Isaiah 43: 1-3 - Burial of Harrison Webel

Harrison was stillborn January 21, 2024. May the Lord comfort us in our sorrow that we may be a comfort to others who also mourn. +++

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

I begin by sharing my deep sadness for you and this terrible loss of a child whom you anticipated, prayed for, and began loving months ago. Saying, “My condolences,” just doesn’t seem to cut it. I’m heartbroken that I am with you today to lay your son, this precious gift of God, to rest. 

I am glad, as much as I can use that word, that you decided to have a service in Harrison’s honor, to remember his brief life and grieve your loss. In doing so, you not only recognize the sadness of his death, but you also thank God for the gift He gave you, albeit for too brief of a time. You respect the gift of life by mourning his death.

I am sure you have innumerable questions – the whys, the what-abouts – and, sadly, you will probably never have answers for them. Doctors, with their wisdom and skill, may provide a little bit of an answer, but that doesn’t really help us understand.

So, let us turn with humility and faith to our Lord Jesus Christ and His Word, for it is in Him that we find hope in the face of helplessness.

On your Facebook page Sunday evening, Morgan, you shared the sad news about Harrison. But, you also included these words from Isaiah 43:2: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2

This short verse has three expressions about going through very difficult times: passing through waters, passing through the rivers, and walking through fire. For the people who heard Isaiah preach, it would have suggested their forefather’s journey through the Red Sea, the Jordan River, and the battles against God’s enemies. They would have recalled how God, in His great mercy, preserved Israel even in their greatest of distress. They would have remembered but also understood how it applied to their own suffering under the hands of the Babylonians and Assyrians: that God was with them, also, while they went through their own waters, rivers and fires.

For you, those words of Isaiah also stand as His promise for you, that in this time of grief, sorrow, and unanswered questions, God is with you, He will not let you be overwhelmed, He will not let you be consumed in your loss. “For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,” he says, “Your Savior.”

Those last two words amaze me: Isaiah was preaching roughly 700 years before the Savior was born, but the promise of God was already as sure and certain as though Jesus was standing there with Isaish. That’s how certain God’s Word is: when He says it, you can believe it, even if the fulfillment is far, far away. God’s salvation of the world would be accomplished in the death and resurrection of Jesus, still centuries in the future, but it is already certain for Isaiah as if it had already happened.

That is how it is for us, with the resurrection of all flesh. Our Lord’s death and resurrection, what happened 2000 years ago, began the fulfillment of the promises of God for us, as His people. He is your Savior, saving you from death – not just temporal, but the eternal death our sins deserve. Instead, He redeems us and unites us with Himself in life and in death.

Isaiah 43 has always been a favorite passage of mine, but I have always been more fond of the first verse: “But now this says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.”

Even before you carried your son in your body, you were carrying him to the Lord in your prayers. When you discovered you were expecting, those prayers became even more intense, more personal as you chose a name, and could implore the Lord’s mercy for your unborn son, Harrison. When you came to the Lord’s House, your son heard the Word of the Lord. Even though he did not understand it, the Spirit works in those words, even in the hearts of the littlest of all of God’s creation. He, who created your son, He who formed your son, knew your son before you knew him. And, before you ever named him Harrison, God had already called him by name and made Harrison his.

Your intention was to rear Harrison in the faith, to bring him to his own passing through the waters of Baptism, to enjoy years and decades of the blessing of a son. Death robbed you of those parental duties and joy. Instead of bringing him home to sleep and grow in a well-prepared nursery, we are here today, placing him to rest in the ground.

We are familiar with Jesus’ words in the reading from John 11: “I am the resurrection and the life…” We know those words, and in times like this, we cling to that promise. But I want you to know this. When Jesus stood at his friend’s grave, he did not do so stoically. He wept. Real, hot, wet human tears. That’s important for you to know today. The One who is Your Savior, your son’s Savior, the one who conquered death with His own death, He still wept when Lazarus died. Do not be ashamed of your tears. They have been sanctified by your Savior’s tears. If people tell you to stop crying, or to hurry up and get over it, it’s because they don’t understand. Jesus does. So, you remember Jesus’ tears – His tears for you, in your grief, His tears for your son, whom death took too soon from you.

But, then remember the promised resurrection day when tears will be dried and sorrow will be turned into dancing. You, with Isaiah and all of the faithful who died trusting the promises of God who created, formed, and redeemed you, you will see each other. And, more than that, you will see Jesus, Your Savior, who carried you through the waters and fires into Himself for eternity.

