"Who is This Who Advents to Us?" - Matthew 3: 1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Matthew 21:1-11, especially this sentence: “And when Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up saying, ‘Who is this?’”

Who is this? Fair question, isn’t it? It’s as fair today, on the first Sunday of Advent as it was on that first Palm Sunday in Jerusalem. Who is this One who is coming, the One who is adventing, into the City of David? Who is this whom the Church remembers coming in history as a humble baby and who also pledged to come again in glory and power and might? Who is it?

Let’s be fair and charitable towards those who were asking that Palm Sunday morning. I suspect that many had a genuine curiosity, a real desire to know what the fuss was all about. Who is this, in the sense of “What’s going on? I don’t know, I don’t understand – someone help me figure this out.”

Who, indeed? Who is this who looks so plain but speaks so powerfully?  Who is the one whom even the wind and the waves obey? Who is this in our boat? Who is this who claims to forgive sins? Who is this who heals with spit and mud? Who is this who touches the dead and brings them back to life? Who is this who says to a lame man, “Take up your bed,” and he can walk? Who is this who has a ragtag group of fishermen and women following Him, who eats with sinners and tax collectors, who stops to care for the weakest and most meek, who dares to challenge the social and religious leaders, who performs miracles in the way of Elijah?

But for others, it was not so much about information, about an inquisitiveness into the person who is arriving, but it is more of a challenge, rich in sarcasm, loaded with demands and expectations that someone explain what this guy is doing. Who is this who speaks about being lifted up and drawing all peoples to Himself? Who is this who says if He is destroyed, He will be raised three days later? Who is this, in the sense of, “Who is this guy who thinks he can ride into the city like He is a modern-day King David?” Who is this?

Who is this? It is a primal question, one that is asked by many, and is at the heart of each and every person and each and every people of all time…including us. Who is this?

Jesus comes to Jerusalem amidst crowds that a politician, or a hometown hero, or a victorious sports team could only imagine. Crowds lined the city streets, shouting “Hosheanna! Hosanna!” Some stripped off their outer cloaks, others tore off palm branches, laying garments and leaves together on the road, paving the path before Him. The excitement was palpable, the air charged with the energy of the people’s expectation. But this wasn’t a football team. It wasn’t a warrior, or a government official, or anyone who oozed power and authority.

So, who is this? What’s all the fuss? They get the name right, the crowds, when they call Him, “The prophet, Jesus, from Nazareth in Galilee.” Yet, there’s a twist, foreshadowing Jesus’ own words five days later: they know not what they do, nor understand whom they welcome.

The question betrays the paradox, the dilemma that characterizes Jesus’ walk through life and His arrival, not only that spring day into Jerusalem, but all through His life and ministry. He slips into the world, hardly noticed, in a backwater town, in an unknown stable of an unknown inn-keeper. He is welcomed by shepherds, a rather rough-around the edges group of men, both in image and in smell, and then soon after by strange men from foreign lands, yet an indicator of what His ministry is about and who He comes for. He slips into His Father’s house where he teaches with authority already as a 12 year old. He slips into Jerusalem, with all of the hubbub, where He seems to stumble into a secret plot to be murdered. Finally, after a terrible, torturous trial and crucifixion he slips into death.

Lots of slipping and sliding, if I may; and yet, part of that gentle and unobtrusive life. Who is this one, who is gentle and unobtrusive, hardly worth a second look? The One who comes to make a claim on this world in a different way – very different from the style of those whom most parades are arranged around.

This is the One who slipped from the grave, from the very grasp of death itself. He slips into the upper room, unnoticed at first, to deliver peace to those who were stuck in fear. He slips into bread and wine, into water, and into the Words of a Book. He slips into the lives of transformed people, all the while deepening and widening and expanding and expounding on this question, this haunting question, “Who is this?”

Who is this who we’ve got here? Who is this who is among us?

Why, He still does this. He slips into us in Word and Sacrament, and through us in our vocations, to those around us. He slips into the lives of peoples whom these people in the New Testament had never heard of. He slips into our daily lives in Enid and daily walks in Wakomis and Breckenridge and Lahoma. Through us, He brings life to people, to waiting people, all around us at work, at play, at doctor’s offices and fast food restaurants. This is the one who brings life in the face of, and life out of death.

Who is this?

Will we ever fully know the answer? Will we ever know the rich fullness of Him, He Who Was, Who Is, and Who Is to Come? Probably, no – at least, not this side of heaven. We will never completely understand all that has been revealed of Him, He who is the Word made flesh. Its a paradox: the more we live with Him, the more we walk with Him, the more we know Him, but at the same time, the deeper the mystery becomes. And, in a very real sense, this is a good thing. I don’t want a God that I completely understand. The mystery – and, here I don’t mean as if it’s something to discover, like a whodunit murder mystery, but rather, a mystery which is beyond our full understanding – the mystery of His grace, and His love, and His ability to take broken lives and heal and transform them, and the mystery deepens the more we know.

Yet, this is why He came in human form because otherwise, He would be too baffling, too incomprehensible, even more than He already is. He came to live among us, to warm us, to warn us, to enliven us, to rescue us, to save us. None of this at the expense of the mystery – even those who closely followed, literally in his footsteps of the Galillean countryside, didn’t get it always.

So, Who is this? The crowds had it right, that Palm Sunday afternoon. They turned back to the Scriptures and found the answer before their question was ever asked. The Prophet Zechariah of Old Testament minor fame speaks through the New Testament Jerusalem crowd: “Behold: He is the coming you’re your coming King. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.”

This, this time of adventing, this time of arrival, drives the season. Think of it: the Church sets aside roughly a full month, approximately one twelfth of the year, to get ourselves ready for the mystery of the incarnation, the mystery of the One who pulls us, invites us, calls us, captivates us, and incorporates us into Him; the mystery of the One who pledges to return to save us into eternity.

Who is this? He is the Advent One, the Coming One. The one who came, gentle and humble. He comes, to you in Word and Sacrament, and through you, in word and action to those around you. He has a coming to come to.

Who is this? If He is the Coming One, who are you?  You are the one whom He comes to. You are His, who welcomes the One who comes. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

Amen. Come Lord Jesus. Come. Amen.

The Last Sunday of the Church Year: Christ Crucified - Luke 23: 27-43

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

Yes, this is the correct Gospel reading for today, the Last Sunday of the Church Year, also called Christ the King Sunday. It is a bit ironic, I think. We call this “The Last Sunday of the Church year.” It’s a bit of a misnomer. It’s not the last Sunday, at all – unless, of course, Jesus returns between now and Saturday, midnight. It’s another Sunday, another Easter, where we celebrate Christ for us.

Still, anyone else feel that it’s very strange to read this Good Friday narrative at the end of November? All around us, the rest of the world around us is hip-deep in pre-Christmas. Trees are up, inflatable Santas and Rudolphs fight in front yards, and T-Swizzle, Chris Stapleton, and Bruce Springsteen join Mariah Carey singing that all she wants for Christmas is youuuuuuu... Kids are making virtual wish lists while parents virtually gasp at this year’s prices.

Over and against this worldview, Luke gives us what is succinctly labeled as “The Crucifixion.”

Why would we read about Jesus’ crucifixion on the last week of the church year? Aren’t we supposed to be focusing on Jesus’ return, setting the stage for the season of Advent? What do you think? Why does the Church pause our (worldly) holiday preparations with such a stark reading?

The reading actually does keep us leaning into the promise of Jesus’ return on the last day, but it does it in a back-handed sort of way. The narrative of the crucifixion reminds us that until Jesus does return, the struggle of life in a sinful, fallen world continues. Yes, Christ died; yes, Christ rose. Yet, as we wait in this fallen world for its redemption and the consummation of our salvation, this reading stands as a reminder of how much we need Jesus – not just at Easter or Christmas, but now, and every day, as we wait for His return.

And, it does set the stage for Advent. Christmas and Easter go together. The reason Jesus was born, remember, was to “save His people from their sins,” (Matthew 1:21). The crucifixion was the climactic high point of His perfect life, to be the perfect sacrifice. In short, He was born to die. He was Christmassed to be Crucified. He could be die because He was God in flesh. Immanuel; God with us.

