When Does Judgement Begin? Sooner than you think... Matthew 25: 31-46

Pay special attention to today's text from Matthew's Gospel; perhaps you might want to just this once, take sermon notes. There will be a test at the end.

Like many, or perhaps even most Lutherans, I suppose, we don't think very often or very specifically about the glorious return of Christ for the final judgment. We believe in all these things. They're in the Bible. They're in the Creeds. They're in our hymns. So, they are present in our Sunday lives, but somewhere between Sunday, 11am, and Monday 6am, they stop shaping our daily lives.

This leaves us with a big question for today about the final judgment: when? When? By when I don't mean the year or the day or the hour or the moment of Christ’s return. All of that will certainly be important enough when it happens, but there's not a lot to say about that in the meantime, except that we don't know, we won't know, and we can't know.

The big question in the gospel appointed for this day is another kind of “when” question, when that some of you have wisely asked the last few weeks. That question is, when will all this get decided? When does the judgement stuff happen? When does the Lord make up His mind about who goes where and what happens to us? When is it decided whether the nations of the world belong in the ranks of the sheep or the goats?  The answer to this particular “when” question is not a secret, but it is really surprising. The answer to when is the final judgment is, “Right now.” Today. And that answer may surprise you.

Many people, including perhaps some of us, may sometimes suppose that it's all kind of up for grabs and to-be-determined until the end. But Jesus says that when he returns, He will judge based on things that will have already happened. That is stuff that people do right now, in fact. It's all rather surprising.

When we were kids, one of my siblings had a jack-in-the-box. You know, the kind that has this little clown doll on a spring and you push the clown down inside the box and close the lid. Then you turn the little crank and it plays this little song, “All around the cobbler’s bench…” And when you get to one place in the song, the same place every time, “Pop! Goes the weasel!” and the lid flies up and the clown popped out and it scared the bejeebers out of the kid. Even though every kid knows exactly when the stupid clown would pop up at the same place in the same stupid song over and over again, it still surprised the kid every time. The point is that just knowing when doesn't mean you won't be surprised.

That’s what Matthew means. Just knowing when doesn't mean it's not a surprise. These folks are standing there, sheep and goats, and are divided before the glorious throne of the Son of Man, and they hear Him speak blessing or judgment at the end of time. In both cases, for the sheep on the right and for the goats on his left, the basis for the judgment is the same. They have all, He says, done - or not done - some crucial acts of kindness and mercy to the Lord himself.  And both groups, those receiving His blessings and those being sent away, are surprised.

This is where they ask the big question for today, “When, Lord? When did we see you hungry or thirsty, or strange or needing clothes or sick or in prison? We don't remember any of that stuff about you. We're sure we would have remembered something important like that.” It's almost as if all of them, both the sheep and the goats, think there must be some mistake - maybe a wonderful mistake; maybe a terrible mistake - but there must be some mistake.

“Are you sure, Lord?,” protest the sheep. “I think I would have remembered if I'd ever had the chance to serve you personally. That surely would have been a big deal. Something to mark on the calendar and write in my diary. But all I can think of when I look back is all the ordinary stuff with all those ordinary people… just the same old, same old. Nothing important enough for You to bring up at an important time like this.”

On the other side of the aisle, there is also confusion and surprise. “Now… now wait, Lord, there must be some mistake. Of course, if there'd ever been anything I could do for You, you know, I wouldn't have hesitated a moment. But we never saw You. We never neglected any of the really important things that we did for You. We never let all the trivial stuff, or those minor interruptions distract us from focusing on you, Lord. When did we do this? When did we not do this?”

Then comes the kicker. It's a surprise, even though you know it's coming. Jesus and Matthew have set us up. It's as if we're in on it, and they - the nations - are not. You and I have heard it 100 times or more, and you're going to hear it some more, before you hear it from the Lord Himself. And still, it catches us off guard and makes us catch our breath every time.  The King will answer them truly, I say to you, “As you did it, or did not do it, to one of the least of these, my brethren, you did it, or not, to me.”

These words of Jesus are like a spotlight that shines with bright, blazing brilliance back through time, through our times, from the end of time. It shows us our day-to-day and mundane lives for what they truly are: service to Christ, or the refusal of such service. The beams of that light reveal the colors and the contours of what otherwise seems like the most normal drudgery and common labor. Well, it may be normal, but it's anything but common.

My first sentence, I said there was a test. These are the questions. Of course, I'm not sure I want all the little encounters and choices and decisions that make up my life to get loaded with that kind of significance. I'm not so sure that the everyday conduct of my life can bear the weight of that ultimate and decisive meaning. The truth is that I, and perhaps you too, live most often in the comfortable shadow-lands, where we test pretty well when we have time to prepare, but we’re not so good at keeping up with the daily homework of life with missing or incomplete assignments. Come to think of it, I probably count on much of what I do not actually mattering all that much in the end, one way or the other.

But it does matter in the end, one way or the other. What I do and don't do to the scruffy looking smelly guy that asked for money on the street matters. How you treat that annoying neighbor who plays her Taylor Swift CD's late at night and won't return your tools that he borrowed, it matters. The phone call we decided to put off to that guy we haven’t seen in months and years, it matters. Jesus, you see, injects Himself into the daily choices you and I make about humdrum moments and ordinary people even, or perhaps especially, the least of these. He shines an extraordinary light into our ordinary lives and interactions because it's not only the life and death necessities; it’s the seemingly little and regular stuff, too.

