The Resurrection of a Dead Son, a Dead Father, and a Dead Calf - Luke 15:11-32

Jesus tells the story, the parable, that we commonly know as the Prodigal Son. Today, I want to take a little different view on the parable. Let’s start by changing the name of the parable. Let’s call it the parable of the dead and dying.

It starts with the death of the father. He has two sons, the younger of which decides Daddy dearest is better off dead than alive. Junior wants his inheritance. The problem is, you only get inheritance when the head of the household is dead. It’s as if Junior is saying, “You’re not dying fast enough for my speed, Dad. I want my share of the money now, and I don’t want to wait for the will to be read and estate to be probated.” So Father dies. Not literally, of course, but it is as if he were dead. The estate is divided according to the custom of the day with the oldest son getting a double portion, 2/3 of the property, and Junior gets a third. The dead don’t need anything – they are dead, after all – so Father is left for dead, penniless, and for all intents and purposes, homeless, at the whim of the older son. The older brother gets the corner office with a view, his name on the company letterhead, and the title “head of household” while Junor hits the road to live the high life.

Junior becomes the model of celebrity excess. Think Charlie Sheen, Kanye, and Mike Tyson all rolled into one. With his newfound wealth, he buys whatever he wants – babes, booze, and binging on jewelry, food and whatever he wants – and his new friends sponge off his largesse. Les bon temp roulez, and the good times keep on rolling until his credit cards are declined, his horse is seized by creditors, and the Ritz-Carlton tosses him and his luggage out to the curb. Things get so bad that even Tom Bodett turned out the lights.

Whatever life he’s enjoyed in the past, both while at home and on his own, is as good as gone. Money, possessions, life - all over. There’s a bit of a word play here. Our translation uses “property,” both to describe what the father surrenders and what the boy squanders. Don’t just think the antiques, stocks, bonds and inventory that Dad sold to create the cash and assets that Junior wastes. This is their whole existence, their being, their identity, their very lives – both the father’s and the son’s. Junior is as good as dead, now, too. The money is gone; fair weather friends abandoned him for better times elsewhere. His property – remember, his existence, his very being, his life – it was all gone. We lose his level of desperation in our culture – he takes a job slopping hogs. Mike Rowe would never catch a self-respecting first-century Jewish man with this dirty job. It made him unclean, unable to participate in temple, in society, in family. It was another layer of death – dead to his culture. But it didn’t matter to Junior. The dead are unclean, anyway; unable to participate in any living aspect of Jewish social life. He was dead as a Jewish man; he was dead as a son. With his sonship gone, there is nothing left except to be that dead son.

He concocts a plan; he’ll go back to his father. Interesting, isn’t it, that he’s going back to the father that he once wished dead.  But since a dead father can’t welcome back a dead son, Junior must appeal to a businessman as a business venture to be hired as a fieldhand, just a servant. Anything, any kind of life is better than death, he thinks.

What should the father do? IF it were you, what would you do if your good-for-nothing, thankless, wish-you-were-dead son came dragging his sorry, scrawny, skeleton up the laneway? For those hearing the parable, the answer was an easy one to imagine: throw away the welcome mat, go into the house, lock the door, and pretend no one is home when he knocks. Junior wanted Dad to be dead; this is what death looks like. The dead do not answer when someone knocks.

Remember, parables are told to give us insight into the kingdom of God, to tell us something of the work of God in heaven and on earth, and to help us understand God’s plan of salvation for us in Christ Jesus. Although this parable begins as a story of death, it makes a tremendous shift, a shift from death to life, from vengeance to grace because it is, in fact, a story of God’s mercy. God’s story is different than our own. Parables use a “gotcha” in the story to remind us of this heavenly fact. In this parable, the ultimate and unexpected gotcha in the raising of the dead, the restoration of life to the dead, and there is the wonderful resurrection promise of the father.

The father sees this corpse of a son staggering down the road towards his home – or, rather, the home of the other brother – and does the unexpected. In an instant, it’s as if the father’s greatest joy is sitting, watching, and waiting for prodigals to return so that there can be a resurrection celebration. It’s as though he’s been practicing throwing parties for the dead who are made alive again through the father’s great love. He rises, hikes up his robe and shows off his legs – he doesn’t care who sees – and runs (runs!) to enliven his dead son. The father is alive again. It’s like the father has done nothing since the son left behind the mock funeral except to wait for this resurrection reunion, welcoming home the dead with kisses, hugs, robes and jewels.

But the boy is still dead – at least in his own mind. He doesn’t see any way for new life – not through his own strength, not even in the father’s possible compassion. He stammers out his prepared confession – at least part of it. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” No debate, no negotiating, no attempt to create worth.

I said this is a parable about death. The prodigal confesses it – he is dead. He has nothing to offer, nothing to give, nothing to bargain with. That’s how it is when you’re dead. The only thing he has is his condition – his deadness, his sinfulness, his unworthiness. He owns it; he admits it; he confesses it. He confesses his death.

