Strive to Enter the Narrow Door - Luke 13: 22-30

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

Someone asks Jesus, “Lord, will those who are saved be few?” Don’t you wish you had a little more information? Luke was a physician; I wish he was a reporter, then maybe we would have gotten some details. Who was this person? What was his job, his vocation? Where did he come from? How did this scene happen – was he following after Jesus, or did Jesus run into him? Most of all, I want to know why was he asking the question. Was he asking out of true concern as he looked around the crowds, wondering how many of those standing there would be in the final resurrection? Was he asking for himself – did he stand a chance of entry into the eternal Kingdom? Was he a religious leader, looking to verbally spar and debate fine points of salvation theology and Jewish heritage? Or, perhaps he was just a curious on-looker, trying to gain a moment of attention with what he perceived to be a challenging question.

Luke doesn’t answer our questions, but He does give us Jesus’ answer – or, rather, Jesus’ non-answer. It’s not what we expect. Jesus doesn’t answer “Will those who are saved be few” with a yes or no or even a “none of your business; follow me.” He doesn’t answer directly. That gives us a clue, it tells us that the very question itself if wrong, it is invalid. Therefore, he doesn’t answer the question directly. Instead, He brings the man forward, calling him and speaking to him.

But not just to this unknown misguided and misinformed questioner. Jesus speaks to all those who were standing there who were journeying along with Jesus towards Jerusalem. You would miss that unless you pay attention to the little detail that Luke did include: “And [Jesus] said to them,” – not him. And all of the following verbs are plural: y’all strive, y’all seek, y’all enter, y’all will not be able.”

The question isn’t a good one. There is something with the heart of the man, unseen to all but known to Jesus. So, His answer, His words stand as a warning for spiritual vigilance, the goal of the Last Day of judgement. The man may have been curious, or an intellectual, or even a theologian, but he was not keeping first things first.

Keeping first things first. That is still the temptation that we face: to lose sight of the first things. Yes, even here at Zion. It is easy to assume that everything is well and good. But I hear it and I feel it and, chances are, many of you do as well. The lament that somehow this place with its struggles and the people with their life-struggles can have a withering effect on others spiritual lives. You can see it and feel it. Look around…do you see who you do not see? There is a reason some no longer worship here. Debate and discussion turns into disgust, disrespect, and disdain for the opinions of brothers and sisters in Christ. Honest and simple disagreement gives rise to insult and slander and gossip about our sisters and brothers, themselves. Character is mocked and names are assassinated. And we dismiss and disguise our own behaviors, sometimes even with full knowledge of the Word of God in our heads, excusing it with a “I know, but…”, even as we fail to discern the word addressing the wickedness that is in our hearts.

Here, more than anywhere else on earth, here we must keep the first things first. We must see ourselves as pilgrims on the journey, journeying with Jesus toward the goal of the Last Day and the narrow door through which we must pass to enter into eternity. And there is no greater message today, on our Sunday School rally day, a day where we think about our children, than to remember this first thing first: that there is nothing greater than to be a Christian. To call us to follow Him. To call each of us and all of us to strive to enter the narrow door.

Why would our Lord say, “strive”? It’s because we walk through the valley of the shadow and satan lurks in the shadows, striving himself, striving and seeking and chasing after God’s Baptized children, refusing to let us alone to simply follow behind Jesus. Make no mistake: the enemy – and to be clear, I do not mean Democrats or Republicans, Red or Blue, pro-this or pro-that, those with whom we disagree - I mean THE enemy, satan himself, he will be here, around us and, sometimes even among us, distracting us, tripping us up, striving to lead us astray.

We are on a journey as the people of God that only ends on the day when the great banquet begins, when Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob sit at Table to enjoy the banquet of the Kingdom of God in its fullness with Jesus. Which, Jesus says, we strive toward. And, until then, the danger is very real. Yet, the journey continues.

Strive how? And for what? The answer is opposite what we usually expect. Strive to be less. Strive to be the least. Strive to be nothing. Jesus said there are last ones who will be first, and there will be first who will be last. To strive to enter, to strive at all, is God’s way of working, His way of saving, because God’s journey for us is the reverse of what we normally would do. So, He will have to teach us how.