Can we hear the Lord saying, “I had an owie and you made it better.” “I lost my dog and you comforted me.” “I was exhausted after all day with the kids and you did the dishes and folded the laundry.” “I didn’t understand the assignment and you sat with me and encouraged me.” He adds eternal weight to the mundane duties of our daily vocation – the using of the gifts we talked about last week. The surprise is the answer to the “when” question. When do you serve Christ? When you are a faithful – not perfect, but faithful - husband, father, sister, mother, son, neighbor, teacher, student, friend. Because then, Jesus says, you do it to him.

What would it be like to live every single day as if eternity were riding on it? What would it mean if we encountered every other human being as if he or she were Jesus Christ himself in disguise? C.S. Lewis, whom you probably know from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, quoting John Dunn, posed the question. “What if this present moment was the world's last? Wouldn't it be a surprising life?”

The final judgment, my friends, is really going to happen. And a lot of people, maybe most people, are going to be really, really surprised. Many, of course, are going to be surprised that it happens at all, but according to the words of Jesus, they're going to be surprised also by the “when” of it all, not the date or the time of day, which will be a surprise of its own, but the “when” of all those moments that counts and are counted in the final analysis. When Lord? The sheep, the righteous, the blessed of the Father will be surprised. When the day feed the hungry Christ in disguise? When did they visit a sick Christ without knowing it? When did they take care of a needy Christ and not recognize him? The goats, those who have brought a curse down on their own heads, will also be surprised. How were they supposed to know that it all mattered?

And just one more little surprise: Jesus does tell His disciples – us - about this final judgment to make us consider carefully what we do now in the coming light of His return. He wants the certainty of His second coming and the assured secrecy of it to be connected with a mighty therefore to the way we conduct ourselves in the meantime. He wants us to be surprised, but surprised the way the sheep are surprised and not the way the goats are. But the whole picture, the big picture, of glorious judge, and sheep, and goats, and angels is also meant to comfort us in an altogether different way because there's somebody else in the picture there - somebody you can almost overlook, somebody you don't notice at first glance. They're up there. Beside the throne, kind of huddled around Jesus. “They're the ones,” He says, “these are My brothers and sisters.”

That congregation includes you and me, because we're Jesus disciples. His own blood removes all threat of punishment from us. His spirit sends us out as His messengers, and it matters to Him a lot how His messengers are treated. It matters to Him how His message is received. “He who receives you receives Me,” Jesus tells the disciples, “And he who receives Me receives the One who sent Me. And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones, because he is My disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward. I’ll remember.”

Jesus sends His disciples out under His authority on His mission to make disciples of all nations. Gathered and divided before the throne the nations will be called to answer for how they treat the disciples. Not because we are big stuff in and of ourselves, but because of whose brothers and sisters we are. If something is done or not done to even the least of these brothers and sisters of His, it's done to Jesus Himself.

I think that guy may have been the one I bought dinner for at Jack in the Box. I think that might be the teacher who taught one of your children. I think that might be that very, very quiet woman or man at work. I think you might live with one of those least of these, my brethren. It might even have been you.

It is a matter of ultimate concern to Jesus: What becomes of you, His brothers and sisters; how it goes with you, whether you are fed, whether you are clothed, whether you were treated well, whether you were visited, whether you are cared for. He will ask about those things when he returns in glory. He will remember. Because He cares for you. Isn't that a surprise. Oh, and by the way: the test starts now.

Thanksgiving Is For Remembering - Deuteronomy 8: 1-10

Deuteronomy 8: 1-10: “The whole commandment that I command you today you shall be careful to do, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land that the Lord swore to give to your fathers. 2 And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. 3 And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. 4 Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years. 5 Know then in your heart that, as a man disciplines his son, the Lord your God disciplines you. 6 So you shall keep the commandments of the Lord your God by walking in his ways and by fearing him. 7 For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, flowing out in the valleys and hills, 8 a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, 9 a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, in which you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills you can dig copper. 10 And you shall eat and be full, and you shall bless the Lord your God for the good land he has given you.

If New Year’s is about making resolutions for the future, then Thanksgiving is about remembering the past. Turkey, stuffing and stories get passed around from person to person. While the platters and gravy boats get emptied, the stories get filled out with new details and embellishments. Some of the stories are as old as grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents. Others are as new as what happened in the kitchen this morning. You can relive the past year simply by looking down the row of chairs at the table. Where grandma once sat, a new daughter-in-law now sits, uneasily. One cousin moves up to the Big Table while a toddler leaves the high chair at the Big Table to take that spot at the kids’ table. For some, the dining room is squeezed to capacity. For others, it’s now a Styrofoam container from a restaurant, eaten next to an empty couch in front of a TV show. The gray hairs, the children’s laughter, great-grandma’s dinner set, and grandpa’s secret pie recipe, the quiet rooms – they all contribute to the story, each with their own thread in the narrative.

But for the person who has no memory, or who doesn’t know where he or she comes from – they have a difficult time giving thanks. The reason is that that person doesn’t know what to be thankful for or whom to thank.

So, Moses sets out in Deuteronomy chapter 8 to help remind us whose we are and where we come from. He wants to help us remember. It’s a short sermon – just a couple verses long – with its theme as remembering. Over and over, Moses will repeat it to the Israelites – Remember the Lord. Remember and do not forget!

