"...Philip Told Him About Jesus" - Acts 8: 26-40

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

“The Spirit said to Philip, ‘Go over and join the chariot.’ So Philip ran to him and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet and asked, ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ And he said, ‘How can I unless someone guides me?’ And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.”

Last week, I had a doctor’s appointment in Austin. The doctor’s office is right across the street from the new office of the Texas District of the LCMS. As I was standing in line to check in, looking out the windows of the lobby, I could see through the front windows of the District office and into the chapel and there, filling the south wall of the chapel, was a massive stained glass window, floor-to-ceiling. Impressive in size, it’s a brilliant display of bright colors. At the top, center is a brass cross. Surrounding the brass cross is a dazzling cross in yellow glass that fills the window, side-to-side, the top quadrants moving into oranges and reds, and the bottom quadrants moving into greens, blues, and purples. That morning, it was overcast – like it’s been here most of last week – but even so, the brass and glass crosses were glowing with radiant light, practically speaking for itself: “We preach Christ crucified.”

In front of me were two ladies and I quickly realized they were talking about that stained glass window, its brilliance, its brightness, its beauty. But, I wondered if they understood what the brilliance, brightness and beauty was conveying? Like so many people with crosses in their homes, was the window merely a piece of art to them, or did they see it as part of a Christian confession that Jesus is Lord? Were they secularists, noticing a feature of a building contrasting with the brick walls of the office, or were they Christians, seeing not just a window through a window, but the proclamation that that Christ is risen, risen indeed, and that Easter is a present-tense reality, that  because He lives, we shall too live?

 

I have to admit, I was excited – not because they noticed “our” District office building and window, but because I was seeing an opportunity to speak, to use that window as an entrée into a conversation about what the window, what the cross means.

That is what I want you to you think of this morning: the wonder that our resurrected Lord uses human beings and human conversation to share the Good News of Jesus.

There is much of the Divine that is involved in Philip and the Eunuch – don’t get me wrong. The angel leads Philip into the desert, there is a curious traveler, a handy scroll of Isaiah (that the man had a personal copy of Isaiah shows that he is a serious worshipper, well-connected, and wealthy to have such a luxury), the Spirit of God tells Philip to run up to the chariot. This is no mere happenstance, a serendipitous meet-cute of a Hellenistic Jew with an Ethopian. God is so intricately involved that even the very passage of Scripture being read is used as an entrée for the conversation to begin. But that is the point: that God is involved in putting His people in places and at times where conversations in God’s Word can take place.

The unnamed eunuch was from Ethopia, part of the Roman world, foreign, exotic, interesting. There was a large, healthy Jewish community in part of Ethopia, but how this man came to know Yahweh is unknown. Physically, presumably, he was a man of black skin but, more than that, he was a eunuch. He had gone to Jerusalem to worship, but his act of worship, however sincere his faith may have been, was incomplete. As a foreigner, as a man who was made unable to procreate, as a non-Jew, he was banned from entering further into the Temple than the outer courtyard. He would not be able to hear the prayers of the people, to offer sacrifice, to receive the blessing of God upon his ears. In every sense of the word, the eunuch was an outsider and no one or nothing could make him part of the people of God.

You can imagine his mixed emotions journeying home. On the one hand, he was able to go to the Temple, and even from the outer courtyard, he could worship, albeit in a limited aspect. Somehow he acquired a scroll – something that his status and economic privilege allowed him to get. He was reading aloud – that was actually a quite common practice among people in the ancient world, even noted in Psalm one, “Upon your Law I meditate, literally “murmur,” day and night.”  

The passage he was reading was from Isaiah 53, part of the Suffering Servant song that we visited during our Lenten services this spring. And, much like modern readers of the ancient prophet, he struggled with what Isaiah had written. Was this about Isaiah, or was it about someone else? It is sometimes hard to tell.

That was the question he asked Philip when Philip, led by the Spirit of God, ran up to and alongside the chariot. Philip was one of the seven named earlier in Acts, not the same Philip who was one of the Twelve chosen by Jesus. We know very little about him. He had a Greek name, so we might assume that he was a Hellenistic (that is, Greek) Jew. That also fits, because he was selected by the disciples to help with the distribution of food to fellow Greek-speaking widows and orphans. (Among the other seven was Stephen, whom we are probably more familiar with.)

