Jesus: Messiah, Good Shepherd, and King - John 10: 22-30

“If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Talk about a loaded request. And it happens at a most unique time: at the Feast of Dedication.

Roughly 200 years earlier, around 166BC, Israel was a vassal in the Greek Empire. The Greeks wanted to Hellenize the world and, as a result, no other religion or religious practices were tolerated. So, Israel was forced to worship the Greek gods and goddesses – Zeus, Apollo, Hermes, just to name a few – and even Israel’s temple was scandalized by being used for worship of Zeus, the altar desecrated by sacrifices to him, and all of the sacred vessels for worship of God were likewise misused. 

There was a faithful, God-fearing family of Israelites called the Maccabees who finally had enough. Their name means “hammer,” and they began to hammer against the Greeks, leading a rebellion to overthrow and eliminate the Greeks from Israel. Finally successful, they set about making Israel God-fearing worshippers again. The temple was ritually cleansed. The desecrated altar was removed, destroyed, and then replaced along with new worship furnishings. Finally, it was time to rededicate the temple. Oil candles were placed in the Holy Menorah, the 8-fingered candelabra, but only enough sacred oil was found for one day’s use. Not wanting to wait the necessary eight days for new oil to be consecrated, the candles were filled, the flames were lit, and miracle of miracles, the candles did not burn out for eight days. Thus, the great tradition of the Feast of Dedication – or as we know it today, Hannukah – began.

That was the festival that Jesus, the Disciples, and all Jews were celebrating: the re-dedication of the Temple by the Maccabees. It is no small thing that St. John places Jesus in the Temple – specifically in Solomon’s colonnade – during this festival, because that helps set up and introduce the tension that’s present. It’s brought to a head with the question, “Are you the Messiah?” In other words, are you the Son of David that we have been expecting? The Jews see the parallels:  Two hundred years earlier, Israel was under Greek rule; in Jesus day, under Roman rule. The Greeks were heathens; the Romans were heathens. The Greeks had Israel under their thumbs; the Romans ruled Israel with disdain. Just like 200 years earlier, Israel was again looking for Messiah - a warrior Messiah, a Maccabee-like Messiah who was going to re-establish Israel and get rid of the Romans.

This is why their question is so important: Is this you, Jesus? Are you the Messiah? Are you the Christ? Are you going to do what we expect? 

Jesus’ answer isn’t what they expect. It’s not a simple yes or no. Instead He says, “Pay attention to what I am doing!” He’s been performing miracles, like Moses, feeding 5000. He’s been healing the sick, like Elijah. His works demonstrate who He is! He is from God. But His words show Him not just to be from the Father but to be, in fact, the promised one: the Messiah, the Christ; yes – the Son of David.

But they don’t get it. They can’t get it. They’re not of the sheep. They self-excluded themselves from the fold, refusing to submit to this one who was born of Mary, descended not just from David, but from of God. He is Messiah, but not the Messiah they expect. He is coming to be the Shepherd. Not just a shepherd, but The Shepherd. And because He’s not the kind of Messiah they expect, not the kind of Shepherd they want, they cannot accept, they cannot believe, they will not listen, they will not see, and they cannot follow.

Too often we misunderstand this shepherd picture. We have a simple, soft, romantic picture of Jesus as a divine Little Boy Blue. He’s traipsing through lush green grass, a staff in one hand, and the other holds a baby lamb in his arm. Don’t get me wrong: there are times this picture of Jesus is exactly what we need – when we face the valley of the shadow of death, for example. 

But there are other times when we misunderstand this image of Jesus that we get ourselves in trouble with simplistic thinking. What I mean is this picture of Jesus is one we can handle. We’re comfortable with this picture of him. And we make this idea of the Good Shepherd out to be the kind of Messiah we want. In a sense, we neuter Him and take away His power and authority so that He’s neither threatening nor judging. He becomes nothing more than understanding. 

And this, then, becomes our escape when we make our Shepherd out to be, well, our Shepherd, not God’s. We justify the choices we make and actions we do by saying Jesus understands. Sexual sins? Living together without being married, adultery, homosexuality? Jesus understands.  Slandering the boss, spreading rumors about a co-worker, skipping out while still on the clock? Jesus understands. Cheating on an exam, drawing ugly caricatures of your teacher, skipping class? Jesus understands. Telling your parents off, swearing at your kids, fighting with your brother or sister? Jesus understands. As long as we make Jesus out to be the Shepherd-Messiah we want Him to be, literally in our own image, we’re no better off than those first-century Jews who wanted Jesus to be their political savior. At best, we create a Messiah as sympathizer; at worst, an enabler. There is nothing good about that kind of good shepherd. 

Jesus understands, yes, but not that way. Sins cannot just be understood; they must be repented of and paid in full. He understands what the Messiah must do to rescue, redeem and save. It’s not going to be riding into battle like David to rule on a throne in Jerusalem. It will take a King who is willing to die.

In the Old Testament, the shepherd image is one that is used for kings, kings whose job it is to stand watch over Israel. So, for example, in Ezekiel 34 when God says He will get rid of the shepherds, he doesn’t mean the herdsmen of the hillside. He means the unfaithful kings and wicked rulers of the people. They will be removed and, even more, destroyed because of their unfaithfulness and He, God, will Himself shepherd the people. So, when you hear Good Shepherd, hear Good King. This is a King who will rule in a good, just way. He is the King who judges wisely. The things that He showed in His ministry, these are the things that the Good King, the Good Shepherd will do: He will care for His people; He will feed His people; He will clothe His people; He will protect His people. In His life and ministry, as He pointed out to the Jews, He is doing all of these things. But there is something yet to come.

This King, this Shepherd, this Messiah will die for His people. Jesus’ battle isn’t with the Hittites and Jebusites and Alamakites; it’s with sin, death and the devil. The battle will take place outside of Jerusalem, just outside the city walls. The Good Shepherd will have a staff in His hand, placed there in mockery. His soft robes will be stripped from His body and He will be nailed to His throne in nakedness and shame, not in glory. His rule will be in humility and weakness, not in strength and majesty. But in that weakness is strength, for His power is made perfect in weakness. He surrenders, not to satan, but to His Father’s will, and He is the perfect, once-for-all-sacrifice for the sins of His sheep, His people. 

The gift of the Good Shepherd, the Good King, is eternal life for all who are of His flock, who hear His voice and in repentant faith, trust His life, death and resurrection for their sins, for your sins, for my sins. And the Good King, the Good Shepherd, gives you His pledge: no one – neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither things present nor things to come, neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation – will separate you from His Father’s hand. 

And moms: today as we give thanks to God for you and the gift of motherhood, I want to remind you that the Good Shepherd is particularly fond of women who share the same vocation as His own mother.  He forgives you for the times you swore with your husbands and you were angry at your children; the times you felt that you failed to live up to expectations; the times when you made mistakes; the times you weren’t the perfect mother. A mother’s sins are forgiven fully and completely. So are father’s sins, and children’s sins, by the way. Moms: God doesn’t call you to be perfect. He calls you to be faithful mothers, rearing and teaching your children – no matter what age you are or what age they are – the fear and knowledge of the Lord. Do this both in words and in actions. And, when you fail, then also teach them the need for repentance and the power of forgiveness, both for yourself and for your family as well.

To make sure you know, believe, trust and rely that this is all true, the Good Shepherd makes sure you are still able to hear His voice still today. 

I remember when I was in high school, driving through Georgetown and passing a church whose sign was written in Spanish: La Iglesia del un Buen Pastor. I thought, boy – is that guy arrogant. The church of the Good Pastor. I told my Spanish teacher about that and made a wise-crack about the pastor being rather highly opinionated about himself. That’s when she told me in Spanish, pastor means shepherd. It actually comes from Latin. I tell you this story because it is the perfect reminder of what the church is for: to be the place where the voice of the Good Shepherd is heard. Luther once called the church “The Mouth-House,” meaning it’s where the voice of the Good Shepherd sounds forth with all of it’s truth and power.  

And, when you come, you ask, “Is this the Messiah?” And through the Word that is read and preached, in Baptismal water and in bread and wine, Jesus will say that these all bear witness about Him. They will tell you that He is God’s Messiah who came to be our Good Shepherd, our Good King.

Confirmation Sunday - Psalm 18:2, Deuteronomy 31:8

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

On March 27, 1988 – 37 years ago – I was confirmed in my Baptismal faith at Zion Lutheran Church in Walburg, Texas. Right outside the sanctuary doors of that church was a mighty, massive live oak tree. Today, right outside the sanctuary doors of Zion Lutheran Church of Mission Valley stand four mighty, massive live oak trees. They were here before you were born, probably before your parents were born, possibly even before your grandparents were born. I don’t know how old they are, really, but I know this: those trees, both the one at my home church in Walburg, and those outside this church in Mission Valley, those trees are living and strong. They continue to grow and produce acorns each year. I hope you are able to take a lesson from a large, growing tree. No matter how “big” – that is, how grown-up you might be – growing continues. And that growth finds its roots in Holy Scripture.