Think of these words of Moses in Deuteronomy as a grandfather who is telling the old family stories, again. You hear him speaking again tonight, although long dead, he speaks through Scripture. You hear Moses saying, “Remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you.”

You belong to the Lord. This is what the Lord has done for you: He sent you a prophet greater than Moses – Jesus Christ, His Son – to deliver you by His death and resurrection. He brought you out of slavery to sin. He rescued you from the reign of death and the devil. He drowned your enemies in baptismal waters and called you to be his people. He has led you year after year thought the wilderness of this life, a land in which you are a pilgrim and a stranger. Remember.

But thanksgiving isn’t just about a recitation of facts. The mental exercise of recalling names and dates might be good enough to pass a high school test, but it certainly isn’t going to do for thanksgiving. I might know all about 1621, the Mayflower Pact, Squanto, Plymouth Plantation, and William Bradford but no one will say that just telling the story is remembering thanksgiving. Remembering Thanksgiving involves the whole person: making a pilgrim’s hat or bonnet out of construction paper, make a turkey from a hand-print, phone calls to family members distant, a forkful of pumpkin or pecan pie, loosening the belt a notch or two and hugs and kisses as family parts company until the next time. A proper remembrance of Thanksgiving involves the whole person, not just the mind.

So, when Moses says “remember,” he doesn’t just mean recall the story. He wants your entire life to be one of remembrance, for you to remember the Lord with your heads, your hands, and your hearts. Through Holy Baptism, you are a member of the heavenly Father’s family and you now remember the Lord your God by living as His Child. So, remember by living as His child. Now, that’s an interesting idea. To be a child means first that you receive what your parents give. You live in their house, you eat at their table, you call to them when you’re in need, and you enjoy the goods and belongings that are theirs. So also for you who are children of God in Christ Jesus. In this place you remember who and whose you are. This is your Father’s house; this is His table. You call him Father and you speak to him as dear children to their dear father.

This is not a one-time thing. This is your life as a child. You remember the Lord by receiving more from him – more forgiveness, more salvation, more blessings showered more abundantly than you can ask or imagine. You give thanks, for His delight is in you – to provide for you and to answer you. He does this not only here, in His house, but also at your house as well. Your roof, your bed, your refrigerator, your turkey and stuffing and potatoes – they are all from His hand.

He gives and you receive. And, as you receive, you remember who and whose you are: God’s beloved child in Christ Jesus.

At present, though, you are still living in a fallen world. That means that there is hunger and sickness and sadness. Some tables have less this year than last year; some tables hardly have anything. For some, instead of loosening the belt, their belt is tightened a notch. For some, instead of rejoicing in bounty of twenty-pound birds and twenty-dollar pecan pies, there is rejoicing for just enough, a buck twenty five frozen dinner, or even a peanut butter sandwich. For some, the empty spot at the table is almost overwhelming and the silence is loud.

If this is you, my friend, do not let the devil lie to you and tell you that this is a sign that God is displeased with you, or that he has abandoned you in your need. Your God, who loves you enough to save you into eternity, is with you in your suffering. He knows your pain and sorrow and hunger. And, because Jesus suffered once and for all for you, you can know with full confidence that God has not abandoned you to suffer forever. If this is you, then I encourage you to remember – not just with your mind, but with your entire being – remember that whatever you have, even the little, is from His Fatherly hand. Remember you are His child, even when life is hard. Remember to fear, love and trust in Him for He is good and gracious. Remember that you do not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from His mouth. You have enough – maybe just barely – but the Lord does provide.

The best remembrance that a child can give to his parent is to copy what the parent does. To be a child of God is to imitate him – to forgive as he forgives; to love as He loves. Remember the Lord by living as Christ to your neighbors, by loving and serving those who are around you. You remember the Lord by inviting a widow or widower to your Thanksgiving table; you remember the Lord by calling a shut-in whose family is unable to visit; you remember the Lord by giving to food pantries and toy drives; you remember the Lord by telling someone “Jesus does love you.” You remember the Lord when you copy the Father’s actions and show that you are His child.

We are always in danger of forgetting who we are. In spiritual matters, as in the rest of life, we are prone to be forgetful and have selective memory. But Thanksgiving makes us pause, stop and remember. And Moses helps jog our memories. He reminds us of who and whose we are: the Lord’s people, purchased by the blood of Jesus. Remember this by receiving His gifts. Make the sign of the cross. Listen to His Word preached. Open your Bible at home. Come to His Table to eat the feast of Thanksgiving that He has prepared. Remember who you are by living as one who is redeemed by Christ the Crucified. Remember it with your heads, hands, hearts, feet, ears and mouths. With  this remembrance and thanksgiving, go forth, pick up your platters, tell your stories, pass the gravy and enjoy all the blessings the Lord has given you.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

  

God Trusts You With His Gifts - Matthew 25: 14-30

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

“For it [that is, the kingdom of heaven] will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property…”

The parable is easy enough to understand. A master entrusts His possessions to his servants, according to their ability: one five talents, one two talents, one is entrusted with only one talent. Now, remember:  a talent was a unit of money, a lot of money. Don’t confuse what we call talents, that is one’s abilities, with these talents of money. I understand how that can happen, especially when Jesus says the servants were given talents according to their ability – in other words, they are given money based on their experience, knowledge, and wisdom of managing. The more experienced servants are trusted with more to manage. One talent was approximately 20 years’ worth of salary for an average worker. So, even the servant entrusted with only one talent was still entrusted with a great responsibility, albeit at a fraction of his fellow servants. 

