about the wrong things. It’s tempting for our mouths to be filled with admiration for all of the things around us and, then, to place our trust and hope in these failing things. Jesus turns our attention to something more beautiful: the work of God in the midst of suffering, and the promises of God that sustain us now and into eternity. And, it’s easy to get caught up in the news cycles. What, with wars and rumors of wars, fires and floods and drought, mass shootings and civil unrest, and paychecks that just don’t last like they did a few months ago, it sometimes feels like the end is near. Luther thought that was true, 500 years ago, that Jesus had to return soon to spare the Church from greater suffering, and he preached as if Jesus was returning by the following Sunday. We don’t know the day or the hour. So, Jesus turns us to what is certain. This may or may not be the end. I know we are closer than ever before. But what we do know for certain is the One who holds us in His nail-pierced hands is forevermore near.

When you see folks around you wringing their hands, acting like Henny Penny, lamenting that the sky is falling, that they have lost all hope, speak of Jesus. Tell them where your hope rests. Then, straighten up, stand firm, raise your heads, and have faith in Jesus because your redemption, won for you at the cross, is drawing nigh.

Dear Veteran: Thanks

Yesterday, November 11, was the solemn, somber remembrance of Veteran's Day. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we shall remember,” someone intoned at the first Armistice Day in 1919. It was the day marking the end of World War One, the “war to end all wars.” 

That “someone” lied. 

Not intentionally, of course. Following the horror and bloodshed that was executed - I use that word deliberately - at Flanders, the Somme, and other places long faded from our memory, it was spoken with romantic, noble, and good intention. Alas, mankind’s heart is inclined to evil, and with the fuel of nationalistic pride coupled with the world’s arrogance to think that Germany would take the brutal social and economic punishment and limitations placed upon it, thrust to the side of the roaring global stage like a kindergartener who got caught eating paste in art class, peace lasted but two short decades. A short man with a bad haircut, a terrible taste in moustaches, and sick, twisted moral and ethical values would soon throw the world, kicking, screaming, or denying, into yet another bloody world war,

In the years since, at least in the United States, Armistice Day became Veterans Day. Were Memorial Day honors and remembers those who died, paying the ultimate price for the country and fellow citizens, Veterans Day remembers and honors those who are alive.

It's been my privilege to have met Veterans from all branches of the Service. When I was a kid, inspired by China Beach and Tour of Duty television shows, when a retired Army Major named Howard showed us some of the memorabilia he brought back from Vietnam, I foolishly and naively asked, “Did you kill any?” He looked me in the eye and flatly said, "I don't know." I’ve since learned that question is taboo. My idle and foolish and naive curiosity does not earn the right to enter that sacred space where time and memory clash.  Major Howard - if you are reading this, I sincerely apologize. I’m sure I met other veterans back then but, not knowing it, I escaped further stupid questions.  

I met a man who was on the USS Arizona on December 7, 1941. I assure you, that date lived in infamy in his heart and mind. My uncle says we can now talk about the fact that his son was part of a highly secretive unit of the United States Navy which shares the same name as a semi-aquatic animal.  He must have taken creative writing in school, because his Linkedin account has some very interesting ways to describe what he did in the Navy. I have two other cousins who are mechanics in the Air Force. One uncle was a door gunner in a Huey in Vietnam. Two other uncles were over there on the ground and as soon as they got home, they tried to bury their experiences with their uniforms in Grandma's basement closet. My father-in-law is a veteran of Vietnam, also - a USAF cartographer, who got to look at pictures and make maps of Vietnam and other "interesting places."  My high school band teacher was drafted for Vietnam, but when he confessed to knowing how to type, he wound up stateside teaching typing for clerks heading overseas. I met a Korean War veteran at Wal-Mart who was at the Chosin Reservoir in 1950 with the 1st Marine Division; he swore he still hadn't thawed out 60 years later.