Challenge coins are kind of a thing in the military and among first responders, and they’ve come into the civilian world as well. While the coins can have several meanings and uses, they are a way of both remembering challenges they have faced as well as providing encouragement for challenging times ahead. I have this one that was given to me fifteen years ago by a Navy Seabee who was in Iraq. He gave it to me when he got back as a gift for remembering him in our prayers and for encouraging his parents while he was deployed. My son-in-law is a fireman in Ohio – he gave me one from his fire department. My son gave me this one. All three are dear to me as I remember the challenges they have faced.

In the bottom of your gift bag is a challenge coin. Go ahead and take it out and look it for a moment.

The first and most obvious thing that you see is a large oak tree. A couple years ago, we had a logo designed for this church, for our newsletters and other things, and we selected an oak tree as the center of the logo. This coin is similar to our logo, but there is a difference: on our church logo, at the base of the roots is a cross, designed to symbolize that our congregation is grounded in Christ Jesus and His Word for us. While the coin lacks that specific element, the tree will – I hope – remind you both of this congregation and to yourself remain grounded in that Word of God, as you learned it in our classes.

I said challenge coins are, in part, to help you remember. On the front is stamped Psalm 18:2. The coin has the beginning words of the Psalm, “The Lord is my rock and my fortress,”  but the rest of the Psalm remind you that the Lord is also, “my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” Confirmation is not a new infusion of a blessing of God, a “booster shot” of the Holy Spirit, if you will. I want you to remember that everything you need was given you in your Baptism – the forgiveness of sins, life as a child of God, and the promise of eternal salvation in the resurrection of all flesh. Even as you are grounded in God’s Word and in Christ Jesus Himself, like that mighty oak tree, He is also your protector and defender against satan, the world, and even your old sinful flesh. I want you to remember you are a baptized child of God.

I also said challenge coins are, in part, there to provide a physical, tangible sense of encouragement when facing new challenges. On the back of the coin i31:8s Deuteronomy 31:8. ^“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” That is a good verse to keep in your mind or, literally, in your pocket, as you continue to go through life as a baptized child of God. He doesn’t send you out into the world on your own, armed with nothing but a blessing. He promises His presence to go with you for the sake of Christ Jesus, who literally charged into the gates of hell to declare His eternal victory over satan. Notice, Moses doesn’t say that your baptized life will be an easy one, that there will be neither challenge nor difficulty. God’s promise is that He will be with you, never leaving nor forsaking you, and that because of that, you do not need to fear what is ahead.  As you see that promise of God on this coin, I hope it encourages you to turn again and again to the Bible where the greatest encouragement of all resides: God’s Word for you, His beloved.

There is one other thing I want you to recall when you see this coin, whether it is in your pocket or backpack or on a shelf in your room. Most coins are legal tender. These challenge coins aren’t of course, but most coins – even pennies – can be used for buying, selling and trading. When you see this coin with its tree, I want you to remember that Judas was paid with thirty silver coins to betray Jesus. Thirty coins…that was about the price of a slave, in those days. That is fitting. The book of Isaiah prophetically describes Jesus as the Suffering Servant who takes our place on the cross.

There, on the cross, Jesus made the redemption price for you. Remember, “to redeem” is “to buy back.” Jesus bought you, not with gold and silver coins, but with His innocent suffering and death, that you might be His own, and live under Him in His kingdom. 

When you see this coin, remember Christ’s death for you and live in the encouraging promise that, as a baptized child of God, you are now and always redeemed by God’s grace through faith in Christ Jesus. If and when you grow weary, tempted by satan, the world, and even your own old Adam and Eve, return here, to the Lord’s Table, where Jesus give you His Body and Blood for the forgiveness of sins and the strengthening of your faith in Him as your Savior. Be among other Christians, the body of Christ, to care for each other and support each other in this journey of life and faith, under the cross, armed with the blessings of Jesus.

I said this last Sunday evening, in our last confirmation class, but I need to say it again: today is not the end, a “graduation” from confirmation class. Remember the non-diploma diploma? It’s not an end; it’s a beginning – the beginning for your participation as full communicant members of this congregation. In your Baptism, all of the blessings of Almighty God were made yours: your sins were forgiven; you were made a child of God; He gave you the promise of eternal life. But, because we also take seriously the Lord’s mandate in I Corinthians 11 that we should not eat and drink of the Lord’s Supper until we understand what it is that we are receiving, we took this time to study the Scriptures – condensed into the Small Catechism. While our confirmation class is complete, your Christian growth – that great word, “Sanctification,” remember? – is an ongoing process.

Now, a note for your parents, your moms and dads, and baptismal sponsors: when your child was baptized, you pledged that you would rear him or her in the faith, bring him or her to the Lord’s House where he or she would be taught the Word of God, and that you would support your son or daughter as they grow in faith and knowledge of their Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Your job is not done today. You continue to model faithful living by being in the Lord’s House with your child. Your son, your daughter needs you to bring them to the Lord’s altar, and your son and your daughter needs you at his or her side at the Table. Please do not become sanctified ghosts, here today, gone next Sunday, only to be seen a few times a year. You be in the Lord’s house. Bring your children to the Lord’s house. Here’s a secret: if you’re tired, or if they tell you they are tired, or it’s boring and they don’t want to go to church one Sunday, get ‘em up, anyway and come to the Lord’s House. Jesus will be here. You don’t want to miss Him. 

Your Triune God – Father, Son, Holy Spirit – remains active in you. Not only has He created you, He provides for you in abundant ways. Not only has He died for you, He continues to forgive you and pray for you. Not only has He begun the work of faith in you, He continues to strengthen you.

 

Ted Lasso, Doubting Thomas, and Jesus - John 20: 19-31

In the hit TV show, Ted Lasso, Ted is a soccer coach, trying to manage life and all that is being thrown at him. After an assistant coach leaves and seems to burn every relationship, he later attempts to make amends for what he had done. Ted, realizing the man’s efforts, said, “I hope that either all of us or none of us are judged by the actions of our weakest moments, but rather by the strength we show when and if we're given a second chance.”

That is a good way to think of the man who is at the center of our Gospel reading this morning, the reading where Thomas the Disciple gets his nickname – the Doubter. It’s a shame, really. He starts being identified as, “Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin” – the NIV calls him Thomas Didymus - but no one ever calls him either.  We call him Doubting Thomas. I don’t think it’s fair to him. After all, we don’t call Peter the Denier because he said he didn’t know Jesus. We don’t call Paul the Persecutor because, before his conversion, he tracked down and killed Christians. But Thomas…he got saddled with the nickname Doubter and it has stuck. Forevermore, he will be known as Doubting Thomas. 

Can you fathom Thomas’ sadness in those days after Jesus’ resurrection? For Mary and Mary, Peter, James and John, the Emmaus disciples the power of the resurrection is starting to be understood, a glow of light shining in the darkness surrounding Jesus’ death. The truth of the Scriptures is beginning to unfold for them. Christ is risen, He is risen indeed – alleluia! But for Thomas, that resurrection evening, it is as if Christ is not risen, as if Christ is not living as He said. Jesus was, at best, mistaken about that third day talk; at worst, a liar who misled the disciples for three years.

Thomas had witnessed Jesus raising Lazarus. But, it’s one thing for a living Jesus to stand outside Lazarus’ grave and summon a dead man back to life; it’s entirely another matter when Jesus is, Himself, the one who is dead and buried.

Thomas is no fool. “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails and place my finger into the mark of the nails and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” Thomas had heard Jesus’ prophetic words about being crucified at the hands of the chief priests and elders and teachers of the law, and had also heard Jesus say, “and on the third day be raised.” It’s one thing to hear those words; it’s another to see Jesus’ side pierced with the spear and blood and water flow out. Jesus was dead. Thomas cannot believe Jesus’ promise; he won’t believe it; No: dead people don’t come back to life. It doesn’t work that way. He will not believe unless he sees it with his own eyes.

I get that. And, I suspect that many of you do as well.

We speak of a Christian’s faith in two ways. The first is faith that Jesus is my Savior and that He died, rose, ascended and now waits until I see Him in the resurrection. This is faith that believes that promise made to us in our Baptisms. I trust I am forgiven, I believe that I am God's child through Jesus' death and resurrection, and all of His gifts are mine. I know, believe, trust and rely that this is "most certainly true." This is "saving faith."

Then, there is how we live out that saving faith. We call this the sanctified life or the life of faithfulness. This is faithfulness that enables the Christian to pray "give us this day our daily bread," and to be content with enough. This is faithfulness that enables us to look in the mirror and say, “You are already holy and sanctified in the eyes of God.” This is faithfulness that, in the face of a critical medical diagnosis, says, “I believe God will heal me now, or into eternity.” Faithfulness is able to say, without irony, “Thy will be done,” followed by "amen, amen...may it be so." Faithfulness allows the Christian to stand at the grave of a loved one and declare, “I believe in the resurrection and the life of the world to come.”