After taking his leave, the master finally returns for an accounting. Although there are three servants, we can divide them into two groups: the two who invest and multiply the master’s estate and the one who buries it.

So far, this is pretty easy to understand. But now, things start to become complicated as we identify the characters in the parable. Jesus, obviously, is the master. The servants, all three of them, represent the church. The first two servants who multiplied their entrustment are those who live in faith. The third servant is one who functions in fear. But what really makes us uncomfortable are the comments of the third servant, that he knew the master to be a hard man, reaping where he didn’t sow, gathering what he didn’t plant. Those words leave us a uneasy because he’s talking about Jesus. It leaves us wondering, what does this third servant know that we don’t know? Why does he see Jesus this way when the other two obviously see Him differently?

These are spiritual questions that demand a spiritual diagnosis. A pastor is in many ways like a medical doctor. Our job is to make spiritual diagnoses of people under our care. And, like a doctor, we ask questions to try to get at the heart of the issue at hand, to look past the symptoms and get to what is really at heart. German has a wonderful word to describe this art of pastoral care: Seelsorger. It literally means “curator or physician of souls.”

What are these two souls saying? I often use two questions when listening to people. The first is, “When you think of God, how do you think of Him, how do you see God?”  The second is reciprocal; it turns the question: “How do you think God sees you?” Those two questions very quickly help discern the health or brokenness of a person’s conscience. When you see God through Christ Jesus, as a loving, kind and merciful God, who gives freely out of Fatherly divine goodness and mercy, you generally see yourself, then, as one to whom mercy is given; ergo, you see yourself as one whom God loves. On the other hand, when you see God as one who takes, who is demanding, bitter, angry, frustrated, disappointed, then, generally, you see yourself as one who is in danger of failing to live up to those expectations; ergo, you see yourself one in whom God is displeased and disappointed.

These ideas impacts how you live your life. When one lives life seeing God as generous and giving, rich with mercy and grace, and forgiving, as a God who trusts you, His beloved, this is a life of freedom and joy in God’s grace. Don’t misunderstand me: this isn’t “anything goes,” but rather, within the limits and boundaries that God gives to His baptized children (a good summary is the Ten Commandments), you are free in how to show, express and multiply His blessings entrusted to you with others. It is a beautiful example of the doctrine of vocation. Vocation is God at work through you to those around you. You use the gifts God entrusts to you for His glory. Think First Article, Daily Bread gifts here – body and soul, reason and brain, food and drink, clothes and shoes, house, job, and everything else for the support and needs of the body. If you want to really go big, it’s the entire Christian life because everything is from Him. He entrusts these things to you. It’s as if He says, “I’m going on a journey; here are good gifts. Use them, multiply them by sharing them with others.” You, then, use them for your family and friends, the church and the body of Christ, the people whom you interact with on a daily basis. When you joyfully and graciously use these gifts that are entrusted to you, you multiply the blessing of joy, mercy, grace, and compassion – it was first given to you and you pass it on to someone else who then can also pass it along.  

Here’s the beauty of it: He trusts you; you trust Him. In fact, you are so comfortable in your relationship with God and living in His mercy that you don’t even have to think about it. You just do it, not because you have to but because it’s who you are: beloved, mercied, compassioned, and loved through Christ Jesus. You are willing and able to risk using that which you have been entrusted with because you know it was entrusted in love and you will risk it in love. This is the story of the first two servants. They see the Master as gracious and compassionate, so they see themselves as loved and cared for. Unburdened by fear and filled with his love, they are free to take what they are entrusted with and use it.

But when you see God as always on edge, ready to pounce in frustration, anger, disappointment, and take away what little it seems that you have, that is a life filled with fear. Fear constrains, fear constricts, fear disables one to live in joy, compassion and happiness. Not wanting to displease God, not wanting to lose the little you seem to have, you are restrictive, limiting use of the things that have been entrusted lest it not go well. This was the third servant. He was afraid, having a false idea that the master was hard, harsh and uncaring. Afraid of the master, he was afraid to risk that which he was entrusted with. His fear came to fruition: the master took what was entrusted to him and gave it to someone else, instead. 

You’ll notice, this isn’t a question of more or fairness. It wasn’t that the third servant was jealous and wanted to have more given to him, like the first two servants. It’s also not a comparison of productivity, that he do enough. It’s that he failed to see God for who He really is and trusting His grace and mercy. Instead, stymied by fear, he did nothing. The third servant lost sight of who the Master really was and, by extension, his own identity as a servant of the kind, gentle master, and as such failed to serve at all.

This is all spoken on Maundy Thursday, in the upper room, Jesus to His disciples. His crucifixion is mere hours away and He is instructing His disciples on what it will be like to be a disciple post-crucifixion and post-resurrection. How will they live and disciple as followers of their Master? Will they live in joy, filled with His mercy and compassion as they serve the Master, or will they be drenched with fear, unable and unwilling to go out and risk for the sake of the Kingdom?

Here's the beautiful thing of Jesus’ crucifixion. We know that Jesus’ death pays for our sins. He died the sinner’s death to quench the Father’s wrath against mankind’s sinful rebellion. Jesus’ blood is shed, the death-price is paid, Christ redeems us from satan’s grasp and the pit of hell.  We are redeemed, that is, we are bought with the price of His life and, redeemed, we are His with the promise of eternal life. Sins forgiven, we live as His dearly, beloved children.