But you’re not there, yet. Today, it’s tears. And those tears are holy. Weep freely…but do not weep as one who has no hope. Weep with Isaiah. Let the tears flow.

Allow me some creative license, imagining as if Isaiah was speaking to you today:

When the tear-waters pass through your eyes, I will be with you,

And through the rivers that run down your cheeks, they shall not overwhelm you;

When your eyes burn and your heart aches, you shall not be consumed.

For I am the Lord Your God, the Holy One, Jesus, your Savior.

They Were Astonished...And That Makes Me Jealous (Yes - You Read that Right): Mark 1: 21-28

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

I am going to beg your indulgence a little bit this morning. It’s been said that a preacher should always remember that his first congregation is his own hears, his own heart, his own conscience. So, this morning, I am preaching for myself but not just me. I suspect that in many ways, you’re right there with me.

Let me say this: please, don’t think, “Oh, the poor man…,” or “He’s overworked.” I also hope you don’t think I’m trying to make myself the center of attention – “hey, look at me!”  I’m trying to garner neither attention nor sympathy. What I am doing is speaking the truth of God’s Word to my ears and to yours as well, albeit in a little different way than usual.

Today is the 4^th Sunday of Epiphany. This year, the Epiphany season is short, only 5 weeks long, before the Transfiguration ushers us into Lent. Epiphany is a challenge for me as a pastor.  Epiphany means revealing, remember, and it is my vocational responsibility to reveal Christ to you. Therein is the challenge: God has called me through the Church, through Zion, to speak His Word of forgiveness to you on His behalf.

When I was a kid, I remember my brother was playing in the back yard. I had gone in the house for something, and Mom instructed me to call my brother in because dinner was ready. I stuck my head out the door and told him to come in for dinner. Two minutes later, he was still playing. Mom told me, again, to call him inside. Again, “Hey – it’s time for dinner,” and, again, he ignored my instruction with the comment, “You’re not the boss of me.” I dutifully reported this to Mom, who repeated the instruction with this addition: “Tell him, ‘Mom said, “It’s time for dinner!”’” This time, when I uttered the magic words, “Mom said,” he quickly dusted himself off and ran to the door.

I get to do something like that most Sundays and often during the week. Some Sundays, I say it like this: “As a called and ordained servant of Christ, and by His authority, I therefore forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Sometimes, I slip and say it like I learned it already as a boy: “I, by virtue of my office as a called and ordained servant of the Word, announce the grace of God unto you, and in the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Sometimes I simply say, "I forgive you or in the name of (or by the authority of) Jesus Christ. Depart in peace." 

I am called by the Lord to speak by His authority, in His stead, by His command, and to utter God’s holy name. I am privileged to speak for Jesus. I don’t just get to teach about Him, like a history professor would do, or explore Him, like an English teacher, or try to discern his inner motives, like a psychologist. I get to declare the present-day reality that God, in Christ, has done, is doing, and will do mercy, compassion, and grace for you, His people.

And, there is the rub. I’m the vessel, the means, through which God speaks to you. I get to speak Jesus to others, revealing His mercy and grace to them. I get so used to delivering the epiphany of Jesus to someone else that I sometimes find it tough to encounter the living Christ for me, both in the Scripture and in the words and lives of the Church, the people of God. For instance, it’s very easy for me to read the Bible just to try to figure out what to say in a sermon or Bible class, and forget to read it and hear what God is saying to me, personally, myself, a baptized Child of God.

I admit, most of that is a professional concern that only clergy might face. I’m not saying this of all clergy, or even most – just saying it’s an occupational hazzard, the spiritual equivalent of a doctor giving everyone else their annual checkup but forgetting to get his or her own.

But I do wonder if you might not have a similar struggle. I wonder if you ever find yourself, like me, and when you heard these seven words, “And they were astonished at His teaching,” (Mark 1:21), and not finding yourself more than a little bit jealous at that Capernaum crowd. After all: Jesus was in their midst, teaching, and they heard and marveled. He didn’t teach like the other rabbis; He didn’t talk like other readers. There was authority there, and the people were astonished. I know: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed," but still...I wish I had been there to see, hear, and be amazed. 

