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.