Yes, that is a solemn reading for the last Sunday of the church year, but it is also a reading that is filled with joy – the joy of the cross, where Jesus died for us.

James Tissot
"The Pardon of the Good Thief"
tissot-pardon-of-the-good-thief.jpg (426×749)

I want to focus on one sentence, for a moment, verse 34: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Given the circumstances, that Jesus was being nailed to one of the most horrific instruments of death ever devised by man, humanly speaking, it is remarkable that He speaks a word of absolution. Who of us could – would – do such a thing if we were in His place? Yes, this was His purpose – to be the atoning price; yes, this was the Father’s will; yes, this sacrifice was necessary. In His Divine nature, what else could He have done except do what He, as God, could do: show perfect love. Even so, the prayer for mercy catches us with a bit of surprise.

Consider those three words, “Father, forgive them.” Who is “them”? Them is a pronoun, third person, neuter plural, if you want to be particular. Because it’s a pronoun, we need to define its antecedent - the person, place, thing, or idea to which a pronoun refers. From the immediate context, the antecedent of “them” is the soldiers, those who drove the nails into the hands of our Lord. I think you could also argue Jesus is speaking of those who condemned Him as well – the Sanhedrin, Pilate, and Herod, all who gave consent to murder an innocent man. Broaden it again - who else could it speak of? How about the crowd that demanded His life? The soldiers that arrested Him in the garden (assuming that the posse wasn’t the same as those that actually drove the nails)? I think that those are all solid contextual guesses.

Go back to the sentence for a moment: “Father, forgive them…” Contextually, yes, those words were spoken for those in that moment who sinned against Christ in their murderous actions. But, those words also apply for you as well. His prayer of forgiveness wasn’t just for that double-handful of rulers and soldiers, or even for the crowd that would gather at the foot of the cross and mock and laugh. It is for all who sinned against God and man. It is as if Jesus is praying, “Father, forgive them all, for in their weakness, they don’t even realize how often they are sinning against each other and against Us.”

I suspect that, as the calendar year comes to its frantic, frenzied conclusion, you have a litany of sins you carry. The person you get frustrated with, just by seeing his face or hearing her voice. The colleague whose incessant emails and texts send you into paroxysms of hand-clenching and teeth-grinding, as you carefully reply with what you have to say and not what you want to say. There are even moments when you have a few choice thoughts about a son or daughter, a husband or wife, a brother or sister. You know you’re guilty of sinning against these people: Lord, have mercy. Jesus’ words speak for you as well: “Father, forgive him….forgive her…” For Christ’s sake, God does exactly that.

And, remarkably, those same words are spoken for those who have sinned against you – the colleague, the child, the spouse, the sibling, co-worker, the guy driving the pickup that cut you off on the way to church this morning. Their sins are also paid, reconciled by God’s grace through Christ – even those who do not recognize Him, Jesus died for them, too – although they do not receive the gift because of an absence of faith.

One of the gifts God gives to His church is the rite of absolution. The public, corporate act of confession and absolution that takes place on Sundays in the Divine Service is a wonderful, powerful moment of forgiveness. But, sometimes, there is a particularly troubling sin that weighs on the conscience. Satan loves to hold that over your head with the question, “But that one…did Jesus really forgive that one, too?” If you are troubled, speak with your pastor. It is his responsibility and privilege to hear your confession and speak that promise of God to you: “You are forgiven for the sake of Christ.” As to whether he will tell someone else, the pastor is bound by his ordination vows to never tell a soul – not his wife, not his best friend, not even his goldfish. It is as if your confessed sin is buried in the tomb of Jesus and never raised to life in word or memory.

As the church year draws to its close, those words of absolution echo through the millennia. God continues to forgive for the sake of His Son’s perfect atonement.

In five short days, the secular world will celebrate one of the most secular of all holidays. For those who bemoan the commercialization of Christmas, this holiday puts that to shame. It’s called simply, “Black Friday.”  I have no idea where the term came from, what its etymology might be. All I know is that it is supposed to be a day filled with high-stress shopping, wrestling crowds, and budget-busting, all in the name of “finding a good deal.”

Luke tells the narrative of the original Black Friday. You have to add a couple of verses to the Gospel reading to find it. “It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed,” (v. 44-45a). Creation was responding to the Light of the World dying. The One who spoke all things into existence, the One in whom is life and light, is dying to redeem even the world. Last week, Psalm 148 called all aspects of creation to praise the Lord. When Jesus dies, all aspects of creation reverse course. What’s the opposite of praise? Perhaps lament is the best word. Creation, especially the sun, laments the Son’s death. Darkness, that once hovered over the face of the deep (Genesis 1:1), again encroaches.

We traditionally call this day that Luke describes, “Good Friday.” I do know the etymology of “Good.” It comes from “God.” So, for example, “Goodbye” is actually derived from the blessing “God be with ye.” Good Friday, then, becomes God’s Friday. It was the day God surrendered His Son for the world to redeem it from the eternal darkness of hell.

Thanks be to God, the darkness did not last. When the sun rose on Easter morning, bringing light to the new day, so also the Son also rose, living, breathing, resurrected, shining His light against the darkness of sin, satan, and death. The Light who is the Light of Life was restored, raised from the dead, evidence that God accepted Jesus’ sacrifice.

While the secular world fights for Black Friday deals and saving a few bucks, we remember and give thanks to God who saved the world through Christ’s death on Good Friday, God’s Friday.

We, of course, know the rest of the story. Jesus, though He died, also rose, conquering sin’s stranglehold on man, the grave’s terror over death, and satan’s lies toward the Christian conscience. When Christ rose Easter morning, there was no doubt that this Jesus, whom the world mocked saying, “Hail, King of the Jews,” is in fact the King of Kings and Lord of Lords who ruled before the world began and who will rule when the heavens and earth will be renewed and restored, creation returned to the wholeness it had before the separation of the fall.

We’re not there, yet. We see Him, now, in His glory, with eyes of faith – albeit dimly. Because He died, we shall live. Because He rose, we shall rise. On that great day of our own resurrection, we will see Him fully resplendent with our own resurrected and whole and holy eyes.

Next Sunday, the season of Advent begins. There is a bit of a handshake between the last Sundays of the church year and Advent. Both are anticipating Christ’s return in judgement, both look forward to the day He advents, He comes, in glory.

Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest.
And as we wait, thy Name, we confess. Amen.

The Gospel For Henny Penny and You - Luke 21: 5-28

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson, Luke 21.

This is a Gospel reading where “This is the Gospel of the Lord” makes us want to add a question mark behind “Thanks be to God,” and instead of departing in peace and serving the Lord, it feels like a better idea to hunker down in the safety of our homes. At first glance, this Gospel lesson is overwhelming, leaving us with anything but peace and comfort. In fact, it is very easy to draw parallels to our own time in these words of Jesus.

They say “ignorance is bliss.” It’s almost to the point where you do not want to know what is going on anymore.  Turn on the television, open your favorite news website, flip open the paper, or even scan the magazine rack while you’re standing in line at the grocery store and, unless you’re a defense contractor or a futures investor, the news does not seem to be good.  You name it - politically, economically, socially, geologically, meteorologically it seems there is nothing but bad news. There is government unrest all across the globe from the not-so-cleverly-disguised worldly war in Eastern Europe to the threats made by China and North Korea. In our own country, different groups try to shout down their opponent while spewing their own vile words and vitriolic rhetoric. I have rights, yes I do, you can’t tell me what to do! Politicians act like donkeys and elephants rolling around in verbal manure. From the Carolinas into the Southern Appalachians, they continue to struggle from last summer’s hurricane. Meanwhile, the Carribbean is trying to recover from the worst storm ever recorded. Whether local, state-wide, across the state, the nation, or the world, the news is such that it makes you want to find an ostrich with its head in the sand and ask it to scoot over and make room for you. 