I don’t know exactly what they heard – Mark doesn’t say. He also doesn’t tell us that they were all converted into having saving faith in Jesus. I have a guess, based on the context, that they didn’t really understand, yet, everything about Jesus-as-Messiah. What we do know is that they got to hear Jesus, His voice, His words, and they were amazed. They got to marvel at it. They didn’t have to be the authority, or explain it, defend it, apply it, or hold people accountable, to gather volunteers to run a program. Jesus said it. They heard it. They simply got to be astonished at it all.

I’m going to risk telling you a quick story, but, again, remember, this isn’t about me. What brought this to a head is knowing in two days, I’ll officiate the burial of Harrison Webel. As both a pastor and a father, this is heartbreaking. Last week, Acelynn’s funeral was difficult, but there was some distance of unfamiliarity. This one will be even more so because I know the parents much better. I was so concerned, I talked with a pastor-friend: how on earth would I get through this without turning into a blubbering mass of tear-smeared clergyman, getting in the way of the message. He listened and then said, very simply, “Remember this: the Word of comfort you preach to the family, you preach to yourself as well. Repent, believe the Gospel, and then preach it.”

I had gotten caught: I had been so busy trying to figure out what I was going to say, what I was going to do, trying to figure out how to explain and proclaim, that I forgot to first sit, listen, and simply be astonished at the words of Jesus. So, Tuesday afternoon, I gave up. I turned off the computer, turned off the Spotify, and moved Reese over on my couch in the office, opened my Bible and just read, letting the words amaze me – not trying to mine its depths for nuggets to preach or teach, but for the Words of forgiveness, life and salvation given to me.

I don’t know if you have ever had that kind of feeling, because it may be kind-of vocationally specific, but I suspect you may share some of the sentiments behind it. The Third Commandment’s instruction to hold God’s Word sacred and gladly hear and learn it doesn’t just mean getting up on a Sunday, driving to church, listening to a 15-17 minute sermon; or, a couple hours of sermon prep and preaching. It’s less about getting you in the pew but more about the gift of the living Word of God.

Some of you are old enough to remember the Kellogs Corn Flakes commercial, “Taste them again for the first time.” Their goodness is in their simplicity. Try the same thing with your Bible this week. Turn off the distractions. Put the phone on silent. Stash the iPad in the other room. Open your Bible. For this, I encourage you to use a real Bible and not an app or website, so you don’t get distracted by a game or news update. If you need one, let me know and I’ll help you out. Open your Bible, pick a place, and start reading. And, if you just can’t read – you need to listen to it – then turn off the screen, at least, close your eyes, and focus on the words. I might suggest either Mark (since it’s our Gospel for this year) or John. Open, read, taste it again for the first time, being astonished at the words and works of Jesus. Be bold in approaching the Lord in His Word. Be humble in the presence of the living Word of God. Stand with the surety that what you are opening yourself to the very Word of God and are sitting at His feet. Don’t try to listen to explain to others. Simply listen and experience the Word, allowing the Spirit to work in an uncluttered space.

What you discover – what I rediscovered – is the Word is living and active. It drives out fear, worry and doubt. It quells troubled hearts. It sooths anxious minds. It relieves crushed spirits. The Word is authoritative. The same Word-made-flesh that drove out demons, cleansed lepers, and silenced storms also speaks to forgive sins. You will find moments of joyful wonder in hearing His voice; you will also find moments of confusion at His words. That’s OK. There is a certain tension in the Scriptures. You do not have to fully comprehend it to believe it.

Wrestle with the Word. Wrestle with it like Jacob wrestled with God. Wonder at the God who speaks and at the actual words He speaks. You may walk away with a limp, but you may receive a blessing as well. The darkness and joy of such wondering and wrestling will bring life to your very soul as it did for me.

That IS The Way It's Supposed to Happen! - Jonah 3: 1-5, 10

There is a MASH episode where the doctors were making rounds in the post-op ward when a patient suddenly codes. He’s not breathing and if something doesn’t happen, he will be reporting for terminal duty at graves registration soon. As Hawkeye and BJ spring into action, one of the doctors – seeing the severity of the situation - calls out, “We need some cross-action here, Father,” and Mulcahy makes the sign of the cross, clutches his prayer book, and begins praying. As three lifetimes pass by in the course of a few seconds, the dying soldier suddenly takes a gasping breath and begins breathing on his own. When he’s commended for his timely prayers, Father Mulcahy stammers, “It’s not supposed to work that way, you know…”

 “It’s not supposed to work that way, you know.” That could very well have been Jonah’s storyline. Here he was, a faithful Israelite, a son of Abraham, called by God to preach to the Israel’s most feared enemy: the Assyrians. Jonah was to travel from Israel, head northeast, and preach to the heathen people of the Assyrian capitol city of Ninevah. “Call out against it the message that I tell you,” God said. “Yet forty days and Ninevah shall be overthrown.” Bold, powerful, 200-proof Law. Just eight words – one of the shortest sermons on record.