Confession – you hear me speak of it often, usually in line with repentance. Repent and confess your sins. Make no mistake: confession is not a medicine that leads to recovery, as if by confessing our sins we are suddenly all better. If that was true, all it would be is a glorified “I’m sorry,” as if our sin never happened. The fact is, we never get better. What we do is we die. And, if we live again, it’s not because we found the strength, or the courage, or the innate ability to make ourselves whole. We live only because Someone takes up residence in the middle of our death. Grace is never this-for-that. Grace is fully and complete from the start.

Some people think they have to confess their sins so they can be forgiven. That’s backwards for Christians. We confess our sins because we are forgiven. Remember – we confess our sins AND we believe Christ forgives us. If we were not forgiven first, we could never believe we are forgiven. We would be left in limbo: did I confess enough? Was I sincere enough? Did I get all my wrongs right?

Consider the prodigal: he met his father who rose up to forgive, the father who ran out to him, the father who had been forgiving him even before he asked for his own father’s death, the father who died so that he could continue to forgive and love and grace his sons. Confession is never about a transaction or negotiation. Confession is the last life-breath of a corpse admitting he is dead…and, all the while, looking forward to resurrection. Forgiveness in Christ Jesus surrounds us, enwraps us all our lives, breathing new life into us every time we die. We confess, only to draw new Spirit-filled breath of life.

Every confession bears witness to this death-to-life gift of grace because our confession – whether in public or in private – flows from one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. It is always this order: Christ, cross, font, you. Christ’s death for the sins of the world, nailed to the cross for the forgiveness of sins, poured out in Baptism, showered abundantly upon you, while you were yet an enemy of God. You weren’t prepped and made good enough for Baptism. You were God’s enemy. And, in Water and Word, He adopted you, forgave you, and redeemed you and gives you the eternal promise of remaining as His son and His daughter.

That means this: you are forgiven before, during, and after you sin. You are forgiven before, during, and after your confession. You are forgiven for this and this reason only: Jesus died for our sins and rose for our justification.

It’s sometimes hard to believe it unless we see it, hear it, and even taste it for ourselves. That’s why we confess our sins each Sunday, so we can hear those precious words again. We see the sign of the cross, the sign that was placed on our hearts and foreheads as a mark of Christ the crucified. We taste Christ’s body and blood, given and shed for our forgiveness. God does this, as the father to his prodigal, and He never hesitates for a moment. It’s what He always intends to do. You are never forgiven because you have made yourself forgivable. You are dead, remember. You are forgiven because solely because there is a Forgiver who sacrificed His Lamb for you.

That’s the final death in this parable. In the story, it’s not a Lamb, of course, it’s a fatted calf. What’s the purpose of a fattened calf? One thing only – to drop dead at the father’s whim so people can have a party. The calf’s death proclaims what the father’s house is all about, just as Jesus, the dead and risen Lamb of God, proclaims what the eternal, heavenly Father’s house is all about. Grace is God celebrating and wanting to share it. But wait, you say; the calf doesn’t rise. Yes, it does: it rises to feed the prodigals who are returned to sonship and welcomed at the Father’s table.

So, the parable is about death. The father is dead; the prodigal is dead, the calf is dead. Then, the parable is about life: all three are risen and everyone celebrates.

Jesus tells this parable to the tax collectors and sinners who were listening to Him. Thus far, the parable is a parable of grace for the sinners, condemned by everyone except Jesus. They are forgiven because they are dead sinners. But Jesus is a risen savior who years to raise them to new life as well.

But the parable is also a word of warning to the self-righteous Pharisees who sat nearby, are busy finger-pointing at everyone else. They are very much like the older brother in the parable who stands, grousing about the celebration for the returned son. He grumbles that he has worked for his father without even a goat of reward or a word of recognition. The father points out, he’s missed the point. He’s been dead since the beginning of the parable, remember? Everything was given to the boys. Yes, the younger brother did indeed waste his property, but didn’t the older brother as well? He found no joy in his inheritance, no thankfulness in the father’s loving sacrifice. The fatted calf was actually his – he could have celebrated any time, but instead he chose bitterness. Why, it’s as if you’ve been dead, too, son. The difference between you and your brother died and came home to resurrection joy. You, you’re alive (sort of) but standing here miserable. You own this place – it’s yours! – but you’re outside, as if you’re the prodigal. The roles have reversed. So, son, die – die to yourself, to your rules, your expectations, your demands. Die to yourself so that you might rise and be part of the family.

The parable ends with tension, the question left unanswered: will the Pharisees, the older brother in the story, will they die to themselves so they can rise to new life, come inside and celebrate as family, or will they remain outside replacing the prodigal who left home dead only to return alive.

So, who are you in the story? You’re at the table. You’re a former prodigal who has been welcomed into the family. You were lost and you were found. You have already died and risen. That’s what grace does.

If you found yourself crawling in the doors of this house this morning, feeling more dead than alive, wondering if the Father still loved you, the answer is a resounding yes. If you need to hear that yourself, privately, into your own ear, let me know. I’m just a prodigal, myself, but I’ll gladly tell you about the Father’s great love for the undead in Christ.