That means all of our lives are forgiven, wrapped in God’s grace and mercy for the same of Jesus. Don’t forget that Jesus also redeems our works, that which we do – albeit imperfectly, this side of heaven – for the kingdom and, by extension, for each other. In your vocation, when you serve one another with the gifts He entrusts to you, your imperfect service is made perfect by God’s grace through faith in Jesus. When you change a baby’s dirty diaper, even if you grumble because it’s the third one this hour, God sees that as a perfect work. When you dig a ditch to help water flow, God sees it as a perfect work. When you herd cattle and get frustrated because they aren’t doing what they are supposed to do, God still sees it as a perfect work in Christ. When you burn dinner or oversalt the potatoes, God sees it as a perfect work. When you bring your child to church, who squirms and is antsy and rarely sits still so that you miss most of the sermon and get frustrated, wondering why you didn’t sleep in instead, you have done a good work that God sees as holy.

This is an important thing to remember, as we speak of the Last Days. When we talk about Jesus’ return to judge the living and the dead, the image is one of a courtroom where judgements are metered out over the defendants – you and me and all who have died, both in faith and without of faith. For some, even faithful Christians, this image is very disconcerting. I mentioned this last week. What happens when Jesus comes again – will I be judged according to what I have done and haven’t done?

The answer is yes, but what you have done and what you haven’t done is all covered by the blood of Christ. Everything you do is redeemed.

So, bringing this back to the Parable, seeing yourselves as the first two slaves, on the Last Day, there may be a conversation something like this, by you or another of the Baptized. The slave, the child of God, will approach the Master and say, “You know, Lord, you entrusted all of these things to me and they were multiplied this many times, but there was much more I could have done with what you gave me.” And the Master will say, “Yes, of course, I am aware that you could have done more. Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into my joy!” You see – it’s covered in the Master’s mercy. Another of you, or perhaps me, will come to the Master and say, “Lord, you entrusted this to me and I gained an additional amount, but I was so timid and so afraid. I failed to take advantage of all of the opportunities you gave me…” And the Master will say, “I remember those moments when you were a coward. Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into my joy.”

Do you get it? The same verdict is rendered through the joy of the Master for every Christian – not just those who served productively enough or faithfully enough, or whatever other unit of measure we want to try to use to mark our work. In the End (the Big E End), it matters only in this: Christ is the Master who has purchased me and made Me part of the Kingdom. He has entrusted to me things to use and work for His glory.

Sound too good to be true? Then perhaps these well-known words of Jesus will help soothe your soul:

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. He who believes in him is not condemned; he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one who does evil hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed. But he who does what is true comes to the light, that it may be clearly seen that his deeds have been wrought in God. (John 3:16-20)

 

 

 

Faithfully Watching & Waiting - Matthew 25: 1-13

“Watch, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” (Mt 25:13)

We are in the final Sundays of the church year. Today is the third-last. The focus of these three last Sundays is on the end, the last day, the Day of the Lord. Just as there was a beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, there is also an end of this creation and the rising up of a new creation out of the death of the old. Just as there is a death, so there is an end to all things.

Talk of the end tends to make people a bit nervous. Edgy. Weird even. Start looking at the goofy magazines at the check-out counter, you know, the National Regurgitator, stuff like that. You’ll start to see all of the headlines about end-of-times predictions. It’s the time of the year; it brings out the nuts and the nutty ideas. End times stuff may be great for apocalyptic action movies and pulp fiction, but the reality of the end is considerably more than most care to consider. It is, and should be, a frightful prospect that rolls too easily off our tongues when we say, “He will come again to judge both the living and the dead.”

Someone asked me if I was scared about the last day, judgement day. The answer is no. Scripture tells us that we will be saved, judged innocent by the forensic verdict pronounced over us in our Baptism into the death of Jesus. More than “not guilty” but “innocent,” a verdict never heard in an earthly courtroom. There is a difference between not guilty and innocent. Not guilty means that the prosecution could not prove "beyond a reasonable doubt" that a person committed the crime. Innocent means that a person did not commit the crime. Earthly courts pronounce you “not guilty,” at God’s bar of justice you are declared innocent in the righteousness of Jesus.

But just because we are and will be declared innocent by God’s grace through faith in Christ, nonetheless that Day of the Lord will be a day of wrath and mercy. It will be a day of mercy for those who trust in the merits of Christ alone. It will be a day of wrath against sin and unbelief and all the things that get in the way of God’s good and gracious will to save, and His mercy, undeserved kindness toward the sinner.