Jonah is an interesting man. When God first called him to proclaim against Ninevah, Jonah was so terrified, he tried to run away. He bought a ticket on a ship heading to Tarshish, the opposite way. You know this part of the book: a storm blows up, the sailors use lots to determine Jonah is the cause of the Divinely sent storm, Jonah asks to be thrown overboard, the storm stops, even the sailors repent. Meanwhile, Jonah is swallowed by the giant fish, to be vomited up on the shore three days later. Then, and only then, does Jonah agree to go preach. Finally, he's given eight words. Eight words…what can eight words do?

Both preachers and hearers of God’s Word know it’s majesty. God’s Word is a remarkable gift. It is all powerful. When God’s Word is spoken, everything obeys. From the “Let there be” that God thundered into the hollow nothingness in Genesis one, to the “Be still” that Jesus uttered into the winds tearing apart the Sea of Galilee; from the prophets of old to the evangelists of today who cry out “Repent,” God’s Word is powerful and active, as sharp as any two-edged sword (Heb. 4:12), containing both Law, which shows our sins, and Gospel, which shows our Savior. Together, the whole counsel of God.

At Ninevah, the eight word message from God is crystal clear:  In seven of those words, Jonah says that in forty days, Ninevah – the power center of the Assyrians – will be destroyed. That is the Law, remember. It is good. It is holy. It identifies the sin and the curse that will follow. The Law leaves you hopeless and without means of rescue. The Law leaves you alone.

Jonah just got to preach a wonderful message of bold, powerful, 200-proof Law to the enemies of God’s people and now he’s going to have front row seats for when God exacts his full wrathful vengeance on these terrible sinners. He, Jonah the Israelite, will get to watch Ninevah get exactly what it deserves as enemies of Israel and enemies of God. 

At Ninevah, seven of the eight words from God are crystal clear Law.

But there is one word, one-eighth of the sermon, literally, just a kernel, where there is a nugget of Gospel-hope. It’s the word, “yet.” The Gospel is God’s antidote to the Law. Gospel literally means Good News, and it is the Good News that God will not leave you to the destruction you deserve. God will intervene out of His mercy for broken people and He will not let them die eternally. In His grace, He will offer forgiveness and life to people who do not deserve it.

“Yet…” That one word is the entirety of the Gospel preached by Jonah. “Yet” is not the full, fleshed out Gospel. A more accurate Hebrew translation would be “A continuance for forty more days, but then the city will be destroyed.” There is nothing about a Savior. There is nothing about Messiah who is to come. There is nothing about mercy or grace that is specifically stated. There is no connection to the promises of God made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that are waiting to be fulfilled in the fulness of time. But that one word, yet, is loaded full of the mercy of God. He does not desire Ninevah would be destroyed. His desire is that they repent, turn, change their hearts so that the entirety of His grace and mercy can be received by the people. Yet: it stands against the sure certainty of the Law and offer – literally – a word of hope.

Remember: God’s Word does what it will accomplish. The Holy Spirit, at work in the words of the prophet, does what only He is able to do: he breaks the hard hearts of the Ninevites. When the people of Ninevah hear these words of God, they repent. To demonstrate their sorrow, they put on sackcloth – think burlap – and fast from eating. The king, likewise, hears every word of Jonah’s message from God. He, too, repents and orders the nation into a state of penance where neither animal nor person eats or drinks. He calls people to repent and turn away from their sinfulness, their evilness and violence.  And then holding God to his one-word Gospel promise, he says, “Who knows? God may turn and relent and turn from his fierce anger, so that we may not perish.”

You are familiar with the story of Jonah and the great fish and God’s miraculous saving of Jonah. This is an even greater miracle: that they believe the Word of the Lord and trust in what is only a crumb of mercy. You notice the change of heart: it’s a complete reversal of both behavior and lifestyle, turning away from their old way of heathen living and toward God and his mercy. The change is so great that they even go above and beyond what is commanded: where God demands they turn from their evil way, the people of Ninevah demonstrate it with sackcloth and fasting. The people of Ninevah are saved – not because they suddenly become good people. They are saved because of the promise of God contained in “yet.”