Some time back, Fritz told me that news like was really weighing on him. Literally, these stories were starting to cause him physical problems. He was growing anxious. His stomach hurt. He was losing sleep. I told him while he cannot control what goes on outside of his home, he can control what happens inside it. Turn the TV off. Change the station on the radio. Read the comics instead of the front page. But he needs to know what is all going on, he said. Then, limit the news content, I said. Do it in small bites. There is no rule that says you have to watch the entire news hour, or read the entire paper. It’s not just adults. Kids are anxious about exams, friendships, social media standing, and things happening in the world. A friend told me his teen age daughter started keeping track of the votes taken during the government shutdown and the days that had passed. He told her to stop watching and reading the stories. “But I need to know,” she said. Fine, her parents said, then come watch the news with us it in the living room so we can help you digest this. 

I empathized with this father. It’s easy to look at these things and get wrapped up in the moment, the event, the news, and develop a sense of lost-ness, listlessness, and even hopelessness. Spiritually, it’s the direct result of placing our hopes and trust in these monuments of men - governments, society, the economy, and even the local weather prognostications. It’s the inverse of hope in Christ. If hope in Christ is the exclamation point that declares “this is most certainly true,” when these things become our gods - lower case g – and they fail, like houses built on shifting sand, then hope quickly crumbles as well. And when things fail us, and they always do, it is easy to sound like Henny Penny and proclaim the sky is falling. 

But these are the very reasons these words of Jesus are so necessary today. As the world around us sees all of these things without any hope, without any great reason, Jesus gives us a small glimpse of a promise. It’s interesting in the way He does it. There isn’t a long list of terrors all countered by a list of contra-terror. Instead, Jesus offers a word of promise, a word of sure, certain hope, a bright beacon of light against the darkness that rages around us.

Jesus gives us, and the disciples, a powerful example when he points us to the walls of the Temple. They were massive stones, making up the massive walls of the massive temple. It was one of the wonders of the ancient world, almost on par with the architecture of Greece and Rome. White stone, gold, beautifully polished hardwoods, and jewels all made it a place of wonder. In fact, it was easy to forget it was supposed to be a place of worship, it was so opulent. King Herod the Great had rebuilt it as both a way to appease the Jews which also appeased the Roman Emperor and as a way to show the world of his own socio-political skill, a way of saying “Look what I accomplished.” 

So, when the disciples passed through and gawked in awe and amazement at the sights of the magnificent temple, they were stunned when Jesus said the day is coming when those massive, quarried stones - as big as a school bus - would no longer be standing on top of one another. It stopped them in their tracks to think of the improbability - the impossibility - and the size, scope and magnitude of what it would take to make that massive and beautiful structure crumble. It just couldn’t happen. Their question was both sincere curiosity and laced with fear: tell us, when will this be? We need to prepare for such a tragedy and travesty as this. But Jesus wasn’t done. He adds layer to layer of coming loss and tragedy. I can imagine the disciples reeling as He added to the list of coming terror: wars, pestilence – we would call it a plague - earthquake, famine. Even the heavens join in, He continues, with there even being signs from the heavens. Jerusalem, this beautiful city of David, this city of God, it will be surrounded, cut off, and it will fall. Then some of you faithful -  I imagine He looks one-by-one to Peter, James, John, and the rest of His friends – some of you faithful will be hauled before the authorities and put to death and the rest hated because of Me.  

Jesus offers the faithful, glimpses of His remarkable protection even in the midst of this vision of what is to come. So, when He speaks of their persecution, Jesus takes away their trusting in their own clever words and repartee. He says don’t worry about what you will say, the Spirit will fill your mouths with words of wisdom so you might bear testimony of God’s powerful grace. When He speaks of their betrayal and martyrdom, He takes away their strength and ability to bear up under it. Instead, He promises that not a hair of your heads will perish and by your endurance you will gain your lives. And, when He strips away trust in creation’s order, depicting the heavens being rent asunder, or trust in massive buildings that will fail the test of time, Jesus says look to the Creator: straighten up and raise your head, because your redemption is drawing near.

This takes place during Holy Week. Jesus has ridden into Jerusalem, welcomed as the Son of David by the crowds. But, behind the scenes, the Jewish leaders are working to have Him arrested and put to death, turning the crowds against the One whom they welcomed. It’s probably Tuesday or Wednesday. His arrest is hours away and the cross looms large on the horizon. Jesus knows He must suffer and die. He will do so for your salvation. He will stand under the curse of death and die the sinner’s death, taking your place, paying the life-price you owe. He will die, and He will rise to reveal that He has overcome sin, death, and the grave for you. There is nothing, then, in this life – not wars, rumors of wars, pestilence, famine, earthquakes – that can tear you from His strong and saving hand.

This is how faith works. It sees what our eyes cannot see. It grasps hope in the promises of Jesus where all around us we see failing and falling things of this world. This is how the life of faith works. Notice this: Jesus doesn’t tell the disciples, now y’all don’t worry…I’m going to zap you right out of here so you don’t have to experience this. Instead, He promises that in the midst of these things, His Word, His promises will endure and that through faith in Him, they will endure into eternity. Christ does not move us from a world of destruction – snap – to a land of milk and honey. Instead, we are tested and tried with times of suffering so that we grow spiritually wiser and stronger in faith. When everything else is stripped away, we are left with Jesus and His Word. So, we cling all the more tightly to God’s work for us in Christ – even when it comes to us in the midst of trials and tribulations and even in the loss of those things that we hold so dear in this world.

It's easy to fall into the temptation of the disciples, to look to the wrong places and talk about the wrong things. It’s tempting for our mouths to be filled with admiration for all of the things around us and, then, to place our trust and hope in these failing things. Jesus turns our attention to something more beautiful: the work of God in the midst of suffering, and the promises of God that sustain us now and into eternity. And, it’s easy to get caught up in the news cycles. What, with wars and rumors of wars, fires and floods and drought, mass shootings and civil unrest, and paychecks that just don’t last like they did a few months ago, it sometimes feels like the end is near. Luther thought that was true, 500 years ago, that Jesus had to return soon to spare the Church from greater suffering, and he preached as if Jesus was returning by the following Sunday. We don’t know the day or the hour. So, Jesus turns us to what is certain. This may or may not be the end. I know we are closer than ever before. But what we do know for certain is the One who holds us in His nail-pierced hands is forevermore near.

When you see folks around you wringing their hands, acting like Henny Penny, lamenting that the sky is falling, that they have lost all hope, speak of Jesus. Tell them where your hope rests. Then, straighten up, stand firm, raise your heads, and have faith in Jesus because your redemption, won for you at the cross, is drawing nigh.

Resurrection Questions for Jesus - Luke 20:27-40

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel reading from Luke 20.

If you’re not careful, you can let a lot of things get in the way of the message of Jesus.

You’ve had questions like this before, I suspect. Someone comes up to you and asks a rather innocent and fun question: “God is all-powerful, right?” You wisely and correctly nod your head. “So, He can do anything, right?” Your nose twitches a little bit, suggesting that this conversation is starting to take a turn. Still, it seems rather innocuous, so you agree: Yes, God can do anything. A greasy smile spreads across the face of the suddenly not-so-innocent questioner: “So, if God is all powerful and He can do anything, can He make a rock so big He cannot lift it?” It's a classic misdirect, trying to draw you into the argument about the perceived inconsistency of God.

The basic problem is the premise itself is incorrect. There are some things God cannot do. For example, He cannot lie. He cannot do unholy things. He cannot be unholy. He cannot be unfaithful to His promises.

But, if you want a simple answer to the question, it’s this: God does not waste time or energy on such foolish things as appeasing the simple minds of men filled with idle curiosity.

The Sadducees were coming to Jesus with such a trivial question. It seems the question is about marriage. A brother married a woman and died. According to Deuteronomy 25:5, if a man dies before he has a son, it is the responsibility of his brother to marry the woman. It was called “Levitical marriage,” the idea being that the brother acts as a surrogate husband, sort of, to sire a son so that there will be an heir to carry on his brother’s name, “so his name shall not be blotted out of Isarel,” Moses wrote (v. 6). They take this Law and create an unlikely scenario: a man dies without leaving a son. Each of his six brothers, then, marries the widow, all who die. So, whose husband will she be in the resurrection - # 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 7? It sounds like a question about marriage and relationships after death – ridiculous, to be sure, but it does present an interesting ethical question, doesn’t it, almost as interesting as who she should be buried next to when she dies?