There’s an old joke about a new pastor who came to a community, much like Mission Valley. Driving around, he found a man fixing the fence, so he stopped his car to visit a bit. “Hey, fella,” the preacher said, “are you a Christian?” Fella kinda pushed his hat back and shook his head, “Nope; my name’s Johnson.” Preacher didn’t miss a lick and asked, “Are you lost?” “Nah,” the man said, “I’ve lived here all my life, I know where everything is.” “Preacher was starting to get a little frustrated and said, “Listen – what I want to know is are you ready for resurrection day?” Fella said, “I don’t know…when’s it going to be?” Preacher said, “I don’t know – it may be today; it may be tomorrow.” Fella said, “Well don’t tell my wife, she’s going to want to go both days!” (slightly adapted from a joke told by Jerry Clower; I forget what album it was…)

But, when is it going to be? That’s the question that’s been asked since Jesus’ ascension. There was some confusion over the timing of that Day among the early believers. They had heard Jesus say, “Behold, I come quickly,” and they heard it as “I am coming soon.” Soon tells you when; quickly tells you how. Jesus will appear suddenly and without warning, like lightning, like a thief in the night, like a groom kicking off the wedding party at the ridiculous hour of midnight. Some who heard it as “soon” figured “what the heck,” and quit their jobs and just hung around church all day wasting their time and mooching off of others. What’s the point in working and investing in a future that doesn’t exist, right?

 You even get a hint of it with Paul. Did you catch it? He said “we.” “We who are left,” “we who are alive” when the Lord appears. Paul appears to think that he would be part of the “we,” those who are left, those who are alive. Later, in his second letter to Timothy, Paul realizes otherwise. He going to die, he’s going to finish his race and wait for the crown of victory that Christ has for Him at the medal ceremony on the Last Day.

For Paul, the Day of the Lord is not the dark and gloomy day that Amos saw, but a bright and glorious day. Loud too. A shout of command, the voice of the archangel, the trumpet call of God. It’s a day of resurrection and renewal and reunion. The dead in Christ rise from their graves. The living are renewed in the same way. And we are gathered together, reunited with Christ and with one another. The Day of the Lord is the day that Death is finally trampled under the foot of Jesus who conquered death for all of us.

So what’s our perspective, living in the end times, nearly 2000 years since Jesus said, “I come quickly.” How do we live as end-times people? The parable of the wedding gives us some insight. “The kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom.” OK, you’re going to have to identify with bridesmaids here, but just bear with it. Don’t think about frilly dresses and uncomfortable shoes. Just focus on oil lamps. Little clay pots with a wick and a few ounces of oil that you carried like a candle. That was their job. To show up a the wedding with oil lamps. Five brought extra oil; five didn’t.

The Foolish Five figured they knew the time. They figured a few ounces was enough. They figured they knew the groom and his ways. The figured wrong, and so they missed the party. The Wise Ones, on the other hand, were over-prepared, like a bunch of scouts. Their whole focus, the center of their lives, was the bridegroom and having those oil lamps prepared with enough oil to be ready at any moment, any time.

What no one figured was that the groom would be late. What no one figured was that everyone would fall asleep. What no one figured was the the groom was a little on the crazy side and decided to start his wedding at midnight.  

Wise and foolish in the Bible are “code,” Biblical ways of saying “believing” and ‘unbelieving.” The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” It is foolish to think you have the time to procrastinate the things of salvation. I know. I’m a huge procrastinator. I always figure I have the time, until something unexpected comes up, and then my foolishness is obvious. I am embarrassed to tell you how many sermons are still being revised, or even finished, early Sunday mornings.

Going to church looks silly to the world, and (honestly) there are days it maybe even seems silly to us, singing to a God-man we can’t see, who works in weakness, who offers Himself as a sacrifice for the very people who caused His death. We celebrate a bath of three handfuls of water, a meal of a piece of flat bread and simple wine. I understand why atheists laugh at these things. It’s easy to think that our little bit of religion that we picked up in Sunday School will carry us through that great and terrible Day of the Lord. It’s also foolish.

It isn’t until the end that the folly of the foolish is revealed for what it is. Not a day sooner. Until then, the foolish appear wise, cool, stylish. They appear so in control, so reasonable, so rational. Until the noise begins at midnight, until they wake up in the darkness and realize they have no oil, and there are no merchants, and there is no sharing, and the door is slammed and locked, and no amount of pounding and pleading is going to open it. They had a place at the wedding party. Christ died for all without exception. They had a seat at the table with their name on it. And in their foolish figuring, they lost out, they are unrecognized. They hear through an eternally shut door, “I don’t know you.” He invited them, but now He does not know them.

Only at the end, on that Day that ends all days, will the wisdom of your faith be vindicated, and the foolishness of unbelief be revealed.

How do we live as end-times people? Watchful, sober, alert. Tending to the work of our vocations, but always watchful. Hearing the Word, receiving the Body and the Blood, praying, praising, giving thanks. Focused, with Jesus in the cross-hairs of our vision. He appears suddenly, quickly, without warning. Not like the first time when He had John the Baptizer prepare the way. There’s no need for that. The Church has been preparing the way for 2000 years, baptizing and teaching. He appears like a groom at midnight, and you baptized into Him, trusting in Him, will rise to greet Him, with lamps full of oil and wicks trimmed and ready to go. Be watchful, be sober, be ready. You never know when the party begins.

In the name of Jesus,
Amen

"For All The Saints" (All Saints' Day - Observed) - Rev. 7: 9-17; Matt 5: 4; 1 John 3: 1-3

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

Today, we celebrate All Saints Day, the day the Church gives thanks to God for all who are declared saints by grace, through faith in Jesus (which is all Christendom, by the way - a name not merely reserved for those of extra-ordinary faith or works, but every single Christian). Especially today, we thank God for the faithful who have gone before us, living and dying in faith.

I have to admit; All Saints Day gets me. It hits in two ways – one, our memories of those who have died in the faith, but also, two, the picture of the resurrection when Jesus returns.