But that sanctified life of faithfulness is tough, isn’t it? When faith and life intersect, there is often a collision. To say – and mean - “Thy will be done” in the face of financial struggles, or health scares, or strained family life, or unemployment – that’s not so easy.  It is in this aspect of faith, the daily living of faith, where I struggle – some days, struggling mightily.  I understand because I, too, am a Doubting Thomas. I say that with no pride...trust me.

What is it that drives your faithfulness into fear?  We pray “Give us this day our daily bread,” but in reality we want to pray "Give me this day my daily filet mignon and deliver me from any trouble that might disturb my otherwise peaceful day." We say, “God is so good,” when our prayers are answered the way we wish, but when the Lord answers in other ways, we doubt God’s love for us. We are thankful when our bank account sits fat and thick and our retirement accounts look strong, but when those numbers drop, we cry to the heavens.  When pain endures and it just doesn’t get any better, when depression and anxiety linger, when those memories just won’t go away, when our prayers seem to be met with silence, we are left wondering why, those moments of life crashing can make faith start to crack and crumble.  And with these tests coming at us every day, faithfulness gets crowded out sometimes.

And the danger here is that this aspect of faithfulness impacts our faith in God’s grace for us in Christ. The devil’s no fool – he knows that we are savvy enough that if he were to say to us, “God doesn’t love you,” we would tell him to hit the road. So, he nibbles at the edges – anything to get us to look at ourselves and away from Jesus. He tempts us doubt our worthiness in God’s eyes. He tempts us to think we are unworthy because we don’t have as strong of faith as someone else. He tempts us to think we are failures at Christianity. And when these temptations start to clang in our ears over and over and over, they start to sound as if they ring true. And, like Thomas, we start to alienate ourselves from the other disciples that gather together to form the church. The last temptation, then, is for the Christian, alone and left with his doubts and fears, to teeter on the edge of saying, “And if all of this is true, then the power of the resurrection isn’t enough…not for me at least.”

So, when this Gospel text comes to the forefront every year in the Sunday after Easter, it gives me a moment to stop, pause, and rejoice because Jesus doesn’t leave Doubting Thomas or Doubting Jon, or Doubting [insert your name here] alone with doubt. Jesus rescues and redeems Thomas from a life of doubt to a life of faithfulness.

It’s a week after Easter. The scene from Easter night is repeated: upper room, doors locked, disciples gathered with Thomas present, this time. Again, Jesus appears; again, He declares, “Peace be with you.”

 

Do you understand the power of those four words? We talk about peace; we wish for peace; sometimes we even try to make peace. Peace, at least earthly peace, is fleeting and nebulous. Ask parents with teenagers, or a married couple leaving the counselor’s office, or any patient who walks out of the doctor’s office with the words, “Let’s see what the tests say, first…” still ringing in the ears. Industry and agriculture waits with baited breath as a bloodless war of trade carries on.  Rockets and gunfire continue from the Red Sea to places most of us couldn’t find on a map, unless our sons and daughters are there. Peace: it seems more like a punchline than a reality.

So, when Jesus speaks of peace, it should make us take notice. “Peace be with you.” Jesus’ peace is different. His peace, promised on Maundy Thursday, is completed at the cross. Now, His peace is restorative, reuniting the relationship between God and man which was chewed apart in the Garden of Eden. His peace brings harmony and unity. His peace causes the eternal warfare to end. His peace sooths the troubled heart, calms the worried head, silences fears that run wild. His peace rejuvenates faith where it has grown weary.

So there is no doubt for Thomas, Jesus invites Thomas to touch his hands and place his hand into Jesus side – those were Thomas’ requirements, remember, that unless that could happen he wouldn’t believe. And with words that are both command and invitation, Jesus says, “Stop being unbelieving and be believing.”

Jesus’ peace overcomes Thomas’ doubts.  Seeing Jesus is enough. He doesn’t need to touch Jesus’ body or feel the marks and wounds. Jesus’ peace, the same peace that restored the relationship between God and man, now restores Thomas’ faith. Everything Jesus said about His death and resurrection is true. “My Lord and my God,” Thomas declares as both faithfulness and faith are restored.

Remember Ted’s comment, “I hope that either all of us or none of us are judged by the actions of our weakest moments, but rather by the strength we show when and if we're given a second chance”? That’s called grace. Overflowing with the grace of God in Christ, Thomas was restored to discipleship and by the Holy Spirit empowered for apostleship.

What you probably don’t know is that tradition says that from this point forward, Thomas became the first missionary to what is today Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and eventually winding up in northern India.  There, Thomas is celebrated much the same way we celebrate Martin Luther. This is remarkable that a man, who once said he would not believe unless he could see and touch, carried the Gospel to people who could only see with eyes of faith.

The final words of Jesus serve as a dramatic postlude to the Easter narrative, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” You are part of these whom Jesus calls “Blessed,” for you have not yet seen Jesus with your eyes. With Spirit-given faith, you believe the promises of God are fulfilled in this man, named Jesus, who died for you and rose for your eternal salvation. With Spirit-enlivened faithfulness, you live out that life of faith every day in your actions and interactions with others. And, on those days when your faithfulness is shaken, and your faith is weak, Jesus comes to you and says, “Peace.” A remarkable gift, His peace, for it doesn’t change or grow weary. His peace is delivered to you without hesitation or reservation. Stop being unbelieving and be believing. Earned for you at His cross, delivered to you in your baptism, His peace knows no boundaries or limits.

 

 

"The Stone Cries Out: He is not here! He is risen as He said!" - Luke 24: 1-12

Christ is risen!
He is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

We are risen!
We are risen, indeed! Alleluia!

“On the first day of the week, at early day, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb…”

I have stood in cemeteries from Houston, Texas to Howells, Nebraska, from Missouri to Massachusetts. Some, like the Texas State cemetery in Austin are filled with military heroes and dignitaries, men like Stephen F. Austin and women like Ann Richards who have stood tall in our states’ history. Outside of Boston, Mass, I saw tombstones that read like a who’s-who of early American literature, carved with names like Hawthorne, Emerson and Whitman. I’ve seen cemeteries with monolithic markers that are dozens of feet tall, proclaiming in death one’s seeming importance in life, a sharp contrast to the county pauper’s cemetery fifteen miles away where people, sadly unclaimed and unknown like lost baggage, are buried and forgotten in death as they were while living. Then there are small cemeteries, just a plot of land carved out of a wheatfield on the top of a hillside, only known to those who have family there. If my grandparents, my mom’s folks, weren’t buried at the old St. John Lutheran Cemetery near Howells, Nebraska, I wouldn’t know it even existed.

“Cemetery” comes into English from Greek, koimeterion, meaning “resting place.” Although it is used also for public graveyards, the word, itself, is a powerful confession of what we as Christians confess in the Creed, “I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.” The grave, and the cemetery that contains the graves, is only a resting place because when Jesus returns in glory, the resurrection promise that began this day some 2000 years ago will come to its consummation and fulfillment.

At the head, that is the top, of the gravesite, there usually stands a marker. They vary, of course. If you watch old westerns, the marker was often a simple cross made from scraps of wood or branches found nearby. Some markers are tall obelisks; others, flat, almost flush to the ground. While some are cement, brass, or even wrought iron, I suspect most often, we connect these markers with stone, like granite. The stone markers, also called the headstone, tell the name of the deceased, along with a date of birth and a date of death, the in-between dash a silent and all-too-brief abbreviation of the life lived. It is up to the reader to interpret, to read, what is inscribed on the stone to tell the story of the one in the grave.  That makes sense because the stone, itself, is silent, of course. Stones can’t speak.

But, in the history of the world, there was one stone that spoke volumes.

Good Friday evening, shortly after Jesus breathed his last, His body was removed from the cross, quickly wrapped, and buried in the new, unused tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. It was an ironic move: the Jews were afraid of disobeying Sabbath Law, allowing the bodies to remain on the cross (dying was work, and one couldn’t work on the Sabbath), but perfectly willing to overlook the 5^th Commandment they had broken in condemning an innocent man to death. A large stone was placed in front of Jesus’ tomb. While the stone was probably imposing enough to keep animals and riffraff from grave-robbing, this stone had an even more important role. It was no ordinary Man within the grave that it was guarding. This Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews, had proclaimed a resurrection three days hence. That was part of the accusation leveled against Him at trial. So, to do due diligence and to make sure that no one would steal Jesus body, as the Jewish leaders feared, Pilate ordered a guard to keep miscreants and pesky body-snatching disciples at bay. The stone, and the grave, needed to be secure, so Pilate also placed his seal on the stone. Don’t think seal, as in spackle and caulk you put around your windows and doorframes to keep moisture and bugs out. Think symbol – a pool of hot wax into which a signet ring or stamp was pressed, marking something as being under Roman protection, an ancient equivalent to the Official Seal of the State combined with yellow “Police Line – Do Not Cross” tape. Although the stone remained mute, that seal stood as a declaration of whose it was, Pilate’s, and the power and authority that his office conveyed.