Repentance and Fig Trees - Luke 13:1-9

Why do bad things happen to good people? People have been asking that question for centuries, perhaps even since the days of Adam and Eve. We similarly ask, why do bad things happen to me and not so & so. Sometimes, we’ll also ask why do bad things seem to happen to him or her all the time? Tough, real-world questions, especially when you or someone you love is hip-deep in the rising waters of trouble and it feels as if God isn’t helping. It’s frightening; it’s humbling; it’s faith-testing.

The technical, theological term for trying to answer these questions is called theodicy. Why, if God is good and all-powerful and loving, is there still evil and suffering in the world? People have tried to answer the question for centuries. Eastern religions espouse karma, you get what you give. Others say you get what you deserve. Some speak of fate, others to a nebulous “god” who is out to get you.

The people of Jesus’ time had a similar idea: if something bad has happened to you, either you or your parents or perhaps grandparents had some tremendous past or secret sin that God held against you and he was now evening the score.

I suspect that’s what was driving the narrative when people came to Jesus, telling Him about Pilate’s murder of Galileans who were worshipping and making sacrifice and whose blood, subsequently, got mixed in with the sacrifices. It was both a theological and civil tragedy. Their complaint must have included the question, why did this happen? Were the Galileans guilty of a secret sin? Was God displeased with their sacrifice? Were they not sufficiently sanctified before making their offering?

The premise rests on the idea that there are good people and bad people. Good people don’t deserve bad things and bad people don’t deserve good things. When those get twisted and good people have bad things happen, then something must be wrong.

That begs the question: What is the litmus test for a good or bad person? Is the rating cumulative, based on life experience – overall, allowing for a few mistakes, you are a B- on the good scale - or does a one-time event skew the result one way or the other - you were a good boy up until last Tuesday when you…? Were the Gentiles good people who were merely trying to fulfill their obligations at the temple, or were they bad people because they were not Jews? Let me give an example of a friend of mine: Robert (not his real name, by the way) was arrested for stealing. A thief is bad, right? But, he stole the a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, less than $5 worth of food, because he was desperate to feed his hungry kids. Is he a good guy who was desperately trying to care for his family, or is he a bad guy who used his family as an excuse?  Who decides whether a person is good or bad?

I want you to notice that Jesus doesn’t really answer that question why do bad things happen to good people. In fact, He ups the ante with the story of 18 people crushed by an industrial accident. “Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than other worshippers, or these 18 were worse than the others in Jerusalem?” He avoids the question about one’s relative goodness. Instead, he focuses on the human condition before God. To both stories, He offers the same warning: “Unless you repent you will all likewise perish.”

We use the word “perish” as a polite euphemism for death. The news reported nine people perished in a car accident out in West Texas. Three people perished in a house fire. Perished – it sounds clean, sterile, even professional. When Jesus uses the word, perish, He strips any cleanliness from the word. He is speaking of eternal death, the eternal separation of man from God in the torment of hell. Unless you repent, you will all experience what death really means as you suffer where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched. That is what He means when He says perish: if you perish, you go to hell.

*His point is not that if your repentance is pure enough, sincere enough, sorrowful enough or faithful enough that you can avoid the fire of Gehenna and separation from God. Thinking your works, your efforts, even your repentance is what puts you in God’s good graces is what leads to such separation! Ironically, even being sinless is not a guarantee. In fact, it leads to the opposite: death on the cross for Jesus.

I wonder if that’s not what Jesus is actually wanting them to repent of – a foolish notion that somehow, this side of heaven, we can reject death and see it as something that only happens to bad guys – specifically, guys we determine who are bad and worthy of dying (or unworthy of living, whichever the case may be). Perhaps that’s part of Jesus’ point: be prepared because everyone will one day die. He’s not being macabre – He’s speaking the truth of the havoc satan and sin has brought to creation. But that is the purpose for which Jesus came: that He, too, would die – for you and with you so that you no longer have to keep death at arm’s length. You have nothing to lose but the fear and horror of death. 

To help us grasp this idea, which is outside of our daily thinking, Jesus tells this brief parable about the fig tree that isn’t producing fruit. Briefly, an owner finds a fig tree that isn’t producing fruit. It’s just using up soil and space so he tells his servant to cut it down. But the vinedresser instead argues for the tree, offering to give it special care, turning the ground and fertilizing with manure, so that it might have the opportunity to produce fruit one more time. IF it fails in a year’s time, then it can be cut down.

Don’t be tempted to see yourself as the vinedressing hero who potentially saves the tree. Parables generally aren’t about you. They’re about the kingdom. They are about Jesus. Well, I said the parable isn’t about you, but you are in it. See yourself as the tree; see the vinedresser as Jesus; see the landowner as God who is displeased with the spiritual fruit that you and I produce – or, more accurately, with the complete absence of spiritual fruit. Where is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self control. The landowner rules that it’s as if we’re dead – there’s no fruit, no evidence, of faith; is there any faith, any life at all?