When you get home this afternoon, grab your Bible and read the book of Jonah. It’s short and a fascinating narrative – not just because of the fish story in chapters 1 and 2, but because of the demonstration of God’s great mercy and grace. The sailors carrying Jonah? They receive God's grace and mercy, not because of the preaching of Jonah, but because they witness the power of God. For Ninevah, hearing God’s Word, the entire city is led to repentance. And Jonah, prophet of God, spokesperson of the Lord Almighty, he gets excited and calls the King and the entire city to celebrate and rejoice, right? You would expect that he throws a party because there is contrition and change and returning to the Lord, right? It’s the classic story of the lost being found and the broken restored.

But, not Jonah. Jonah gets mad because the Lord relented and decided not to destroy the city and its inhabitants. You can hear him yelling heavenward, “It’s not supposed to work that way, you know…” You said you were going to wipe them out! I said you were going to wipe them out! My reputation is on the line! Your reputation is on the line, God! You’ve got to be kidding me! The entire sermon was 7/8 threat and warning, I risked life and limb, I ran away and you pulled me back in just so these people could be saved!

That is exactly the point: God desires not the death of the sinner. Death: it’s not supposed to work that way, you know. God created towards life, not death. And when man interrupted creation’s perfection with the fall into sin, that wasn’t supposed to work that way, either. Adam and Eve were supposed to be holy and obedient in love towards God. Instead, they were selfish, desiring something that wasn’t theirs: to be Godlike, knowing good from evil. That was not supposed to work that way.

So God intervenes against His own promised destruction. With Words spoken, Words repeated from generation to generation, through the mouths of more imperfect people into the ears of imperfect people, the perfect promises of God were proclaimed, filled with calling people to repentance and delivering mercy, compassion, and grace. No other man-made diety has ever done such a thing. God not only intercedes, He provides the answer to the punishment in His perfect, holy Son, the fulfillment of the words spoken through Jonah.

It would take about 40 centuries, not 40 days, the Rescuer and Redeemer of Ninevah and all of creation would enter into our world through the Virgin Mary. He would take into Himself all of the terrible things done in Ninevah – the cruelty, the prostitution, the rampant materialism, the arrogance – and Jesus would die for those people of Ninevah. And, beauty of beauties, Jesus would take into Himself Jonah’s anger at God’s mercy, his arrogance at pretenting to know better than God, his foolishness of thinking himself better than the people of Ninevah. And, joy of joys, Jesus takes into Himself our sins.

This IS how it’s supposed to work: Christ has taken your schadenfreude into himself. He, without any self-righteous arrogance, did not consider Himself above anyone. He, who humbled Himself to kneel before sinners and serve those who turned their backs to Him, yet He was obedient even unto death on the cross to die for you. It was his pleasure as God’s Son to take your pain – all of it.   

Evidence of this is in the three-day sign of Jonah. Not in Jonah being swallowed by the whale and being spit up three days later, but in Jesus being swallowed by the grave and his resurrection three days later. And now you, baptized into this sign of Jonah, this death and resurrection of Jesus, are also called - not to be a prophet, but to live out the “yet” of the Gospel. Yet, while you were still a sinner, Christ died – and rose – for you. You don’t have to go to a foreign, enemy country; you live the Gospel right here: in your home, in your place of business, where you shop, where you conduct your daily work, where you play. You, who have received mercy, are called to be distributors of mercy; providers of mercy; purveyors of the hope that is given to us to share through Christ.

This….this is how it’s supposed to work. God, in Christ, working in you; working through you.

 

 

The Lord is Always Close & Near - Psalm 139

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Psalm 139 which we read a few moments ago.

I think most of us agree that we are living in a time and society that is growing less and less Christian and more and more secular. It seems that the change over the past twenty years – or, for that matter, even ten years – has been exponential. In his book, A Secular Age, author Charles Taylor describes our modern social perception or imagination as one that has become more and more exclusively human with little or no room for the Divine. Thus, in daily lives, because there is perceived to be no God, at least not one who is active and involved with power and authority, it's no wonder that sometimes (perhaps, even often) it feels as if, indeed, we are in a godless society.