To be last, to know that of myself I will be nothing and can do nothing and there is nothing about which to brag or an achievement to boast about. To be last is to confess that I have nothing other than what God first gave to me. So if there is wisdom or learning or insight or talents or success, it says so little about me because I am last. These say nothing about me. It says everything about my Savior. Strive to be last. And let God make you first.

How Jesus delights to speak this way. Luke’s Gospel is full with this proclamation: Mary rejoices that through the birth of Her Savior-Son, God pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up those of low estate. Simeon prophesies that Jesus is appointed for the rising and falling of many in Israel. Jesus reveals that whoever exalts Himself before God will be humbled, but whoever humbles himself, God will exalt. Strive to do nothing because God seeks to do it all, and He has done it all. Our journey as Christians, our work and life in this world, our common service as people of God at Zion from the children to the adults, it all comes about because of what God has done for us and what God continues to do for us even this very day and this very moment.

The unnamed questioner was journeying with Jesus. And Jesus was making His way to Jerusalem. To get to the narrow door, you first pass through the city gates of Jerusalem. Jesus enters there, as the true Son of God, the King of Israel. To sit at table with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is to first marvel and believe as Jesus sits at table with the disciples in the upper room, a meal that is the fruit of His suffering and death that continues to forgive sins and strengthen us in this life. To enter the door of life on the last day means that, first, we gaze in wonder at Christ who does not enter the door. He was shut out for us. He was numbered among the transgressors, treated as a sinner. In truth, God the Father treated Him like sin itself. He bore our sins and stripped them from us. He died for you.

And then God the Father raised Him from the dead, and from Jesus who journeyed to Jerusalem for us, we have the good news of sins forgiven, the peace of God that keeps us on the journey to the narrow door. Strive to enter means that God’s Word each day leads us to repentance over our sins. It means the Good News of that great reversal, brought about by Christ’s humility into flesh, so wonderfully present will lift us up and stand us on our feet, as those whom God loves, whom Christ died for to forgive, as those who walk in the way that leads to eternal life.

You have heard me say this before, but it bears repeating. What is it that makes a good Christian? What makes a Christian a good Christian? Just this: to know we are sinners and to repent of our sins, all the while rejoicing in the Savior who died for you, carrying you from the least to the greatest. And, then follow. Just follow. That’s what Christians do.

 

Look to Jesus - Hebrews 12:1-3

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

In June, NASA released the pictures of deep space taken from the James Webb space telescope, giving us a sharper and clearer picture of deep space than ever seen. Have you seen these pictures? I have to admit, I spent hours just staring at the computer screen when they came out. The colors, the spots, the swirls of planets and galaxies are so remarkable. Forget the pictures we saw in our science books when we were kids. These brightly and clearly show a vastness and depth of space that is – at least to me – beyond comprehension.

And each picture only shows one small part of outer space. NASA Administrator Bill Nelson described it this way: “If you held a grain of sand on the tip of your finger at arms length, that is the part of the universe you are seeing [in one photo] — just one little speck of the universe.”[1] Imagine it: a spec of sand on your fingertip, and that is just a fraction, a speck of all of the whirling, swirling galaxies, planets, and stars and everything else of what’s all out there.

Now, considering the incredible, beyond-imaginable vastness of space “out there”, turn that around. You, then, become just a spec, just one infinitely small colorful person-spec, on this colorful planet-spec, that is part of this galaxy-spec, that is just one small spec in this portion of space. It’s humbling to realize that we are such an infinitesimally small part of this incredible cacophony and whirling dervish that makes up God’s vast, broad creation. If you let your imagination run wild, it’s actually possible to let this feeling overwhelm you so greatly that it puts you into a panic of sorts, filling you with a sense of lost-ness, wondering how to find one’s place in this vastness. In an article she wrote for State of Faith Newsletter, author Kelcey Dallas admitted that as she looked at these pictures of the vastness, breadth and depth of far outer space, she began to have an existential panic, as if she were suddenly lost, meaningless and worthless amidst all of the space. Fortunately for her, she was given some advice from a friendly scientist who, herself, admitted it was easy enough to lose oneself in the vastness. She told Dallas, “You don’t have to look at the vastness of the universe and feel insignificant. You can look at it and see how great God’s power and love are,” she said.[2]