You notice, I said “it seems the question is about marriage.” The Sadducees are doing a misdirect. It wasn’t about marriage at all. It was about resurrection. For the Sadducees, the discussion about the resurrection – specifically whether there would be such a thing or not – was a core value. By way of explanation, the Sadducees and the Pharisees were the two political parties in the Jewish faith at the time of Jesus. The Pharisees were more theologians; they held that the entire Scripture (the Law, the Prophets and the Writings) was God’s Word, that angels existed, and that there would be a resurrection some day. The Sadducees were more political; they only held the Torah, the first five book of the Old Testament were God’s Word, and they denied anything spiritual, including the resurrection. That last point is key: they denied the resurrection. (This is a terrible play on their name, but if you need a way to keep them separate, just remember that because the Sadducees denied the resurrection, they were “sad you see.”). So the question about marriage after the resurrection was misdirect: they wanted to corner Jesus about life-after-death, not which “I do” counts more.

Jesus, of course, knows exactly what they are wanting to do. Jesus doesn’t waste time with foolishness. He cuts to the heart, the issue behind the façade. Marriage in this lifetime is an image of Christ and His bride the church, but it is a relationship for this lifetime. We even say it in the marriage rite: “Til death do us part.” Unless Jesus returns first, marriage begins with “I do,” and it ends with the last breath of the dying spouse. Marriage is God’s gift, the building block of society, the foundation of the home and family, the closest and most intimate of all relationships in this lifetime. But, in the resurrection, Jesus says, they “neither marry nor are given in marriage.”

Jesus does say, “they [that is, the faithful who die] are like the angels,” and I suspect that causes a lot of confusion. Jesus doesn’t mean we become angels. Angels are a different part of creation. People are people – even in the resurrection – and angels are angels. Just as apple trees do not become frogs, people do not become angels when we die. What Jesus means is that, like the angels, we rise never to die again. Don’t get worked up about the angel part. Know this: we will rise so that our whole life now, with all its toils and troubles will somehow be raised up and re-created, if you will, in Christ.

So, here’s what that means for that poor woman in the Sadducees story: because God is in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, making good out of all things in the death of His Son, then that poor hypothetical woman with her seven hypothetical brothers for husbands will rise up on resurrection morning to a whole real, actual, factual life worked out for actual good by the real, actual, factual cross and death of Jesus that reconciles all things to God. And the hypothetical question of “Whose wife will she be” will be becomes one, big non-starter in the marriage supper of the Lamb in His kingdom where the only marriage that counts is the marriage of Christ and His Church.

Remember, the Sadducees only trust the Torah, so Jesus goes back to the work of Moses. You heard it in this morning’s Old Testament lesson. Moses records God saying that He is “the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”  Present tense reality – not past tense. Its as if God is saying, I am the God of the living, not the dead. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob – they are as alive to me as I am to them.

Why is this so important to us, to the church militant, in the year 2025? Why is this debate between Jesus and the Sadducees over resurrection and marriage worth talking about, worth you listening to, this Sunday morning?

The resurrection is never mere hollow discussion, a mere curiosity, a topic of scholarly debate, and a one-off phrase that we solemnly murmur each week about “the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” Likewise, it’s not just a future event. The resurrection is our very livelihood right now. You are already raised in Christ in your baptism. Your old Adam and old Eve drowned, dying with Christ; your new Adam and new Eve were raised with Christ. You are already raised. That means everything you are now and everything you will be, where you are now and where you will be are all connected to Christ’s death and resurrection.

I know…we have questions about what the resurrection will be like. Truthfully, most of the answers we do not know yet. We wonder about things like what will our bodies be like, what will our “lives” be like, what age will we be, what we be like? Will we know our loved ones, and if so, how? Long-married and newlyweds share the same question: what about my husband, what about my wife? Parents want to know about their children. Even the language about “new heavens and new earth” raises questions.  Without being flippant, the answers to those questions are important to us but they are questions of curiosity. Ask them, play with them a little bit, but don’t obsess over them. You’ll know soon enough – and you’ll know firsthand. Until then, you have work to do in your vocation as husband and wife, mother and father, son and daughter, neighbor and child of God. In that vocation, you are guided by who you are, the resurrected people of God. As such, you know this: sin, death and the grave are already conquered, but this side of heaven, this side of the eternal resurrection, death remains the great enemy of this life. The resurrection, that great day when Jesus returns bringing the complete consummation of Easter, the resurrection will be the death of death.

And, in what sounds to be like a game of words, that end will actually be the beginning of the beginning. Christ is the firstfruits, remember, and we follow after Him. His resurrection becomes ours. It is the prelude to the eternal fullness and joy of the full presence of the Lamb and God who sits on the throne.

If the Sadducees had believed Jesus, they wouldn’t have looked for ways to trap him in his own words and ensnare him with hypothetical questions about some fictitious women married to seven brothers. Instead, they would have asked how they might be found worthy to attain the age to come and the resurrection of the righteous. They might have repented of their actual lives that fell far short of the glory of God rather than construct hypothetical lives to see what Jesus would say.

If anyone is in Christ, and you are in Christ through baptismal faith, you are already a new creation. The old has gone, as far as God and faith are concerned. The new has already come. Now you are a new creature in Christ. Soon you will be a new creature in yourself, with a body fit for eternity, as surely as Jesus is risen from the dead and lives and reigns to all eternity.

In the end, there will be no questions, hypothetical or otherwise. Only Amens and Alleluias.

In the name of Jesus,
Amen

 

 

 

Blessed All Saints Day - Matthew 5: 4; Revelation 7: 9-17

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

“You have turned my mourning into dancing for me; You have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever…” Psalm 30: 11-12

Blessed All Saints Day to you all. A distinctly Christian day, I am glad this is one that hasn’t been stripped from us by the secular world. Christmas and Easter have been corrupted by secularism. Secularism gets close to All Saints with Halloween and, to a degree, Dia de los Muertos, but even there, they miss the message. All Saints Day belongs to the Church. That is fitting because the Saints belong to Jesus - all of them, all of us - the saints, the people of God, living and dead, made holy by God’s declaration of justification through faith in Christ. Last week was red - the color of blood, the color of battle, to remember the battle for the free Gospel and the freedom of the Gospel. This week, the liturgical color is white, the color of holiness, the color of the saints. This is how God sees us through Jesus, holy, precious, and redeemed. It’s the picture from Revelation, the innumerable saints of God who are washed white in the blood of the lamb.  

All of the saints, both living and asleep in Christ, all who are waiting or who waited faithfully for Christ’s return, all the saints belong to Jesus.  

https://tinyurl.com/bde95et5

But I do have to admit it is an odd festival day. It doesn’t have lights and decorations like Christmas, or the same joie de vivre of Easter. It’s odd, too, in it being a generic day for all saints. While many saints canonized in either the Western or Eastern tradition have a day set apart particularly for them, the early church wanted a day to remember all the faithful men and women, all saints of God, even the unknown, who died confessing Christ as Lord. So, while St. Andrew will always have November 30 as his day of commemoration – Advent always begins on the Sunday closest to his day. April 25 will always be the Feast of St. Mark; for me, it’s the day my Dad died.  My Dad, Saint Walt of Walburg, will never have his own day. Neither will you or your loved ones. Thus, All Saints Day allows the church a time to remember and thank God for the innumerable faithful who have gone before us. We remember their lives of faithful love and service to friends and neighbors and the Church. We consider them as models of Christian living and we strive to model that in our own sanctified lives as children of God.  

Thus, while we thank God for our loved ones, All Saints Day often feels less joyful than the great festival days because of the memories and the recollection of our loss. There are no two ways around it: losing a loved one hurts.  If that’s you today, especially if those tears are shed in memory of a father or mother, a son or a daughter, a husband or a wife, or a dear, close friend; or even if you are saddened by the thought of someone who died alone and anonymous known only to God, whether a battleground in Ukraine or an abortion clinic on some city corner, it’s OK. Jesus Himself wept while He stood outside the tomb of His dear friend Lazarus. This is Jesus, who only moments before, when talking to Lazarus’ sister, Martha, declared Himself the resurrection and the life and that those who believe in Him, though they die, yet they shall live; Jesus, who deliberately delayed after getting the message of Lazarus imminent dying; Jesus, who was there with the Father and the Spirit when Adam received his first breath and will soon draw His own final breath, this same Jesus stood outside the tomb and wept. Real tears, real sadness, real sorrow because death robbed Lazarus of life.  