Sitting here, this morning, in the house of God, we know that is not true. We know, in the words of Psalm 46, God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. But the problem is that we do not get to dwell here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. At most, we get to spend an hour or two here in the sanctified space for receiving God’s gifts of grace and mercy and being encouraged and strengthened to serve and care for others in the name of Jesus. Two hours with Jesus isn’t much when you consider the other 166 hours in a week spent “out there” in an ever-growing, ever-secular world. That contrast is what Paul means when he said we are in, but not of, the world.

So, “out there” we are inundated with that very secularist, godless idea of life. It’s on television, in books, and even in our conversations with family and friends. With it surrounding us, it can start to rub off on us so that, even as faithful Christians, we are tempted to believe that God is a distant, far off, and detached, watching and waiting, not really interfering or interacting with anything. Absent a caring God, we’re left without a way to answer questions like, “Does God care that on Tuesday, my kid got sick?” Or, “Does it matter to Him that we are really struggling with questions about faith and life?” Or, “Is it of any significance to Him that I am so lonely?” Or, “If God is good, why were 20 kids shot in an Iowa school? What about my kid?”  With faith neutered by secularism, we buy into the notion that we get God on Sundays but we are left to wander through the week on our own for the next 166 hours until the next Sunday.

Psalm 139 was written by David. We don’t know the circumstances surrounding the inspired poem, but one could easily imagine him writing it while fleeing from King Saul, or when preparing to face Israel’s enemies in battle, or when facing the challenges of being king over God’s own people. Regardless the specific scenario, these words were written by a man who faced things in his life that probably weren’t that much different than our own. Without trying to read into the text what isn’t there, I could easily see David wrestling with questions like ours: God, do you care? Does this matter to you? If you are good, why are things happening this way? What about your promises?

The beauty of Psalm 139 is that it completely wipes out the false idea that God is distant, separate and uncaring. Instead, David places God firmly next to us, with us, and in companionship with us. Twice, David says God searched for him and knew him. This isn’t artificial intelligence, or some kind of auto-robot. God is intimately acquainted with and involved in David’s life, seeking him and knowing him. God is with and watching over David from when he stands up in the morning to when he lays down at night. God’s knowledge is so complete that He even knows what David is thinking before it is ever spoken or muttered.

What is true for David is true for you, also, His dearly beloved child. He knows you intimately and perfectly – your actions, your thoughts, your prayers, even before they are muttered, even if you aren’t sure they are even prayers, He knows what you say, hearing, listening, answering. Around us, conventional wisdom may declare, “We don’t know if there is a god,” but God clearly responds over the hubub, “But I know you, Child. I seek you, I find you. I know you. I am behind you, before you, completely surrounding you, even in the midst of all that life has for you.”

What great comfort for us, as people of God, over and against the empty helpless and hopelessness of our secular world. Instead of leaving us grasping at smoke in the wind, our Lord holds us by His hand, firm, steady and strong. Instead of leaving us seeking after possibilities and maybe’s, our Lord is sure and certain. Instead of leaving us trying to keep up with ever-changing opinions, our Lord knows. He knows us, our needs, our actions, our words, even our thoughts.   From the highest heights to the lowest of lows, from Heaven to Sheol, David writes, even if one could fly across the skies or dive to the depts of the sea, God is present and cannot be lost. 

David says “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.” It’s as if David is saying, God’s incredible ability is so extra-ordinary, so unusual in our understanding that it is almost incomprehensible.

There are times that is a wonderful comfort, a God who is that close, intimate and personal.

But, there are times that that is terribly frightening. He knows my thoughts, my words even before I say them? He knows what I muttered when my kid threw up at 2am? He knows the words I shouted when the check bounced? He knows what I thought about my spouse after we fought? For that matter, he knows how I leered at my coworker the next day? He knows when I sit down and goof off instead of working and he knows when I rise up because I’m too worried to sleep? He searches me out and finds me in times like this? It is frightening to think He knows all these things and what, with His might, He might do to someone like…me. It would be easy to imagine God’s hands wrapped into fists of anger, completely righteous, completely justified, in squashing sinners like bugs.

David is not afraid of God, and neither should you be. In fact, rather than seeing God’s hands balled up to strike, David sees God’s hands, hands that seek out, hands held out to lead, hands held out to hold.