I could understand that. Everything you and I know on earth has a limit: a river, a lake, the ocean, I-35. But these pictures…it was like looking into a time machine. Scientists talk about the speed of light; that’s 186,000 miles per hour. A light year is how fast and far light travels at that speed over 365 days. Those pictures, with those stars and galaxies that are in the pictures, the light that appears on the picture is 13 billion light years old. The moment of light captured by the Webb telescope’s photos has been traveling for 13 billion years. Now, I know – using Biblical chronology, traditional, conservative Christianity says the earth is approximately 6500 years old. How is it possible that light could then be 13 billion years old? I don’t know. If you pardon an easy out, that’s above my pay grade. But, it is possible, I thought, that the light in those pictures may have been in existence when Adam and Eve walked on earth? We read Genesis chapter one and how God put the sun, moon and stars in the sky and the planets in their orbits with the Earth around the sun. Those pictures, though; they pulled my eyes back up to the heavens and gave me a new perspective on the vastness of what God had made with merely his Word, “Let there be.”

But if you look to the stars and the planets and the solar systems and the galaxies, or even to our own solar system’s Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, , Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune – and, yes, I still stick to Pluto, you get a glimpse of the majesty of God and His power. Or, you could look smaller, grab a magnifying glass or microscope and look at small bugs and organisms, viruses and bacteria. You get a sense of God’s great detail in making things work on the micro-cellular level and, again, His majesty and power. Or look at things in-between: the plants and animals and see the similarity yet uniqueness of so much of creation. And it is good, and right, and awe-inspiring to study the incredible wisdom and power of God.

But, if you want to see God, if you want to know God, if you want to understand God, you must look only to Jesus and His cross.

For the last two weeks, we’ve been reading from Hebrews in the Epistle lesson. You heard of this incredible catalog of testimonies, a literal list of the heroes of the faith that go back in time, colorful characters with swirling histories that vacillated back and forth between good and not-so-good, and faithfulness and moments of weakness. The list began with Abel, Enoch, Noah and Abraham, moved through the Judges into the Kings, David, Samuel and the Prophets, all awaiting the fulfillment of their faith in the promises of God. It is the constant refrain through the list: by faith, by faith, by faith, all trusting God and His Word of the Messiah who would come. From the promise to Abraham, “Your descendants will be as numerous as the stars in the sky,” to the promise to David, “Your descendance will remain on the throne,” God’s people trusted that Word when all human evidence pointed to the contrary.

Hebrews 11 began with the simple definition that faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. The refrain is repeated over and over throughout the chapter, “By faith.” They lived by faith in God’s promises, promises that pointed to an even greater Promise: the promise of the Son of Abraham, the Son of David, the Son of God who would enter into the world to redeem, rescue and save.

If you want to see how great God’s power and love are, you don’t look to the stars and galaxies, you look where God’s people have always looked, by faith: at Jesus. Jesus set aside His full divine power and authority to be born of Mary, to take up human flesh and live in this fallen world and perfectly fulfill the Law of God in our place. He is the perfect sacrifice for people who fail to worship God and who fail to trust His Word; people who instead worship creation rather than Creator; people who trust themselves and their possessions rather than the Giver of the gifts.

The cross is such a strange place to demonstrate power. Death is such a strange way to show authority. The grave is such a strange place to show love. Yet that is exactly where and how Jesus shows His power, and His authority, and His love. His glory is shown at the cross where He completes the Father’s will, the holy being crucified for the unholy, the perfect dying for the imperfect, the One who is Love buried in the earth that He created. And He, who is the Resurrection and the Life, who Himself was raised on the third day, is both the fulfillment of and the continuation of the promises of God, with His own grave-shattering resurrection destroying death forever while also promising you your own, last-day Easter.

That is where you see the power and love of God – at the empty cross and the empty grave.

All of those heroes of faith, they yearned to see it but did not live to see it with their own eyes. You and I join with them, again, by faith, yearning for this promise of Christ to be fulfilled. In these grey and latter days, look to Jesus, the founder and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross. He is now seated at the right hand of God, but He has promised He will return. We may not see it with these eyes, that blessed day of return, but we see it now with eyes of faith, albeit dimly.