Enter the vinedresser. Enter Jesus. He pleads for the landowner’s mercy for the fruitless tree. Jesus intercedes to the Father on our behalf. “Let it be, Lord, for one more year.” Let it be – it’s interesting: Jesus uses the same phrase from the cross. There, under His own judgement of death, we hear Jesus pray, “Father, forgive.”

That’s the wonder of the foolishness of the cross. Jesus becomes sin for us. The foul, stinking manure of mankind’s sin is dumped upon Him and He carries it in Himself. His body is marked by nails; a spear digs deep into His side. He sends resurrection into our roots. He doesn’t come to see if we think ourselves good and worthy: He comes to turn over our idea of good and the conventions by which we pretend to be good. He doesn’t come to see if we’re sorry: He knows our repentance is often fickle and just as much hot air. He doesn’t count our anything. He comes only to forgive, fully, freely. No one is too far gone, no one is too spiritually dead for His resurrection restoration. We were dead, remember, and brought nothing to the conversation. The vinedresser restores life, without qualification, as one enormous gift.

When we hear this section of Luke 13, it always begins with the question, “Why?” Jesus turns us to see the “who” instead. Who we are – dead and dying. Who He is – saving and restoring, having Himself died and rose for us. With that as our focus, we are able to live in these grey and latter days without having to be fearful for marauding Roman governors and strangely falling towers, or hidden viruses, or even a crazed, maniacal dictator who seems to hold the future of the world underneath his hot, sweaty hands. Luther was once asked, what would you do if you knew tomorrow as the end of the world. He thought for a minute and said that he would go plant an apple tree, that way just in case the world didn’t end, some day, someone could enjoy the fruit of his labor. Live each day with the joy and certainty that Christ has taken our place, died our death, and redeems us to bear fruit in His name. And, go plant a tree.

 

 * I am indebted to Robert Farrar Capon's book, Kingdom, Grace, Judgement: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus (c. 2002, Wm. B. Eerdmans Co.) for this Gospel understanding of the parable. Much of what follows from this point is based on chapter 9 of the book.

Imitating Paul By Crying - Philippians 3:17-4:1

“Brothers, join in imitating me…” Paul wants us to imitate him.

I don’t know. That seems a little difficult, doesn’t it? Difficult on all sorts of levels. I don't care what he says in First Corinthians, Paul was a pretty good preacher. Better than you're getting this morning, I'll bet. He preached and spoke for hours, even late into the night, and people listened intently. Well, except for sleepy Eutychus but that’s another story for another time. Paul’s writing is certainly superior. He wrote letter upon letter that were passed from congregation to congregation, the Holy Spirit seeing fit to preserve these still for you and I to read this morning. Me? I struggle for a 2-page sermon. Imitate this apostle? I don’t know. I’m not really into shipwrecks. Or imprisonment, or beatings, or stonings, and I stay away from threats of all kinds, and so forth.

Of course, it wasn't Paul's call either. It was God's Call that he read into those kinds of difficulties. And it's not our call either.

Imitation is really a very important part of human life. It’s said that imitation is the motherhood of all learning. Children learn to walk, talk, read, mow the lawn, bake cookies, change the oil, paint fingernails, spike the ball, sweep the tag, geometry, and countless other things by watching and imitating their moms and dads, grannies and grampies, coaches and teachers. Adults learn to use smart phones by imitating grandkids and YouTube videos. All sorts of bad habits are learned by imitating Uncle Earl. It’s also said imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. We are delighted when others imitate us.

This is not only true of Moms and Dads, but also of our Divine Parent also wants us to imitate Him and our Big Brothers and Sisters in the faith. Models of the faith are really significant parts of God's gift to us, part of the Holy Spirit's way of cultivating faith in us and the mind of Christ. Paul has a lot to say in his letters about following after the mind of Christ, and especially here in Philippians.

Paul wants us to be co-imitators. He doesn’t want us to go it alone. Imitate together with him. You never want to try imitating alone. We imitate as part of the Congregation of God's people. Remember – God saw it wasn’t good for Adam to be alone, so He made a help-meet for him. The same is true for us, that’s why He gathers together Christians into the congregation, into the Church, as the body of Christ. And, as the body of Christ, He wants us to be supporting of one another, to be modeling life for one another in the congregation of His people. And that, being co-imitators, is particularly important, especially when we run into imprisonment or shipwreck, or being beaten, or stoned and the like for the sake of Jesus and the faith. We don’t live alone, we don’t imitate alone.

Part of Paul’s example that he puts before us in this text involves imitating crying, more specifically learning to cry the right way. Now, I know that doesn’t sound very manly; it doesn’t sound very socially acceptable. Who teaches others to cry, outside of Hollywood? Do we teach our sons and daughters to cry? I don’t think so – we usually tell them to not cry. In the words of Stephen Bochco, we don’t want to appear soft, lest someone mistake us for food and try to eat us. But, speaking for myself, there are things that move me to tears. Watching the scenes out of Ukraine – I can only do that in small doses before tears form. I read a story of Ukrainians leaving behind heirlooms, photographs, and other important treasures but making sure they had their pets…that got me. Being with parents who lose a child, or a child who loses a parent – I don’t think I would survive as a hospital chaplain. Watching someone I love hurt so bad and being helpless to do anything about it. These are all true feelings and deep emptions, but none of those are what Paul means when he wants us to learn to cry.