The readings for today 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. We are adopted into sonship and daughter-ship. If you know anyone who has gone through the adoption process, you may understand how expensive it is for lawyers and court fees. Our Divine adoption was even more costly: God surrendered His only-begotten Son to pay the adoption price. But, the benefit is eternal: God sees you as little Christs, Christian. Then, there’s John’s 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 Chutes & Ladders. 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. While we look forward to the heavenly reunion with our Savior and those who have died in the faith, right now, and especially today, we remember and we grieve. For some, that grieving is still raw, painful, and tears well in the eyes. For others, it’s less painful but there is still a twinge, a little ache in the heart. For some of you, here today, that grief is still incredibly close and personal.

Hear again Jesus’ words in the Gospel, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Among the list of Beatitudes, that can be missed, but today, hear those words for you. He was speaking prophetically, early in His ministry, already pointing ahead to the purpose for which He came. The comfort we have lies in the death and resurrection of Jesus because His resurrection guarantees our own resurrection. Death is not the end for those who believe in Jesus as Lord. For the church, this side of heaven, we have that promise of a day of comfort that will be complete when Jesus returns. Then, the church on earth will join the church triumphant. 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, for they shall be comforted.”

There is comfort here, in the body of Christ. We mourn with you because we have mourned as well. You do not mourn alone. We are the body of Christ, remember, and just like the whole body responds when you stub your toe, the body of Christ responds when you hurt. Let us mourn with you. There is comfort in the Word of God, for in that Word is the promise of the forgiveness of sins. It was sin that brought death into the world, and in Christ’s death and resurrection is forgiveness. There is comfort in Holy Baptism. With death destroyed and the grave opened, sin’s eternal, damning power is also destroyed. In Christ, there is forgiveness for our loved ones who have died in the faith and for us, who live by faith. Therefore, that same Word gives us the comfort of the resurrection to come. You will confess it in the Creed: “I believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life of the world to come.” Life eternal is already a gift given you as a child of God. We see it dimly, now, but look forward to seeing it in it’s full radiance in Christ, the Lamb. There is comfort in the Lord’s Supper. In the old, Scandanavian tradition, communion rails were half-circles. The image, the idea, was that the other half of the circle, the unseen part, continued into heaven where, as we say in the communion liturgy, are the angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven joining in praises to the Lamb of God.

All Saints Day and Easter go hand-in-hand. Through the resurrection, we are made holy. As holy people, we have the blessed promise of our own resurrection into eternity. And, as Easter people, we sing that hope and joy that we have in Christ. Martin Franzmann, theologian par excellance, famously wrote “Theology must sing,” and so our hymnody carries this confession of the resurrection as well. It especially shines on Easter and on All Saints Day.

Frank Sinatra once sang about love and marriage, "You can't have one without the other." While experience shows him to be often wrong about that connection, in Christ, death and resurrection do go together. You cannot have one without the other. Christ died and rose; He rose because He had died. Likewise, when we die, we shall live again, and we live into eternity because we died in our baptism, the Old Adam and Old Eve being daily drowned by grace through faith in Him who died vicariously, one (and once!) for all. That eternal, eschatological hope - or, as I say, "Hope with a capital H" - is ours for a resurrection reunion with those whom we love and, more importantly, with our Lord who loved us enough to die for us while we were still sinners.

That Capitol H hope fuels my singing. So, when singing those verses about the resurrection of all flesh and the Hope that is ours in Christ, it gets me every time. There is sadness as I remember, but there is joy, too: I'll get to see parishioners whom I buried, like Ralph, Edwin and Val; friends whom I have mourned, like Gene, Raymond, and Joe, my grandparents, Fred and Melinda, Herman and Regina, Aunt Loraine, Uncle Bill, Uncle Fred. I'll get to meet people I never knew, people from parts of the world I've never seen, people from whole other epochs of time - saints, one and all, whole and holy in the blood of the Lamb.

I began this by saying All Saint’s Day gets me. The hymn that hits the hardest and most hopeful is "For All the Saints," Sine Nomine if you prefer Latin titles - and who doesn't love to drop a little Latin now and then. You’ll sing it during communion distribution. Don’t just sing on auto-pilot; pay attention to what the words say. The text moves us from remembering the church militant with our struggles on earth, now, all who live under the cross of Jesus, living in faith while looking forward to that which we see, at times, dimly and at other times, quite clearly. Yet, even when its dim and dark and hard, hearts best strongly with the promise of God in Christ for a great, glorious day. Alleluia!

But, I don’t think I have ever finished singing the hymn. By the time we get to verse 5, with that Hope, I am down to a mere squeak of a voice as the organ thunders and the congregation sings:

"But then there breaks a still more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

Usually, I am unable to see the words printed because of the tears running freely. Thankfully, I have the words committed to heart. But, even if I could see, I can't sing between sobs - or, because I'm fighting to not burst into full-fledged weeping. The hymn paints us the glorious picture of the church in glory, 144,000 magnified and multiplied and majestic, without number, all singing in wonderful, angelic thunderous voice.

"From earth's wide bounds,
From ocean's farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

Maybe on that day, when I stand among them, maybe then I'll be able to sing. But today, I can't. Today, I'll hum along and murmur another Alleluia as I wait and thank God for all the saints.

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. Your loved one’s 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 because Jesus lives.

We say this on Easter. We need to say it today, as well.

Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed. Alleluia.
We are risen. We are risen, indeed. Alleluia.

Do Me A Favor and Sing: All Saints Day 2023

Martin Franzman, theologian par excellence, once said, "Theology must sing!" I agree. I like to sing. Good thing, since by vocation, I am a pastor. Hymns and hymnody are part of my vocation as a pastor and life as a child of God. Every Sunday, I sing between three to five hymns and, often, during the week, I find myself singing more. Sometimes, these are devotional hymns, other times they are sung as prayers, and sometimes just out of the joy of singing the familiar words. Occasionally I sing a hymn with a shut-in or someone in the hospital. Just like singing along to the radio, most hymns have a fairly neutral emotional response.

But there are a few hymns that just hit me, emotionally, in a very deep space. "I know that my Redeemer lives," with its rich resurrection imagery for God's people, is one of those hymns. I remember, as a boy, singing it at my grandpa's funeral, sitting next to my parents, while they cried. The older I get, the more I understand. I don't know how many times I have sung it, but I don't think I have ever actually sung the whole hymn. Even if I have maintained dry eyes until then, verse 8 gets water-works going.

"He lives, all glory to His name!
He lives, my Jesus, still the same.
Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives,
'I know that my Redeemer lives!'"

"Come, thou fount of every blessing" is another. The soaring melody of the third phrase carries the words heavenward in prayer. Again, the last verse swells my heart so much it chokes off the air and I cannot sing. A friend slightly revised the words for a more eschatological thrust:

"Oh, that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face!
Clothed then in the blood-washed linen,
how I'll sing Thy wondrous grace!
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
take all sin and death away!
With your angels come and raise us,
bring the realms of endless day!"

There are other hymns, too, that are difficult to sing - not mechanically, although there are a few of those as well. I am talking about the text and the feelings the words evoke. You may be surprised that I tell you "Amazing Grace" is not one of those hymns. It's not that I dislike it; it just doesn't move me the way others do. But start singing "Abide with me" (I'll always remember Pastor Rossow dimming the lights for the final verse, "Hold thou thine cross before my closing eyes; shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. When morning breaks and earth's vain shadows flee, in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."), "If Christ had not been raised from death," the final, German verse of "Silent Night" - there are more, of course - these all evoke strong feelings, thoughts, and prayers within me, stirring deeply my heart.

Some of these evocative hymns stir a level of sadness - "I know my Redeemer lives" is a regularly used funeral hymn, for example, a reminder of those whom I have lost and those whom I have buried. But, more than the loss is the blessed hope and promise of the resurrection that is ours through Christ our Lord. The feelings co-mingle: sadness and joy, loss and hope.

Frank Sinatra once sang about love and marriage, "You can't have one without the other." While experience shows him to be often wrong about that connection, in Christ, death and resurrection do go together. You cannot have one without the other. Christ died and rose; He rose because He had died. Likewise, when we die, we shall live again, and we live into eternity because we died in our baptism, the Old Adam and Old Eve being daily drowned by grace through faith in Him who died vicariously, one (and once!) for all. That eternal, eschatological hope - or, as I say, "Hope with a capital H" - is ours for a resurrection reunion with those whom we love and, more importantly, with our Lord who loved us enough to die for us while we were still sinners.

That hope - excuse me, Hope - fuels my singing. So, when singing those verses about the resurrection of all flesh and the Hope that is ours in Christ, it gets me every time. There is sadness as I remember, but there is joy, too: I'll get to see parishioners whom I buried, friends whom I have mourned, family who have died in the faith, Ralph, Gerry, Ray, Edwin and Val, Godfried, Joe, my grandparents, aunts and uncles, all whole and holy. I'll get to meet people I never knew, people from parts of the world I've never seen, people from whole other epochs of time - saints, one and all, made holy in the blood of the Lamb.

And, I'll see Dad again.

Today is All Saints Day, the day the Church gives thanks to God for all who are declared saints by grace, through faith in Jesus (which is all Christendom, by the way - a name not merely reserved for those of extra-ordinary faith or works, but every single Christian). Especially today, we thank God for the faithful who have gone before us, living and dying in faith.

I began this speaking of hymns that get me. The one that hits the hardest and most hopeful is "For All the Saints," Sine Nomine if you prefer Latin titles - and who doesn't love to drop a little Latin now and then. Look it up - Google is your friend, if you don't have a hymnal handy. The text moves us from remembering the church militant with our struggles on earth, now, all who live under the cross of Jesus, living in faith while looking forward to that which we see, at times, dimly and at other times, quite clearly. Yet, even when its dim and dark and hard, hearts best strongly with the promise of God in Christ for a great, glorious day. Alleluia!

By the time we get to verse 5, with that Hope, I am down to a mere squeak of a voice as the organ thunders and the congregation sings:

"But then there breaks a still more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

But at the last verse, I can no longer sing. Usually, I am unable to see the words printed because of the tears running freely. Thankfully, I have the words committed to heart. But, even if I could see, I can't sing between sobs - or, because I'm fighting to not burst into full-fledged weeping. The hymn paints us the glorious picture of the church in glory, 144,000 magnified and multiplied and majestic, all singing in wonderful, angelic thunderous voice.

"From earth's wide bounds,
From ocean's farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

Maybe on that day, when I stand among them, maybe then I'll be able to sing. But today, I can't. Today, I'll hum along and murmur another Alleluia as I wait and thank God for all the saints.