Once it was in place, from Friday at twilight thru the wee hours of Sunday, the stone was silent, it – along with it’s grave – paying homage to the One therein.

Then, something changed. “On the first day of the week, at early dawn,” Luke says, the Lord of Life, God in Flesh, with the sign of Jonah fulfilled, Jesus awakened from His three-day rest. With His Sabbath complete, an angel – perhaps the very same that ministered to Jesus three years earlier after facing satan’s temptation - rolled the stone away from the tomb and Jesus, alive and resurrected, strode forth from His borrowed burial chamber.

And, in that moment, the stone spoke volumes.

Go back with me one week’s time to Palm Sunday. Jesus entered Jerusalem, the people welcoming Him as the King. They misunderstood what that Kingship would look like, but their welcome was boisterous, to say the least, crying out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” The Pharisees, growing more and more jealous at every wave of a palm branch, snarled at Jesus that He should silence the people. Jesus’ answer was, “I tell you, even if these people were silent, the stones would cry out.”

A week later, Sunday morning, Resurrection morn, while people still slept and while the women went toward the tomb, the stone having been rolled away from the entrance, cried out a message of resurrection hope, joy, and life. It had plenty to say.

·       The stone declared that the Lord of Heaven and Earth, the God of Creation, was alive.

·       The stone proclaimed that the grave, long considered the “final resting place of the dead,” no longer had the final say.

·       The stone announced that death would no longer be the end, that the long-awaited and hoped-for resurrection that even Job yearned for, would take place.

·       The stone revealed that all the promises of God had come to its completion in the life, death, and now the resurrection of Jesus, the Christ.

·       The stone spoke clearly that Jesus’ declaration, “It is finished” on Good Friday was not merely a final, sad ending to a man’s life; rather, stone’s revelation of the empty grave openly demonstrated the Father accepted Jesus as the perfect sacrifice, that the will of the Father was complete, that Jesus’ death was sufficient for the sins of the entire world, and that the redemption price was completely paid.

·       The stone showed that the peace – wholeness and restoration with the Father – was restored. 

·       The stone, stamped with Pilate’s seal, displayed whose held authority it beheld: not the words or seals of man, but the word and power of God.

·       The stone cries out with joy that the resurrection is real, Jesus is alive, and that in Him, there is life the endures even beyond the lifetime of the stone.

·       The stone speaks for the One who is our Rock, our fortress, our refuge and strength.

It is most fitting that the stone tells the Easter narrative because Jesus had previously compared Himself to the stone that the builders had rejected. The resurrected Christ is the keystone, the capstone, the cornerstone upon which the church rests, proclaiming the resurrection message of forgiveness by God’s grace through faith in the One who died and rose, and is now living and reigning at the right hand of God.

Today, you proclaim the message of the stone as you come to the Lord’s table. In the Old Testament, Israel, wandering through the wilderness, “were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ,” (1 Cor. 10:2-5). Today, this very Rock, Christ Himself, is present in the bread you eat and the wine you drink, a meal that both forgives and strengthened you in your own journey in life and faith until your own resurrection.

Make no mistake: the Cross is, in fact, the power of God for those who are being saved – not the stone. But the stone does bear witness to the power of the cross and the power of salvation. That stone, rolled away from the grave on that Resurrection morning, would cause many to stumble, denying its message, seeking to bury the stone and its message back into the earth, never to be heard again. Even this morning, there are those who doubt, despise, and disbelieve the truth that Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life. The day will come when that stone will fall on those who deny Jesus. In the resurrection of all flesh, the stone will bear silent witness of their denial of the resurrection. Instead of being a marker of faith, that stone will become a marker of death that endures.

But for those who rejoice at the death and resurrection of Jesus, and who believe and trust the message of the stone, He is not here as He said, for us every tombstone becomes a descendant of that resurrection stone, sharing the same message that the grave is only a koimeterion, a resting place, of the faithful as they await their own resurrection moment into eternity with Jesus. That is why I don’t just say, “Christ is risen.” We have His promise, already, now, present-day: We are risen as well, the resurrection a present-day gift and promise through the death and resurrection of Christ, our Lord.

The stone proclaims it.
And, so do you.  

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

"Therefore!" Passion (Palm) Sunday - Phil 2: 8-11; Luke 23: 1-56

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. From Philippians 2: 8-11 -

⁸ And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. ⁹ Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, ¹⁰ so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, ¹¹ and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

The contrast is sharp today. We began with celebration as the people welcomed Jesus with a victor’s celebration, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”  Palm branches wave, coats are placed on the ground to soften the donkey’s footfalls, and the energy is palpable in the crowds. It’s a royal welcome for the perceived King of Israel, one worthy of standing in the footsteps of King David centuries earlier.

But, behind the scenes, the fix is in. The Jewish leaders are conspiring to kill both Jesus and Lazarus, who is physical evidence to Jesus’ Divine power and Godly authority. Biding their time, the Pharisees decided to wait until later in the week, putting their evil plan on hold to avoid a riot. By the end of the Gospel reading, Luke has lead us away from the celebratory entrance to see their murderous plans come to fruition. Jesus is convicted by Pilate who is swayed by the shouts and cries of the people – likely the same ones who just days earlier welcomed Him. “Hosannas” are replaced with “Crucify!”  He’s taken out to be put to death.  Finally, over and against the Father’s silence, Jesus commends His Spirit to His Father.

In all that, perhaps the most stark and defining sentence is this: “So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted. He released the man who had been thrown into prison for insurrection and murder, for whom they asked, but he delivered Jesus over to their will.”

Jesus, the wholly innocent Son of God, is traded for the completely guilty insurrectionist and murder. The innocent is sentences as if He were guilty; the guilty is set free as if he were innocent.

There is a word for this: redeemed. To redeem is to buy back. The guilty man’s life is redeemed by Jesus’ innocent life.

At the risk of overly humanizing this event, I wonder what the formerly-guilty-but-now-freed man thought as he walked away? Was he throwing the first-century equivalent of high fives to his fellow cronies and rebels? Or, did he leave Pilate’s palace a changed man? Did he look back in wonder at the One who took his place? Did He see Jesus for who He was, the Innocently condemned man? Did he leave Pilate’s home asking questions about who this Jesus was? Did he come to faith in Jesus, seeing that Jesus didn’t only take his place on the cross for a physical death, but for an eternal death as well? For that matter, what of Jesus? Did Jesus look at the now-redeemed man with longing in His own face, knowing what He was about to face? Wash His face filled with love, compassion and mercy for this man? Was Jesus reserved with willing submission to the corrupt authorities to redeem this one who, thought guilty, is still loved by God?

Obviously, I don’t have answers to those questions, and if we were to go too far down that rabbit hole, we would miss the point: both at Pilate’s home and then at the cross, Jesus takes the place of a convicted man who sinned both against God and his neighbor.

But Jesus doesn’t just take the place of that murderous insurrectionist. In that unnamed man with whom Jesus trades places, see yourself. Jesus took your place under the Father’s wrath – not just the temporal wrath of the government, but the eternal wrath of the Father against sin. Jesus takes the place of every man, woman and child, suffering what our sins deserve. That is what Paul means when he writes “He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” He takes your place to redeem you. Your guilty verdict, your punishment, your death, your separation from God caused by your sins, your cross – they all become His. He takes them from you; He takes the place of you under God’s perfect, holy wrath. Jesus is the perfect substitute for you.

“Therefore” – that’s an important word. It indicates that because one thing happened, another can take place: because of this, then that can happen. God’s plan of salvation had been in place for millennia, since Adam and Eve’s forbidden bites. It was foreshadowed in Abram’s willingness to sacrifice his son. It was foretold in the Passover as blood was painted over the doorposts of the Israelites and the angel of death passed over those homes. It was anticipated in the countless animal sacrifices, repeated over and over for the sins of the people of God. It was prophetically spoken through the mouths of holy men of God and in the holy offices of prophets, priests and kings. When Jesus entered Jerusalem that holy Sunday, people were expecting might and strength and glory, revolution and referendum. What God provided was one, final and perfect sacrifice in His Son. Jesus entered Jerusalem as the obedient Son of God. He would be crowned – with thorns. He would be called king – mocked as such by Romans and Jews, who both denied His heavenly Kingship. His throne would be a cross.

Therefore - remember, therefore: because of this, because He went the way of the Father’s will for the salvation of the world – therefore, God has exalted Him and given Him the name above every name: Jesus Christ, Lord, Son of God, Savior of the World.