At one time, my previous congregation had ten or eleven WWII and Korean War veterans, members of the congregation and members of the greatest generation. I think I buried all of them. One fought up Italy with the 10th Mountain Division in WWII. Another, a Korean War veteran, was the company cook. He made so much oatmeal that, until the day he died, he couldn't even look at an oatmeal cookie without groaning. Another served on McArthur's staff, part of the occupational force in Japan after VJ-Day. A woman was in the US Army nursing corps in World War II, and a gentleman (who was also a gentle man) was at the Battle of the Bulge --- on the German side, having been conscripted at the age of 11.  I have a good friend who is a tank driver in the Armored Cav, only recently returned home from a rather interesting teaching opportunity where the classroom was a nearby battlefield.  The best man at my wedding later served in and retired from the Navy. I've lost track of all the men I've met at my church in Victoria who were drafted or volunteered. If I tried to name them, I would surely miss one, so let me simply say, collectively, they did what they needed to do and came home safely - thank God. 

Rightly, attention is given to these veterans, but a word needs to be said of the veterans of a different kind, those who “served” in the home while loved ones were away. The country musician John Conlee sings about the husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons who stay home to welcome the veterans when they return, many with broken bodies and broken minds. These men and women, the heroes of the home, deserve an honor as well. While their serviceman or servicewoman is away, they have to take care of house and children, work and school, all as a single parent knowing that being single could last a long, long time if he or she never comes home. And when they get home, it’s not always as easy as picking up where they left off. Thankfully, we know more about PTSD than ever before, but that doesn’t change the mental combat that still takes place behind closed doors in living rooms all across the country. There is one spouse whom I am thinking of in particular as I write this. I would love to tell that story, because people need to know that the battle they read about that took place in 2021, or 1991, or 1951, still rages on in some people’s lives to this day. Hers is not my story to tell, and I dare not dishonor her sacrifice by short-telling it. Service personnel receive a Purple Heart if they are wounded. To those husbands and wives who care for their wounded warrior, the nation owes you the highest of all honors: the broken heart medal.   May I suggest that if November 11 is set aside to honor veterans, we set aside November 12 to remember and honor those who stand alongside those who have served. Truly, they deserve their own honor. God bless you for your faithfulness to your love done, fighting in a battle that may not end this side of heaven.

This year, Veterans Day means a little more to my wife and me. At the school Veterans Day program yesterday, she teared up. It was a combination of the esprit de corps, the speeches, the Star Spangled Banner followed soon by Taps, and then seeing our son, a senior, on the field, with the band and choir. He plans to enlist in the United States Air Force. We are scheduled to meet with the recruiter next week to start the paperwork. It’s a humbling thing to know your child, your son or daughter, is surrendering themselves to the United States Government. We still see them as our little kids, boys and girls. They will see him, not as my son but as a tool, an instrument of war whose job, ultimately, is to kill and break things - hopefully - for a sanctified reason. I know we’re not alone as parents. Friends have sons and daughters who serve or who have served. A mother at church passes her yellow ribbon and every day thinks of her son who is getting ready to go over there. Someone send the word that the Yanks are coming.   

To each and every Veteran who might read this, please know you have my deepest respect and appreciation for what you did. Whether you carried sacks of potatoes or a 9.5 pound M1 rifle; whether you served under the sea or never left our own shores; whether you were in the court of the queen of battle or in an office pool; whether you proudly display a chest full of earned medals or quietly treasure the DD-214 that is in your safe deposit box, I don't care. Wherever and whenever you served you did what was asked. As one who hasn't served and can't serve, I won't pretend to know your story. But if I run into you, and you're wearing a cap, or a coat, or a pin, or have a bumper sticker that says that you're a proud veteran, you can expect a handshake from me. Or maybe I'll simply look you in the eye and give a knowing nod, or maybe I'll even buy you lunch or a beer. I learned my lesson a long time ago from Major Howard: I'm not asking for anything and I don't want a war story. I simply want to say thanks.