Paul wants us to imitate his tears, to cry, because of and, surprisingly, especially on behalf of the enemies of the Cross of Christ.

The “because of” makes sense. Our enemies often bring tears to our eyes, literally or figuratively, and this is particularly true of the enemies of the Church and of Jesus. Paul is apparently talking about tears, not shed in anger or indignation or disgust – though we may have those feelings too - but his tears, I think, were being shed in outright, real sorrow for the people whose God is their belly. That is from a man who doesn't really seem terribly likely to be going around shedding tears.

The enemies of the cross glory in their own shame. They conceive of reality in such a way that brings them down into the gutter, down into the pits of despair, where life is slowly sucked out of them. Don’t get down in the mud with them; instead, Paul says, our minds should be in the clouds, fixed on that heavenly citizenship, that heavenly society in which God cultivates us as He gives us rebirth in our baptisms, and as He renews that new life in us day in and day out, as the Holy Spirit brings us the Word of life.

And when we look at reality from God perspective, we see something unique. Our translation in verse 20 says “our citizenship” but I prefer the old King James way of saying this, “conversation.” Our conversation. Citizenship smacks of rights and boundaries. Conversation describes our way of thinking and talking about this reality and that it all comes from God. And the Holy Spirit leads us into looking at the world in such a way that we just don't understand how people can try to find their identity and security and meaning in the pleasures of this life and ignore all the signs that they're careening toward destruction. How can they miss their own conversation about the Good News of Jesus who saves? How can their eyes be shifted away from the cross? Their ears closed to Word that gives life? The spectacle of it is enough to make a grown Christian weep. Such tears flow from the eyes and the minds of people who have been freed by Christ's death and resurrection. Free to imitate our Lord. Free to imitate Paul. Free to weep for those who deny, decry, and disbelieve Jesus as Lord and Savior.

Everyone knows the shortest verse in the Bible is John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” You know, our Lord didn't just cry outside Lazarus’ tomb. He cried over Jerusalem. In this morning’s Gospel reading, Jesus laments over the city, echoing Jeremiah centuries earlier, as the city that murders the prophets. He is not yet moved to tears – that comes later, as He prepares to enter the city for Holy Week. Then, Jesus weeps over the city. Those were real tears. The people who are about to crucify Him, He wept in sadness for them as He looked to the prospect of what was facing those people for whom He was dying but who, sadly, would remain enemies of the cross. They murdered the prophets; they stoned those sent to proclaim the Word of the Lord; they crucified the One sent to save.

I wonder – and I realize the danger of asking questions about Jesus that aren’t answered in Scripture – I wonder if He still weeps over Jerusalem. I suspect He does weep for Jerusalem…and Texas, and Cuero, and Goliad, and Victoria, and Mission Valley and our neighbors whom we greet and call by name, people whose god is their belly, and who have not time or interest in the One who weeps for them.

I say that because our society, our culture seems to specialize in inventing new ways to oppose the cross of Christ. It's almost as if it’s a way of life. Or, perhaps, we should say a way of death.  And our temptation is naturally to get defensive about this. Like Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane, we have to do something and we draw our verbal swords and pencils and electronic devices to rail against them and to be mad at them and all that sort of thing. I hear it, too: “Pastor, you need to preach a fire and brimstone sermon about what’s going on ‘out there’.” As if a sermon I preach to you will show them, ‘out there’ who will never hear what is said, that’ll show them who's boss.

But we don't need to. The Boss will. Jesus has shown us who is Lord, showing us who is subjecting all things to Himself. That's why: because we trust that He really is Lord. The Lord who has freed us. We trust also that He has freed us to weep over our enemies. Over His enemies. Over the enemies of the Church. And to pray with those tears that those tears will flow into baptismal water. That becomes perfect vengeance of the cross. The cross they once decried, they are then marked with the cross and baptized with tears Jesus once shed over them.

And then Jesus turns them into people just like us: disciples of the Lord, following at His cross, seeing reality, no longer from the gutter, but from the heavenly in-the-clouds perspective.  

God, this planted your feet and mind firmly on the good earth that he has created. He has placed us here for all sorts of purposes, one of which is to cry for his enemies. And the conversation, the citizenship, that orients our entire life, that shapes every moment of our day, at least ideally, comes from the Lord himself.

So on this day, we repent again. We repent for crying for the wrong things, and not crying for the right things, and for not crying enough for the enemies of the cross of Jesus and who, I think, we can consider as our enemies, too. As we repent this day, we look to the Lord. We think about our heavenly passports, our godly identity papers. Then we stumble along in apostolic fashion, disagreeing, of course, with Paul on who the chief of sinners really is. But, agreeing with him fully that what we really need to know is Christ. And Him crucified…risen…ascended…reigning.