You confess this, along with Paul, perhaps with that unknown murder with whom Jesus traded places, and certainly with the thief on the cross who pleaded Jesus remember him in paradise. You join the centuries of Christians who rejoice in God the Father’s gift of sending His Son to redeem the world. As Christ submitted Himself to the Father’s will through His death on the cross, we submit to Christ’s Lordship. Called by the Spirit through the Gospel, united in the body of Christ in the Christian Church, we kneel at the Table today, joining with saints in heaven and on earth, confessing the body and blood of Christ is truly present in this meal, for you, for the repentant, for the one who recognizes the gravity of their sins, for the one who knows the fullness of Christ’s love and death, trusting this forgiveness is for you.

This week is the culmination of salvation history. Thursday night, we remember both His maundatum, His commandment, to love one another as He loved us, and His New Covenant in His Flesh and Blood. We call Friday “Good Friday.” It hardly seems “good” to us. Good is derived from the Old English for “God.” It is God’s Friday. God’s means of rescuing and redeeming creation coming to its crescendo of fulfillment with His surrendering His only-begotten Son to be our Savior. Saturday, Sabbath Day, was traditionally a day of rest that Jesus sanctifies with His rest in the grave. And then Sunday, Resurrection Day, the Sign of Jonah is fulfilled and the Temple of Jesus’ body is restored.

That’s to come. Today, we are still on this side of the cross – the place where Jesus died for you.

Amen.

This Wasn't For You...But Now It Is. Luke 20: 9-20

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

This morning’s Gospel lesson, the parable of the wicked tenants, is strange because it has no direct teaching for us on this 5^th Sunday of Lent, 2025.

Jesus was speaking to the Jewish leaders of Israel, using the parable as a subversive, allegorical way of talking to them, wanting to warn them of the danger that they were in unless they repent and turn to Him in faith as their Savior.

Jesus is using an old image from Isaiah 5:7, “The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are His pleasant planting.” Knowing that, then the interpretation of the parable is easy and straightforward, direct and immediate for His audience.

               The landowner is God the Father.

The vineyard is the people of Israel.

The three servants represent the prophets called by God to proclaim, “Thus saith the Lord.”

The tenants are the leaders of Israel – Pharisees, Sadducees, priests.

The son, of course, is Jesus, the Son of God.

The story is likewise easy to interpret. The leaders of Israel were entrusted with stewarding, that is caring for, the people of Israel while God patiently waited for Israel’s repentant return to Him. Instead of leading Israel in faithful watching and waiting for God’s deliverance through the Messiah-to-come, for centuries, they determined to take the power, authority, and glory for themselves. When confronted by prophets who proclaimed God’s Word, they were dismissed, abused, and even killed.

The parable, though, is more than just a historical spin on Israel’s history. It is a prophetic description of what is already happening behind closed doors. The rising conflict in the story that begins when the landowner sends His son to collect the harvest, is a subversive way for Jesus to tell the Pharisees, Sadducees, and others that He knows full well what they are planning to do to Him in the days ahead which will culminate in His own death.

We’re still a week from our celebration of Palm Sunday, but this reading takes place probably Tuesday or Wednesday of Holy Week. In Luke’s narrative, Jesus had already entered Jerusalem to the crowd’s shouts, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” The jealousy was already verbally expressed by the pharisees, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” Jesus rebuked them instead: “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.” By the time the parable is told, the conspiracy is in; Judas’ betrayal is secured. They are only waiting for the last piece, the kiss of betrayal.

They are so invested in the plot to kill Jesus that they don’t even realize that they miss that the parable is about them and that they are, in fact, the villains in the parable. Their reaction, “Surely not!” to the vineyard owner’s violent response is all the more sad and ironic.

You know how the parable’s story arc is replaced by the events of Holy Week. You know Jesus will be conspired against, arrested, and brought before those very same people who listened and misunderstood the parable. They will wrongly condemn Him to death as a heretic when He was speaking the truth, that He is the Son of God in the flesh and that He would die and rise on the third day. They will crucify him, taking Jesus outside the vineyard walls of the city of Jerusalem. They will kill him so that they can have what they think they deserve and they can retain their power and positions of wealth and honor.

So, with this about the Jewish leaders, the people of Israel, and the plot to kill Jesus, like I said, the parable has no direct meaning for us. You did not act to kill the prophets. You did not conspire to murder Jesus. You are not the people of Israel who are waiting for Messiah to come. You are the 21^st century church for whom Jesus entered Jerusalem to rescue, redeem and save. You see the parable for what it is: a prophetic description of the prelude to Jesus’ passion.

It does not have direct meaning, but it does still have a word of application for us, and with it comes both a word of warning and a word of blessing. See the landowner as God the Father; the Son as Jesus; but, now, see the vineyard as the church – a pictograph of Jesus’ words, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” if you will; and see the villains as satan and his minions who want nothing more than to consume and destroy the vineyard.

In the parable, why did the landowner send his son? It wasn’t to save the servants who had been abused. The son was sent to redeem the master’s vineyard and the vineyard’s harvest. It’s the master’s vineyard, his harvest, his fruit, that needs to be rescued and redeemed, to be made the master’s again. Jesus comes to rescue and redeem the vineyard from the evil tenants; Jesus comes to redeem and rescue the church from satan, to make it the master’s again. Jesus comes to redeem and rescue God’s church.

We use the word church in a lot of different ways. You probably said this morning, “We’re going to church.” That can mean either going to worship and receive the gifts of God, or it can mean the church building, as in “the red-brick church next to the school.” We can speak of the congregation, Zion, or even the church body, the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod. We can even speak of all Christian churches that proclaims Christ and Him crucified make up the Christian church on earth, and the saints who have gone before us and are at peace with Jesus awaiting the resurrection of all flesh make up the church in heaven. There is the church in heaven (sometimes called the church triumphant) and on earth (the church militant), all of which is God’s. It is His Church.  Think Church with a Capitol C.

Years ago, the congregation that I served was squabbling about something and it was quickly dividing into two groups: “us” and “them.” I wrote a newsletter article about this sinful, divisive mindset, saying instead that it is “our” church. A very wise churchman, his name was Al, politely corrected me, and I’ve never forgotten this. He said, “Pastor – I understood what you were trying to say and do by calling it ‘ours,’ but don’t ever forget whose Church it really is: it’s God’s Church.”

It’s God’s Church. It is ours only in the sense that we are connected to it. We do not own it; we do not possess it. To be clear, I am not speaking in an earthly, legal sense – yes, I understand that there is Zion Lutheran Church, Inc., with a title to land and a business license for the State of Texas and a Federal Tax ID number, and there is LCMS, Inc. In that sense, but only in that sense, dare we speak of this as “ours.” Remember: Jesus doesn’t redeem Zion, Inc. He doesn’t redeem the property addressed at 12183 FM 236. He doesn’t redeem our articles of incorporation. He redeems His Church: the holy Christian Church, the communion of saints, as we say in the Creed.

In every other sense, in the only way that truly matters, it is God’s Church. That’s important to remember. If we dare think the Church belongs to us, that it is ours, that it is our possession that we can do with it as we please, we mistake our place in the story. We’re the vineyard, remember? A field, a vineyard, is incapable of caring for itself. You’ve seen enough land tracs around here that have been left to its own: it is soon overwhelmed, overgrown, and overcome by weeds and weesatch, thistles and thorns, useful for nothing. The land must be redeemed, reclaimed, restored by the owner.

So the landowner does just that. God does that to His vineyard. God does that for His Church. It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it? The field already belongs to the Master, the Church already belongs to God, yet He redeems it, He buys it back, to restore it to Himself. He does it by sending His Son.

He redeems the vineyard, the Church, for a purpose: to produce spiritual fruit. As a vineyard that has been redeemed through the crucified Christ, we live the crucified life as well, with our Spirit-infused, Baptized life crucifying our sinful desires. The fruit of Christ’s spirit dwells within us, and we show that fruit in loving our neighbors as Christ loved us, sacrificing ourselves for the wellbeing of others, and setting aside selfish wants and desires out of care and concern for those around us. Filled with Christ’s Spirit, we produce spiritual fruit: love, joy and peace filling our mind and heart to be Christ-like ; patience, kindness and goodness impacting our relationships with our neighbors; faithfulness, gentleness and self-control guiding our lives as God’s people. Filled with His Spirit, the Church, God’s vineyard, produces fruit for the world around us to receive, drawing them to the Vineyard as well.

I began this sermon saying the parable has no direct teaching for us as New Testament Christians, but it does have application for us.  It reminds us of who we are, the Church of God, and whose we are, God’s. He doesn’t redeem His Vineyard so it lays fallow. He fills us with His Spirit so that we produce spiritual fruit to share with those around us, demonstrations of God’s love for us and the rest of the world.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

 

A Prodigal Father's Love for His Prodigal Children - Luke 15: 11-32

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 15.

We call it “The Parable of the Prodigal Son.” Most of us know it by heart: the father’s younger son wants his share of the inheritance.