And, when this world with its news stories and frightening events seem overwhelming, turn off the news, go outside one evening, turn off all the lights and just look up at the moon, the stars, and galaxies yet unknown. Look up and in those moments of twinkling beauty, you are seeing bits of light that is already ancient. But Jesus was there before that light was even a twinkle in the vastness of space. He is the same yesterday, today and forever, Scripture says, and His love for you will never fail.

Amen.

 

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[1] https://www.deseret.com/u-s-world/2022/7/11/23204684/james-webb-space-telescope-nasa-unveils-the-deepest-ever-view-of-the-cosmos-deep-field

[2] https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/technology/how-should-christians-feel-about-the-new-images-of-outer-space/ar-AA10xyEY?ocid=msedgdhp&pc=U531&cvid=3aa18e23334444aca3a5fe1eb24fe90f 

Dear College Freshman Parents: It's OK

Dear Parents of College Freshmen:

It's going to be OK. 

You are going to be OK, even though your heart feels as if it's a metronome, swinging back and forth between pride at what your child has accomplished and heartache that your house will be emptier in a few days. 

Enjoy those moments of pride. You have every right to be proud of their achievements thus far in life. People talk about how hard your kids have worked; you worked hard right beside them, teaching, helping, encouraging, redirecting, praising, scolding, loving them through the thick and the thin. There were late nights and early mornings, making lunches and driving them to practice, editing papers and re-gluing projects, scrambling to find their band shirt (under the bed, where they swear they looked five times already) and getting it washed and dried, just in time to meet the bus. The pride you felt when the first, or even only, acceptance letter came - remember that.  Those are a measure of your parenting. Don't misunderstand: just because your kid didn't get into Harvard doesn't mean you aren't a successful parent. I mean, they got into college because you helped them get there, alternating between pushing, pulling and praising as applications, FASFA, personality profiles, and other mountains of paperwork were completed for each school. You were part of that, too. 

Then there are the moments of heartache. If you are honest, those are selfish - they are more about you than your kid, and that's OK, too. After all, he is your son; she is your daughter. They have been part of your life since before they were born. You watched them go from a 7 pound bundle of helplessness that needed you for every little thing to being an 18 year old that knows it all, slowly pushing you aside in a show of bravado and independence. There are so many memories that sometimes it's as if you're about to be overwhelmed by emotion. There's the old swing in the back yard where you pushed her in the evenings when she was six, and in the front yard, there's the bent mailbox she hit when backing down the driveway when she was sixteen. There's a picture on the wall of him in his Little League uniform and there's a picture on the refrigerator of him with his girlfriend at the graduation party. Everywhere you turn, there is a memory, a story, and your throat gets tight and your eyes burn and your thoughts get cloudy. 

It's OK. It's OK to be proud. It's OK to be sad. It's OK to even be confused, not quite sure what you're feeling. 

In my experience, it was worse for me when our first kiddo left home. She was young, not even 18. We had, for better or worse, sheltered her as best as we could. She was going to a major university 800 miles away. I was convinced she wasn't ready for it, but in reality, I wasn't ready. I was convinced I hadn't prepared her enough for life, but - unbeknownst to me - she had picked up our values, our morals, our ethic, our faith and was more ready than I realized. 

Too, I think it is harder on the dads than the moms - not that moms hurt less, but because dads are expected to be the macho, tough guys. Speaking for myself, I received very little sympathy from dads whose kids had already gone off to school. Most were full of braggadocio and bravado about how they now had a spare room for a man cave, or how they didn't have to wait up for their kid, or whatever other line of BS they were selling as fertilizer. Mothers talked and listened with my wife and they shared deeply. So, dads - let me encourage you, if you are having raw, hard feelings about your kids leaving home, value those feelings. Honor them and, regardless what your friends might say, treat your thoughts, joys and hurts as true. Find another friend, co-worker, church member, or neighbor who gets it and commiserates together.  