All Saints Day - Rev. 7:9-17; 1 John 3: 1-3; Matthew 5:4

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

 Blessed All Saints Day to you all. A distinctly Christian day, I am glad this is one that hasn’t been stripped from us by the secular world. Christmas and Easter have been corrupted by secularism. They get close to All Saints with Halloween and, to a degree, Dia de los Muertos, but All Saints Day belongs to the Church. That is fitting because the Saints belong to Jesus - all of them, all of us - the saints, the people of God, living and dead, made holy by God’s declaration of justification through faith in Christ. Last week was red - the color of blood, the color of battle, to remember the battle for the free Gospel and the freedom of the Gospel. This week, the liturgical color is white, the color of holiness. This is how God sees us through Jesus, holy, precious, and redeemed. It’s the picture from Revelation, the innumerable saints of God who are washed white in the blood of the lamb.  

All of the saints, both living and asleep in Christ, all who are waiting or who waited faithfully for Christ’s return, all the saints belong to Jesus.  

But I do have to admit it is an odd festival day. It doesn’t have lights and decorations like Christmas, or the same joie de vivre of Easter. It’s odd, too, in it being a generic day for all saints. While many saints canonized in either the Western or Eastern tradition have a day set apart particularly for them, the early church wanted a day to remember all the faithful men and women, all saints of God, who died confessing Christ as Lord. So, while St. Andrew will always have November 30 as his day of commemoration – Advent always begins on the Sunday closest to his day. April 25 will always be the Feast of St. Mark; for me, it’s the day my Dad died.  My Dad, Saint Walt of Walburg, will never have his own day. Neither will you or your loved ones. Thus, All Saints Day allows the church a time to remember and thank God for the innumerable faithful who have gone before us. We remember their lives of faithful love and service to friends and neighbors and the Church. We consider them as models of Christian living and we strive to model that in our own sanctified lives as children of God.  

Thus, while we thank God for our loved ones, All Saints Day often feels less joyful than the great festival days because of the memories and the recollection of our loss. There are no two ways around it: losing a loved one hurts.  If that’s you today, especially if those tears are shed in memory of a father or mother, a son or a daughter, a husband or a wife, or a dear, close friend;  or even someone who died alone and anonymous known only to God, it’s OK. Jesus Himself wept while He stood outside the tomb of His dear friend Lazarus. This is Jesus, who only moments before, when talking to Lazarus’ sister, Martha, declared Himself the resurrection and the life and that those who believe in Him, though they die, yet they shall live; Jesus, who deliberately delayed after getting the message of Lazarus imminent dying; Jesus, who was there with the Father and the Spirit when Adam received his first breath and will soon draw His own final breath, this same Jesus stood outside the tomb and wept. Real tears, real sadness, real sorrow because death robbed Lazarus of life.  

If Jesus can weep, then it is perfectly fair to weep today. It is appropriate to have a flurry of emotions today: sadness for those not with us, joy for the gifts of God in Christ, hope for what is to come. Tears flow freely for all these reasons and more. 

I have to admit; All Saints Day gets me every year. The Scripture texts set the stage. In his first Epistle, St. John tells us that we are all children of God - not just called His children, but we are His. You are adopted into sonship and daughtership. He surrendered His only-begotten Son to pay the adoption price. Paid in full, completely through the merits of Jesus, God sees you as little Christs, Christian. The Revelation - it’s truly a wonderful book, so misunderstood by so many. They think it’s a roadmap filled with secret truths to deduce and hidden messages to try to get you to the end, sort-of the BIble’s version of Candyland. It’s not. It’s the Revelation, the revealing, a glimpse of what eternity will be like in the resurrection of all flesh, as God sits on His throne, and the Lamb, Jesus Christ. And then there’s the Church.  The word used in the Greek New Testament for “church” literally means “the called-out ones.” John says that the Church is called out from everywhere - all peoples, tribes, nations, languages, backgrounds, family histories and genealogies. They’re in white - there it is again - waiving palm branches. Palm Sunday is reversed: Jesus isn’t entering in humility to die, surrounded by misunderstanding people waiving palm branches; this time, He enters in resplendent glory surrounded by those who rejoice that sin, satan and death are destroyed and they no longer need to fear, or weep, or mourn, or shed tears because those they love are suffering and dying. Revelation paints this magnificent picture of what awaits us on that great and glorious Easter of Easters when Jesus returns and renews creation. 