Inheritance: let that word sink in for a second. To get inheritance, the owner – in this case, the father - must die. “Dad, you’re worth more to me dead than alive,” is what the son implies. Presumably, the father follows the tradition of the time and divides the inheritance into thirds, one more portion than sons, with the older son getting a double portion, 2/3 of the inheritance, and the younger son getting a third. You notice, that leaves the father nothing. Its as if he’s dead.

Do you know what “prodigal” means? Prodigal means to waste money on extravagant, outrageous - and presumably unsustainable - living. In our own time, there is no shortage of examples of prodigals from among Hollywood-has-beens, professional athletes, and politicians, all whose wealth and happiness, like Lubbock Texas, was left in their rearview mirror. The younger son, like those famous faces you’ve heard about, lets money run like water through his open fingers. Then, when the money runs out so do his friends. Faced with death by starvation, he’s quickly reduced to pig ranching, and then further reduced to wrestling them for scraps from the feed trough. No self-respecting Jewish boy would ever consider such a thing – it’s worse than dying. It made him unclean, putting him outside the community of faith, unworthy of entering the Lord’s House, separating himself from the presence of God.

How desperate does a person have to be to stoop so low, to be so humbled, to excommunicate himself from the people of God and from God Himself? He reduced to being as-dead, physically, mentally, spiritually? I hope that isn’t lost on you. Remember, he wanted his father dead so he could get the money. Now, with the money gone, he’s as-if-dead himself. In another strange twist, this as-if-dead boy comes up with a resurrection plan of sorts, a possible way to come back to life, by returning to the father’s house to become not a son but a servant. “At least,” he thinks, “I’ll have food to eat, a roof over my head, and can give up this porcine hell of a life.”

Weak from hunger and cloaked in shame, I wonder how long the boy took walking home. It probably took some time, after all he is as-if-dead. “Dad, I know I wanted you dead, but – hehehe – funny thing happened to me while I was sowing my wild oats and now I’m the one who’s almost dead.” He played the scenario over in his mind, the words he would say, how he would say them. But, I wonder what he expected – after all, dead men aren’t exactly the best self-advocates. He certainly looked and smelled the part already. What could, what should he expect? Perhaps the father would have pity on such a thing as him. It wasn’t like he was asking for his old room back and the keys to last year’s Mustang.

Imagine his surprise when his father comes running down the laneway to him. His father! The old man, himself, with his robes up past his knees, beard flying in the wind, his breath coming in gasps, tears streaming down his cheeks, calling his name over and over. His father! Such behavior wasn’t very gentlemanly – certainly not for a noble and landed aristocrat. He should be up on the verandah, scowling and snarling at this thing – not a man, just a thing – that dared invade his property. The father should be suspicious of this trespasser, this intruder, who once wished him to just die and get it over already. This father – his father, his own “I wish you were dead but very alive” father – rushes out to meet, greet, and welcome the boy home.

The boy! Not a thing, not an intruder, not an invader but a boy – his boy! His son! His once-alive, then as-if-dead, and now alive son is home! He’s a mess, a disaster, a shell of his former self. But he’s here! Maybe not well, but he is alive.

Do you know there is another definition of prodigal? We usually think of it like I defined it earlier: to squander money. But, in a broader sense, prodigal means having or giving something on a lavish scale. We call this the parable of the prodigal son, but I suggest this is better titled the parable of the prodigal father because he demonstrate his love in the most prodigal, lavish of ways. His compassion will not listen to the boy’s negotiations for a job. Jobs are for servants. Besides, the almost-dead can’t negotiate anything – he has nothing to negotiate with, not even his life. This is his boy, his son, his flesh-and-blood. Half-dragging, half-pulling, dancing, bouncing around his son like a puppy, the father exudes joy, laughter being heard down the lane and at the house. “Bring my signet ring!” he orders. “Give my son a bath and then give him my good robe – the one Momma gave me for my birthday last year that I just couldn’t bear to wear, get it out of the closet and give it to him!”  To the cooks he orders, “Fire up the pits and kill the fatted calf! Save the burnt ends for this, my son, who is alive and among us again!”

That’s the story we know so well. Let the scene fade out in your mind and think critically for a second. How could a father be so prodigal in his love and compassion toward a son that wished him to be dead and lot alive? In the Jewish world, the greatest thing a father could give a son was a blessing, a verbal gift of the father’s love and name to be bestowed to the son. The greatest insult a son could give to his father was denying the blessing, to live outside of his father’s name and blessing. This son, the prodigal son, didn’t want any of that; he just wanted the money. How could a father, how could a dad, overcome that hate-drenched desire of youth? How could the father not only love the prodigal, but to shower prodigal love upon the boy who rejected his father and wanted him dead?

Remember, this is a parable. The purpose of a parable is to use an earthly story to give us insight into the Kingdom and the Father’s love toward His people. It’s a Divine version of “The Rest of the Story,” if you will. So, who is Jesus telling this parable to? Start with the audience: Jesus is speaking with tax collectors and sinners when Pharisees and scribes observe Jesus’ storytime companions. You can hear the sarcasm dripping from their words. “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”  Some kind of rabbi, this Jesus, stooping so low as to associate with riffraff like this. Those are the people, tax collectors and sinners and Pharisees and scribes, to whom the parable is told.

That, then, gives us insight into the parable’s characters. The father, of course, is the Heavenly Father with His outrageous, compassionate, prodigal love. He offers grace, mercy and compassion to those who relent and turn to Him.  His love is spread in the most prodigal of all fashions – even over those who treat Him as if He were dead – and is almost overwhelming to those who are likewise dead in their trespasses and sins, and who repent, relent and return to Him. In fact, His prodigal love is so great that He is willing to sacrifice His own perfect Son who perfectly follows and obeys the Father’s commands. The Father’s love is able to be given because there is a sacrifice, not of a fatted calf, but the Lamb of God.  

Who is the prodigal son? In the story, the prodigal son is the one who squandered the father’s love, but then realized his plight and came back, as-if-dead. Granted: in the parable, it was not a perfect repentance; he wasn’t trusting the father’s love and compassion, nor was he seeking to be welcomed home. But, at least the son went where he knew mercy and life could be found. Who is the prodigal? The tax collectors and sinners sitting around Jesus. Perhaps some were believing, already, that He was Messiah; perhaps some saw Him as the fulfillment of what was missing in their lives. But, at least they recognized that He could offer hope, compassion and mercy to them, the ones that society cast out as unlovable and undesirable. Jesus wants them, the tax collectors and sinners, to see themselves whom the Father welcomes and that Jesus, there among them, welcomes them on the Father’s behalf.

There is one other character remaining: the older son. With the party swirling around him, he stands in the shadows, scowling, refusing to celebrate. He, then, represents the Pharisees and scribes, the very antithesis of the Father’s prodigal love. If anything, he is prodigally abounding in resentment, anger, and disdain for both the father and the brother. While he should be bouncing, dancing, celebrating with the father and the whole household, rejoicing that the as-dead brother is now as alive as can be and back in the home, instead he is jealous of the love, attention, and even the meal. In fact, by separating himself from the household’s celebration, it’s as if he is as guilty of rejecting the father’s love as his brother when he left home. He’s so busy looking at how good he’s been that he misses how guilty he has become and what he’s guilty of. Rather than confessing his sin, he digs in and doubles down. The son’s question of “Where’s mine?” is the pharisaic equivalent to “Hey, Jesus, look at us! We’re getting it all right; we’re doing it all perfectly but you’re ignoring us. What’s with sitting with people like them and snubbing us?” Sadly, the Pharisees totally miss the point of who Jesus is, what He is doing, their place both in the Kingdom and in the parable, and their own need for a Savior.

You notice the question is left unanswered in the parable. What do you think happens? Is there a sudden change of heart by the older brother when he looks across the party and sees his as-dead-but-now-alive brother dancing while gnawing on a beef rib? Do his feet start tapping when he hears the band drop a banger like the Cupid shuffle? Does he clap his father on the back, repenting of his stubbornness, his begrudging labors, and his own failure to show love to the father and pray for the father’s mercy for himself? What does the brother do?

You know the rest of the story. The older brother slinks deeper into the shadows and plots murder. Not in the story, of course. Remember: the older brother represents the pharisees and scribes. They begin to plot how to get rid of the one who tells such stories of prodigal love, of mercy and compassion for tax collectors, sinners, and undesirable people who dare to trust in Jesus as Messiah. The Son must die – for the sins of the world. He dies for those who have rejected the Father’s prodigal love. He dies for those who run away and surrender to the temptations of sin and satan and their own flesh, squandering it all in prodigal living. The Son stripped of His dignity, His honor. When Pilate records that this Man is the Son of God, the Pharisees want it recanted, that He only claimed to be the Son of God. He dies the most horrific death the world will ever know. Not just physically, but dying separated from the Father and His prodigal love.