It'll be OK. It'll be OK when you drop them off and leave. It'll be OK when you get home. It'll be OK when she calls home, homesick. It'll be OK when he calls home, heartbroken, telling you to take that picture with his girlfriend and throw it away because they just broke up. It'll be OK when they send you a text asking for money in their bank account because, oops, they ordered too much GrubHub. It'll be OK when they send you an emailed copy of the letter from the Dean's office, commending them for helping save a kid who was choking in the cafeteria. It'll be OK when they come home for fall break, and it'll even be OK when they have to leave again when the break is over. 

In between the black and white of "Great" and "Aweful" is a whole lot of OK. It's OK to be in that grey right now. It's even OK to have some moments that are darker or lighter than others. It's OK to want to hug your kid and never let them go. And, it's OK to want to propel them down the street with a size 13 boot. It's OK to wish they stay home one more year and it's OK to wish them greater and better success than you have ever experienced. 

And, when your son, your daughter, in a moment of tenderness stops and tells you his joys or her fears, give them a great big hug and tell them...tell them that you understand and, yes, it will be OK. 

Then, be OK together. 

Don't Be Anxious - Luke 12: 22-34

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

There are so many things that make us anxious these days. Psychiatry.org cites a June 2022 poll showing that 79% of Americans said they were anxious about inflation, 68% about gun violence, and 63% about the Russia-Ukraine War. About half of those polled also indicated anxiety about climate change, COVID-19, and the midterm elections.[1] It’s not hard to add to the list. We’re anxious about things outside of us: China’s saber rattling over Taiwan, our jobs, the price of groceries and fuel, whether or not we can afford to carry our herd another month. We’re anxious about things inside us: our blood pressure, some recent tests the doctor ordered “just to check some things out,” and why we can’t sleep at night. We’re anxious for things around us: our personal relationships, our kids and for our parents, for the first day of school, and even about what’s for dinner. 

Anxiety is the mind and body's reaction to stressful, dangerous, or unfamiliar situations. It causes a sense of unease, distress or dread. Anxiety is a sign of the times and a hallmark of our culture. While all of us experience small doses of anxiety now and then, millions of Americans suffer from anxiety disorders that cause problems in their ability to function on a daily basis.  

There is much that can modern medicine can do to help someone suffering from anxiety, and if you are one of the estimated 40 million Americans who struggle with it, please know three things: one, I along with others in this sanctuary empathize with you because we have been there or even are there ourselves; two, as you would treat a broken body by seeing a medical doctor, do not hesitate to see a mental health professional to get help for mental and emotional needs; three, if the prospect of getting help scares you, I will gladly go with you to find help. You are not alone. Do not let that anxiety about being anxious drive you to do anything that you cannot undo.  

Medicine and psychology and psychiatry are great tools and gifts God has given to us. The doctors prescribe medications. Therapists listen and provide coping strategies. But there is one aspect of anxiety that doctors usually miss. They can't speak to the soul. 

Theologically speaking, spiritually speaking, pastorally speaking, anxiety is our offering to the false gods of the world to try to keep what we have or gain what we don’t. There is an entire pantheon of them, too. No – they aren’t small statues made of stone or wood. Most don’t have faces. These are the gods – lowercase g – the idols of health, wealth, happiness, self-identity, self-worth, physical security, property, career, education, job. There are more, of course; the list is almost endless. And there’s the god of ourselves. If we can worry enough, fuss enough, hand-wring enough, it’ll all work out. Anxiety is faith that is inverted. If faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen, if Christian faith is grounded in Christ, then anxiety flips it all upside down. Anxiety fools us to think that the unholy trinity of me, myself, and I can save wealth, get healthy, protect against all possible threats, be popular and smart without being arrogant or smug, and perfectly balance home, work, school, the kids, the spouse, and our own mental health and well-being.  The anxiety slowly consumes. I think I can! I think I can. I think I can? By way of analogy, anxiety is to the conscience and soul what cancer is to the body: it keeps gobbling up until it overwhelms and drives us to despair. 

So, when Jesus said, “Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food and the body more than clothing,” it makes us pause and wonder how on earth we're supposed to not be anxious when all of these things are going on around us. 