Funny thing about tears – they taste salty. This side of heaven, those tears we shed over the state of the enemies of the cross of Jesus will always be salty and somewhat bitter. Yet we, who by faith are already citizens of above, we are also already beginning to taste the tears of joy that come from being citizens of the King. With tears, both salty and sweet, we rejoice, we praise His name, and we pray for His enemies. Amen.

Jesus Is Tempted For You - Luke 4:1-13

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

Given how the word is tossed around, I suspect the idea of temptation doesn’t mean much to most people. Conventional wisdom treats temptation as if it’s no of no greater significance than any other choice: paper or plastic, regular or decaf, give in to temptation or resist. Either way, no big deal. So, we talk about being tempted by a second slice of cake, or one more beer, or beautiful and handsome bodies, or how we talk about others, but it seems as if the choice is already made that we’re not really worried about it. With hardly a thought, we toss out “I really shouldn’t, but…” If we shouldn’t, then we shouldn’t – no ifs, ands, or buts.

Even marketing has gotten into it. Products are now branded with the word “temptation” as part of a name. There is vegan Temptation Ice Cream, I guess the idea being that since it’s vegan, it’s OK to be tempted by it. There is a swim-ware line called “Temptation” that reportedly leaves little to the imagination – please know, I was not tempted to look at it. Want to smell good for the opposite sex? Men spritz Gold Temptation Axe body spray while women use a Temptation perfume. Since life often follows what we see on television, Temptation Island teaches that troubled marriages can be destroyed by adultery under the pretext of “finding happiness.” Even you’re your pets aren’t even exempt – according to the commercial, your cat will leap to a 2^nd story deck for a bite of Temptation kitty treats.

By rebranding the word, it minimizes the impact of what it means. Maybe it’s that by saying we were tempted, we think we have an excuse, or at least a pass. It’s not my fault I ate the whole box of ice cream treats. I know I shouldn’t have stared at the beach, but they were wearing those swimsuits. Yes, I was flirting, but he smelled so good. It looked like so much fun on television. I was tempted - what else could I do?

Let’s start by naming temptation for what it is: it is satan trying to lure you away from Jesus and into his own sinfully damnable, miserable, eternal existence. He’ll do it directly, or indirectly through the world around us. Sometimes, he even uses our own, sinful nature: “But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man. For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies...”, Matthew 15:18-19. In the words of the cartoon character Pogo, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” Satan attempts to take God’s good gifts, such as food, rest, God-blessed sexual intimacy, and the need to be loved, and disguise those things as a god themselves, things to be desired more than anything else.

You notice, I said “attempt.” Your Christian conscience recognizing that you are being tempted and arguing against acting on it is not a sin. But, satan will try to make you think that it’s one-in-the-same: “you’ve been tempted, so might as well do it.” Being tempted is not a sin – we know that because Jesus was tempted, yet remained sinless; ergo, being tempted doesn’t make one a sinner. But this isn’t a question of how much we can get away with, how hot can it get before we get burned sort of thing. As sinners, even sinners who are saved by grace through faith in Christ Jesus, we often don’t realize we have crossed from temptation to surrender until it is too late. And, sometimes, in the heat of the moment, our Old Adam and Old Eve just doesn’t care. Don’t be tempted – see what I did there – to think that this is like the kid whose parents say don’t come out of your room and then sticks the big toe into the hallway, just to see what will happen. Surrendering to the temptation, whether just a little or a lot is still a sin. Remember, Eve only took a bite of one piece of fruit – she didn’t eat the whole tree.

According to Barna, America’s top-five self-reported temptations are anxiety or worry, procrastination, overeating/eating poorly, overuse of electronics and social media, and laziness. Be honest – not out loud, please – what are your greatest, or worst, temptations? Spending money you don’t have? Gossipping? Coveting the neighbors’ new car, house, or instagram-perfect life? Lustful desires? Sex outside marriage? Internet porn? Alcoholism? Illegal drugs? Stealing time or money from work? Lying to parents, kids, teachers, to yourself? Cheating? Human temptation has so many variables, versions, and combinations that no list could contain all of them.

 But satan’s two greatest temptation of all are reserved for Christians and only Christians, for they cut at the very core of the Baptized conscience and tempt Christians to turn your eyes from Jesus and inward to yourself. The first is that you have out-sinned God’s grace, you have sinned against God and your neighbor so greviously that you are not able to be forgiven, that you no longer deserve to be called a child of God. Jesus no longer stands as your advocate but as your judge and the verdict is guilty. The second temptation is that God doesn’t care for you or about you (and satan will use a current situation as evidence) and that you have to figure things out on your own. You are your own savior, but since the situation seems desperate and you aren’t able to fix it, you are lost and powerless and left without hope.

Because we’ve stripped temptation of it’s real danger, fifty percent of Americans struggle with the guilt, shame, pain, frustration, dysfunction and destruction of surrendering to sin. Psychiatrists, psychologists, barbers, hair dressers, and bar tenders make careers out of trying to help people deal with their temptations and the guilt they feel for surrendering to them.

Only the Church, armed with the Gospel – the Good News – of Jesus Christ has the cure for helping deal with temptation and the guilt of sinful surrender.