But, we’re not there yet. Now, we’re still on this side of heaven. And we want to see Jesus. Ralph got it. He had been battling cancer for at least a decade. I don’t remember where it started, but by the end, it was everywhere. He had fought the fight, mentally, physically, spiritually. And, he was tired. Someone had given him a little hand-held wood cross, for those difficult days when he needed a physical reminder that even if He was too weak to cling to Jesus, Jesus clung to Him with His entire life. He was dying. His wife called me; it was late. If you can come, Ralph would appreciate it…and so would I. So, with a lump in my throat, I drove to Ralph and Ethel’s house, was greeted by the family, and then was ushered into his room. Ethel said, I’ll let you two talk and she shut off the monitor. He had his cross in his hand. He said, “I’m tired, Pastor. I’m so tired. I just want to touch His robe.” I prayed the commendation of the dying. “Now may God the Father, who created you; may God the Son who redeemed you with His blood, and may God the Holy Spirit who sanctified you in the waters of Holy Baptism, bless and keep you until the day of the resurrection of all flesh.” And, with me, he said “Amen.” St. Ralph of Sheldon died a few short hours later, confident in the promise of Jesus that there will be a day when he won’t need to touch Jesus’ robe any longer. 

That night, though, that night was heavy with mourning for Ethel and her kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. And me. Oh, they knew those promises of God in Christ and they were clinging to them with empty-yet-full hands, empty of anything they had to offer, but filled with faith in Jesus. When everything is stripped away, there is Jesus and they were hanging onto Him. 

That’s what it means when Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” He was speaking prophetically, early in His ministry, but already pointing ahead to the purpose for which He came. The comfort is in the death and resurrection of Jesus because His resurrection guarantees our own resurrection. For the church, this side of heaven, we have that promise of a day of comfort that will be complete when Jesus returns. You know this: you will say it in just a moment. “I look for the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.”  But, I want you to notice, Jesus doesn’t scold: shame on those who mourn, for you should know better; there is no need to mourn because your feelings aren’t valid. No, He says, Blessed are those who mourn. 

So, today, if you mourn the death of fellow saints of God, mourn in faith knowing that they are already experiencing the peace of God which truly passes all understanding. Their body is at rest but their soul is already experiencing the beginning of the fulness of eternity. Jesus calls it “being asleep.” That’s a good way to think of it.  Mourn in hope - remember, hope with a capitol  H that is Jesus - in the sure and certain hope that you, too, will have your resurrection day. Mourn and give thanks to God for those whom you love who have died in the faith that they shared with you. Mourn knowing you will see them again. 

When we conclude this morning’s service, the last verses of the hymn will sing of that day. As you sing it, envision what that day will be like. Sing it loud, sing it bold – I don’t care if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, today, belt it out. It’s our confession, it’s our hope, it’s Christ’s promise put to music. And, if like me, the tears get in the way and your throat gets tight and you can’t sing, it’s OK. Every year, it gets harder for me to finish the hymn as I remember those whom I have buried and transferred from the church militant to the church triumphant. And I remember those whom I love who have fallen asleep in Jesus. But, even as I wipe the tears from my eyes, I see what is to come. 

But, lo, there breaks a yet more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
Thye King of Glory passes on His way,
Alleluia, Alleluia. 

And, on that day, we will fully receive Jesus’ blessing as our mourning becomes dancing. Amen.