When Jesus rises on the third day, the world knows the fullness of what prodigal love is: that God was, in Christ, reconciling the world to Himself. Having made His own Son sin, through Christ’s death, He makes us His own sons and daughters. It’s nothing we do. Like the prodigal son in the parable, we were spiritually blind, dead, and enemies of God. We have nothing to bargain with, nothing to negotiate with. Jesus died for the spirititually dead, and Jesus rises to give life. Through Christ, the Father no longer remembers the prodigal’s sins. He no longer hears the prodigal’s curses, sees the hands held out in greed, or remembers the prodigal’s back that was turned against him. What the Father hears is Jesus’ prayer, “Father, forgive.” What the Father sees is the Son’s nail-pierced hands and whip-scarred back. And, then the Father simply calls you “Beloved.”

So, where are you in the story? You’re at the table. You, a former prodigal, are welcomed to the family. You were lost and found. You have already died and risen with Christ. That’s what prodigal love and grace does. Amen.

Why Ask Why: On Perishing, Repentance, and a Dying Tree - Luke 13: 1-9

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

If Jesus was here to retell this morning's Gospel lesson, perhaps it would have gone like this: 

There were some present who told him about the man who ran his vehicle into a crowded street, filled with people in town for the big football game, killing and injuring dozens of passers-by. Do you think they were worse sinners than all the others in town, partying, celebrating, and (ahem) planning to skip church the next day? No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will likewise perish. Or those people going to work or the store when, suddenly, they plunged into the waters below because a cargo ship crashed into the bridge they were crossing? Were those folks worse sinners than all the others around Baltimore? Or, what about the folks driving around the loop in Victoria when and airplane crashed on top of their car? Were they worse sinners than anyone else in town, or in the county, or those sitting in the pews today? No, I tell you, but unless you likewise repent, you will all likewise perish.

When we hear such stories as these, whether the event happens a thousand years ago, a thousand miles away, or right across the street, we often have one of two immediate reactions. The first is relief: “There but for the grace of God go I.” But often it is followed by the second, “Why did it happen to them?”

That second question gets creative with its answers – especially when people dare to foolishly speak for God when He gives no revealed answer in His Word. Remember when TV preachers made headlines for attributing Katrina to God’s wrath against New Orleans and its long history of social and racial inequality? Or, when the gunman went on a shooting spree in Las Vegas, moralistic people said, “Well, it’s called sin city for a reason, you know,” implying that this was God’s way of setting people straight. When flooding hit Houston again last year, it was determined that, obviously, God was settling the score with the evil and greedy oil and petrochemical industry. The recent fires through LA were proclaimed as His way of humbling the social elite.

Those are modern takes on the ancient Jewish idea of “you get what you deserve.” If such a tragedy befalls you, it was thought, that it stands as evidence that you or someone in your immediate family had sinned against God or man, or both, and you were getting your just desserts. What comes around, goes around, you know.

Other times, the question is answered less from judgement in the negative, that they did something wrong, but from the opposite assumption of innocence. “It’s not fair!” the cry goes up. “They didn’t do anything wrong!” They were just partying with friends; they were just going to work, school, or back home; they were there for a weekend get-away. They didn’t deserve those terrible things to happen to them.

Whether presuming guilt and judgement – they must have done something wrong and are getting what they deserve – or presuming innocence and goodness – they are just blameless victims – we presume the role of God, determining right or wrong, guilt or innocence, based on our perspective, our ideas, our opinions.

Be careful, Jesus warns. Do not presume either guilt or innocence because of what happened and whom it happened to. In fact, He says, we must interpret such events, not with ourselves as the interpreter, but instead as if these things were happening to us as well, as if we were the ones in the sad headlines. If you dare to interpret from the position of God, then do it honestly with regard to His view of sin.  I re-told the Gospel reading as the introduction to get your attention and place the warning into our world today. Suddenly, Jesus’ warning, “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish,” takes on a whole new meaning.

There are two powerful words, there: repent and perish. Let’s consider perish first. In our modern usage, perish is a polite way to say “died tragically.” It gets used in press releases and news reports: four people perished in the massive vehicle pileup on I-40 in the Panhandle last week; three people perished when the structure collapsed. Jesus is using it as a rawboned description of death. But He isn’t just speaking of the heart beat that stops and the brain that ceases processing. Specifically, Jesus is referring to the tragedy of the eternal banishment to hell that sinners deserve. “The wages of sin is death,” Paul famously wrote. He means the sad fact of complete, eternal, physical and spiritual death. In other words, separation from God and His love and compassion. Unless you repent, Jesus means you will all experience what death really means as you suffer where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.

The other word is “repent.” Repent doesn’t mean that we walk around like Eeyore, sad, with hang-dog looks on our faces, moping around as if everything is wrong and nothing is good. Repentance confesses our place as sinners before God. Repentance acknowledges that our condition tragically deserves to perish. Repentance says, as Luther writes, that we indeed daily sin much in thought, word and deed. We confess that while we may not have sinned against the celebrants in New Orleans Vegas, we have sinned by making assumptions. We confess, not that we caused the bridge to collapse or the plane crash, but that we sin against our fellow travelers by becoming impatient or by a moment of recklessness on the road, risking their lives as well as those in our own car. We confess, not that we caused the fires or floods or storms, but we acknowledge our part in this fallen world in abusing creation. And, repentance acknowledges as well that we deserve to perish tragically – physically, spiritually, eternally – for each of these sins, and so many more.

*I wonder if that’s not what Jesus is actually wanting them to repent of – a foolish notion that somehow, this side of heaven, we can reject death and see it as something that only happens to bad guys – specifically, guys we determine who are bad and worthy of dying (or unworthy of living, whichever the case may be). Perhaps that’s part of Jesus’ point: be prepared because everyone will one day die. He’s not being macabre – He’s speaking the truth of the havoc satan and sin has brought to creation. But that is the purpose for which Jesus came: that He, too, would die – for you and with you so that you no longer have to keep death at arm’s length. You have nothing to lose but the fear and horror of death. 

To help us grasp this idea, which is outside of our daily thinking, Jesus tells this brief parable about the fig tree that isn’t producing fruit. Briefly, an owner finds a fig tree that isn’t producing fruit. It’s just using up soil and space, so he tells his servant to cut it down. But the vinedresser instead argues for the tree, offering to give it special care, turning the ground and fertilizing with manure, so that it might have the opportunity to produce fruit one more time. If it fails in a year’s time, then it can be cut down.

Don’t be tempted to see yourself as the vinedressing hero who potentially saves the tree. Parables generally aren’t about you as the main character. They’re about the kingdom. They are about Jesus. Well, I said the parable isn’t about you – but you are in it. See yourself as the tree; see the vinedresser as Jesus; see the landowner as God who is displeased with the spiritual fruit that you and I produce – or, more accurately, with the complete absence of spiritual fruit. Where is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self-control? The landowner rules: although living, it’s as if we’re dead – there’s no fruit, that is no evidence, of faith; is there any faith, any life at all?

Enter the vinedresser. Enter Jesus. He pleads for the landowner’s mercy for the fruitless tree. Jesus intercedes to the Father on our behalf. “Let it be, Lord, for one more year.” Let it be – it’s interesting: Jesus uses the same phrase from the cross. There, under His own judgement of death, we hear Jesus pray, “Father, forgive.”

That’s the wonder of the foolishness of the cross. Jesus becomes sin for us. The foul, stinking manure of mankind’s sin is dumped upon Him and He carries it in Himself. His body is marked by nails; a spear digs deep into His side. He sends resurrection into our roots. He doesn’t come to see if we think ourselves good and worthy: He comes to turn over our idea of good and the conventions by which we pretend to be good. He doesn’t come to see if we’re sorry: He knows our repentance is often fickle and just as much hot air. He doesn’t count our doing of anything. He comes only to forgive, fully, freely. No one is too far gone, no one is too spiritually dead for His resurrection restoration. We were dead, remember, and brought nothing to the conversation. The vinedresser restores life, without qualification, as one enormous gift.

When we hear this section of Luke 13, it always begins with the question, “Why?” Jesus turns us to see the “who” instead. Who we are – dead and dying. Who He is – saving and restoring, having Himself died and rose for us. With that as our focus, we are able to live in these grey and latter days without having to be fearful for marauding Roman governors and strangely falling towers, or hidden viruses, or even a crazed, maniacal dictator who seems to hold the future of the world underneath his hot, sweaty hands. Luther was once asked, what would you do if you knew tomorrow as the end of the world. He thought for a minute and said that he would go plant an apple tree, that way just in case the world didn’t end, some day, someone could enjoy the fruit of his labor. Live each day with the joy and certainty that Christ has taken our place, died our death, and redeems us to bear fruit in His name. And then, go plant a tree.

 

 * I am indebted to Robert Farrar Capon's book, Kingdom, Grace, Judgement: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus (c. 2002, Wm. B. Eerdmans Co.) for this Gospel understanding of the parable. Much of what follows from this point is based on chapter 9 of the book.

Imitating Paul - Philippians 3: 17-4:1

“Brothers, join in imitating me…” Paul wants us to imitate him.