The Church tells us what yielding to temptation does. Adam and Eve brought the consequences of surrender to temptation into the world. They did something to us. Through their surrender, sin, death, condemnation, loss, guilt and shame entered into the world. The once perfect and intimate relationship with God now became one of separation. They started a chain of events that lead to death. Death, once only an unknown word, was wholly understood – first, as animals lives were taken so the skins could provide protection; second, as Adam and Eve also died.

The Church tells us of how temptation is defeated. The Scriptures tell us of a Second Adam, Jesus, the Christ, who does something for us. He reverses what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden. Jesus brings life, righteousness, and forgiveness. He brings a new chain of events that lead through death to resurrection and life. Where Adam surrendered to temptation; Christ overcomes temptation. Three times, satan tempts Jesus – once with food for a hungry stomach, once with the empty promise of power and authority, once for faith in the Father’s protection. Beneath each temptation lurked an even deeper temptation. Immediately prior to being tempted, Jesus was baptized and the Father spoke, “You are my beloved Son.” The hidden desert temptation is this: do you trust in the Father’s great love for You, His Beloved Son? You know what’s in store, Jesus, heading to Your death on the cross. Do you trust the Father will care for you, Jesus? First, He sends you out into the wilderness alone. It's but a foretaste of what will come at the cross, Jesus. Do you trust Him, or would you rather have the easy way out? It's just a bite of bread; it’s just a bowed knee; it’s just a little leap of faith, albeit misplaced faith.” Each time, with each temptation, Jesus answers with a resounding, “Yes – I trust my Father completely,” while turning to the eternal Word of God.

Know this: Christ not only overcame temptation for Himself, He overcame temptation for us. We often say Jesus entered into humanity to become one of us. That is true. But He also entered into humanity to do what we cannot do for and by ourselves. Even though we are baptized children of God, we are also sinners, sons of Adam. If you need proof of this, Luther said, pinch yourself. Because we are still sons of Adam, we cannot overcome temptation by ourselves. Like Adam, we face temptation, thinking we can manage it by reason of our own strength, only to have our strength broken as we yield to the temptations. But because Jesus has done for us what we cannot do, we share in Christ’s conquering of satan for us.

A moment ago, I said yielding to temptation leads to death. It lead to Jesus’ death, too – for our failures to resist and the willingness to yield to temptation. Jesus’ conquering of Satan didn’t end in the wilderness. Satan wanted to tempt Him from going where He had to go: the cross. He wanted to keep Jesus from going to the place where He would die for the sins of the world, for all of the times where mankind yielded and surrendered to temptation’s alluring siren song. The cross would be the place where satan’s defeat would be announced: It is finished.

So, what does the child of God do when tempted? "No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it," (1 Cor 10:13). He will provide a way – and sometimes that means you walk away from a friend, close or turn your eyes away from pictures, shut your mouth to gossip, or even say “no.” What do you do when you realize satan is tempting you? When he does that, follow the footsteps of Jesus as the Spirit led Him into the wilderness. Do what Jesus did: turn back to the Word – that’s part of the reason why memorizing Bible passages is so helpful. And then pray. What should you pray? The Lord’s Prayer. In the 6th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, we pray “Lead us not into temptation.” I used to think this was praying God would protect us from being tempted to steal a car or worshipping Buddah. While that’s true, if that’s all we think when we pray this, we’re missing the greater meaning behind it. Immediately before this, in the Fifth Petition, we prayed “Forgive us our trespasses.” The longer I serve as a pastor, and the more I care for hurting souls, the more I believe that these two petitions go together like this: “Don’t let us be tempted that our sins aren’t forgiven.”

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

Witnesses on the Journey to the Cross: Ashes (Midweek Lenten Service)

 In the name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.

Tonight we begin our Lenten journey. Lent is forty days, excepting Sundays, before Easter. The forty days comes from Jesus’ forty day journey in the wilderness being tempted by Satan – you’ll hear this as Sunday’s Gospel reading in Luke 4. Sundays are exempt from the forty days of Lent because Sundays are always “little Easters,” and not even the solemn nature of Lent strips that away. Thus, we properly distinguish this by speaking of the Sundays in Lent, because they are in the season, but never the Sundays of Lent as we would the Sundays of Epiphany, of Christmas, or of Easter. That might sound trivial, but Sundays and resurrection go together. Lent, not quite so much; at least, not yet.

Lent is a season of repentance. Each year on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, the liturgy of the Church calls us to begin “a holy season of prayerful and penitential reflection,” when “our attention is especially directed to the holy sufferings and death of our Lord Jesus Christ.” It’s a solemn time of the year where we acknowledge and confess our sins, recalling the Biblical fact that it was our sins that Jesus carried in Himself to the cross, that the nails that pierced His hands, although driven in by the Roman soldiers, could just as well have been pounded home by us. Yet, Lent is also a season of joy – albeit, subdued. There is joy because Jesus is our Savior. Jesus’ blood was shed as payment for our sins, the truly innocent Lamb of God sacrificed by sinners for sinners, all under God’s own plan of salvation. Jesus was stripped of all glory and honor and dignity. He was judged by both man and by God and declared guilty. The wages of sin is death, and He paid the price to His own end. It is finished.