There is an old story about a child who wakes up in the middle of the night, scared, calling for Mommy and Daddy. When the parents arrive, they calm the child, assure the youngster that everything is alright. "We're right down the hall," they said. The kiddo, now calmer, simply said, "I know that, but sometimes I just need to hear those words with skin on." In other words, I need to see you. 

If you want to see those hands with skin on, look no farther than the hands of Jesus. In fact, those are the hands I want you to see this morning. Hands held out, calling, gathering, and inviting the lost. Hands held out to heal and comfort the sick and hurting. Hands held out to bless and forgive the broken hearted and spiritually bankrupt. Hands held out in compassion and love to the least and the dregs of society. Hands held out, stretched out from the cross, pierced for the times your words were less than loving, for thoughts that were less than pure, for words of anger and frustration, words of doubt, words of fear, for moments of laziness and for moments of worry, moments when you have tried to take God’s place in control of your life, moments when you doubt whether God is really there or not, for those moments, Jesus dies for you with hands outstretched – outstretched for you. And, three days later when Jesus rose, those same nail-pierced hands are held up in blessing, declaring peace has been restored between you and the God who knows everything about you.

And with peace restored, the Lord seeks you out, searches for you, watches over you, guides you and directs you. He is not far off and distant. He is close, nearby, intimately acquainted and involved in your life. Not a moment passes that He does not know you and what is in your life. And, not a moment passes that you are not loved and forgiven.

If there is a moment during the week, during those 166 hours between Sundays, maybe on a Tuesday, or a Thursday, late at night when your kid is sick, or money is tight, or you have a family squabble, remember the hand of the Lord is with you. He has not abandoned you. He is there, forgiving, renewing, restoring, and holding you close. And, to remind yourself of this, take your hand – your right hand - and make the sign of the cross on your forehead or heart, a reminder of the baptismal promise God gave you in water and Word when He laid His hand and His name on you, calling you His.

The Baptism of Jesus - Genesis 1: 1-4; Mark 1: 9-11

The Bible begins with the phrase, “In the beginning, God…” Let your mind wander and wonder over those words for a moment. Before there was anything – time, day and night, dark and light, land and ocean, microscopic organism to giant redwood tree, there was God. God – in all His fullness, holiness, and abiding presence. In the beginning, God. He has always been, always is, and always will be. He is infinite without beginning or end. And, He is also omnipotent, all powerful. Each piece of creation was spoken into existence, “Let there be,” and it was so and it was good. He took the wild, formless void – I like the way the Hebrew says it, the tohu wabohu – and organizes it from its nothingness to everything that exists, every piece, daily declared by God Himself to be good.

Have you ever wondered why God made creation? Why make the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees and the moon up above? For that matter, why did God, in His infinite wisdom, create something perfect, holy and good, that would be contaminated by the sinfully disobedient bite from His pinnacle of creation? Because God is love and He wanted an object of His love, something, someone to whom His love would be directed. Don’t over anthropomorphize this: God wasn’t lonely or desperate. Simply, He desired to show love and desired that that and those whom He created would love Him in return. He created Man to be His Creation’s caretaker, a partnership of love. Man needed to have a limited free will to freely respond to God’s love, not be a robot only programmed to respond appropriately. So, God took the dust, the Adamah, and formed it into Adam, the man. You can say in a very real sense, Adam is God’s Son, created in God’s image and likeness: holy, blameless, without sin; but, unlike God, given a limited free will that allowed him to be tempted and fail.

And, with the forbidden bite, there was again tohu wabohu – this time, not the vast formless void of nothingness, but the wild chaos of a sin-stained, death-smeared world. And it was not good. And there was evening, and there was morning, and it was the first day of the fallen world.

What do you do with a creation that has rebelled? Ask any Texan and they sing the praises of the 180-odd men at the Alamo that Santa Anna branded them traitors and rebels. We cheer Luke Skywalker but boo Darth Vader. To the victor belongs the spoils and also the right to chose their names. In our world, rebels are either to be put down or praised, depending on which side you are on. God does neither: He does not praise rebellious mankind; He also does not destroy His beloved Creation, including mankind. Instead, He chooses to redeem it. To redeem is to buy back. God will buy back creation and all of mankind from the eternal condemnation and eternal damnation that sin deserves.