You have heard me say many times that there are certain narratives in the Bible where I was a fly on the wall. This is one of those moments. Can you imagine the Bible study that took place as Philip led the eunuch into the Scriptures? I wish a court reporter was along, taking dictation of how Philip pointed the man to Jesus as the fulfillment of the Law, the perfect Lamb of God for whom justice was denied so that forgiveness of sins could be given to all who believe. Where did Philip begin? Where did he end?

I have to wonder, especially, if Philip made this wonderfully personal by rolling the scroll three chapters later where Christ’s work is specifically applied to men, like his host: “Let no foreigner who has bound himself to the Lord say, ‘the Lord will surely exclude me from his people.’ And let no eunuch complain, ‘I am only a dry tree.’” In Christ, even eunuchs are made whole in relationship with God. I can imagine the eunuch’s eyes opening, his hand pointing to himself, begging Philip with an unasked question, “IS this for me?” And, then I can imagine Philip nodding, reading further, delivering Jesus to this man:  “For this is what the Lord says: ‘To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant — to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will not be cut off.’”

When you tell a story like that of God’s people, with Jesus as the beating heart and center of all salvation for all people, including people like him who had been both physically and spiritually cut off, so that people realize Christ is for them and not against them, it is no wonder that he wanted to share both in the death and resurrection of Jesus with baptism.

It was an encounter of two people, so seemingly different, that by rights, they had no business being together. But, by the working of the Lord, God brought together two people, united in conversation in the Word, and from that Word, shared and spoken, the seed of faith blossomed into an incredible tree. The stranger now belongs to the people of God and, from all historical accounts, goes on to share the story of Jesus with his kinfolk in Ethiopia. The Christian church in that country has a long history that they trace back to this very encounter.

I have to wonder – no where does the text say this, so I am on slippery ground here – if when Philip returned to Jerusalem some time later, he did so with the report, “You guys aren’t going to believe what happened to me on the road down to Ethopia a few weeks ago. I met this guy who was a eunuch…”

Like I said, I know there is much in this story that is etherial and spiritual, but to me, the most amazing part is that God uses Philip and human words and conversation, and God works through that to spread the Good News of Jesus. That Good News isn’t just for for the people of Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, but also for people in Ethiopia and the ends of the earth, including Austin.

I didn’t have the opportunity to speak to those women last week. I was just getting ready to interrupt when they were called to a check-in window and, a moment later, I was called to another one. The Lord didn’t give me an opening to talk with them about that window, the cross, or Jesus. I pray that they were Christian women, or if not, that the cross inspired them to ask someone else “What’s with the cross?” And I pray that the Lord keeps my ears open, and yours, too, that perhaps we might have a Philip moment ourselves, with a neighbor who asks where you go every Sunday morning, with a fellow shopper at the store who comments on the cross on your purse, with a contractor who notices your Bible on the side-table in the living room, with a fellow diner who hears you pray before eating, and when they ask “who are you talking about,” you can say, “Can I sit down with you for a bit?” And, with a deep breath of prayer for the Spirit’s guidance, you open your mouth, and beginning with a Scripture, you tell him or her about the Good News of Jesus.

Amen.

"I Am The Good Shepherd's Little Lamb" - John 10: 11-18

When we hear this morning’s Gospel lesson, our minds gently wander – much like a sheep, actually – to a picture of a lush hillside carpeted with thick, green grass, a stream of water that laughs and chuckles in frivolity as it splashes over dark, water-worn, glass-smooth rocks and boulders. The tree-line stands in stoic guardianship in the distance. Then, you hear it: the giddy call of playful, little lambs as they rise up from the dell and come around the hill, bouncing and dancing towards the pastures green and waters sweet. Above it all is the baritone voice of the shepherd, calling the lambs by name, keeping the sheep close and under his watchful eye. This is called a pastoral scene. Pastor, from the Latin word for shepherd.