I don’t know. That seems a little difficult, doesn’t it? Difficult on all sorts of levels. I don't care what he says in First Corinthians, Paul was a pretty good preacher. Better than you're getting this morning, I'll bet. He preached and spoke for hours, even late into the night, and people listened intently. Well, except for sleepy Eutychus but that’s another story for another time. Paul’s writing is certainly superior. He wrote letter upon letter that were passed from congregation to congregation, the Holy Spirit seeing fit to preserve these still for you and I to read this morning. Me? I struggle for a 2-page sermon. How about you? Do you want to imitate this apostle? I don’t know. I’m not really into shipwrecks. Or imprisonment, or beatings, or stonings, and I stay away from threats of all kinds, and so forth.

Of course, it wasn't Paul's call either. It was God's Call that he read into those kinds of difficulties. And it's not our call either.

Imitation is really a very important part of human life. I taught you this a few weeks ago: imitation is the mother of learning (imitatio est mater estudiorum, if you prefer Latin). Children learn to walk, talk, read, mow the lawn, bake cookies, change the oil, paint fingernails, spike the ball, sweep the tag, do geometry, and countless other things by watching and imitating their moms and dads, grannies and grampies, coaches and teachers. Adults learn to use smart phones by imitating grandkids and YouTube videos. All sorts of bad habits are learned by imitating Uncle Earl. It’s also said imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. We are delighted when others imitate us.

This is not only true of Moms and Dads, but also of our Divine Parent also wants us to imitate Him and our Big Brothers and Sisters in the faith. It’s too bad we don’t treat them the way society fawns over so-called “social influencers.” Models of the faith are really significant parts of God's gift to us, part of the Holy Spirit's way of cultivating faith in us and the mind of Christ. Paul has a lot to say in his letters about following after the mind of Christ, and especially here in Philippians.

Paul wants us to be co-imitators. He doesn’t want us to go it alone. Imitate together with him. You never want to try imitating alone. We imitate as part of the Congregation of God's people. Remember – God saw it wasn’t good for Adam to be alone, so He made a help-meet for him. He knows it’s not good for Christians to be alone, so He gathers us together into the congregation, into the Church, as the body of Christ. And, as the body of Christ, He wants us to be supporting of one another, and for the spiritually mature to be modeling the Christian life for one another in the congregation of His people. And that, being co-imitators, is particularly important, especially when we run into imprisonment or shipwreck, or being beaten, or stoned, or merely laughed at, and teased, and told to be quiet and not talk “religion,” and the like for the sake of Jesus and the faith. We don’t live alone, we don’t imitate alone.

Part of Paul’s example that he puts before us in this text involves imitating crying, more specifically learning to cry the right way. Now, I know that doesn’t sound very manly; it doesn’t sound very socially acceptable. Who teaches others to cry? Do we teach our sons and daughters to cry? I don’t think so – we usually tell them to not cry. In the words of writer Stephen Bochco, we don’t want to appear soft, lest someone mistake us for food and try to eat us. But, speaking for myself, there are things that move me to tears. Watching the continued battle-scenes out of Ukraine – I can only do that in small doses before tears form. The scenes from the forest and wildfires, and then as people return to what is left of their homes and businesses, that is heartbreaking. I do not have the words to describe the feeling I have when I am with parents who lose a child, or with a child who loses a parent – I don’t think I would survive as a hospital chaplain, especially not a children’s hospital. I’ve shed more than one tear while watching someone I love who hurst so bad and being helpless to do anything about it. Those aren’t unique to me; you have those moments and others like them. These are all true feelings and deep emptions, but none of those are what Paul means when he wants us to learn to cry.

Paul wants us to imitate his tears, to cry, because of and, surprisingly, especially on behalf of the enemies of the Cross of Christ. By “enemy,” I don’t mean the person who ate your lunch out of the breakroom fridge, or who steals your paper from the driveway, or who laughed because your clothes don’t have the right brand label on them. By enemy, we mean those who stand against you because you are a Baptized child of God and dare to confess Him and speak of faith in Jesus as the only means of salvation. That is the enemy Paul refers to.

The “because of” makes sense. Our enemies often bring tears to our eyes, literally or figuratively, and this is particularly true of the enemies of the Church and of Jesus. Paul is apparently talking about tears, not shed in anger or indignation or disgust – though we may have those feelings too - but his tears, I think, were being shed in outright, real sorrow for the people whose God is their belly. That is from a man who doesn't really seem terribly likely to be going around shedding tears.

The enemies of the cross glory in their own shame. They conceive of reality in such a way that brings them down into the gutter, down into the pits of despair, where life is slowly sucked out of them. Don’t get down in the mud with them; instead, Paul says, our minds should be in the clouds, fixed on that heavenly citizenship, that heavenly society in which God cultivates us as He gives us rebirth in our baptisms, and as He renews that new life in us day in and day out, as the Holy Spirit brings us the Word of life.

And when we look at reality from God perspective, we see something unique. Our translation in verse 20 says “our citizenship” but I prefer the old King James way of saying this, “conversation.” Our conversation. Citizenship smacks of rights and boundaries. Conversation describes our way of thinking and talking about this reality and that it all comes from God. And the Holy Spirit leads us into looking at the world in such a way that we just don't understand how people can try to find their identity and security and meaning in the pleasures of this life and ignore all the signs that they're careening toward destruction. How can they miss their own conversation about the Good News of Jesus who saves? How can their eyes be shifted away from the cross? Their ears closed to Word that gives life? The spectacle of it is enough to make a grown Christian weep. Such tears flow from the eyes and the minds of people who have been freed by Christ's death and resurrection. Free to imitate our Lord. Free to imitate Paul. Free to weep for those who deny, decry, and disbelieve Jesus as Lord and Savior.

Everyone knows the shortest verse in the Bible is John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” You know, our Lord didn't cry only outside of Lazarus’ tomb. He cried over Jerusalem. In this morning’s Gospel reading, Jesus laments over the city, echoing Jeremiah centuries earlier, as the city that murders the prophets. He is not yet moved to tears – that comes later, as He prepares to enter the city for Holy Week. Then, Jesus weeps over the city. Those were real tears. The people who are about to crucify Him, He wept in sadness for them as He looked to the prospect of what was facing those people for whom He was dying but who, sadly, would remain enemies of the cross. They murdered the prophets; they stoned those sent to proclaim the Word of the Lord; they crucified the One sent to save.

I wonder – and I realize the danger of asking questions about Jesus that aren’t answered in Scripture – I wonder if He still weeps over Jerusalem. I suspect He does weep for Jerusalem…and Texas, and Cuero, and Goliad, and Victoria, and Mission Valley and our neighbors whom we greet and call by name, people whose god is their belly, and who have not time or interest in the One who weeps for them.

I say that because our society, our culture seems to specialize in inventing new ways to oppose the cross of Christ. It's almost as if it’s a way of life. Or, perhaps, we should say a way of death.  And our temptation is naturally to get defensive about this. Like Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane, we have to do something and we draw our verbal swords and pencils and electronic devices to rail against them and to be mad at them and all that sort of thing. I hear it, too: “Pastor, you need to preach a fire and brimstone sermon about what’s going on ‘out there’.” As if a sermon I preach to you will show them, ‘out there’ who will never hear what is said, that’ll show them who's boss.

But we don't need to. The Boss will. Jesus has shown us who is Lord, showing us who is subjecting all things to Himself. That's why: because we trust that He really is Lord. The Lord who has freed us in His death and resurrection. We trust also that He has freed us to weep over our enemies. Over His enemies. Over the enemies of the Church. And to pray with those tears that those tears will flow into baptismal water. That becomes perfect vengeance of the cross. The cross they once decried, they are then marked with the cross and baptized with tears Jesus once shed over them.

And then Jesus turns them into people just like us: disciples of the Lord, following at His cross, seeing reality, no longer from the gutter, but from the heavenly in-the-clouds perspective.  

God has planted your feet and mind firmly on the good earth that he has created. He has placed us here for all sorts of purposes, one of which is to cry for his enemies. And the conversation, the citizenship, that orients our entire life, that shapes every moment of our day, at least ideally, comes from the Lord himself.

So on this day, we repent again. We repent for crying for the wrong things, and not crying for the right things, and for not crying enough for the enemies of the cross of Jesus and who, I think, we can consider as our enemies, too. As we repent this day, we look to the Lord. We think about our heavenly passports, our godly identity papers. Then we stumble along in apostolic fashion, disagreeing, of course, with Paul on who the chief of sinners really is. But, agreeing with him fully that what we really need to know is Christ. And Him crucified…risen…ascended…reigning.

Funny thing about tears – they taste salty. This side of heaven, those tears we shed over the state of the enemies of the cross of Jesus will always be salty and somewhat bitter. Yet we, who by faith are already citizens of above, we are also already beginning to taste the tears of joy that come from being citizens of the King. With tears, both salty and sweet, we rejoice, we praise His name, and we pray for His enemies. Amen.