If Jesus can weep, then it is perfectly fair to weep today. It is appropriate to have a flurry of emotions today: sadness for those not with us, joy for the gifts of God in Christ, hope for what is to come. Tears flow freely for all these reasons and more. 

I have to admit, All Saints Day is probably my second favorite church day, sandwiched between Easter and Christmas. The Scripture texts set the stage. In his first Epistle, St. John tells us that we are all children of God - not just called His children, but we are His. You are adopted into sonship and daughtership. He surrendered His only-begotten Son to pay the adoption price. Paid in full, completely through the merits of Jesus, God sees you as little Christs, Christian. The Revelation - it’s truly a wonderful book, so misunderstood by so many. They think it’s a roadmap filled with secret truths to deduce and hidden messages to try to get you to the end, sort-of the BIble’s version of Candyland. It’s not. It’s the Revelation, the revealing, a glimpse of what eternity will be like in the resurrection of all flesh, as God sits on His throne, and the Lamb, Jesus Christ. And then there’s the Church.  The word used in the Greek New Testament for “church” literally means “the called-out ones.” John says that the Church is called out from everywhere - all peoples, tribes, nations, languages, backgrounds, family histories and genealogies. They’re in white - there it is again - waiving palm branches. Palm Sunday is reversed: Jesus isn’t entering in humility to die, surrounded by misunderstanding people waiving palm branches; this time, He enters in resplendent glory surrounded by those who rejoice that sin, satan and death are destroyed and they no longer need to fear, or weep, or mourn, or shed tears because those they love are suffering and dying. Revelation paints this magnificent picture of what awaits us on that great and glorious Easter of Easters when Jesus returns and renews creation. 

But, we’re not there yet. Now, we’re still on this side of heaven. And we want to see Jesus. Ralph got it. He had been battling cancer for at least a decade. I don’t remember where it started, but by the end, it was everywhere. He had fought the fight, mentally, physically, spiritually. And, he was tired. Someone had given him a little hand-held wood cross, for those difficult days when he needed a physical reminder that even if He was too weak to cling to Jesus, Jesus clung to Him with His entire life. He was dying. His wife called me; it was late. If you can come, Ralph would appreciate it…and so would I. So, with a lump in my throat, I drove to Ralph and Ethel’s house, was greeted by the family, and then was ushered into his room. Ethel said, I’ll let you two talk and she shut off the monitor. He had his cross in his hand. He said, “I’m tired, Pastor. I’m so tired. I just want to touch His robe.” I prayed the commendation of the dying. “Now may God the Father, who created you; may God the Son who redeemed you with His blood, and may God the Holy Spirit who sanctified you in the waters of Holy Baptism, bless and keep you until the day of the resurrection of all flesh.” And, with me, he said “Amen.” St. Ralph of Sheldon died a few short hours later, confident in the promise of Jesus that there will be a day when he won’t need to touch Jesus’ robe any longer. 

That night, though, that night was heavy with mourning for Ethel and her kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. And me. Oh, they knew those promises of God in Christ and they were clinging to them with empty-yet-full hands, empty of anything they had to offer, but filled with faith in Jesus. When everything is stripped away, there is Jesus and they were hanging onto Him. 

That’s what it means when Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” He was speaking prophetically, early in His ministry, but already pointing ahead to the purpose for which He came. The comfort is in the death and resurrection of Jesus because His resurrection guarantees our own resurrection. For the church, this side of heaven, we have that promise of a day of comfort that will be complete when Jesus returns. You know this: you will say it in just a moment. “I look for the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.”  But, I want you to notice, Jesus doesn’t scold: shame on those who mourn, for you should know better; there is no need to mourn because your feelings aren’t valid. No, He says, Blessed are those who mourn. 

So, today, if you mourn the death of fellow saints of God, mourn in faith knowing that they are already experiencing the peace of God which truly passes all understanding. Their body is at rest but their soul is already experiencing the beginning of the fulness of eternity. Jesus calls it “being asleep.” That’s a good way to think of it.  Mourn in hope - remember, hope with a capitol H that is Jesus - in the sure and certain hope that you, too, will have your resurrection day. Mourn and give thanks to God for those whom you love who have died in the faith that they shared with you. Mourn knowing you will see them again. 

When we conclude this morning’s service, the last verses of the hymn will sing of that day. The hymn is titled in English, "For All The Saints," but I prefer the Latin: Sine Nomine, "Without Number." As you sing it, envision what that day will be like - the saints, without number, surrounding the throne of the Lamb. Sing it loud, sing it bold – I don’t care if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, today, belt it out. It’s our confession, it’s our hope, it’s Christ’s promise put to music. And, if like me, the tears get in the way and your throat gets tight and you can’t sing, it’s OK. Every year, it gets harder for me to finish the hymn as I remember those whom I have buried and transferred from the church militant to the church triumphant. And I remember those whom I love who have fallen asleep in Jesus. But, even as I wipe the tears from my eyes, I see what is to come. 

But, lo, there breaks a yet more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
Thye King of Glory passes on His way,
Alleluia, Alleluia.

And, on that day, we will fully receive the fullness of the Beatitude as our mourning becomes dancing. Amen.

"A Mighty Fortress is Our God" - Psalm 46

“A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” It’s the Lutheran epitome of the Star-Spangled Banner, The Battle Hymn of the Republic, and the 1812 Overture (with cannon-fire) all comingled with Dixie. It makes our blood pump a little stronger and we stand just a bit taller as we sing it. Martin Luther wrote it around 1528, a Christ-centered rendering of Psalm 46. Open your hymnal and look at it with me.

In verse one, God is our fortress standing firm against the devil’s attacks, even though by the end of verse 1 it appears satan is winning the battle (“on earth is not his equal”). Verse two doesn’t seem to render much hope – no matter how hard we try, we cannot hope to defeat him. God, in His mercy, provides a champion: Christ Jesus, His Son. Stanza three gives us powerful imagery of the eternal combat that has raged since almost the beginning of time: one can imagine demons, snapping, hungry to devour Christians while their chief roars in anger, but they unable to touch us. One little word stops them, cold. What is that word? In sermons, Luther sometimes implies the word is “Jesus;” other places, it’s calling the devil what he is, “Liar;” in other readings, it’s implied Jesus’ final word from the cross, “Finished.” The final verse plays on the name of Jesus as the Word made flesh: the Word – both/and Jesus and the His words – and His Kingdom, of which we are part, endures forever. 

Luther wrote the hymn based on a Christ-centered reading of Psalm 46. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling…” This text, too, fills us with a sense of hope, endurance, and courage in the face of life’s difficulties. So, with the drumbeats of war in Europe and the Middle East, we pray “God is our refuge and strength.” With political chaos in Washington DC and in communities across our country, we pray, “A very present help in times of trouble.” As society becomes less and less caring, we pray, “Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way.” As communities struggle with floods, tornadoes, and drought, we pray, “though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea.”

It’s relatively easy for us to sit here in our church and in our homes, with climate-controlled comfort with food in the pantry and in relatively good health, clean clothes on our back and a place to call home, and sing the battle hymn of the Reformation, or read the Psalm. We can even defiantly shout – for Lutherans, perhaps just think loudly – “Let the waters roar, let the mountains tremble…” It’s easy to say it and affirm it when all is well and good.

But when life hits hard, when the proverbial waters start rising around our head, shoulders, knees and toes, when emotional mountains shake, rattle and roll, when our world is threatening to collapsing around us, it is much more difficult to trust and pray “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.” What happens when we are grieving loss or death? What about when we are mentally broken? What about when depression makes it so difficult to go to work, and interface and interact with people that just getting out of bed is a small miracle? What about when our kids struggle, or our parents struggle, and we just can’t fix it? We turn to the Lord, yes, but sometimes, it is as if our prayers fall on deaf – or at least, non-listening – ears. When life is hard, and life narrows down, where is the God who pledged to be in our midst? Where is the God who lifts out of the muck and mire? Where…how do we as God’s people find comfort in times like that?