Ah…those lambs. Those precious, giddy, lambs. Those innocent, white-as-snow lambs. That’s the picture we love to have of ourselves as we hear these words of Jesus in this morning’s Gospel lesson and we love to sing about it: “I am Jesus’ little lamb…”

Oh, the joy of being a lamb of the Good Shepherd. We know His voice, how He speaks to us in love. We know His Words He speaks to us in blessing.  We hear His instructions of how to live together as His sheep. “The Lord is my shepherd,” we recite, “I shall not want.” (Ps. 23:1)

Then why, some days, does it feel like instead of being His darling, little lambs we are instead the black sheep of the family – not because of what He has done, but because of what we do?

Like a stubborn lamb, we deliberately and willfully do what we want instead of hearing the Shepherd and listening to His voice. We hide the secret Facebook relationship and the Instagram photos, we disguise the gambling debt, we camouflage the physical harm we do to our bodies with the pills, we pretend this week’s drunken binge was different.  Like a foolish lamb, who wanders away from the Shepherd, we trick ourselves into thinking those harsh, sharp words said to our spouses and children didn’t cut that deeply, we out-and-out lie to ourselves by pretending that we can take care of ourselves and everything is under control. Like a coy lamb, not realizing the danger of hiding from the Shepherd, we hide our guilt so well that we can almost convince ourselves our sin doesn’t exist – almost, being the key word.  We justify it by saying, “Well, we’re not as bad as so & so,” or “At least I didn’t do what that sheep did.” We play the game, until, like a lost lamb, we find ourselves so enwrapped in the darkness that we don’t know where to turn. To paraphrase Psalm 49, in fear we wonder if this is the end; if death is to be our shepherd, with our forms consumed and no place left to dwell (Ps. 49:14-16)?

Repentance: this is the cry of a helpless, lost lamb.  Repentance confesses that these sins have gotten us nowhere except lost and separated from the Good Shepherd. Repentance drags them out of the darkness, out of the wilderness, and out into the Light. Repentance forces us to identify what we have done and what we have left undone. Repentance is sorrow over what we have done and what we haven’t done. Repentance is admission that we cannot save ourselves, no matter how hard we try; but, at the same time, we no longer want to continue doing what it is that we are doing. Repentance cries out, to paraphrase Romans 7, “Who will rescue this lost sheep from this body of death?”

Repentance – Christian repentance – has one more key aspect besides sorrow and the desire to stop being foolish sheep: faith. Faith says, “yes, I am a terribly sinful sheep, but I have a greater Good Shepherd.” Repentance turns, in faith, to the Good Shepherd and says, simply, “Lord, have mercy on me a sinful sheep.”

There is only one thing to do with sheep like this – disobedient, wandering, spiteful sheep. Someone must die.

“I am the Good Shepherd,” Jesus says, “and I lay down my life for the sheep.”  That is a marvelous twist: the Good for the sinful; the holy for the unholy; the blameless for the fault-stained; the Shepherd for the sheep. Four times in these few verses, Jesus repeats the theme: I lay down my life for the sheep.  Death is not our shepherd (Ps 49:14), but death is the price our Shepherd receives for us. This Good Shepherd literally trades Himself, His life and His death for our death… and for our life.

I remember hearing the story of Gelert, the great wolfhound of Llywelyn the Great of Wales. “In this legend, Llywelyn returns from hunting to find his baby missing, the cradle overturned, and Gelert with a blood-smeared mouth. Believing the dog had savaged the child, Llywelyn draws his sword and kills Gelert. After the dog's dying yelp Llywelyn hears the cries of the baby, unharmed under the cradle, along with a dead wolf which had attacked the child and been killed by Gelert. Llywelyn is overcome with remorse and buries the dog with great ceremony.” In the small town of Beddgelert, Wales, there stands a statue to honor the legend of the faithful dog who traded his life for the life of his master. [1]

Our Good Shepherd is not a legend; our Good Shepherd is no longer dead and buried in a hillside in Israel. Jesus is the living fulfillment of every shepherd of the Scriptures. Where David used three stones to slay Goliath, Jesus had three nails driven into His hands and feet. Where Amos of Tacoa had to say, “Thus saith the Lord,” Jesus would say, “I am the way and the truth and the life, no one comes to the Father except through me.” Where the shepherds worshipped the newborn Jesus wrapped in humility, Jesus stands in glory, resurrected and alive.