It might seem odd that Jesus points us to the birds and the flowers as examples of how not to be anxious. After all, birds don’t have mortgages on their homes and notes on their cars and new schools to attend. Flowers don’t need air conditioners fixed and new clothes for school and blood pressure reduced. They aren’t worried about the economy or the possibility of war or Avian flu or root rot. Their lives, their existence is so simple because they have nothing except what God provides them. Their very existence, from what and where they eat and drink to where they live, is all under the merciful and watchful eye of God who cares for them.

That is Jesus’ very point.  Its an argument from lesser to greater: if it’s true for this, then it’s even more true for that. If God cares for lilies and sunflowers, bluebonnets and Indian blankets; if God cares for ravens and crows, for dove and quail, then how much more will God care for you whom He speaks of as His little flock, the sheep for whom Jesus stands as Good Shepherd. 

Little flock…That’s shepherd talk. That’s Good Shepherd talk. This is Jesus talking - not a doctor, a therapist, a barber, a hairdresser, a bartender or any other person you pour your anxiousness out to. This is Jesus, and He is speaking of His Father’s flock.  He is speaking of you. Sheep are always calm when they are in the presence of their shepherd. They know his voice, his hands, his calming presence. So, dear little flock, listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd. When He says “Do not be anxious,” heed His words. After all, He knows full well what it is to have nothing – not even a place to lay his head. He knows what it is to face uncertainty, hunger, the loss of a friend. He knows what it is to face death, both of others and His own. He knows what it is to be completely alone. He knows what it is to be mocked, betrayed and hated to death. He knows what it is to be surrounded by the silence of God, who doesn’t seem to answer His cries of agony while sweat and blood dripped from His body. Instead of anxiety, Jesus trusts His Father so deeply, that whether hungry and alone against the devil, or thirsty and alone suspended on the cross, He is able to commend Himself to the Father’s perfect will, the Shepherd who will die to rescue and save the sheep from their anxieties.

I want you to know, I am preaching to myself today - not just you. I have a couple of things that really make me anxious and two in particular. No, I won’t tell you what they are. But, I will say that when it kicks in, boy is it a doozie.  Anxiety turns me into a hand-wringing, chin-rubbing, do-it-myself-er. One of my favorite BIble verses is 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” It’s the exact, same word Jesus uses: do not be anxious; instead, cast the anxieties upon Jesus. He has taken them from you, placed them on HIs back and took them to the cross. He bled for them. He died for them. He drug them with Him to the tomb. And He did not bring them back to life with Him on Easter morning. You have been baptized into His death. Your anxious, Old Adam and anxious Old Eve also died with Jesus. Leave them in the tomb. Leave them in the font. If Anxious Adam and Anxious Eve try to bob their anxious selves to the surface again, repent and drown them again with Christ. Faith clings to Jesus, and when hands are full of the cross, when they are full of the Savior’s robes, there is no room for anxiety or the things that we are anxious about.   

And, remember, if you see your doctor or a therapist for anxiety, please don’t forget your pastor - not because he's nosey, an emotional voyeur, but because he’s the undershepherd to the Good Shepherd. Your pastor walks with you in the darkness. He hears your confession, of the things that make you anxious, of the things you try to control, of the things that try to control you. And, unless you’re a danger to yourself or a loved one, he cannot tell anyone. It dies with him, too. What your pastor will do is hear and absolve and bless in the name of the Good Shepherd and with His words of grace, mercy and compassion. 

Whether you experience that momentary jolt of anxiety or you deal with it as a daily grind, I want you to notice this: Jesus doesn’t rebuke you. He doesn’t scold you. He doesn’t guilt or shame you that you are “less-than” because of anxiety. He simply says, “Do not be anxious. Instead, cast it on me. I’ve already taken it from you. Trust me. Stop trying to take it back. Stop trying to put me out of a job as your Savior and do it yourself. Rather than wringing your hands or rubbing your chin or running your hands through your hair, fold your hands in repentance and then open them in faith at the Table this morning. To you, Jesus says “Take and eat; take and drink. Your anxiety is taken and my Body and Blood is given. Be at peace and be anxious no more.” And in that moment, the Good Shepherd fills your hands with His grace, mercy, and love without end. 

 

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[1] https://www.psychiatry.org/news-room/news-releases/apa-summer-poll-june-2022