That isn’t asked from a vacuum. Those are not rhetorical questions. I mean it quite sincerely when I ask: Where is the God who pledged to be in our midst? Where is the God who lifts out of the muck and mire? Where…how do we as God’s people find comfort in times like that?

The last few months have not been kind to my mind and my spirit. Truth be told, I get inside my own head, and my thoughts aren’t always helpful. I’m kind of like that cartoon character, Pogo, who quipped, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”  I found myself wrestling with these very questions. Where is God in the shadows? How can I see Him when I can barely see anything outside my own struggle? I know Psalm 46, mostly by heart, and I prayed it often. But, again being honest, those words sounded hollow. I felt less like Psalm 46, “God is our refuge and strength,” and more like Psalm 13, “How long, O Lord, how long? Will you forget me forever?”

Luther wrote his hymn in a time of world-wide chaos. The Black Plague had hit his part of Germany. The Turks were invading the Roman Empire, threatening Germany to the east. Catholic armies fought against “rebel” Lutheran forces. Within the church, Roman Catholics, other Protestants, and Lutheran theologians often engaged in hot theological debates that sometimes turned violent. Personally, Luther had a child die in the plague. He was less than ten years removed from what many historians deem a psychological break-down. Having been public enemy, wanted dead or alive by both secular authorities and the Pope himself, friends kidnapped him and squirrelled him away in the high castle of Wartburg. Reportedly, he saw the face of the devil in his room, throwing a bottle of ink at it and ordering him to depart in the name of Jesus Christ. Other times, he was so depressed that over and over, line after line, he wrote in Latin, “I am baptized,” filling precious pages of paper with those words while clinging to God’s promises to him in Water and word.

Water and word… That is where our Lord is. That is where the Psalmist takes us, too. “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns,” (Ps. 46: 4-5).

OK…so how does that help?

You remember how Jesus connected the temple with Himself: “destroy this temple [referring to Himself] and I will raise it again in three days,” (Jn. 2:19). In the introduction to His gospel, John make it even clearer: “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling (literally, His tenting) among us, and we have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth,” (John 1:14). Psalm 46 is helping us connect these dots: the tabernacle of God is no longer a place but a person – in Jesus, God is present among His people. In Christ, God is entering into time. In Christ, God is a present help in time of trouble. In Christ, God is restoring creation towards Eden by healing the sick, feeding the hungry, driving demons out, and raising the dead. In Christ, God provides living water so that whoever drinks of Him will never be thirsty but will instead have eternal life.

And, we’re back to water flowing to the city. Again, the city isn’t a place – it’s people, and the locatedness of the people isn’t geographical, but spiritual – that is, the Church. The mercy of God flows to the Church, distributed to the people through…water and word.

Luther teaches us to make the sign of the cross – a tangible reminder of our Baptism and God’s name being placed upon us. If God loved us enough to send His Son to rescue us, if He loved us enough to place His name on us, if He loved us enough to forgive us our sins and pledge an eternal home for us in the resurrection of all flesh, how much more certain we can be of His help in this time of trouble.

In your baptism, God is readily found, an omnipresent help in times of trouble.  Write it down, if it helps you remember: I am baptized.

Isn’t it a beautiful irony, that when waters of life roar and foam and rise and threaten to overwhelm, our Lord calls us back to the calm, comforting, washing gift of Holy Baptism, washing away our sins, pouring out on us the holiness of Jesus, giving us the gift of eternal life in that heavenly city of God? I am baptized.

You have been baptized into Christ’s death and Christ’s resurrection, an ongoing present-tense reality with an eternal reward in the resurrection of body and the life of the world to come. I am baptized.

St. John picks up this image of a heavenly river in His Revelation, “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband,” (Rev. 21: 1-2). And then John sees it: “the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb,” (22: 2). I am baptized.

In Christ, I am God’s and nothing can separate me from His love. Mark yourself with the sign of the cross, the daring brand of Jesus, placed on your head and heart. Open His Word and His promises contained therein. Read the Psalms – the prayerbook of the church. Water and word; Word and water. I am baptized.

So, when the waters roar and foam, when the mountains shake, when the shadows lengthen, when the valley of the shadow is frightening, God is present. God will carry you through the storm and through the flood. But, then again, that’s nothing new for Him. He’s already done it.

God is your refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. How present?

He is present in His Son, who entered time and creation to save you.
He is present in His Word, delivered through His Son, to proclaim His love for you.
He is present in water, poured over you, uniting you to Christ and forgiving your sins.
He is present in bread and wine, both the meal and the host, for those who are weak and struggling.
He is present here.
He is present for you.

You notice, it's Reformation Sunday and I haven't said much about Martin Luther. That's because if he were here, he would scold us if we talked about him. Instead, he would point us to Jesus. So, Jesus is where we go this Reformation Sunday, every Sunday, and every day of our lives. 

Earlier, I said “Life is hard and life narrows down.”  I took that line from a devotion written by Rev. Arnold Kuntz. The rest of the quote is this, "Life narrows down, and crisis comes. And suddenly only one thing matters, and there, in the narrow place, stands Jesus." (Devotions for the Chronologically Gifted, St. Louis: CPH, © 1999; p. 46)

Mercy For Lepers - Luke 17: 11-19

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Luke, read earlier.

Leprosy. It was to the ancient world what Covid-19 was five years ago, or AIDS in the 80s, or polio back in the 1950s: a dangerous, debilitating, likely life-threatening disease. Thank God – I use that literally – leprosy is relatively rare, so we are rather unfamiliar with it. Without getting into terribly gory details, leprosy rotted the flesh while also disrupting the nervous system. Imagine the worst case of sunburn you could possibly have – that deep, burning, aching feeling, where nothing really eases the pain that radiates into the bones. It hurts to sit, stand, lay; it hurts to move; it hurts to be still. It’s always there. That was leprosy - except a sunburn, eventually, goes away. Leprosy rarely did, if ever. And, unlike a sunburn, leprosy was also contagious. As a result, a person who was a leper was banished from town, forced to live in the leper colony. There, among the lepers, the diseased would live while passers-by, family and friends remained at a distance, warned off by the dry, raspy cries (the throat and vocal cords were also impacted by the dreaded disease), “Unclean! Unclean!” Adding insult to injury, the disease made them ceremonially unclean: rotten, as it were, physically and spiritually, inside and out. Contact was forbidden, but lest the touched person also become guilty by association, contaminated by contact. So the lepers were de facto ex communicated. Ex communicated: literally, from community; even more literal, away from within the unity. Outside the worshipping community, unable to attend worship, unable to make sacrifice, they were the unatoned-for. They were doubly, triply damned. They were reminded constantly of this as they sat, stood, or laid on the outside looking in.

Leprosy bacteria hi-res stock photography and images - Alamy

In every sense of the word, these lepers were dead men walking. Or sitting. Or lying, prostrate, unable to stand to wave off unaware travelers. In a way, death would be a blessed answer to prayer – at least, the pain would stop. And, they would no longer be the “Unclean” outside of town.

It is no wonder, then, that when Jesus passed by, their sad, melancholy chorus changed lyrics. Their uncleanliness was without question; their need unparallelled; their lives and any hope of returning to community from their leprous exile were at stake. Did they know who Jesus was? I suspect they heard of Him. Could they confess with Peter, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God?” Maybe not, but they knew enough to call to Him by name, Jesus, and speak of Him as Master, recognized Him as the Miracle Worker. Where no one else could help, no doctor able to fix leprosy, perhaps He would. “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

“Have mercy.” It’s the cry of God’s people: have mercy on me, a sinner. We pray this in church, still today: Lord, have mercy – Kyrie, eleison. Mercy: it means don’t give us what we deserve! It’s as if they were saying, “Humanly speaking, we know the terrible end result of our disease, but instead, have mercy – don’t let us die, don’t let us die out here, don’t let us die away from God’s house and blessing. Restore us to the community, to our families, to the house of God, to relationship with God! Don’t leave us in this life of misery or in the life of agony to come!” No debating about merit or worth, here. Death is the great equalizer. Whatever their status had been before, whatever their sitz im Leben may have been previously, they were equal as lepers: sinners all, dying, abandoned, excommunicated, outside the congregation, outside the people of God, begging for Jesus’ mercy on them.