This Lententide, we will remember this solemn narrative by hearing from various witnesses. The purpose of a witness is to tell what was seen or heard. Witnesses deliver the truth. Witnesses help us understand what happened. This is what our Lenten witnesses will do – help us understand the passion of Jesus. Some of the witnesses will be inanimate things that are part of the story. Other witnesses will be the people who were there. All will bear witness to Jesus’ vicarious, substitutionary sacrifice.

You have already met tonight’s witness: ashes. As it is Ash Wednesday, it is most appropriate that we hear what the ashes say to us as we begin this forty-day Lenten journey to the cross.

There are three reasons why we receive ashes on Ash Wednesday. First, the ashes remind people of their sinfulness. Second, the ashes remind people of their mortality. Third, the ashes remind people that they have been redeemed. Let’s unpack this a bit.

Since ancient times, God’s people have used ashes as a sign of humble repentance. Jonah, Job, Daniel, and King David – among others – put on sack cloth (like burlap) and then covered themselves with ashes. It was uncomfortable pairing, the burlap and ashes combining to irritate the skin. This served as an outward sign of recognizing their sins, an act demonstrating repentance. This tradition was carried on by the early church. Although we’ve minimized this, getting rid of the sack cloth and not covering ourselves in ash, this is the tradition from whence Ash Wednesday comes. 

When one receives ashes on the forehead, they are admitting that they are sinners in desperate need of salvation. They are admitting that they have sinned not only against their neighbors, but against God Himself. The ashes demonstrate that without God, all people are spiritually dead. The ashes remind the wearer of their need to repentance, that is, both acknowledgement of sin and faith that trusts in God’s grace for the sake of Christ. Ashes were also used as a cleaning agent to remove stains. The ashes demonstrate our pleading that the Lord would purify us. The ashes serve as a tangible and visible sign of our failure to love God as much as He loves us.

The receiving of ashes on Ash Wednesday also remind people of their mortality, which is the direct result of God’s condemnation of our sin. God said to Adam, “You are dust and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). As the ashes were applied, you heard the same, solemn reminder that the price of sin is death. Man cannot escape death. People don’t like to think about death. Our culture has seemingly sterilized death. We make every attempt to avoid death. Death is uncomfortable. And, that’s why ashes are so important. They are the physical reminder that God created man from the dust of the earth and one day all men will return to the dust of the earth. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. The ashes force us to remember that we are merely mortal and that God alone is sovereign and reigns for all eternity.

Media vita in morte sumus.  “In the midst of life we are in death.”  So supposedly whispered a medieval monk after watching in horror as a laborer fell suddenly to his death while working on a bridge across a chasm in the Alps.  “In the midst of life we are in death.” This is part of the burial liturgy, to be spoken by the pastor as the casket is carried from hearse to the gravesite.

Yes, ashes bear witness of the need for repentance and a reminder of our mortality. While we are in Lent, we are nevertheless still Easter people, and as Easter people, ashes bear witness of Jesus Christ. Ashes aren’t just smeared across your foreheads. The ashes are given in the shape of the cross. The ashes trace the sign of the cross placed on your forehead and heart in your baptism which marks you as redeemed by Christ the crucified. In receiving the ashes, we remember that our Lord Jesus took on the fullness of our humanity. He who was sinless became our sin. Jesus the Christ was crucified on a cross. He was crucified for you. Then Jesus conquered death itself through His resurrection. He was resurrected for you. You were baptized into His death and His resurrection. He has taken the ashes of our past and created in us new life, allowing us to live forever in the holy presence of God! He has redeemed His children, making us clean and new. Through the cross of Christ, the power of death has been destroyed. Through the cross there is life. The cross-shaped ashes on our foreheads proclaim the good news that sin and death have been conquered through the cross of Christ.

In a few moments, we will celebrate the Lord’s Supper. We, who were once dead in our sins, we who deserve to die, come to the Lord’s Table literally wearing the cross of Christ. Here, at the Lord’s table, those who have humbled themselves before the Lord, who have admitted their sin, who know they deserve death, are instead given the new life that is only found through the body and blood of our loving Lord Jesus. Here, at the Lord’s table, those marked with the cross of Christ are raised up, strengthened through God’s mercy, love, and grace, and sent forth into the world to proclaim the good news!

Tonight, the witness of the ashes leads us to humbly come before the Lord, repent of our sinful ways and receive the free gift of our Lord Jesus Christ. Interestingly, the ashes Lutherans receive are traditionally made out of the palm branches used previously on Palm Sunday, a day when people rejoiced and praised Jesus only days before they turned on him and yelled “Crucify Him!” This serves as a powerful witness that people are sinful, death is real, but Resurrection Day (Easter) is coming!

Come, all are welcome. All are in need of salvation. Let the Lord use the witness of the ashes of your past to create in you a clean heart and new life in Him.