Our Good Shepherd, who laid down His life for the sheep, has also taken it back up again, just as He promised. He now stands victorious, having conquered death and the grave, redeeming us from the eternal death our wandering lostness deserves.

Close your eyes for a moment; I want to try to paint a picture for you of what this looks like. Imagine a cute, soft, little lamb. He’s fluffy and clean, the words “bright eyed and bush tailed” describe this little lamb perfectly. Now, imagine that lamb is lost in the woods. The sky is dark, twilight is coming. The trees are imposing sentinels denying the lamb’s freedom. It’s been raining and the ground is a muddy, puddled, sloppy mess. Look closely at the lamb: that beautiful, white fleece is choked heavy with mud, rain, sticks and leaves. The lamb’s face isn’t calm and gentle; the eyes are wide in fear and jerk side-to-side at the unfamiliar and frightening sounds. It wants to run again, but it’s too tired; its sides heave in and out trying to catch its breath. Let your vision drift rearward, focusing past the lamb because back there, in the shadows, you see something moving. It’s big, whatever it is, and its moving slowly, to not startle the lamb. Shhh…listen. Do you hear that? It’s a man’s voice, baritone, calling softly and gently, calling out to the missing lamb. Moving gently but swiftly, he comes to the lamb, holds it, and swiftly examines it for wounds. Picking the lamp up out of the mud, the shepherd places the tired, worn out lamb on his shoulders and carries it out of the woods, back to the waiting flock.[2]

This is the picture of Jesus caring for His lost sheep. Notice, He doesn’t just take the lamb home; He takes it to the waiting flock. To help us remain faithful and live in His grace, He gathers us into a flock called a congregation that is cared for by a shepherd called a pastor. In the Greek New Testament, the word for church means “the called out ones.” We have been called out, and then called together, by the voice of the Good Shepherd. We call this a congregation. Congregation is derived from the Latin congregatio which means, literally, the herded-together ones. And called together, herded together, we live together, work together, play together; we worship together, receive the gifts of God together. We watch out for each other in times of sorrow and struggle, walking along side each other so that no one is left alone. We repent together and receive the gifts of forgiveness together. Together, we hear the voice of the Good Shepherd. He speaks His Word to us, He leads us to Baptismal waters and feeds us His body and blood, He binds us up in His love, He seeks out, rescuing and redeeming those who are lost. 

I started this sermon by saying how it sometimes feels like we are the black sheep of the family. Now, let’s sing about who we are, herded together in the blood of the Good Shepherd. Open your hymnal to #740. And, together, as baptized, forgiven, redeemed little lambs of God, we are able to sing:

“I am Jesus little lamb, ever glad at heart I am;
For my Shepherd gently guides me,
Knows my needs and well provides me,
Loves me every day the same,
Even calls me by my name.” [3]

---

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gelert

 

[2] The print by Kevin Carden is my favorite such picture

[3] “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb.” Lutheran Service Book #740. Public domain.

Christ is Truly Alive! - Luke 24: 36-49

“Thus it is written:  That the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance unto forgiveness of sins be preached in His name to all nations.”  (Luke 24:47)

How do you know something is true?  That’s a big question these days, when truth seems to have taken on the consistency of warm Jello.  Some people think the only way to the truth is science. Post-covid, that phrase certainly has lost its integrity.  The phrase “studies have shown” is somewhat compelling.  Even if you never see the data, you assume that it’s true, because studies have shown it to be true.  But that gets kind of nebulous, as well. After all, studies have shown that eggs are bad for you.  Later, studies have shown that eggs weren’t so bad, after all, and still more studies suggest that eggs might even be good for you. 