“Go, show yourselves to the priests.” I wonder how Jesus spoke. Did He call out loudly, like He was the coach calling to the right fielder to back up? Did He speak gently, like a grandfather’s calming voice to a child who was convinced he was about to bleed to death from a scuffed knee? Did He speak with the force of a wife commanding her husband to give up and go to the doctor!  We don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t the same calm, gentle voice He used when talking to the prostitute who escaped being stoned, or to Lazarus who had shinnied up a tree, or to Peter who a few days earlier denied Him thrice. I wonder, too, if the lepers weren’t somewhat disappointed. Jesus didn’t do anything dramatic. He didn’t spit in the dirt and make a salve for their bodies. The lepers weren’t given anything to do. There was no preparation before presentation - nothing like Namaan’s river washing or the Pharisees ritual public scrubbing. Just “Go.”

To their absolute credit, they went. They didn’t stay in the dirt, complaining, “What’s the use…it’ll just hurt all the more to be rejected again, sent back here.” They got up and went, as instructed. Their cry of faith was met with action of believing. Those ten men, those dying men, those dead men walking, they got up and started walking to town. Remember the picture of the Revolutionary War soldiers, bandaged up and bleeding, marching, playing a flute, a drum, and with a flag waving? I imagine a much less glamorous dectet of raggedy men: stinky, bandaged, limping, staggering, fly-chased lepers making their way down the road. What else could they do? They had nothing to negotiate with, nothing to offer, nothing to present to Jesus. “Nothing in my hands I bring…”…As if their hands could hold anything, anyway. All they had was faith, faith clinging to the mercy of Jesus, the Master.  

That’s what mercy does – more to the point, that’s what God’s mercy does in Christ Jesus. Mercy, remember, means “don’t give us what we deserve.”  Jesus takes our place. God takes what we deserve and He places it upon His Son, Jesus. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us,” the Bible says. He dies the sinner’s death, paying sin’s wages. He dies, satisfying God’s wrath against sin’s corruption. He dies, so we do not die eternally. The cross stands as the eternal monument of mercy: the cross is not our instrument of suffering and death; instead, it becomes the instrument of salvation. Mercy takes Jesus to the cross; mercy spares us from the cross; mercy rescues us from eternal hell. Mercy is Jesus taking our place so we are restored to the Father, the separation caused by sin destroyed by the life, death and resurrection of Christ Jesus. 

In His mercy, Jesus doesn’t make us clean up, first, making ourselves presentable to Him. In fact, He doesn’t even make us crawl to His feet. He comes to us – even here, mercy overflows…

I wonder when they realized they were healed. Did it take ten steps? A hundred feet? A thousand yards. How long did it take to make that sudden realization: “My feet…I can feel the gravel beneath them…my hands don’t hurt…I can grasp my fellow leper’s arm for balance – but I don’t need it anymore!” Mercy overflows…

Yet, the Nine didn’t turn around. To be fair, I wonder if they even connected their healing with Jesus. After all, “Go” was a far cry from some of the miraculous actions He did elsewhere. There was no touch, no spitting in the dirt to make mud. Even after crying out for His mercy, did they realize His mercy was what healed?  Mercy prayed for, mercy received…mercy missed.

We criticize the nine for not turning around, perhaps rightly so. But, be careful: how often do we forget to thank God for His mercy in our lives? We have a bad headache (allergies, you know) and take two Tylenol. When the headache goes away, how often do we thank God? When our bellies growl and then our appetite is satiated with a bag of microwave popcorn, do we thank God for the simple snack? We are quick to point out the error of the Nine, only to realize we are among the Nine – tooling along, oblivious to God’s rich mercy in our daily lives.

But Luke says one returned, noting he was a Samaritan, giving thanks to God, Immanuel, God-in-flesh, whose simple word was rich in mercy. I wonder what was different about him, besides that he was a Samaritan. Maybe his leprosy was worse than the others; maybe he was closer than the others to death’s blessed door; maybe his leprosy had only recently begun and he saw what awaited him.  Regardless, after going, he returned thanking and praising God, falling on his face, that beautiful, restored, luxurious, radiant skin that would cause a dermatologist envy, falling prostrate to thank Jesus for the mercy that had been extended to him.

“He gives me…all this out of Fatherly Divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in me. For all which it is my duty to thank, praise, serve and obey Him.”

What else can a formerly dead man do but give thanks and praise to God?

Yours, dear friend, is the baptized life. You, too, were formerly dead and now alive to God in Christ Jesus. “Or do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus 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,” (Romans 6: 3-4).

Yours is a walking in that newness of life, enlivened by the mercy of God. Reunited to God, restored to wholeness with the Father thru Jesus, He also calls and gathers you into His body, the Church, into the congregation of believers made whole and holy by God’s grace through faith in Jesus.

It’s funny, if you think of it. The lepers were gathered together because of their mutual misery caused by a disease. We are gathered together by the Spirit of God to receive the mercy of Christ, but also to walk alongside each other through this journey through the valley of the shadow. This side of heaven, we still struggle, and for some of us, with the various aches and pains, greater or lesser, and illnesses and diseases, lesser or greater, those are truly a terrible struggle – not all that dislike what those lepers faced two millenia ago. 

The longer I serve as a pastor, the more I understand the depth, and the yearning, behind St. John’s final words in the Bible: “Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come.” As much as I appreciate medical professionals and the skill God has given them, I yearn for the day when doctors and nurses are unemployed because in the resurrection, they will no longer be needed. I am eagerly awaiting the day when every cop, fireman and paramedic no longer has to see the worst that society has to offer, and when pastors no longer have to hold grieving mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, while they stand at the foot of a hospital bed, unable to do anything but pray, commending the beloved to the Lord. I am eagerly anticipating the day when Jesus voids the “lifetime warranty” of graves, caskets, and vaults when Jesus returns and raises the dead.

Isaiah speaks about the day when sorrow and sighing will pass away. To that, we add those things that cause sorrow and sighing – leprosy, Covid, cancer, AIDS, Alzheimer’s, you name it! – and they will all be gone. And, in that day of resurrection, we’ll join the former leper - whom we only know now as the Samaritan – in falling at the feet of Jesus, offering eternal thanks and praise.

Amen.

LWML Sunday: Beautiful Feet Sharing the Good News of Jesus - Romans 10:5-17

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

The text for this LWML Sunday is the Epistle lesson read a few moments ago, Romans 10: 5-17.

Ask yourself this question: do we need people to join our church, and if so, why? I’m going to give you a couple moments to ponder that – do it in your head, not out loud. Be honest. Your answers might include that we need them to meet our budgetary needs, volunteers (aka "voluntolds"), church officers, Sunday school teachers, sew-ers, handy-men and women, cooks, and other special skills. We need people to join our church so we can grow and survive. How did I do?

Now, here is question two: Do the people around us – the people of the Enid area – especially over here on the East side - do they need St. Paul’s, and if so, why? Again…a couple moments. Your answers here might have included things like we’re an old, established part of the community, the school, we provide a place of sanctuary, we offer some community programs like VBS.  

Now, I want to draw your attention to the questions themselves. To repeat them, the questions were: do we need people to join our church and do people need St. Paul’s? At first glance, they seem to be similar questions but, really, they are two very different questions.

Take the first one: do we need people to join our church? Who is the focus on? It’s us. In other words, what do we get from their coming here – what can they give us. What we get are bodies in the building, wallets at the welcome mat, and purses in the pew. Now, we can try to sanctify that by saying “they’ll help us do the work of the church,” and that is true…but, we have to add “because we’re getting tired and so I don’t have to do so much anymore.” The statement is about us and what we need. It’s a question of law that gives an answer of law. It points right back at us, and what it says to people who visit us for worship is we value you for what you can give us.

Now, consider the second question: do the people around us need St. Paul’s? Here, the focus is on those around us. It’s a servant-based question: how can we help them? What can we give them? Instead of what do we get out of their relationship with us, the question is what can we give them in this relationship? What will they gain? The value isn’t in what they give, but what can they receive.