He will redeem creation through His Son. In the fulness of time, God sends His Son, born of the Virgin Mary, in Bethlehem. God deigns to dwell among man – the very people He must redeem. Jesus will take onto Himself our physical body with all of our physical attributes. In His flesh, Jesus will know a beginning; He will not know all things; He will experience the tohu wabohu of the fallen world with all human emotion including hunger and pain; joy and sorrow; rest and fatigue. He will be surrounded by people who love and praise Him; He will be abandoned by everyone, including His own Heavenly Father.

He will experience everything you know in this world, with one exception. The one human experience he will not have is to sin. He will be tempted by those around him, including the Jewish leaders, the crowds, His own disciples, even face to face by Satan himself. Yet, the Scriptures tell us He is like us in every way except without sin.

This is what makes this morning’s Gospel reading so remarkable: John is baptizing in the River Jordan. St. Mark is clear: “John appeared, baptizing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

Jesus has no sins to confess. He has done nothing wrong. He is God and God is holy and sinless. Yet, Jesus humbles himself, in flesh, to descend into the water to be baptized. Remember: He is taking the place of every man. He steps into humanity to take our place. It is the undoing of man’s unholiness. So, in His baptism, instead of having his sins washed away, our sins are being washed onto Jesus. Baptismal water, which washes our sins away, carries all of our sins and pours them all onto the sinless son of God. God made Him who knew no sin to become sin for us.

There is an ancient technique for making delicate, silk veils. A pan is filled with clean water. The artist then uses different colored oils and, carefully, drips the oils into the desired pattern on the surface of the water. The veil maker and their apprentice will then carefully lower the clean, white silk onto the surface of the oiled water. Instantly, the oil bonds to the silk. They lift the now-stained cloth up and it has taken the oil’s stain into itself. The water, left behind in the pan, is clean and ready to be used again.

The analogy is in your baptism, your sins were washed into the water. Unlike the oils, you can’t see the sins in the water. But they are there. And Christ, the pure, sinless son of God, takes up our sins into Himself. He, who knew no sin, became sin for us.

This is no analogy: your sins - Your trusting your bank account more than the saving promises of God; Your casually fumbling God’s name in disgust when the receiver drops the big pass; Your failure to study the Scriptures; your hateful speech to your kids and your parents; your taking things that don’t belong to you, or trying to figure out ways to get them; your ogling at movie screen with scantily clad movie stars that make your heart skip a beat and your mind wander and wonder; and so much more – all of your sins that deserve condemnation get exactly what they deserve. Jesus, baptized into your sins, dies the sinner’s death of condemnation and separation from God. He takes each and every one to the Cross. He redeems you. He dies for you so you do not die eternally. He does it out of His great love for you, while you were still a sinner, Christ died for you. So you do not doubt this, not only does Jesus die, He also rises. His death pays the price; His resurrection is the proof-evidence that redemption is made.

You know, don’t you, that all of us who have been baptized into Christ were baptized into His death. We were buried therefore with Him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with Him in a death like His, we shall certainly be united with Him in a resurrection like His. (Romans 6: 3-5)

Do you understand what a remarkable gift this is? A wonderful exchange takes place in Baptism. With your sins removed from you, Christ’s righteousness rushes in. You are declared holy, washed clean in Christ. You are redeemed. All of your sins, removed from you in Christ. They can no longer be held against you. Baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, baptized into the death of Christ, the tohu wabohu - the darkness and void of your sins - has been filled instead with the Holy Spirit as He moved upon the waters. The debt is redeemed; the death price is paid in full.   

Jesus public ministry is about to begin. He will enter the three years of public service of teaching and preaching, performing miracles, healing and raising the dead. He will call disciples to follow and enemies will rise against him. Through it all, the devil will work to derail Jesus purpose of being the world’s Savior. As Jesus climbs out of the riverbed, with the cross on the horizon, the Spirit descends on Him in the form of the dove and the Father’s voice is heard, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

We are now beginning the season of Epiphany. It’s an oddity of the church year: we don’t follow the life of Jesus, chronologically. Last week, Jesus was a baby; this week, he is a man. Epiphany means “revealing,” that is, Christ being revealed as Savior. The season also begins to show people’s response to Jesus and His ministry. Those words serve to strengthen Him. No mere man; Jesus is God’s own Son – with God in the Beginning, now beginning His earthly ministry as Savior.  

And you, you enter the season of Epiphany redeemed, buried with Christ, raised with Christ, redeemed by Christ, and you are called, in Christ, a Child of God. Blessed Epiphany-tide to all. Amen.