Without scientific facts, then what?  Some talk about a “leap of faith” and simply believe that something is true against the facts.  It just feels right.  Like bungee jumping.  Jump off the cliff and hope the rubber band will hold you.  People trust the government, though governments don’t have a very good track record when it comes to truth telling.  Would you give over a third of your income and the nurture of your children to a total stranger just because he says, “Trust me”?

What about something like the resurrection of the dead?  We say we believe in the resurrection of the body.  That’s the whole point of these seven weeks of Easter.  The body of Jesus is risen.  Our bodies will rise on the Last Day, guaranteed by the resurrection of Jesus.  But how do we know it’s true?  Or, for that matter, how can we know to trust Jesus rather than Mohammed or the Buddha or the Dhali Lama or our own gut feelings?

The last chapters of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all deal with the hard evidence of resurrection, each in his own way.  The open, empty tomb.  The folded burial cloths.  The scarred hands and feet and side.  The appearances to eyewitnesses.  This is how you build a case in court.  You present the evidence.  You call eyewitnesses to testify.  That’s what Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are doing.  Testifying.  Laying out the evidence for you, and for the whole world, that this Jesus is the crucified and risen Messiah of Israel, the Savior of the world, the Son of God. 

He’s to be trusted because He’s risen from the dead.  That’s a matter of history, an historic fact.  Our faith rests on facts not feelings.  Two historic facts - that Jesus died and on the third day rose from the dead. 

A couple weeks ago, a newscasters summarized Easter this way: “This is the day when Christians believe Jesus rose from the dead.”  Would you agree or disagree with that statement? Careful… it’s not quite accurate. As my oldest would say, “It’s not wrong, but it’s not quite right, either.” We don’t believe Jesus rose from the dead any more than we believe George Washington was the first president of the United States.  We assert it as a matter of fact.  The fact is, Jesus rose from the dead.   

His death being the atoning sacrifice for the sin of the world, now that’s a matter of faith.  His resurrection being our life and salvation, that’s a matter of faith.  But not the fact that on the third day, Jesus rose from the dead.  That’s a matter of fact.

In Luke, the fact of Jesus resurrection is always underscored by a meal.  Jesus appeared to two disciples in Emmaus at a meal.  They were prevented from recognizing Him earlier, even though one of them, Cleopas, was the brother of Joseph, they recognized Him when He broke the bread at the dinner table.  The two immediately rush back to Jerusalem to tell the disciples.  And the disciples tell them that Simon Peter saw Him.  (Jesus seems to be everywhere at once, which He is, since He fills all things in every way.)

While they’re comparing notes, Jesus appears in their midst and says,  “Peace be with you.”  That’s the Easter greeting.  It’s how you speak in the resurrection.  Death is defeated.  The grave can’t hold us.  Sin is forgiven.  Peace is restored. 

In Luke’s account, the disciples are startled and afraid and doubting.  Who wouldn’t be?  The news is just beginning to sink in that Jesus is risen, the reports are still somewhat sketchy, and before you can say “Alleluia!” there He is.  Jesus in the flesh, right there among them.  You almost expect Him to say “Boo!” or something like that. 

The disciples think they’re seeing ghosts.  But He shows them the evidence:  His hands and His feet, those wounds by which we are healed.  They mark Him forever as the Crucified One, the One who layed down His life for the sin of the world.  They also authenticate Him.  This is no substitute Jesus, no stand in.  Consider the evidence:  nail holes in His hands and feet; a spear mark in His side.

Jesus invites them to touch Him.  This is no ghost.  This is bone of our bones, flesh of our flesh.  That’s why we believe the body rises from the dead, because Jesus rose bodily from the dead.  His tomb is empty.  The disciples not only saw Jesus, they touched Him.  Flesh and bone.

Still not convinced?  It is pretty unbelievable, you have to admit.  Resurrections don’t happen every day.  Jesus takes a piece of broiled fish left over from dinner, and He eats it right in front of them.  It’s not that He was hungry.  He wasn’t looking for a snack.  More evidence.  Ghosts don’t eat.  Eating is a body thing.