Enid is approximately ten miles wide and ten miles long. We are in a community that, depending on your data source, has about 50,000 people within 5-6 miles of where you are sitting right now.  Pew research says that approximately 70% of Oklahoma identifies as Christian, so that means 30% are not Christian. Note – Christian is the broad category of all who confess Christ as Lord and Savior, so it is not denominational. So, do the math…if we use that same 30% for this area, that means 15,000 people do not know Jesus as their Savior. To make that a little more personal, that’s three out of every ten. So, out of every ten people you know, statistically three of them do not know Jesus. Think outside church friends, here – think about your exterminator, your favorite nurse at the doctor’s office, the kid that recognizes you at the drive thru with your #1, extra onions, no pickles, and a large Dr. Pepper. Three of the people you know from this community would not be with you in the resurrection at the last day. Three people are looking for answers to eternal questions outside of Jesus.

Three people you know – not just three generic citizens of Enid - those three-out-of-ten who literally live next to you, who live four houses down on the other side of your street, or who live in that schwanky subdivision, or who live in the trailer park…those fifteen thousand souls from our area can go to lots of places to try to find answers. And they do. They go to bars, and they go to their barber or hair stylist, they go to their online video game, they go to the casino, they stay longer and longer at work, they go to the open arms of an illicit lover, all looking for something that might save them. They go…and they search…and they leave, temporarily – and only temporarily - soothed but still empty.

If they can go to all of these different places to find answers, what do each of these people need that they cannot get from their barber, or the bartender, or the Lodge, or the casino, or a co-worker, or another lonely lover leaving the lights on at the No-Tell-Motel? The answer is: they need to hear of the kingdom of God that has arrived in Jesus Christ. And, they need to hear that from us, the people of God called St. Paul’s Lutheran Church.

Our community needs St. Paul’s as a place where they can hear about the mercy of God in Christ Jesus our Lord and Savior. But it’s about more than being a building, an address. A building needs people to come to it. This community needs need St. Paul’s congregation to be the body of believers where Christ is enfleshed so that they can see the love of Jesus demonstrated to them. They St. Paul’s to be people who speak God’s Word in truth and purity. That means they need the people of St. Paul’s to be a gentle, but firm, voice that calls sin, sin instead of the conventional cultural wisdom that says “anything goes…do what feels good.” They need the people of St. Paul’s to be watchful to see a sinner who is trapped in a sin, perhaps even in unrepentance, and who needs Christ’s Spirit to break a hardened heart, but they do not need to be seen as a “bad person.” They need the people of St. Paul’s to demonstrate mercy and compassion and grace and peace and forgiveness in the words of Jesus Himself. They need to St. Paul’s to proclaim that they, too, are beloved by God and He desires them, too, to be eternally rescued in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Could they hear that elsewhere – maybe. They could hear about Jesus from the radio, or the internet, or the TV, or the randomly left Portals of Prayer. Could they hear it from other people? Maybe. They could hear about it from a friend or family member or co-worker. But that’s taking the chance on three-out-of-ten “maybe,” because maybe they will turn to those other places, instead, for answers that lie, answers that mislead, answers that the devil will use to lead them into eternity, alright – the eternity of damnation and separation from Jesus.

Or they could hear about Jesus from you.

This isn’t something that we want to leave to chance. We want to be – our neighbors need us to be – deliberate in speaking of Jesus and His death and resurrection. We need to speak of Jesus to them. But not just TO them, but Jesus died FOR them.

Jesus died for people like this:

• ·        The young family with two kids who run around in bare feet and hand-me-downs that were worn our two kids ago.
• ·        The crusty old codger who drinks his dinner from a 16 ounce tall boy and practices his Clint Eastwood impression, “Get off my lawn…”
• ·        The woman with a record that all started one night when she was young, running with the wrong crowd.
• ·        The single parent who works two jobs, just to make ends meet – and even that is “barely.”
• ·        The elderly, lonely shut-in who wonders, “Why am I still here?”
• ·        The all-American family who seems to have it all – two parents, two children, two cars, two pets, all in a three bed, two bath, two car garage home – but none, not mom, dad, or the kids, know who Jesus is other than someone people talk about around Christmastime.

Jesus died for these people. Do they know that? We dare not assume so. So, how will we help them have the opportunity to hear it and know it and believe it?

LWML is traditionally about speaking, sharing, confessing the Gospel. LWML has a wonderful history, and we thank God for the service of the women of St. Paul’s and the LCMS.  This LWML Sunday, I am talking about your feet - not just your mouth. Yes, with your feet. Let me explain.

We talk a lot in our world. And, unfortunately, the spoken word seems to have less and less value. How many times have you heard – or even said – “Well, yeah, I said it but I didn’t mean it…” After all, talk is cheap. But with your feet, you will live out the Gospel. You can walk – literally or figuratively – alongside those who are hurting, or struggling, or grieving, or trapped in sin-filled lives and demonstrate Christ’s mercy to them. This actually is what our church body’s name implies: the word synod, synhodos in Greek, means “to walk together.” We walk together with those who are around us and who need to know Jesus. You speak God’s Word to them – yes, for it is in the Word where Christ certainly works both repentance and faith – but you also show what mercy looks like to someone who only has seen grudges; you show what it is to forgive and be forgiven to those who have only seen evil repaid with evil; you show what true love looks like to those who have only known what it is to be used and abused; you show what hope in the resurrection means to those who think there is no such thing as hope; you show what peace in Christ means in a world of chaos.

“Well, Pastor – that’s easy for you to say. After all, it’s your job. And besides, Paul says ‘those who PREACH good news…you’re the preacher, not me’.” That’s true: this is my vocation. You are not called to preach in the office of the holy ministry. But you are called to be disciples of Jesus, and as disciples of Jesus, you are called to be prepared to answer to those who ask of you in Jesus’ name.

I’ll be honest – for many of us, it’s a bit of a scary thing to broach the subject of Jesus, and faith, and salvation, and damnation outside of Jesus. I still get butterflies in my stomach and more than a few doubts when I am doing an evangelism visit. The Gospel is not popular; the Gospel is not PC – we talked about that in Bible Book Club last week. But the Gospel is life-saving; the Gospel is life- changing; the Gospel is life-giving in Christ Jesus. So, in faith, trusting God’s Spirit will indeed work in you and through you, you step out, walking alongside those who are around us. And, boy, it feels like feet of clay – doesn’t it? You’re not sure what to say, and you can’t remember the Bible verses, and you aren’t sure if you should offer to pray or not, and you’re confused about what the question was that was asked, and you’re doing your level-best to answer faithfully but you feel so woefully inadequate and you wonder, “How can God bless this mess?”

And, as you walk together, something remarkable happens. Your feet – your stumbling, stammering, clay feet are declared by God to be absolutely beautiful. Not because of your efforts, but because of the message they are carrying and demonstrating. To you, oh beautifully-footed carriers of the Gospel, God shows His mercy and His grace and His compassion and His love for you in the very words that you yourself are carrying.

It’s not about you at all. It’s about the human feet that Jesus took upon himself to be a human. It’s about the feet of the one who sat at the feet of His Mother Mary and step-father Joseph as an obedient Son. It’s about the feet of the One who stood in the temple, His Father’s house, surrounded by those who would want to kill him one day. It’s about the feet of the one who walked on water as God of creation. It’s about the feet of the one who stood upon the hillside to feed 5000 families with bread and fish. It’s about the feet of the one who walked in the wilderness for 40 days, not with his friends but with his enemy, satan, and defeating him there in the desert. It’s about nail-punctured feet of the One who went to the cross to die so that death would no longer be our eternal reward.  

I think most people know the Great Commission: Go therefore and make disciples… What is forgotten is Jesus’ prelude to the Commission: “All power and authority in heaven and on earth is given to Me, therefore, go.”

You go with the power and authority of Jesus own words. Your feet follow in the footsteps of Him who walked on earth carrying those Words. And, made holy in the Baptismal washing and in the triune name of God, your beautiful feet carry those Words of Jesus into this community.

In Jesus' name. Amen.