And again, Jesus shows Himself in the context of a meal, just as He does for us in the Lord’s Supper.  Table and table, Word and Sacrament, that’s where the action is.  That’s where we can reliably expect to see Jesus.  In the Sacrament and in the Word. 

At the table, while eating with them, He opens their minds to the Scriptures, the old testatment, so that they can understand Moses, the prophets, the psalms - the entire old testament.  It’s all about Him, about Jesus.  Even before the name of Jesus was known and before the Son took on our humanity, the entire old testament was laying the groundwork.

That’s the third piece of evidence.  The Scriptures.  They point to Jesus before Jesus was ever known.  Jesus fulfills all that was ever written about Him.

The Bible is the record of the Mystery dwelling among us, the Word that made all things in the beginning, the Promise to one man named Abraham that created a nation of out nothing slaves.  The Word that brought freedom from slavery, that split the Red Sea, and carved out the only nation in the history of the world that could be called God’s nation.

Imbedded in that history of Israel, all of its battles, its ups and downs, successes and failures, strengths and weaknesses, is this singular message:  That the Christ, God’s anointed One, the Messiah, would suffer and die and on the third day rise again. Centuries, literally thousands of years before it all happened, it was written down and handed on, all pointing to that good Friday Jesus said, “It is finished.”

With minds opened to the Scriptures, the disciples would change the minds of the nations.  “Preach repentance unto the forgiveness to all the nations.  Present the evidence.  Preach the Word.  And I’ll open their minds and turn them to my forgiveness.  You just tell them.  Tellthe world I embraced by my death.  You’re my witnesses.  Testify.”

I find it remarkable that Jesus entrusted this amazingly good news to such a band of fearful, doubting disciples.  Of all the means the Lord has at His disposal, He uses the least efficient, weakest, most vulnerable.  I take great comfort in that, personally. If we ran the show, we would have used angels, or done the job ourself.  God could broadcast the good news to the world in a miraculous moment, if He chose.  But He chooses to call witnesses, imperfect people, to testify on His behalf. 

The wisdom is not our own, it’s God’s wisdom.  The truth is God’s truth.  The victory is Christ’s victory.  The power is the power of the Holy Spirit.  The work of salvation is done, accomplished once and for all on the cross.  Now the work must be preached to the nations, to every man, woman, and child. 

Jesus is Lord; Jesus is Savior; Jesus is risen from the dead.

The Twelve started in Jerusalem as far as they could.  Tradition says that John made it to Asia Minor.  Thomas went to India.  Paul, who wasn’t one of the Twelve, took it all over the Mediterranean world.  In our time, the good news came to us, as much of a gift to us as that first Easter was to the disciples.  Someone told you.  Someone testified to you about Jesus’ death and resurrection.

You, in turn, tell others what you’ve been told.  That’s how it works.  It’s not the most efficient way to get things done, but it’s God’s way, so who’s going to argue?  You are witnesses, testifying to what you have seen and heard, bearing witness to the fact of the resurrection of Jesus and the world’s death and resurrection in Jesus.  There are no “professional witnesses” in God’s church.  No hired experts.  There are simply disciples - sent into the world, sprinkled as salt over the earth, scattered as light in the darkness.

Faith isn’t about feelings.  It’s about facts.  Lay out the facts.  You have them at your fingertips.  (If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention.)  You have the cross and the open, empty tomb.  You have the eyewitness accounts -  Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  You have the Scriptures, which are able to make people wise to salvation in Christ Jesus.  You have the sacramental signs, the visible, tangible ways that God reveals Himself to be gracious in Jesus - Baptism, the Supper of Jesus’ Body and Blood, the word of forgiveness.  You have the power of the Holy Spirit.  Your Baptism assures you of it.

Remember the old Dragnet TV show?  Not the new one.  The old one, with Detective Joe Friday.  Remember his line when people started rambling on and on.  He’d say, “Just the facts Ma’am.  Just the facts.”  This dying, messed up world doesn’t need religious opinions or mantras or methods or programs.  Just the facts.  Jesus died and on the third day rose from the dead.  Bodily.  That’s a fact.  It was for you and for your salvation.  Trust Him.

In the name of Jesus,  Amen